#you heard your daughter speak something that interests them and your first instinct is to mock it

[liminalpebble]

The Refugee: Chapter 41

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Magnus' feet tapped lightly on the polished wooden floor of the museum as he strolled through the statues. The spacious gallery was empty and quiet aside from the infant strapped to his chest, occasionally cooing in her sleep. He swayed and bounced her lightly. She dreamed as he got lost in the sea of marble figures. 

He stopped to consider a tall and striking figure in the middle of the room; a queen made of white marble, rendered in the classical style. She wore a crown and a serene expression, though her smooth lifelike hands were bound in chains. The contrast struck him as odd and interesting...and familiar. Peaking down to the little plaque beside Her Majesty he read the words, Harriet Hosmer, “Zenobia in Chains,” 1859.

Behind him, a tall graceful man in a black suit walked towards him with soundless steps and began to speak in a regal baritone. It was a voice Magnus would know anywhere; one he had heard for centuries.

“Zenobia...third century queen of Palmyra who brought the Roman East to its knees.” Loki had rounded to face Magnus now and the two stood with a tense distance between them, like the paces delineated in a shooting dual. Loki gestured gracefully to the statue. “Beautiful, isn't she? As you can see by the chains, she was defeated ultimately, but she gave them one hell of a fight.” Loki gave him a jaunty wink and a smile. “The odd thing is, despite her losses, her defeat, her capture, her exile, she is almost always depicted with her crown, as well as the chains. It's as if the artists always wish to emphasize that despite her ultimate defeat, her captivity, she never lost her dignity. The weight of her chains and sorrows only further emphasize the strength and persistence of her regal nature.” He paused, put his hands casually into his pockets and strolled a bit closer to Magnus, eyes fixed upon him. Then he shrugged playfully. “That's my interpretation, anyway. It's a particularly haunting piece, don't you think? Remind you of anyone we know?”

Magnus took in Loki's entire soliloquy in a sort of stunned silence, not knowing what to make of his unannounced visit, and what sort of threat it might represent. Magnus also keenly felt the warm weight of his daughter against his chest, and instinctively wrapped his arms protectively around her little body.

He asked with as firm a voice as he could muster, “What do you want, Loki? If you actually have something to say besides an art history lecture, I suggest you do it quickly.” Then he lowered his voice, remembering the sleeping baby, and wishing Astrid wasn't three floors down in the post-impressionist wing.  He said, in a hissing whisper, “The only thing keeping me from running over and gouging your eyes out is that I'm holding a baby.” He meant it to sound menacing, but it came out comical, as did his attempt to twist the features of his sweet, boyish, face into a mean grimace.

Loki laughed, breaking his haughty composure. He couldn't help it, and Magnus looked offended. “I'm sorry...I'm sorry, Magnus. It's just that, you're not particularly threatening.”

“I know...” Magnus said with an annoyed huffing exhale. He had been nervously holding his breath. “But what the hell is it now, Loki? Truly? Are you not done toying with my life yet? Have you come to kill me?”

Loki's expression turned serious and surprisingly, Magnus thought, sincere. “I'm not here to hurt you or anyone else, Magnus. I'm here invite you back home...and to apologize.”

Magnus stuttered and shook his head a moment. “You expect me to move my life back to Laufeyhavn? To move my family back...”

“No...no. I'm simply inviting you to come and go as you please between realms again. Your exile is over, Magnus. I had no right to enact it in the first place.”

“Oh! How generous, Your Majesty! But it's a bit too little, too late, don't you think? Do you expect me to...to let it all go and...”

Both men flinched as the child stirred and rubbed her little pink fist against her sleepy eyes, babbling faintly. Loki recoiled, as if faced with a little monster he had never seen before, and wasn't particularly sure how dangerous it was. Magnus chuckled at Loki's shock and lightly rocked her back into slumber.

“She's just a baby, Loki. Not a dragon. Calm down.”

“Magnus,” he said, testing the waters by walking a little closer still. When Magnus didn't move away, he braced himself to tell him the truth. “The only thing keeping me from groveling at your feet and begging your forgiveness is that I know I don't deserve it.” He took a deep breath, trying to recover from the toll it took to say that. “I'm here to invite you to our wedding and Lenora's coronation...to tell you that you can communicate with her however you see fit, for that matter. I assume you knew she's alive.”

“Of course I do,” Magnus snipped. “I've been talking with my family since you synchronized our timelines again. Seems you've made her quite the celebrity...parading her around again.”

Loki gave a little grin of pride in Lea and shook his head, completely missing the venom of the last few words, “No. I'm not the reason for her stellar reputation. She earned that all on her own.”

“And she agreed to marry you...willingly?”

Loki sighed, “Yes, but for practical, political reasons. She's doing it to help end a war, not because she loves me, if that's what you're asking.”

“But...she does love you, Loki. A part of her does, anyway. For your sake and hers, I hope you don't squash that part entirely.”

“I'm trying my best not to, but I very nearly did. I'm trying to...make amends.” Loki's eyes began to shimmer with restrained tears, thinking of the night of the blizzard, blood, and broken glass; the night that finally changed him and made him understand. Magnus was shocked into speechlessness for several long moments by his sincerity.

Loki swallowed his tears and nodded down towards Magnus' daughter, “Congratulations, by the way. I know you always wanted a family.”

“Th...Thank you. She's been such an easy baby so far, Astrid thinks so as well.”

Loki smiled. The baby opened her eyes, as if she knew she was the topic of conversation. She silently fixed her eyes on Loki, staring without blinking.

Loki grimaced. “Must she stare like that. It makes me uncomfortable. Rude little things.”

Magnus laughed and his big bright smile made its first appearance since they started talking. “She's only been alive a couple of months, Loki. She doesn't exactly understand manners yet.”

The baby turned around, reaching her chubby little fingers out to Loki's immaculate suit jacket lapel. Loki thought a moment about what disgusting fluids and germs that small being might transfer to his smart outfit, but ultimately he stepped closer, offering the crisp fabric for her to grab as she liked. He was standing quite close to Magnus now, and upon realizing it said, “would you prefer that I keep my distance? I would understand your reservations.”

“Uh, no. That's okay. I think she likes you.”

Loki shrugged, “No accounting for taste, I suppose.”

They both laughed. She twisted in Magnus' hold to reach out both arms to Loki.

Magnus asked carefully, weighing his words, “Would...would you like to hold her?”

He had never seen Loki look more self-conscious. “I uh...I don't know how. I've never held one of...these...before.” The infant giggled loudly into his face. He rolled his eyes at her.

Magnus said, “here, like this,” maneuvering the tiny child into Loki's long arms. Loki stroked his pale fingers over her feather-soft wisps of strawberry blonde hair, and she smiled up at his puzzled face.

“What's her name,” Loki whispered, reverently.

“Nora.”

The two men smiled knowingly to each other, both seeming about to cry.

Just then a sweet-faced elderly lady shuffled into the gallery and approached them. She patted Loki's arm, saying, “Oh, that's so nice, isn't it. What a pretty little family you boys have,” and then shuffled off.

“Oh..we're not togeth...” Magnus began, then trailed off, realizing it was pointless to continue.

Magnus laughed as he took Nora back into his arms. To his puzzlement, when he looked to Loki, expecting to find the same amusement written on his face, he only saw a somber expression and eyes glimmering again with withheld tears.

Loki cleared his throat. “Well, in any case, consider my offer to visit and to contact her. I'll send you the details. Farewell, Magnus.”

Without another word Loki disappeared in a green flash, leaving a baffled former-best-friend in his wake.

----

“Where the hell have you been?”asked a cranky and groggy, but fully dressed Lenora, striding up to him as he flashed back to their quarters in the morning. “We have to speak with the cabinet to report which territories are...”

He stilled her with a passionate kiss, holding her closely, tasting her for a long moment.

When he released her and she caught her breath she asked, stunned, “Where did that come from?”

He gave a lopsided smile, as if drunk. “It's from the hopeless romantic I have hidden in the basement of my heart, just for you, darling.”

She looked up at him narrowing her eyes skeptically, and gripping a little more tightly to the cup of coffee in her hand. “Are...are you okay?”

“Never been better,” he said, beaming.

“That's the face you make when you're up to something. What are you up to?”

“It will be a surprise, little empress, hopefully a good one.”

“Loki, forgive me for saying so, but that doesn't put me any more at ease.”

He held her shoulders, facing her with a sincerely solicitous expression, and meeting those incisive eyes without reservation. “Lea, I have so many things to talk with you about. It's time you knew every....”

They both flinched as, suddenly, the low thundering bass of warning horns sounding from all corners of the village. Lea's stomach dropped with dread, having heard those horns before. The village was under attack. Looking out the window they both stared open-mouthed as a swarm of cobalt blue and flickering orbs of red began to surround the town's boundary walls. The hoard seemed to bring a frigid storm with them and it slammed over the village in torrents of ice and hail. The frost giants had arrived, and they were battering against the town gates in a deafening crashes.

Lea recovered her senses first, slapping Loki lightly on the cheek to bring him back to reality. “Loki. Give me my armor and swords, now, and assemble the troops.”

@gigglingtigger @sweetsigyn @unlucky-number-13 @goblingirlsarah @peaches1958 @lokisgoodgirl @thenerdyoldersister @thedistractedagglomeration

A/N: The sculpture of Zenobia mentioned here is a real piece, and Zenobia was a real historical figure. I highly recommend learning more about both Queen Zenobia and about the remarkable woman who made this particular statue. Here's a wiki link for the curious. (Picture from the Huntington Library). https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zenobia

#loki fanfic

[ceapa-mica]

WAYWARD - Atina's Story | Prologue

{cross-posted on ao3} {masterlist}

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This is a spin off to my Mandalorian fic Gehat'ik Be Aliit. You do not need to have read this story!

Summary: With the Civil War going on, the Empire is too focused on trying to eliminate the growing Rebellion, which leads to criminal cartels flourishing in the Galaxy-wide underworld, creating crooked jobs en-masse. In those turbulent and dangerous times a wayward young Pantoran smuggler, such as Atina, gets easily overlooked. Trying to make a name for herself, she becomes reckless and eventually gets involved in a war she couldn’t care less about, or could she? The Empire starts hunting her down, but for a different reason than her criminal record. She discovers there’s actually something worth fighting for she had thought she would never have again - a family.

Rating: G

Warnings: Character death, lots of angst

Words: 6275

a/n: Welcome dear readers to WAYWARD! This is a story about finding your place in a Galaxy under the thumb of a fascist regime. Be ready to meet a lot of characters, including new interesting OCs, and exciting adventures in a Galaxy far far away.

This is the prologue, the actual story will take place when Atina is like 16 or 17 standard years old.

Nothing can compare to a Coruscanti sunset.

That's what Commander Fox thought as he looked past the gleaming marble floor and out of the large floor to ceiling windows of Senator Riyo Chuchi's penthouse, bouncing his three month old daughter, Atina, in one arm while holding a mug of caf in his other hand. The infant, who was wrapped in a soft red blanket, watched him intently while sticking one of her thumbs into her mouth. Eventually he put the empty mug down and laid his forehead gently on hers in a keldabe kiss - a Mandalorian gesture of affection.

"Ouch, hey!" She had grabbed his curls with both of her tiny hands, letting out a joyful squeal showing off her gums. "How would you feel if I pulled on your hair, huh?" He tousled the few black curls on her head which resembled his own.

"Are you bickering with her again? She can't even speak yet to give you some quick-witted response."

He looked at his wife, Riyo, who had just come out of the 'fresher, draped in her purple silken bathrobe, her mauve hair still damp from the shower. She picked their daughter from his arms to stop the one-sided bickering. Together they stared out of the windows and Riyo noticed again how tense Fox seemed since he returned home from his duty.

"Something's bothering you, my dear. What is it?" she asked after several minutes of silently watching the cityscape. 

He looked at her with the dark shadows under his eyes she had never once seen him without. Today he simply looked wearier than usual. Three years of effort to make Coruscant safer, protecting civilians and disrespectful government officials alike, left its marks - most of them invisible.

"I have a bad feeling about leaving for my shift. It's the same feeling I had before the zillo beast attack. Something's in the air, cyare, trust me."

Riyo looked at him with concern written in her golden eyes.

"From what I've heard, the war could end in a matter of days. Maybe you sense the change that's about to happen. Perhaps you're just nervous…"

He shook his head and grabbed her arm, looking at her intently. "No, I sense danger!" He sighed when their daughter whined at the tone of his voice. "Promise me you'll stay here! As soon as my shift is over tomorrow I will come and pick you up to escort you to work." he continued more calmly.

Riyo opened her mouth, trying to find the right words first. "I hear what you're saying, dear. Don't worry about us, okay. You're a trained soldier, trusting your instincts is what you do."

"Good, I don't want to worry about your whereabouts should Coruscant face any trouble."

The infant yawned in Riyo's arms, barely able to keep her golden eyes open.

"I still remember our emergency plan, Fox, don't worry. Do you wanna put her to bed? I know how much that means to you before returning to your duties."

"As always, cyare." He took their sleepy daughter into his arms with a gentle smile and went to her room which was filled with various toys and a beautiful crib made from the finest wroshyr wood. As he put her down he sung a Mando'a lullaby to her, one that the older clones sung to the younger ones, not just as cadets but in the barracks, and to the wounded on the battlefield as well, for some kind of familiarity and as a reminder that they were not alone in the face of war and an uncertain future. Tears welled in Fox's eyes as he watched his daughter fall asleep. In his eyes there was nothing more precious than his little girl. He pressed a tender kiss on her forehead and another one on the tip of her nose.

" Jate ca, ner cyar'ika."

He looked back one more time at his daughter's sleeping silhouette before he left the room.

"I heard you sing to her." Riyo wrapped her arms around him. "Mmm you never sing to me."

Fox chuckled "Do you have trouble falling asleep or do you love my voice so much?"

"Both actually. To know you're out there at night… falling asleep is hard knowing you're fighting crime out there."

"As long as I don't have to deal with another zillo beast, it's nothing I wasn't trained for. Don't worry about me." He pulled her into a searing kiss, hating to let go so he could be back at the base with his brothers on time.

"Stay safe, darling. I love you!"

"Always. I love you too." He took his helmet from the luxurious sofa, putting it on as he left for duty. The sinking feeling in his gut increased tenfold as Riyo's apartment door fell shut behind him. He hoped this war would be over soon so they could start their life together without having to hide. Their relationship and their little daughter was still a secret. The only ones who knew were a handful of his close brothers, who had covered for him when he went to visit his family in between shifts. Every time he had to leave his wife and daughter, it became harder for him. He had caught himself thinking about defecting more than once, and it terrified him. Doing so wouldn't just endanger him, but his family as well. Having romantic relationships and kids was against regulations for the clones. If anyone of a higher rank was to find out he would get court martialed and decommissioned. Riyo would face serious consequences, especially her political career, and who knew what the Kaminoans would do if they learned of Atina's existence. This was nothing Fox wanted to risk, for the sake of his family. He had no choice but to report back for duty.

Riyo had an unusually light sleep that night. What Fox had said before he had left wouldn't leave her thoughts. A sinking feeling in her gut woke her,it was still dark outside, at least as dark as Coruscant at night could get. She rubbed her temples and got up to check on Atina.

She found her daughter lying awake, but not yet screaming to be fed.

"Looks like you can't sleep either hm. This night seems darker somehow. I don't know what it is." She picked her up and cradled her in her arms, going to the kitchen to prepare some formula for a very early breakfast. While the water was boiling, she switched on the holoprojector hoping for news that the war finally had come to an end.

When she heard the chancellor's voice and turned to face the hologram, the full bottle fell out of her hands. Atina who was lying on the sofa whined at the hologram of the hooded figure.

"Galactic Empire?! What? The Jedi would never betray the Republic, what is this nonsense?" She went to look out of her large windows just like she had done the evening prior. A pillar of smoke coming from the Jedi temple made the sunrise a dreadful sight. She dialed Fox's emergency comm frequency, one she had last dialed when she got into labor, one he promised her he would always pick up, no matter the circumstances.

"Fox, please come in! What happened at the temple? Are you safe? Please comm me back as soon as possible, I'm worried sick!"

Riyo tried to calm herself down, feeding Atina and having takeout leftovers for breakfast. She had to turn off the news at some point. The Republic was no more and the war was suddenly over. The news was terrifying and confusing. There were so many things that didn't add up and didn't make sense. With each minute Fox didn't comm her back she grew more and more restless. The sun had risen at some point and Riyo couldn't sit and do nothing while Fox might be out there in great danger or worse. It wasn't that she didn't know about the risks of dating a clone, she just never thought anything would happen to Fox since Coruscant was safe compared to the war zones on other planets. She was due in her senate office in two hours. She commed Fox's emergency frequency repeatedly without him picking up.

"I have to check on him." she said with a determined tone in her voice and got dressed to leave the apartment, despite having promised Fox to wait for him. She turned on the nanny droid and gave her clear instructions on what to do in case she wasn't back at nightfall.

"As you wish, mistress." the droid replied.

"Wish me luck, my little darling. Let's hope your dad is okay." She kissed her daughter goodbye, giving her the little stuffed tooka she loved playing with, then Riyo put on her dark purple cloak which hood covered half her face. She had used it plenty of times before when picking up Fox after his shifts. Gathering every bit of strength she had, she left her apartment to search for the man she loved, calling a speeder cab to the GAR headquarters.

The male Sullustan driver was a real chatterbox. She politely pretended to be interested in what he was saying, but her thoughts were with Fox. At least until the driver was starting to gossip.

“Did you hear that the senator from Naboo passed away last night? From what I’ve heard she died in childbirth. Damn shame, she was a lot like you, Senator Chuchi - young and idealistic. She cared deeply for her people. May she rest in peace.”

Riyo’s heart skipped a beat. “Please tell me this is a cruel joke you’re pulling on me!” Tears welled in her eyes at the news. Padmé had been a dear friend to her, she couldn’t believe it. She wanted to believe he was wrong, that he mistook some other senator for Senator Amidala. But after all the news of the new Galactic Empire and the sudden end of the Republic, she knew it had to be the truth.

She got out of her ride in front of the GAR headquarters. She’d been there rather often since she came to Coruscant to serve her first term as senator. She had become friends with the troopers - and had fallen in love with Commander Fox. The more it surprised her when a batch of troopers approached her, holding her at blasterpoint.

“You’re not authorized to be here!” one trooper yelled.

Riyo pulled off her hood. “Boys, it’s me.”

“We must ask you to leave immediately or you will be arrested for trespassing and civil disobedience!”

The tone of the trooper’s voice was dead serious. Riyo bit her lip, hesitated for a moment and then glared at the trooper in front of her.

“I need to talk to Commander Fox immediately and I will not leave until I’ve done so!” She stood her ground. The troopers surrounded her and one of them put handcuffs on her. This was no joke. The men she had thought were friends or at least acquaintances of hers were acting like some mindless droids, like they didn’t know her at all. They grabbed her a bit too firmly and brought her inside. Commander Fox was ordering troopers around when she saw him. “Fox! I-”

“We found her trespassing on GAR property, Sir.”

“Take her to cell block B14.”

Riyo started squirming in the troopers’ grips when they led her away. “Fox! No! What happened to all of you?! Please talk to me! You’re not being yourselves! Can anybody understand me?! Fox! Don’t let them do this to me! Cyare!”

The term of endearment made Commander Fox struggle. He clenched his fists. Everything in him told him to let her go, to let her face a trial like all the other criminals. “Cyare!” The sound of her voice, a desperate plea, echoed in his mind. No! Good soldiers follow orders!

Riyo had no idea how much time passed until the door opened, revealing Commander Fox standing there. He was tense, his body trembled as he stepped inside her cell. Warily she walked up to him.

“Fox, I know you’re not… This is not you. I heard the news, saw what happened at the temple. Stars, I thought you were dead.”

“It’s CC-1010 to y-you…” He gritted his teeth. A terrible headache formed in his head as Fox was trying everything in his power to regain control of himself, at least for a moment long enough to help her get out of this.

“I- I need you to leave. Riyo…” He took off his helmet with trembling hands.

“What did you say? Fox… Cyare, please talk to me!”

“Leave Coruscant. You… you must go. Take the kid… Argh!” The pain became stronger with each second. He wouldn’t be able to resist the inhibitor chip much longer.

“I can’t leave, I need to finish my term!”

“Do it f-for Atina. Take her to safety. Don’t come back. The Empire doesn’t take kindly… to idealists.”

“I need to put the interests of Pantora before my own wellbeing. Come with me, Fox. I’ll get you off planet and-”

He put his hands on her shoulders. “We don’t have much time. Listen to me, cyar’ika. What I’m telling you now is v-very argh... important. My brothers are… not the same. It's like our brains got hijacked. I can’t fight it much longer. I’m a danger to you and our child. You must go! Leave as long as you can! Take our daughter and… Here, take this.” He handed her one of his blaster pistols. “I set it on stun. I can’t fight this irrational side in my brain. Stun me, stun whoever gets in your way! Get out of here, get our baby and disappear!”

“Fox-”

“Do it! That’s… an order!”

She put her hand on the trigger, but couldn’t pull it.

Fox took his second blaster pistol and pointed it at himself. “I love you, cyare. Do not come back here again. You made me… the luckiest man in the Galaxy. Made me a f-father. Thank you. Thank you for everything.” Tears welled in his eyes, then he pulled the trigger and landed on the ground with a thud, unconscious. Riyo stood there in shock. She couldn’t move until she heard steps from outside. She took a deep breath and did exactly what Fox had told her to.

With the dust of the war settling and the sudden change of government, it was surprisingly easy for Riyo to sneak off-world with her daughter. Leaving Fox behind was the hardest thing she had ever had to do, but getting her baby as far away from the now Imperial capital was a bigger priority.

She missed Pantora, especially her family's estate which was located on several acres of lush green land. Riyo knew she had to return to Coruscant as soon as possible to not cause any suspicions that she was hiding something. The only positive aspect was that her parents finally got to meet their little granddaughter for the very first time, and they were enraptured with her at first sight.

"Promise me you're gonna care for her in case anything should happen to me."

They hugged their daughter, assuring her over and over again that Atina would be safe with them. It hurt them to watch her leave. Last time she left it was to represent their homeworld, they had been hopeful and proud beyond words, this time fear was written in their eyes. Even they felt that the new Empire was casting a shadow on the Galaxy - a shadow that seemed to devour everything good. Atina was unaware of it all, most of the following months slumbering in her blankets and growing non stop.

By the time she crawled through the large house, exploring every nook and cranny, grandmother Koyiro and grandfather Ovar had gotten used to their granddaughter being around, and despite the dark times, Atina brought hope into their life - hope that a wonderful bright eyed child like her would make this Galaxy to a better place one day. Her laugh was contagious and reading stories to her in the rocking chair during the golden afternoon hours became Ovar's favorite time of day. Koyiro had discovered her talent for knitting and now couldn't stop making new clothing for her ever growing grandchild. It was one sunny afternoon like that when they sat together, Ovar reading yet another holobook to Atina, when their holocomm rang. The frequency was that of their daughter, but the quality of the comm was really bad.

"The situation got worse than I thought. I can no longer sit idly in my office with the Empire committing atrocities throughout the Galaxy. I don't have much time and neither do you! They will come after you next, you must flee, you-" A sudden noise erupted from the background of the comm. "Freeze Senator! You're arrested for treason against the Galactic Empire!" a voice that didn't belong to a clone yelled. The comm ended just as sudden, Koyiro and Ovar stared at the little comm device in shock.

"We must help her!" he said, gritting his teeth at the thought of his daughter in the hands of those new TK troopers. Koyiro put a hand on his chest to hold him back. "Listen to me, my dear. The best way we can help Riyo is to keep our promise we made to her, remember? In case something happens to her, we must keep our little one safe at all costs."

Now it was them who had to make the hardest decision in their life, a decision that led them down into the small hangar of their estate where they boarded their small luxury transport ship with their granddaughter and three suitcases of emergency luggage.

The family began traveling from planet to planet with chain codes they had acquired for a lot of credits from a black market contact. Around nine months later they received a call from one of their friends on Pantora with the devastating news that their daughter, Riyo Chuchi, had died in Imperial captivity. If anything, those news strengthened the bond they had with their granddaughter, as she was now the only thing they had left of their beloved daughter. The little girl seemed to grow a little more each day, she waddled around the ship, on shaky legs at first. At the same time she began babbling, starting with words like Granny and Grampa, but with the following months more words found their way into her vocabulary. Along with her vocabulary the messy mop of black curls on her head grew. Koyiro's favorite time of day was brushing through Atina's unruly curls in the morning, trying to tame them with bobby pins once they had become long enough for that. On every planet they stopped for supplies, they pretended to be farmers on a long needed vacation. It wasn't easy for the couple to not wear their golden face markings anymore. They had always been a symbol for who they are, something they simply couldn't wear anymore for the sake of anonymity.

After two years of space travel, a close encounter with a few stormtroopers asking questions made them change their plans. They had to leave the planet quickly, with not enough time to repair their damaged hyperdrive. Sub light travel was dangerous, Ovar and Koyiro knew that. That "night" Atina had trouble falling asleep.

"Gramma can you tell me a story?" The little girl looked at her grandmother with massiff hatchling eyes. With a warm smile Koyiro sat down on the edge of the bunk, pushing a strand of hair out of Atina's eye.

"Which one do you wanna hear tonight?"

"About mommy and daddy!"

"You can't get enough of that one, can you?" She took the little holoprojector which contained one hologram, the only picture of their daughter, on which she was seen together with her granddaughter and the clone who had fathered her. They looked like a happy little family, smiling into the holocam.

"Your parents worked in the same building, that's how they first met. Coruscant is one big city world with billions of people living there. One of the most impressive buildings was the senate building, that's where senators like your mom went to represent our homeworld Pantora."

"Why couldn't she do that from home?"

"Representing is more than being present when decisions are made, little one. You work together with people from so many different worlds to make the Galaxy a better place, with the goal that nobody has to suffer. It was in that building where she met your father, at least that's what she told us. Your father worked at a high rank in the Coruscant guard, that included protecting the chancellor."

Atina yawned. "Is a chancellor like a king? Like the ones from the other stories?"

"No, a chancellor gets elected by the senate, that means people that were elected by the people to speak for a planet vote for someone they have confidence in leading the senate. But every decision must be made by votes in the senate, whether it's the vote for a leader, or helping a system of planets. That's what democracy is. A king is a ruler not elected by anyone, unless on Naboo that is. A king is the sole ruler of a planet or system, making decisions based on what they wanna do. People have no say in what a king does. They get their power either by being born into royalty, or by killing the former king and taking the throne by force."

Koyiro sighed as she watched Atina's eyelids shut. She had taught for many years on an elite academy on Pantora, therefore she was much better at stating facts than telling bedtime stories. Nevertheless, Atina always fell asleep, no matter what she told her. With a sad look in her eyes she turned off the holoprojector and kissed Atina goodnight.

"Storytelling won't become a talent of mine anytime soon, I'm afraid." Koyiro sat down in the cockpit next to her husband who was flying the ship.

"Teaching is, and one day you can pass on all your knowledge to her." Ovar chuckled.

All of a sudden several alarms went off and several proximity sensors lit up on the console.

"Hang on, someone's out there!"

"Maybe they're friendly?"

"Koyiro, nobody comes close to a ship traveling sub light with good intentions!"

She went pale at the thought of anything happening to her family.

"Atina!" She hurried back to her granddaughter's room and it broke her heart to have to wake up the peacefully sleeping tyke.

"Gramma?" the little girl yawned, rubbing her eyes.

"Quick, Atina! We don't have time! You must hide! Go to the engine room, hide there and don't touch anything!"

A loud noise and a sudden jolt went through the ship. There were voices and footsteps behind the blast doors leading to the airlock. Koyiro watched Atina go into the engine room. As soon as the child was out of sight she pulled the small blaster from her holster, preparing to give the intruders an adequate welcome.

Hondo Ohnaka's last raids didn't turn out as lucrative as planned. His men were getting more impatient by the hour, something that showed in their behavior. They hadn't slept in proper bunks in weeks and they were running thin on ration bars. The frustration of his gang rubbed off on him. During times like these he understood why more and more of his gang decided to leave for good. The Empire was the main reason his gang was slowly falling apart. Strict controls and better guarded supplies meant less exploits for him. Less exploits meant less credits and therefore less food and life quality. He couldn’t blame his men for leaving this lifestyle behind given the circumstances. It felt like an era was nearing its end, slipping right through his fingers like sand from the tropical beaches of Rishi.

A new hope was a small luxurious transport ship that had appeared on their radar. As soon as they docked he sent some of his men ahead to take care of any obstacles. After the sounds of blaster shots had ceased he decided to go on board to assess the situation. He already heard the complaints of his men while walking through the airlock.

"All this work for crashing a wedding anniversary or whatever?! Hondo, this is not what we signed up for, there's only a set of earrings from the woman, and even that can feed us for three days if not less! There's nothing of value on board." his second in command, Skragg, a slim weequay with a preference for vibroblades, complained.

"How should I have known? Poor souls probably have a broken hyperdrive." He looked at the dead Pantoran couple by his feet when suddenly there was a sound right behind him. He and his men turned around, aiming their blasters at a little figure staring up at them, tear filled eyes wide in terror. The little girl sniffled and tried to run.

One of his men tried to shoot but Hondo shot him first.

"We had our fair share of adventures, but never have we killed a child, and we will certainly not start now!" Hondo spoke in a firm tone and went to look for the girl who had disappeared into another room.

When he pushed the door open he found a bedroom. At first sight he seemed to be alone, but he could clearly hear the sniffles that filled the air, which came from under the bunk. His attention however was drawn to a little holoprojector left on the nightstand. As he switched it on it showed a family picture. The parents were certainly not the older couple laying outside. They had to be the grandparents, he thought. He recognized the father as a clone. Not due to the armor he was wearing in the picture but due to the familiar face that was a carbon copy of a man he had regarded as a friend. Hondo sighed and switched the hologram off, putting it into his pocket, then crouched down to look under the bed, only to find the girl curled up in misery.

"Don't you wanna come out? You're safe, nobody's gonna hurt you." he assured her.

"No!" she whined.

Hondo thought for a moment, then grabbed a ration bar from inside his jacket, trying to lure her out. It took a while and eventually a little blue hand reached for it, a head of black curly hair followed and large golden eyes stared up at him as she munched on the ration bar.

"We can't leave you behind on that ship. Let's find your parents, how does that sound, hm? Wanna come with uncle Hondo and his crew?" Her answer wasn't verbal, instead she reached for his hand. A warm feeling overcame Hondo, something he had never felt before. It felt like he was doing something that mattered . Helping this little one find her family seemed like the right thing to do. As it turned out the rest of his pirate gang didn't share this sentiment.

"Argh Hondo, you're joking, are you? What do you want with that maggot?"

Hondo picked her up before answering. "Who killed the old couple anyway?" When Skragg pointed at two of the gang's rookies, Hondo pushed the girl's head into the crook of his neck so she didn't have to watch as he took his blaster and shot them in a second's notice.

"Don't wanna admit to her later that I let her family's murderers live."

"Have you gone mad?!" Skragg yelled. "That was my cousin you killed!"

"Have I gone mad? Maybe! Now, unless you wanna die here, let's go back on board and return home to get a proper meal!"

Hondo was met with silence. "What meal? Following you around brought us nothing but empty stomachs and insomnia for weeks, and now you take in this maggot and talk about a proper meal. We wager our chances with a fancy ship like this one. When we sell this luxury transport, we'll get enough credits to start over far away from you, Ohnaka!"

Hondo scoffed. "Good luck surviving out there without a man of my reputation! You'll be dead within two months, I bet!"

The airlock shut in front of Hondo, this was the last time he had seen the men that had been part of his gang for so long - a gang that was now a gang of three, his monkey lizard, Piff Mukmuk included.

"They won't know what hit them, once they have spent all their credits and can't find any work I bet they'll return, begging me to rejoin my efforts."

Atina rested her head on his shoulder as he carried her on board. Her eyelids became heavier with each second. The ship, a flarestar-class attack shuttle, wasn't the most convenient sleeping accommodation, especially not the co-pilot seat, but the little girl didn't seem to mind. Little did Hondo Ohnaka know that this little girl was about to turn his life upside down.

Florrum was way too quiet without his gang around. The base seemed much bigger without all the company. No music, no laughter, no blasterfire. Only Mukmuk the monkey lizard was waiting for him, curiously jumping on his shoulder, ogling at the little Pantoran girl resting her head on his other shoulder, still fast asleep.

"Looks like it's just the three of us now. Go and fetch the maggot some breakfast, will ya?"

He sat down in a messy room with a desk he used as a study of some sort. Mukmuk appeared with a bowl of mushy warm food. Despite not being visually appealing it smelled good and woke Atina from her sleep.

Confused, she looked around at the foreign environment she found herself in. Her bottom lip trembled and she was about to throw a tantrum, when a spoon filled with sweet scented mush pushed against it.

"Eat, you'll feel better." Hondo spoke, surprised at how gentle his tone had become. "We'll find your parents, I'm sure of it."

As soon as Atina got a taste of the mush, she devoured it with bright eyes, even licking the spoon after the bowl was empty.

"Now do you have a name I can call you or shall I continue calling you maggot?"

"Atina. Who are you?"

"Name's Hondo, the greatest of all pirates. Do you know where your parents are? Where are your mommy and daddy?"

Atina cocked her head. "I want Gramma and Grampa!" Tears welled in her eyes again and she didn't stop crying. Hondo knew he had to think of something. He needed help, someone who was good at finding people. He switched on the holoprojector with the holopic of her parents and Atina's crying subsided.

"Do you know them, do you know where they are?"

Atina just stared at him, puzzled at what he was asking her. Hondo shook his head and dialed the comm frequency of someone he knew could help - for the right prize.

Meanwhile Atina climbed off his desk, following Mukmuk around, giggling at the monkey lizard's antics. Hondo kept an eye on them while waiting for the other end to pick up the comm.

"Boba, so good to hear your voice, my friend!"

"Oh no…" Boba Fett grumbled at the other end of the call. "What do you want, Ohnaka?"

"Straight to the point, I see. Well, I have a little… problem. I'm looking for someone, and I know a hunter of your talent is more than capable of finding two people for me."

Boba knew being on good terms with Hondo Ohnaka could be an advantage in his line of work, so he agreed. "If the prize is right, I'm on my way."

"Don't worry about it, I'll pay handsomely for this job." the pirate assured him.

With a toothy grin and wide eyes little Atina watched a spaceship of extraordinary looks land outside. She had never seen anything like it.

"Ship, Hondo, ship!"

Atina ran towards the door, jumping to reach the knob.

"Where do you get all this energy from? I won't give you any more of that sweet mush, too much sugar."

When there was a knock on the door and it opened, Atina jumped right at the legs of the visitor, grabbing onto one for dear life.

Out of reflex, Boba aimed his blaster carbine at her.

"No no no, don't!"

Boba cocked his head at the golden eyes and the broad smile in the face that looked up at him.

He took off his helmet, making the little girl gasp in wonder.

"I take it this is the little problem you mentioned?" Boba said while trying to shake the tyke off his leg. "I don't smuggle people, especially not children."

"I don't want you to! No, I need you to find her parents for me. Take a look!" He handed Boba the holoprojector. The bounty hunter stared at the picture of the happy couple. Something tugged at his heart when he looked at the happy face the clone trooper made, who seemed to be the little girl's father.

"Now you know why I specifically asked you for help."

Boba put down the holoprojector and crossed his arms. "This will not affect my prize in the slightest." He looked down at the girl who jumped around his feet and pulled on the fabric of his flight suit.

"Stop doing that…!" As she didn't listen, he picked her up and glared at her, but was met with a glare that resembled his own, especially in the way she scrunched her little nose.

"Are you my dada?" she asked eventually and pointed at the holoprojector.

The frown between Boba's eyes softened at her words. "No, definitely not. But… I will help you." His expression hardened again when he looked back at Hondo. "I'm doing this for her, understood? And my price has just risen. Finding a specific clone in the Imperial army is hard enough, especially now since they are no longer really themselves since they have killed the Jedi. And the woman wears expensive clothing. Finding someone of a certain status in society costs extra."

"Whatever the prize, Boba, please find them."

The pirate and the teenage bounty hunter shook hands. Watching Boba Fett go, taking the holoprojector with him, made Atina cry, and Hondo comforted her as good as he could as they watched the Slave 1 lift off and disappear in the cloudy sky.

"He's looking for your mom and dad. Until he's back you'll stay here with Mukmuk and I." Hondo explained.

After 2 ½ months Slave 1 entered Florrum's atmosphere again. Atina sat outside and played with ragdolls Hondo and her had made together. When the bounty hunter approached Hondo's complex, he knelt down to check on the little girl who looked a bit dirty from playing outdoors, but happy nonetheless.

"Welcome back, my friend! It's always good to see you!" The pirate king greeted him.

"I'm surprised to see not a scratch on her. We need to talk."

The bounty hunter picked Atina up and they went indoors where Boba told Hondo what he had achieved in the little girl's case.

"I got access to the Imperial network. A specific file said that the mother was none other than the former senator of Pantora. Her name was Riyo Chuchi. She was captured shortly after the rise of the Empire for treason and died in Imperial captivity." Hondo's shoulders sank at the bad news. "Getting information about the clone from the holopic was a lot harder. The Imperial army doesn't want people like me snooping around. What I found out is that he goes by the number CC-1010 and that according to the latest data he serves right under Emperor Palpatine. Not a chance to talk to him without getting into serious trouble. I mentioned how the clones changed… I remember them being less… rude. I'm sorry I couldn't return with better news." He reached into a satchel on his belt and gave back the holoprojector, and he had something else - a little stuffed bantha toy which he gave the girl as a consolation gift.

"So what do I do with her? I'm not exactly a good role model for a youngling."

Boba huffed. "Neither am I, and I have another job on Tatooine. She hasn't starved or gotten sick yet, apparently you're doing something right. Keep that up and she should be fine, until you find someone more suited to raise her. I will see myself out."

When Hondo had taken the girl with him, he wouldn't have thought to end up in a situation like this. During the following days he packed his belongings to leave Florrum for good. Nothing kept him there any longer. His initial plan, to find someone to raise Atina, slipped more and more into the back of his mind. Weeks and months turned into years. At age 7 the young Pantoran was able to fly a spaceship, at age 11 Hondo let her take combat lessons a few of his bounty hunter friends had agreed to give her, and it was Boba Fett who taught her to shoot with a precision that only ran in the family's bloodline. Robbing, stealing, smuggling, with some bounty hunting jobs in between - Atina grew up to become a force of nature to be reckoned with, and this is where her story truly begins…

a/n: Uncle Hondo should definitely become canon 😄 Apparently you need to be at least halfway orphaned to qualify for becoming the main character in this universe ngl I hope you enjoy this fic as much as I did writing it. Feedback is always apprecitated!

#wayward #gehat'ik be aliit #atina chuchi #star wars fanfiction #star wars #the clone wars #tcw #boba fett #hondo ohnaka #the clone wars fanfiction #riyo chuchi #commander fox #foxiyo

[whoopdyprompts]

This is `your daily reminder that don't tell your parents your interests! Unless you're really comfortable!! I just mentioned that I wanted to learn Latin and my mom mocked me, saying I couldn't even speak Ilocano, which is my third language :'))

#mom i already understand ilocano #and i dont have the accent to confidently speak it #but i do know #ilocano #tagalog #and english #mom i can do this #the only thing you accomplished is giving me reasons to not tell you anything #im disappointed #actually #you heard your daughter speak something that interests them and your first instinct is to mock it? #how disappointing (to me) #anyways #im currently learning latin and greek #through duolingo #their lgbtqa+ representations are good #i love them #i need to be proud of myself #for knowing three languages #the third language learned just through listening and no proper education #i should be proud of myself #end of post

[erwinsvow]

𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

summary: uncle eren comes to visit.

warnings: step-cest, jealousy, manipulation, hints of verbal/emotional abuse + touch of dubcon to con, reader feels guilty, grinding/dry-humping, overstimulation, orgasm denial, unprotected sex

author's note: part two of sole salvation. i really hope everyone enjoys this! the warnings are just to be on the safe side as i do not want to accidentally trigger anyone, please feel free to message me if you want to ask about something before reading.

tagging @sangwoos-mom & @divine-delight :)

If Zeke didn’t want my interest to get piqued, Eren thinks to himself as he watches you stroll away, off to get him to a fresh cup of lemonade, he should have kept his mouth shut.

When his brother had mentioned his new fiancee had a daughter, Eren had supposed it would be some spoiled, bratty kid. After all, he had met your mother once before, and he didn’t think that kind of a woman could raise someone even remotely well-behaved.

So given that, he was more than pleasantly surprised the first time he met you. It was all a shock, from the almost angelic way you float down the stairs to greet him, your soft skin and sweet smile, to the genuine look in your eyes when you tell him that you’re glad to finally meet him.

He still doesn’t know what Zeke did to deserve you in his life, the taste in his mouth a touch too bitter when he watches the way you look at his brother, even when your mom is in the same room. It’s dreamy, as though there’s no better way to spend your time and nothing better to think about than your step-father.

It’s a little unfair, Eren thinks, that Zeke has a sweet, doting little thing head over heels for him. It’s a little unfair that Zeke waited so long to invite him over, to introduce him to you. Maybe it was brotherly instinct, maybe he knew that once Eren met you, he wouldn’t be able to think about anything else, just like it had been for Zeke.

Regardless of what it was, Eren knew one thing for certain. Sibling should always share.

It finally takes an unbearable conversation on the phone with your mother for an excuse, an opportunity to arise. The lie is taking hold in his head and spilling out of his mouth before he can even control it—“Yeah, the pipes burst and it’s just a mess, I called Zeke but his phone’s off- no, really? Just for the weekend, I promise- thank you, I’ll be over soon.”

His bag is packed and cock is twitching at the idea of getting you alone in that house, maybe when Zeke’s locked away in his office and your mother’s out shopping. It’s going to be a hot week, with almost intolerable heat, and he’s positive it’ll have you in revealing clothes (no doubt ones that his brother bought for you) and teensy swimsuits when you go for an afternoon swim.

That’s what he’s thinking of—the image of you soaked to the bone, wet hair and the thin, dripping material of your suit sticking to your skin—when he pulls into your driveway later that day.

It’s almost easy enough to miss the slight wobble in your steps, the way your clothes are just a little too wrinkled for someone that’s been sitting around the house all day.

But Eren notices it, of course, and doesn’t miss the way Zeke practically keeps one eye on you the entire day, no matter who he’s talking to, either.

Maybe if Eren was just a drop stupider, a bit less cunning, you and Zeke could get away with all of it, but he’s not. He thinks it’s his turn to have his fun with you.

Your mother’s even more intolerable than he remembers. He wonders how bad a family dinner could be, but this is much worse than he could have fathomed. It’s a whole host of things, like how she’s oblivious to the affair happening right under her nose and her small comments that have your lips trembling and eyes blinking away tears before they can fall.

Jeez. Eren had initially felt bad for himself, but he’s starting to wonder how you put up with it. Maybe fucking around with Zeke is your own way of getting revenge, payback for every ‘Why do you look so tired, it’s not like you’re the one working all day’ and ‘Don’t you have plans with friends, or are you just gonna bother your parents all day?’

By the time dinner ends, you’ve made your way to the kitchen almost automatically, putting away dishes and wiping counters without even being told, as Zeke gives your mother a cold, hard stare.

“Was all that really necessary?” his brother questions quietly, eyes fuming with anger yet still disguising his true reason for being upset.

“What?” your mother responds innocently, pretending as though she hadn’t said anything wrong. Eren watches the interaction carefully. He thinks it’d be better if he didn’t interject on a married couple’s little spat, but here he goes again, words out before he can control them. They’re spoken a bit louder than they needed to be, but he wants to make sure you hear them over the running water.

“I don’t know, she seems like a good girl to me, no? Maybe you should be easier on her.”

And a few feet away, in the kitchen, your heart skips a beat. Uncle Eren—who you’d only met once and heard about a handful of times, someone who doesn’t owe you anything, someone not even really related to you—defending you?

It was enough to make tears rush to your eyes again, a smile on your face as you rinse off the dishes.

Good girl. The words run through your head again, seemingly on repeat. They’re your two favorite words, enough to pick you up from the dark, sullen headspace you’re in as a result of your mother’s cruel phrases and Zeke’s stinging silence.

Zeke claims it’ll become too obvious, even to your clueless mother, if he always takes your side and speaks up for you, despite how much he wants to, he says. You’re so hopelessly gone, so devoted to him that you don’t think you have it in you to fight for it. The words he says when the two of you are alone, how he makes you feel and spoils you rotten makes up for it, right?

That’s what you’d been telling yourself all this time, but you’re not sure how much longer you can keep the act going. Does he think it’s easy to watch him walk into the bedroom he shares with your mother every night? To watch her kiss him goodbye, hold onto his arm in public, while you trail behind like a lost puppy?

It’s not actually revenge you’re aiming for, when you start greeting Eren in the morning brightly, walking straight on over to him in the living room rather than the kitchen where your step-father is. It’s closer to a plea for attention, like you’re waiting for Zeke to realize you can play at this game too.

Eren’s more than happy to indulge you, spending hours of the day beside you on the couch watching movies, or watering the lawn while you work on your garden, claiming that he just wants to help out around the house as much as he can. His weekend-long visit turns into a week, as the ‘good for nothing contractors are taking their sweet time.’

It’s terribly easy to make you believe every word he’s saying, with you even defending him when Zeke asks how much longer he’s planning on sticking around.

“He’s family,” you had argued valiantly, leaving your step-father with narrowed eyes and a tense jaw as he noticed Eren smiling behind you. For once, your mother had agreed with you, and Zeke was left with no choice.

It’s sunny and warm when Eren’s opportunity, the one he’s been waiting for patiently, appears. Your mother’s gone out again, this time to the salon, there’s that hour of time right after she’s left that you usually treasure, because you know there’s no chance she’ll be on her way back or call home.

It’s usually your favorite time of the day, when you know you can have Zeke all to yourself, and that’s what you’re thinking, when you hesitantly make your way to the door of his office.

Truly, you hadn’t meant to make Zeke angry, you just wanted to be there for Uncle Eren how he was there for you. You were ready to make up and forget about it now, dolled up in a new sundress that you hadn’t gotten a chance to wear yet. Zeke had bought it only weeks ago, before Uncle Eren’s sudden visit, and you thought he might like it if you wore it now.

Your hand has just reached the cool metal of the doorknob, just about to twist when you hear a ringing from inside the room, of Zeke’s phone going off.

You step back, knowing better than to interrupt one of his calls. You’re disheartened a little, mind wondering why he would schedule something when you and he both know this is your hour, your chance to be alone.

You make your way back downstairs, lingering on the last step and thinking about going back up in a few minutes, when Uncle Eren’s voice calls to you from the living room, making you jump a little.

“Oh, sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, voice calm and quiet, a contrast to your thudding heart.

“That’s okay, Uncle Eren,” you say, and your head turns back to look in the direction of Zeke’s office inadvertently. “I was just-”

“Waiting for Daddy, huh?” Your lips part a little in surprise, confused by his implication. Though surely, Zeke wouldn’t have told Uncle Eren anything. No, he wouldn’t do that.

Right?

“I-I just needed to ask him something, but I think he’s on the phone with someone,” you say quietly, confused at Eren’s tone, the confidence with which he spoke those words, almost mockingly.

“Oh, yeah. He told me he’s busy all afternoon, something or other about work and a report-” Eren stops himself right when he notices your expression change, looking thoroughly upset that Zeke was busy when you were ripe for the taking. “He didn’t tell you about that?”

Fuel to the fire, maybe a bit too much, but Eren doesn’t care. Not as long as you keep it up, looking like a maimed little prey upon realizing that Daddy was too busy for you.

Yes, Eren was getting much better with the lying. It doesn’t even register to you to question his words, to go back up and double check, that Zeke might, in fact, be waiting for you to knock on his door at this very second.

Your feet find their way to the sofa, slumping down dejectedly, as Eren sits right next to you. It’s the way you two have been sitting for the past week, except he’s ready to take the risk. His hand finds your knee, thumb rubbing the soft skin as you let out a shaky breath, wiping away a stray tear.

“All afternoon?” comes your quiet voice, trembling at the mere notion that Zeke was upset with you. You hadn’t meant to take it this far, hadn’t thought he would be ignoring you just because you disagreed with something he said for the first time.

But your sadness is turning into something different when you look at the hungry, almost predatory way Uncle Eren is looking at you now.

“That’s what he said, sweetheart. Did you two have plans, or something?” It’s coming off nonchalant, or so he hopes, because every bone in his body is excited at the prospect before him, blood rushing to his hardening cock as he catches a glimpse of your exposed skin as you fiddle with the hem of your dress.

“N-no, I just… He always spends time with me when mom leaves. I just thought he would be free.”

It’s the sweet, lonely way you’re looking into his eyes, your own doe-like and watery, that tips him over the edge.

“Well, I can keep you company.”

“R-really?”

“Yeah, baby. A sweet thing like you shouldn’t be left all alone… it’s not right, well, at least to me.”

“Yeah?” Eren nods his head, line between his lies and the truth blurring suddenly as you inch closer and closer to him.

“I wouldn’t treat you like that, if you were mine, you know-” and he can’t finish his sentence, because your hands are on the collar of his shirt and you’re shifting onto his lap, and your lips are on each other.

It’s stupid, you know, to be so easily guided by a few choice words, putty in virtually anyone’s hands if they say the right things and make you feel seen and heard, but you can’t stop now.

Eren’s tongue is in your mouth, your lips practically glued together as you feel his hands go under the soft cotton of your dress, exploring the supple skin of your thighs. It’s not long before his hands find your ass, squeezing and groping as moan into his mouth.

A sharp slap to your ass makes you yelp, pulling away for just a second before Eren’s hand is on the back of your neck, guiding you into a kiss again. You moan again, louder, when his teeth bite down on your lip just a little bit, when Eren finally pulls away.

“Can’t be too loud, remember, sweetheart? Daddy’s busy upstairs,” he says, somehow knowing exactly what would rile you up. The words act like a little shock running through your system, making you even more eager for Eren’s touch.

“Don’t care-!” you mewl, head going fuzzy when you feel Eren’s hard cock grind against your core, waves of pleasure rushing through your body. You’re still, Eren’s hand coming up to cover your mouth as he continues his rocking movement, making you moan against his hand.

Your eyes roll back when Eren increases his speed, and it’s silly, how the barely-there contact is making you shake, the coil in your stomach tense and unwinding, when Eren stops completely.

You whine loudly, muffled some by his hand, but not entirely, causing Eren to spank you again.

“I thought you were a good girl, hm? Don’t get bratty on me now,” he says, though he thinks it went in one ear and out the other as you come down from your incomplete high.

“I want-I want you, Uncle Eren, now-!” Another whine, another spank. You cry out again, until the fourth slap—which leaves your ass sore already from Eren’s heavy-handedness—silences you.

“Sweetheart, stop misbehaving or you’re not gonna get anything, okay?” he coos, fingers finding your chin and directing your face to look him in the eyes. They’re lust-blown too, and his hardness is still evident underneath your body, but your body’s inclined to follow his rules, despite how badly you want to cum.

“Yes, Uncle Eren,” you say softly, your squirming body finally stopping. Eren’s fingers find their way to the thin straps of your sundress, pulling them until they rest on your shoulder and expose your neck and collar to him.

“Tell me something, baby, did you wear this for me? Or for him?” The very mention of Zeke makes your body stiffen, but you’re still desperate for more and eager to please Uncle Eren.

“For you,” you mumble, wanting to just bury your head in the crook of Eren’s neck and feel him inside you, though you know you won’t get what you want that easily.

“Me? I’m so honored,” he says, letting out a laugh at how your body shakes in anticipation but you stay completely still. He wonders if Zeke had to teach you to be this obedient, or if it just comes to you naturally.

He thinks it’s the latter when he rolls his hips quickly, watching you squirm and bite your lip hard to keep quiet, another rush of pleasure coursing through you, though it’s not nearly enough.

“It’s okay, baby, you’ve been good enough to me, haven’t you?” he asks, and you nod your head quickly. “You deserve to feel good, don’t you?” You nod again and let out a shaky breath when Eren moves your hips with his hands, finally giving you the much-needed pressure on your clit.

“Why don’t you cum for me, baby, just like this? Mmh?” You’re letting out little squeals at each contact, hips moving faster and faster as Eren lays back and lets you use his cock as a toy to grind against. His head falls back at how good it feels, though he won’t let himself cum until he’s inside you.

You’re close again, stomach tensing again and that familiar feeling gathering inside your chest, making you feel warm all over as you speed up.

The breaking point is when Eren’s hands come to your chest, pulling down your dress and exposing your tits to the cool air. His fingers pinch one while his mouth finds the other, and suddenly you can’t keep quiet no matter how hard you try, moans spilling out your mouth as well as repeated cries of Uncle Eren, that sound sweet as sugar to Eren.

It’s when Eren starts bucking his hips up too, that you finally cum, a bolt of pleasure running through your entire body as he keeps going. You’re not entirely sure what kind of noises you’re making—everything seems to be muted and fuzzy as repeated shocks make you shake, Eren’s firm grip on your tits being the only thing that’s grounding you.

When you finally come down, forcing yourself away from Eren’s lap and legs pressed tightly together to calm your oversensitive cunt, there’s a lecherous look in Eren’s eyes. It’s screaming to you, silently, how he’s not done with you yet.

“Aw, baby, look how fast you came just from a little bit of humping. Are you that desperate, bunny? Is Daddy not taking care of you?”

Your face feels like it might be on fire, blood and heat rushing at the same time and burning quickly with shame at the realization that Eren knew all along, that he’s been playing this little game with you since his arrival and you never, not once, had the upper hand.

He feels more predatory than ever before, spreading your legs despite how your legs ache and your core is burning—even if you wanted more, you don’t think you could take it—but it doesn’t seem like Eren cares.

“U-uncle Eren, we shouldn’t- h-he might-” you start, but are cut off as Eren presses a finger to your lips.

“Sweetheart, isn’t that a little unfair? If you get to cum, and I don’t? Be a good girl and spread for me,” he says, and you feel your body comply automatically.

Your back’s on the couch now, Eren hovering over you. All it would take is a few steps in this direction after coming down the stairs for someone to find you, but you can hardly care when Eren’s shoving your dress up, exposing your panties and shoving them to the side, your wetness on display for him.

“One day, baby, when Daddy’s not here, I’m gonna fuck you stupid with my tongue—just not today,” and the words go straight to your head. Your heart thuds uncomfortably in your chest every time he mentions Zeke, a sense of guilt washing over you and replacing the pleasure you feel, but you forget all about it when you see Eren undos his pants and take out his hardened cock.

It’s plainly wrong to compare it to Zeke’s, and though it might not be longer, it’s definitely thicker, not as pretty but covered in throbbing veins that you can’t even imagine feeling inside you.

Eren’s about to grant your wish, running his cockhead over your sensitive clit once, twice, and just as you're expecting a third, he pushes inside of you.

A strangled, loud moan escapes your lips before he can cover your mouth again. It’s agonizing, not being able to make a sound as your step-uncle fucks you into the couch, movements picking up and a steady pace filling the room with obscene noises. You can’t see where the two of you are connected, since your eyes are locked with Eren’s pretty green ones, but you know you’re making a mess.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before, every thrust stretching you out, you think he’s ruined your cunt for anyone else—but that’s exactly what he wants.

It’s silent, save for the heavy patter of Eren’s balls against your ass with each thrust, the sound of his hips knocking with yours. He’s trying to keep his grunts silent, but it’s getting harder and harder with the way you’re clenching around him, so tight and wet and soft, he wonders what his brother did to deserve someone like you—he wonders why he doesn’t spend every minute inside you.

Your sensitive cunt tightens around him, knowing only another few strokes and grazes on your clit will be enough to tip you into your second orgasm. Your shaky hand finds Eren’s, pulling his wrist away from your face and meeting his lips again, releasing muffled moans into his mouth.

You know he’s close too, from the way his pace picks up, and you pull away just for a second, just to say three words.

“Please, Uncle Eren.”

And it’s enough to make his hips stutter, enough to uncoil the knot in your tense stomach and have your orgasm washing over you, as you feel Eren fill your cunt with his hot cum. Your lips are on each other, the lewd squelching of his slowing thrusts matching the small squeaks you release, until he finally pulls out and your panties snap back over your leaking cunt.

It’s hard to catch your breath, from your position laying down, feeling your tight hole throb and Eren’s cum spill out, probably onto the sofa seat. You adjust the top of your dress, covering your tits and pulling one strap up. When you’re fixing the skirt, you feel Eren’s hands pull the other strap onto your shoulder, hands lingering on your exposed skin.

You shy away from looking at him, despite how his cum is still inside you. It feels too intimate, almost, because a part of you thinks you were taken advantage of, and another part of you doesn’t ever want Eren to leave you.

Eren’s fingers find your chin, forcing you to look up and meet his gaze. You blink quickly, licking your swollen lips and biting the inside of your cheek nervously.

Neither of you speak, though you know what’s lingering in the air. You can tell he’s gotten what he wanted, and he’s going to leave, and yet you can’t stop yourself from speaking first, throat scratchy and dry and your words nothing more than a whisper.

“C-can I… did you- did you mean all those things you said? Before?”

And suddenly Eren understands everything, why you’re this way, why you need to be validated so badly, why his brother’s such a good match for you. He thinks he’d sacrifice anything too, like his marriage and a new life, just to make you happy.

“Of course I did, sweetheart. I meant every word of it.”

“Really?” There’s a soft smile on your lips, your eyes watery and he thinks it doesn’t have anything to do with how hard he fucked you.

“Yeah, I-”

“Well, what do we have here?” Zeke’s voice comes from behind you.

#... uh yeah <3 step uncle eren #eren yeager #eren jaeger #eren yeager imagine #eren yeager smut #eren yeager x reader #eren x reader #eren smut #eren jaeger smut #eren jaeger imagine #eren jaeger x reader #aot #fics #tw step cest #tw dubcon

[beyondspaceandstars]

Happy Engagement

Relationship: Loki x Reader Warnings: contains some dark elements: manipulation Summary: Loki has always thought of you as his and there isn’t anything he won’t do to keep it that way. A/N: I’ve been sitting on this one shot for a while! I had the idea for it months ago and finally wrote it and then it just sat on my computer while I wrote other stuff but I figured since I don’t have anything really new this week it’d be perfect to put out! I hope you enjoy it because I greatly do :)

Masterlist

Loki had always been an interesting force in your life.

You two met when you were just children in school. You two were the official unofficial outsides of your school year — he was a prince, you were a peasant. Despite his royal standing, he’d play with you at recess. For these outlier ways, you two never interacted much with the other kids, life practically forcing you two to one another.

At such a young age, you hadn’t realized how significant this bond would become. As a child, you were just glad someone was talking to you. He shouldn’t have even been looking at you, should’ve maybe been disgusted with your presence alone. You should’ve been some onlooker, amazed by him and his magic but you weren’t — well, except for the magic part. His magic was little when you were kids but it drew quite the amazement from you.

Over time, you two naturally grew with one another. From childhood into your teens and still, now, you two made an unlikely pair of best friends as young adults. All of this though did not come without some bumps along the way.

In your teens, Loki had almost completely shut you out. For some reason, he seemed to be acting embarrassed by you. Your mother had warned you this may happen but you thought he was different, swore he was, unless his sincerity was like the many other tricks he played. Eventually, supposedly after some talking down from his brother, Loki appeared back at your door asking if you wanted to go for a walk.

This disappearing and coming back had become a habit for him over his teenage years and into adulthood. Loki never explicitly told you why but you could tell there was something eating away at him. It had been there a long time and it felt like disassociating himself with you was his solution.

You thought everything was coming to an abrupt end when you fell pregnant. You had been seeing a nobleman who was a regular customer in your parents’ shop. He was absolutely charming and delightful, practically swept you right off your feet within minutes of meeting. Your parents were ecstatic when he asked to court you.

You yourself were stunned but you ran to tell Loki about it. He was speechless. You tried telling him about the man but something in Loki snapped. He got unreasonably upset, spewing hateful comments about the man, practically forcing you out of his chambers in the process. He went radio silent again.

You tried to ignore losing your best friend — again — and focused on your new relationship. He wooed you endlessly with dates to lavish dinners and dawning you in lovely gowns. It was all so much more than you had ever expected in life. He’d tell you you deserved it and whisper sweet nothings in your ear as you two would get so lost in one another.

A bit shamefully, hypnotized by the romantics of it all, you gave yourself to him. Tangled in the sheets with him as your guide, you let the man you felt you would marry have every last bit of you.

And for a while after, it was blissful. Nothing had seemed to change between you two until he announced he had to go away for a bit. Confused, you asked why suddenly now facing the fact you were losing another person in your life. He explained he was needed by his father on a different realm, part of the family "business," as he described it.

Days after his departure, you learned you were pregnant. Around this time, Loki popped back up in your life. You felt relieved having someone to confide in but when you told him of your pregnancy, he was far from the supportive force you thought you’d get. He didn’t yell or get upset per se but he was beyond stunned.  

He left for a bit then but can back in less time than last. This time he brought along baby supplies and congratulated you. It was a complete one-eighty from his prior behavior but you accepted it, gratefully. Loki ended up being your main person throughout the pregnancy as clues of when your boyfriend would return were nonexistent.

"Did he know you were carrying his child when he left?" Loki had asked you one night. You two were sitting in the living room of the makeshift house you had acquired. You didn’t feel very good that this was the home you were bringing a child into when you knew her father could’ve provided her with a better one. But, at the end of the day, it was a roof over both your heads.

You crocheted another knot in the baby blanket. "No, he didn’t. I didn’t even know."

Loki gave a passing hum at that answer. He didn’t ask about your boyfriend very much after that.

Once your baby girl arrived, she became your entire world, your entire focus. Between caring for her and working to provide, you had little time to worry about your boyfriend still being gone. But it wasn’t as lonely as it may have looked because Loki was always by your side. Working around his royal duties, he’d take time to come visit you and your daughter even sometimes staying for dinner or to play with her. You didn’t miss how he was unintentionally becoming the father she was missing. You never said anything, though, always biting your tongue as you waited for her father to return.

Hope began to face on that front after your daughter turned three. Maybe he was just a footnote in your life, a foolish hopeful dream, but at least he had given you the lovely gift of your child. You weren’t giving up, still placing him in the boyfriend spot of your mind, but you couldn’t deny doubt crept in. Maybe a relationship of any capacity just wasn’t in the cards for you.

Or so you thought.

As Loki continued with his royal responsibilities, he was growing older and more powerful. That’s when the rumors of marriage began floating about. Your mother had brought it up to you once asking if you met any of his potential suitors. Your stomach did a somersault. You didn’t even know there were suitors, let alone met any of them. You tried to keep your cool and just told her no.

Who these suitors were and if they really existed, you never found out. You never even had the guts to ask about them especially after Loki pulled you aside one night after a dinner at the palace.

He rarely ever invited you to dinners with his family so to get this spontaneous invitation, you didn’t hesitate to attend. He even allowed you to bring along your daughter. She was playing with some servants’ children when Loki asked you to the garden.

"Feeling like a nighttime stroll?" You asked with a little laugh. Loki just smiled.

"There’s actually something I want to speak to you about."

"Oh," you frowned. "Is everything okay?"

Loki nodded. "Yes, yes, everything is fine." He looked up at the sky, almost lost in thought as you walked. You thought for a split second how lovely he looked. "I’m sure you have heard by now the…talk about my anticipated engagement."

Your heart practically stopped beating at that moment. Your hands instinctively gripped at the skirt of your dress as if you were ready to run away at the drop of a hat. Trying to keep your voice stead, you said, "Yes, I believe my mother mentioned that to me the other day."

He shot you an unreadable side glance. Your hands gripped the fabric tighter. Why were you feeling like this? Was that…jealousy you felt? You didn’t understand where that had come from. This was your best friend. Your prince best friend. He was bound to get married and have a lavish life with his bride. You couldn’t stop that, you couldn’t change it.

"Do you know anything of the women I have been offered?"

Was this another one of his cruel jokes? You wanted to vomit all over the bushes of flowers passing you as you walked. You managed to shake your head in response. "I’m sure they’re all wonderful."

He scoffed. "More like they’re all incredibly boring."

You gasped, "Loki, I’m not sure you should be speaking that way of them."

"It’s doesn’t matter," he shrugged, "because none of them are what I want."

You didn’t know if you actually wanted to know what he was seeking. You looked at him wearily.

You two walked in silence for a moment. Loki was now watching the ground intensely. You couldn’t believe how much his gaze was wandering. It must’ve been for courage because the next words out of his mouth were ones you had never thought you’d ever hear. From anyone.

"I believe you could be what I want," he said. He spoke your name so softly. "I’d like to ask for your hand in marriage."

You stopped walking, your legs suddenly unable to move. Your eyes grew wide as complete shock raced over you. You didn’t know what to do, too scared to speak because you didn’t know what was going to come out. Your first thought was that this was one of his magic tricks. Maybe he wasn’t even here, just a clone of him as he wished to make a fool of you. It wouldn’t be the first time but he had never been so cruel.

"You’re not saying anything," Loki noted. He had stopped a few feet ahead of you, completely taken off guard by your halt.

"I-I don’t understand." The words felt so heavy forcing their way out of your mouth.

"I don’t believe I stuttered, dear."

Your jaw dropped, surprised it hadn’t hit the floor already. He was seriously asking this. Loki, a literal prince, and your best friend, was asking for your hand in marriage. But — But you just didn’t know why. Why would he ask such a thing? Not only were you an unwed mother, he knew very well about your boyfriend. It was almost insulting he’d think you’d give up just because business or whatever it was was taking a while. You didn’t even want to begin to think about what this could all mean for your daughter.

"Loki… I… I don’t know. This seems crazy—,"

"Crazy?" His expression turned dark. You suddenly regretted the word despite it holding true. "What is so crazy about me wanting to take your hand? I thought this could be good. You and your daughter would have everything you’d ever want. You’d be a princess for crying out loud!"

You flinched at his anger. You had never seen him so enraged before. It made your whole body stiffen.

"I see. This… This is very generous of you but my boyfriend…"

Loki chuckled but there wasn’t any humor found within it. "Of course. The nobleman." He rolled his eyes. "Tell me again, dear, how long has it been? Do you really think he’s going to just show back up one day?"

"Of course," you nodded. "He told me—,"

"He’s not coming back."

You began shaking your head, growing more and more upset as the seconds passed. "You don’t know that."

Loki sighed, defeatedly. "I do know that, dear." A heavy pause. "I know that because I’m the one that sent him away."

You were certain in that moment your heart had stopped. Everything had stopped. You could barely tell anymore how you got from point A to point B.

"Wh-What do you mean?"

"What I mean is I’ve had my eye on you for a long time," he explained. He was standing so tall making you feel minuscule. "I always thought you could be just right for me but then that nobleman waltzed into your life. Granted, he wasn’t me. He couldn’t give you what I could but he tried his best." Loki shrugged. "I had no choice, really. He threatened everything. He derailed my plan but it’s alright. I think after tonight it’ll be back on track, correct?"

You held your hands up in defense, practically begging Loki to slow down. Your head was spinning. "You sent away the father of my child?"

Loki sighed, sounding actually regretful. "Truly, that wasn’t ever my intention. I didn’t know he was going to do that."

"And you think since you forced him out of the picture, you can swoop in and ask for my hand in marriage? We never had a courtship! Are you even hearing yourself?"

"I’m a prince, darling." He sounded so casual. "We do not court like the rest of you."

Gosh, you felt like you were going to vomit. Your hands fell to your stomach as you tried to calm yourself. You had never heard Loki separate you two so clearly before. Like he had drawn a line, definitively.

Your words tasted like venom as you forced yourself to speak. "Can I at least think about it?"

"I’m afraid not. They’d like an answer tonight."

Tonight. That was what this dinner had been for. You weren’t invited just out of the kindness of his heart. You had been attending your own engagement party.

"Loki, this… I— This is insane. You’re— You’re insane—,"

"Am I, really?" He pressed, taking a few steps closer. You trembled under a darkened gaze you had never seen before on him. "I’m not sure that’s how you should be speaking to the man trying to offer you a bit of… stability."

"Stability?" You repeated. "You think that’s all that I want?"

"Would this not grant your daughter a better life? The little shop of yours is only getting you two so far, dear."

The shock had worn off as you were now being filled with rage. "Don’t you dare bring my daughter into this anymore," you gritted. "Of course, I want nothing but the best for her but I also deserve someone who will truly love me. You’re — You’re just asking to fulfill some royal commitment and trying to pass it off like this is some big, grand gesture to help me."

Loki looked a bit taken back by your words. Even you were a bit surprised by yourself. You didn’t know where this fight was coming from within you. Probably from the depths of motherhood, if you had to guess. But it felt good in a way.

After a heavy moment, Loki asked, "Was I so wrong to assume this proposal could actually help us both?"

That was the real kicker of it all, you thought. This actually could help you both.

"I want to marry someone who loves me."

Loki seemed to debate around the idea mentally. "I’m certain that within time something could bloom. I’m not a psychopath, darling." He smirked. "But I truly can’t believe you’d give this up all for the minuscule chance at love, the hopeless thing that got you where you are today."

You gasped. "I would’ve had true love if you hadn’t banished him away!"

Loki let out a humorless laugh. "You are so adorable, you know that?" You flinched as he got close enough now to place a hand on your damp cheek. You were practically forced to look in his eyes as he spoke. "That man was nothing but a spoiled brat and I refuse to believe you actually fell for his game."

You felt yourself crumbling down again. Way beneath him. "He… He was really…"

"Don’t you dare try to defend him, do you hear me?" Loki spat. That darkness was washing over but this time it felt like a storm you couldn’t escape. "I will not have my bride speak such niceties about another man."

"Your bride—,"

"While I’ve enjoyed this little midnight confessional, we have some good news to share with everyone, don’t we?"

You didn’t know what to do. What to think anymore. He wasn’t letting up. You were trapped. It was like the prison gate had shut behind you. You were stone-cold now, completely under his control. You were giving up in complete defeat. You could scream until you were blue in the face but you were running in circles. At least your daughter would know a home.

"Yes."

Loki’s face lit up. He removed his hands from you. "Fantastic," he said, heading back towards the palace. You helplessly followed beside him. He wrapped an arm around your waist and said, "Happy engagement, dear."

#loki #mcu loki #loki imagine #loki fic #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x you #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson drabble #loki laufeyson imagine #loki angst #loki fluff #dark tw #dark!loki #dark!loki laufeyson #dark!loki x reader #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x original female character #dark!loki x you #mcu fic #mcu #marvel one shot #marvel fanfiction #marvel #one shot #dark #angst #asgardian!reader

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Slumbering Hearts (Alcina Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 2

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: None Summary: In a wicked twist of fate, you find out your soulmate is none other than your employer, Lady Dimitrescu. To your misery, she (at first) seems equally displeased, her heart already belonging to another. But in time, the two of you find yourselves wondering… could the universe be right, after all? Soulmate AU in which every person has a unique “soul mark”, which they share with their soulmate. Notes: Reader gets a bit of a backstory here, with just enough concrete details to serve the plot in future chapters. Hopefully enough is kept vague for people to enjoy it. Now... Time to meet your new kids-in-law/the gremlins :) Previous Chapters: 1: In The Shadow Of Giants

2: Uncertain Destinations

“You already know my name, as well as my fate, and I have neither threats nor demands to make of you. I am at your mercy, regrettably, with nothing more to say. Shall we consider ourselves ‘introduced’? Or is there more you wish to ask of me?” You wonder, eying ‘Alcina’ with a bored expression. It felt odd to refer to her that way, even within the confines of your mind. She had been ‘Lady Dimitrescu’ for as long as you could remember; starting with your years in the village, and continuing through your months here at the castle. One day, perhaps, you would grow used to calling her by her first name. For now, you simply hoped to focus on other matters.

“Tell me of yourself, your past. Who were you before you came here?” Alcina asks, surprising you. What did it matter, now that you were stuck here? At first you shrug, avoiding eye contact, not wanting to open yourself up to her. But before long she’s placed a hand on your shoulder, applying just enough pressure to encourage you to speak. You win this round, you think.

“Somehow I doubt you’ll find it terribly interesting. I was born in the outskirts of the village, on a small farm, just like any other. I had a pet dog, went to ‘school’ with my neighbors, and spent my weekends volunteering with the church. The only thing you might not expect is that I lived outside the village for about a decade. Traveled for a while, never really staying anywhere for terribly long. Eventually, I got tired, and so I came back to help my parents with what little property they had left,” you explain, quietly. Being vague had been intentional, considering the nature of a few details. Did she need to know why you had left? Or that you had once revered Mother Miranda?... No, because if she learned that, it would not be long before she learned that you had changed your mind years ago. Something told you that she wouldn’t appreciate your lack of faith in her mistress. “That was six months ago, roughly. Barely got to spend time with my parents before I was ‘donated’ to the staff here.”

“Not many ever leave the village. Those that do rarely, if ever, return. How particular,” Alcina replies, giving a soft hum. There’s something in her expression that tells you she’ll eventually ask you to elaborate. For now, however, she seems content to move on. Internally you sigh in relief. “I suppose this is sufficient to sate my curiosity, for the time being. Now come with me, I’d like to introduce you to my daughters, to ensure that they understand you are… off limits.” With that said she stands, once more reminding you just how small and fragile you are in comparison, before heading towards the exit. You’re nearly forced to jog in order to keep up with her long strides. As she leads you through hallways, down a flight of stairs, and past several nervous looking maidens, she slows down the slightest bit, having eventually noticed your struggle. Admittedly, that’s more kindness than you would have anticipated. Perhaps she was used to adjusting her pace for her daughters?

Whatever the reason, you do appreciate it. Still, by the time you arrive at your destination, the castle’s library, your legs are feeling the smallest bit sore. Brushing off the ache, you follow Alcina inside. Then you’re taking in the sights, having not been here before, admiring the impressive collection. Glad I’m not responsible for cleaning this place, you think as you pass by dozens of filled shelves. Before long you encounter the three daughters. They’re sitting in a semi-circle, each with their own book, though they’re quick to sit up once they spy their mother. One by one they’re smiling up at her, not even sparing you a moment’s glance. Admittedly you’re glad for that. What good could come from their attention, especially when they don’t yet know who you ‘truly’ are?

“I’m glad to see you’re all in one place, my darlings. There has been a… development, of sorts,” Alcina says, speaking in the same tone one might use to address a faculty meeting. In a less intimidating household, it would have been much harder to hold in a laugh. Was this always how she spoke to her children? For their sake, you hoped not (though the concept was amusing). Regardless, it is at this point that the daughters notice you, with one of them looking intrigued enough to send a shiver down your spine. You’re pretty sure her name is Daniela, being the only one you haven’t met before today. A toothy grin spreads on her lips, and once you make eye contact you swear that she winks at you. This literally could not be any worse, you think, unable to stop yourself from frowning.

“Does it have to do with this little thing?” Daniela purrs, taking a step towards you. Instantly both Alcina and yourself are tensing up. While your soulmate shifts in front of you, an incredibly faint rosy tint to her cheeks, all you can do is pinch the bridge of your nose between two fingers.

“This ‘little thing’ is not your newest playtoy, Daniela. Rather, they are my-” she hesitates, disliking the way the word feels in her mouth- “soulmate. I expect the three of you to behave, understood? At the very most, you are allowed to prevent them from leaving the premises, but even then I expect you to remain gentle. Have I made myself clear?” Alcina asks. Now she’s not the only one blushing, as Daniela looks so embarrassed that you wonder if she’ll pass out. Maybe now you’ll think twice about flirting with everyone you meet, you think, remembering the various rumors you’ve heard about her. For a moment, part of you imagines what your relationship with her would look like, were you to continue ‘courting’ her mother. Could this be a moment you could torment her with for life? Get some cheeky revenge for all the maidens who couldn’t risk it? A lovely thought, though one soon interrupted.

“Of course, mother. We will not lay a single finger on them, unless we have no other choice. Right, sisters?” Bela replies, turning to her siblings with an expectant look. Neither of them seem terribly pleased, but they nod, each giving their own verbal affirmations. All three spend a few moments glancing you over, reevaluating you now that they know who you are, appraising your worth. It’s not hard to imagine that they all find you lacking- at least in comparison to their mother. “Are introductions in order? We’ve met before, but I hardly know anything about them. It would be… nice to properly meet the newest edition to our family.” The way Bela says the words makes you nervous, and the way Cassandra grins only worsens the feeling.

“If you desire such, I see no reason to forgo such a thing. Perhaps the three of you could give them a tour? I must return to my duties, and I doubt they have seen much of the castle, given their… former occupation,” Alcina admits, softly. Was this a confirmation that you’d no longer have to spend every day working yourself to the bone? On one hand you were somewhat relieved, but you also regretted the possible loss of your preferred coping method. Worse, were you really going to spend who knows how long with the dreaded Dimitrescu daughters? They were going to rip you to shreds, at least verbally, you were sure of it. How could you ever meet their expectations? If they were anything like their mother, you would never be enough to satisfy them. Or at least that is what you assumed.

“I’ve seen a fair bit,” you interject, awkwardly, hating the way it brings everyone’s gaze back to you. Alcina’s lips twitch, as she fights back a frown. Evidently she didn’t appreciate you countering her suggestion.

“Please, we insist,” Bela fires back, a pleasant tone covering her thinly-veiled animosity. “I’m sure we’ll have a wonderful time getting to know each other. You do want to learn more about your soulmate’s children, don’t you?” Something about the way she speaks makes you want to laugh. When you smile back at her, it’s without a hint of any placating intentions, rather a dewdrop of mischief. Bold of her to assume that you wanted to make her mother happy. After all, it was clear from her phrasing that this was a ‘test’, a ruse to ‘reveal your true colors’ to Alcina. But you were as uneasy about your part in this as Bela was, neither of you finding yourself a suitable match for Alcina. Despite the way she narrows her eyes at you, her mother is smiling again, glad that she had a way to keep you occupied for the time being.

“It’s settled then,” she says, moving to give each of her daughters a kiss on top of their heads. They giggle at the affection, looking rather proud of themselves. Then she turns to you, hesitating, clearly having the instinct to give you a kiss as well. Half of you wants to stand on your tippy-toes, expectantly, wondering if she’d do it (and how flustered it would make her). Instead, you pretend not to notice, accepting the awkward shoulder pat she ends up giving you. “I will see you this evening, for dinner. Do try to enjoy yourself. But don’t forget-” she leans in until her mouth is right next to your ear, breath tickling your neck- “behave yourself. I will not tolerate any tomfoolery, understood?” Alcina does not pull away until you’ve nodded, and you do not relax until the library door has shut behind her.

Except now you’re alone with her daughters. Wonderful.

---------------------------

Dealing with finances was not, to put it simply, Alcina’s ‘favorite’ activity. Although she employed someone to handle the majority of the paperwork, she made sure to go over it herself to ensure accuracy. There were many aspects to her business, being both legitimate and illegitimate, technically. One could never be too careful about their records. After all, failing to file tax returns had taken down Al Capone, of all people. Who was to say that such a mistake, or one in a similar vein, could not damage House Dimitrescu? Certainly it wouldn’t be enough to ruin them entirely, but it could lead to certain ‘nuisances’ bothering the village. At the end of the day, Alcina cared more about the impact it would have on Mother Miranda than anything else, even the possible decline of her household.

A nasty habit, really. Few knew the extent of her self-entitled devotion to the cult leader. The only bond that ran deeper was that she had with her daughters, who meant more to her than she could ever vocalize. Even then, she viewed them as a gift from Miranda, which in turn strengthened her love for the woman. Now that love leaked into everything she did. With a flourish of her pen, she signed away some of this month’s earnings. So what if she already ‘donated’ a large portion of her income to the village and its leader? Certainly this was a way to show the level of her devotion? Certainly Miranda would take notice, eventually? Praise her for it? Take Alcina’s hand in her own, thumb caressing her skin, eyes filled with a long-sought affection?...

The sound of passing footsteps brings her back into the moment, and Alcina stares down at the mountain of paperwork she’d yet to approve. With a deep sigh she readjusts her reading glasses, sets the finished document aside, then gets back to work. A part of her mind soon starts to drift to other subjects. To you, primarily. Would your affection be easier to gain? Steadier?... But could it, in any way, compare to Miranda’s? No matter how she tries to brush the thoughts away, they nip at her heels, circling her head like vultures. Only time would give her the relief she so desperately sought.

---------------------------

“So, don’t tell me you really think you’re my mother’s soulmate, right?” Cassandra says, somewhat grumbling, as you trail behind Bela. It’s less than five minutes into the tour, with the siblings having behaved so far, focused on actually showing you around. At her words, both her sisters started walking slower. Their gazes were still locked ahead of themselves. The way they positioned themselves, however, made it clear that they were listening. “Is it some elaborate scheme, hmm? Did you spend a dozen hours with the other servants, noting every last detail about her soul mark, before copying it? Do you really think that you’ll get away with this?” Well, ‘twas good to know who the most paranoid of the three were.

“Ah, yes, it’s all a great, horrible ruse. You’ve caught me red-handed, I’m afraid,” you chime, sarcastically. A hand goes to your forehead as you fake faintness. “I’m just so desperate to be scrutinized by yourself and your mother, to have my every movement watched, to somehow be less free than I already was. I simply… cannot… believe… that you saw through my bluff.” With that you give a dramatic sigh, pausing in the hallway to give Cassandra a judgemental look. If not for Alcina’s instructions to keep you safe, you’re certain she would have beheaded you on the spot. “I’m not claiming to understand the universe’s decision. But I’m also not giving up immediately, no matter how much the three of you scare me.” At that, Bela stops in her tracks, slowly turning to you. Instinctively you go to take a step backwards, only for Cassandra to catch you, holding you in place. Next thing you know, the oldest daughter is grabbing your head, staring you right in the eyes.

“Answer one question, and maybe I’ll make sure you don’t fall victim to some tragic, unfortunate accident. Can you see yourself loving my mother?” Bela asks, more intense than you’ve ever seen her before. Despite that, you don’t tremble, swallowing your fear long enough to reply.

“Honestly? I don’t know. She’s terrifying… and beautiful. Cruel to some of the maidens I’ve met… and loving to you three. I… I don’t know if I can love her,” you admit, gulping. “But isn’t that part of the point of trying? To find out? I am going to try, for both my sake and hers, to love her. To cherish her. What more would you ask of me? I cannot tell you how the days to come will go, whether or not your mother will enjoy them, or even whether she could love me. This is not a situation you can threaten into resolving the way you want it to. So let me go, finish the tour, and give me a chance. You owe your mother that much, do you not?” Soon enough the hands keeping you in place loosen their grip, and Bela turns away with a scoff. Honestly, you can hardly believe that your little speech worked. You aren’t given much time to celebrate, however, as the sisters quickly resume their walking. Before long, Daniela is speaking up between giggles.

“I like this one already.”

#alcina dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #resident evil: village #re8 village #gremlin trio is protective #they're like #you're not cool enough for our mom #hey tumb please stop fucking up the order of my tags #this is the second time you've messed up my attempt at being funny

[teeztheflag]

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Wolf!Ateez Reaction to when they accidentally hurt their mate

warnings: strong language, fighting, injuries, mentions of blood, mentions of bullying

a/n: ok ok I am really sorry I had to change the request a little bit so it doesn’t become repeating <3

general taglist: @latte-fairytaekwoon @little-precious-baby @yunhobabygurl @multidreams-and-desires

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k i m  h o n g  j o o n g

Usually the alpha was the most caring person with you. Bringing you flowers and spending as much time with you as possible. When the fights between several packs reached his land he knew dangerous times were coming.

Instead of talking to you and taking you to the meetings he decided it would be safer for you to stay in your house guarded when the attacks began.

Little did he know that you were tired of not being included and as the luna of the pack it was time to use your own power to help. Hong Joong was in a full fighting and killing mode when you were circled by five other werewolves who tried to kill you without mercy.

Hong Joong‘s senses were blended when he launched at the intruders and absentmindedly also accidentally bit your leg earning him a painful cry from your wolf.

Immediately he felt like his heart shuttered to pieces not knowing you would be out here in the battlefield. You limp away from your mate and run back to your mansion. Hong Joong changes back into his human and sags to the ground.

He still cannot fully control himself. That’s why he didn’t want you to help. He cries out and lays down on the grass not knowing if he could get under your eyes again.

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p a r k  s e o n g  h w a

Running away from a horde of big - way too big - wolves wasn’t what you planned for your camping trip. It was easy the third time you stumbled over your own feet hearing the low growls behind you. Your blood seems to freeze when you emerge a wide meadow where the only source of light is given by the full moon.

Tears escape your eyes when another whimper leaves you - they circled you. Was this a normal behavior for wolves? What should you do in a situation like this?

You’re only in a light see-through gown because of the hot temperatures these days. It feels like the wolves are strategizing at how they share gazes and let out noises that could be mistaken as chuckling.

Suddenly one of them jumps on you pinning you down to the ground. The animal is flashing it’s dangerous canines at your shaking form. You cannot help yourself to frantically scream and try to push it off you.

It seems to lower itself only more and out of instinct you bare your neck fearing this would be the end for you. The wolf sniffles and licks the spot under your ear. A tear runs down you cheek when you can feel a sharp pain where he draws a little bit of blood.

Suddenly it is pushed off you with force and a much stronger growl leaves a completely black wolf that’s is standing in front of you. You follow the scene in front of you with interested eyes when the other wolves seem to bow down in submission and quickly vanish out of the scene.

Great. The big bad wolf wants you for himself.

It really confuses you when the wolf slowly turns around eying you for a while. You try to get away from it when it nears your form and leans down to lick away the blood that is running down your neck. Again a sound of pain leaves your form to which the wolf backs away in an instant.

A huff can be heard and with conflicted eyes it turns around to escape the scene.

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j e o n g  y u n  h o

„Why are you running away from me?“ No answer.

„Do you like being chased?“ You still don’t answer.

„Okay, (y/n). We know it since three days so why are you not recognizing our bond?“

A tear escapes you which you’re quick to wipe away with the back of your shaking hand. You stop abruptly staring into the depths of the forest. Your gaze turns to the ground when you can sense Yun Ho moving to stand in front of you.

„My little mate. Why aren’t you talking to me? Did I do something wrong?“

„Wrong?“ You look up your hands turning into fists out of anger. Your chest rises with your breaths and you can feel your body heating up.

Yun Ho‘s playful smile soon vanishes and he starts to look concerned. „My love, why are you so sad?“

Of course your souls are already starting to form a connection and he feels your emotions.

„You’re asking if you did something wrong? How about hanging out with all the people that have nothing but bad comments about me left? Laughing at me? Hurting me whenever they can?“

Yun Ho starts to realize what you’re talking about.

„You’ve hurt me, so much already. That is not easy to accept.“

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k a n g  y e o  s a n g

You can feel his eyes burning on your back since half an hour. The beta next to you shamelessly flirts around although he knows your mate is sitting back with his friends.

Yeo Sang was one of the more roguish wolves in your pack always tending to not listen to any orders or picking a fight. Finding out about your bond was actually really shocking to you. You’re probably one of the nicest girls in the pack - according to folks. Always dressed in some pretty dress or blouse and never a too low neckline.

Your connection was still fresh and so far you managed to have the minimum contact with the trouble maker. Just to the point of tonight where the younger people of your pack met up for a campfire and some drinks.

„Wanna take a swim?“ You blush at his words but take his hand anyway letting him guide you through the trees. Standing in front of the lake and seeing that the beta ist already getting rid of his clothes makes you feel bad. He’s smirking at you.

„I don’t know if this is ok...“ Suddenly the beta gets a blow into the face by one of Yeo Sang‘s friends and two of them start to secure the beta in his holds. You’re overwhelmed with the situation immediately and Yeo Sang‘s eyes are dangerously yellow. He gets a painful hold on your wrist screaming at you but you’re not in the position to answer him.

„Y - you’re hurting me.“ Yeo Sang‘s mouth twitches at your words and with a hiss he let’s go of your arm ordering his friends to take you to his home.

The beta spits out blood laughing at the remaining guys and Yeo Sang.

„Great. Now she fears you even more.“ Yeo Sang punches him again knowing he’s right. He lets out a frustrated sigh condemning his short temper.

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c h o i  s a n

It was San‘s highest priority to keep the daughter of their alpha safe. Naturally he was always by your side following you around sometimes to your dismay.

This night you were able to shake the boy off and visit a club with your friends in the town nearby. Mostly humans could be seen here and you finally were able to let loose.

Shaking your body from left to the right you can feel a pair of arms sneaking around your waist to move you to the rhythm with him. Your head falls back landing on the shoulder of your dance partner a permanent smirk on his face.

It all happens to fast when you can feel someone ripping you out of the grip of the stranger. You fall down to the ground hurting your knee in the process. Hissing out you can see your friends immediately rushing to your side while you give the intruder a deadly glare.

San doesn’t stop to give the beautiful man punches when you’re quick to stand up and pry him off the man. San‘s eyes turn into a dangerous color when he eyes you an you know you better get out off here before he looses himself fully.

Outside he has a strong grip on your arm and ushers you into his car. The night flys by while a soft tune is humming. You’re so pissed at him that you decide to better not say anything. Suddenly he speaks up: „You’re letting vampires touch you now? Yeah? The daughter of the alpha is getting it on with vampires!“

„I - I didn’t know he was a - “

„Of course you didn’t! You are so young and literally know nothing!“

After a while of silence you turn to him a sigh escaping you. „I am sorry, San. Thank you for rescuing me...“

His gaze is fixed on the street and he can feel his heart and soul pulling on a bond that is still not touchable for you.

„It is my job to look after you. I failed...“

„No! You didn’t! I promise I won’t ever run away from you again!“ Silence follows but with a last glance San frowns deeply.

„Your knee... this will be a problem when we’re back.“

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s o n g  m i n  g i

„Yes, Min Gi! Just a little bit - closer!“ The wolf under you grunts while balancing you on his shoulders.

Your fingers are close to the fruit that is considered very rare in the realm. Your fingers are close to touching the fruit when suddenly your self made latter shakes and both of you fall down with a low thud.

„Ouch! Min Gi!“ The wolf‘s head hurts and his vision blurrs but hearing your crying he quickly stands up on his paws and howls out.

His tail is wiggling excited while he licks your face and tries to comfort you.

„I - I think my wrist is twisted.“ Tears are running down your cheeks while Min Gi suddenly changes back into his human form a frown on his face.

„Oh my god, I am so sorry!“ He frantically turns from left to right gripping his hair out of frustration. „What should I do what should I do!“

„Min Gi!“ You say through gritted teeth trying to hold in the pain. „Calm down and take me back to the pack!“

Min Gi wears a blank face hurt because he hurt you.

„Min Gi!“

He shakes his head to get a clear mind and sends you a firm nod. „Right. Back to the pack!“

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j u n g  w o o  y o u n g

You and Woo Young often played around in your wolf form chasing each other in the forest. Of course your animal instinct pushed you to little fights from time to time doesn’t matter if it is your mate.

Usually the fights always ended in the two of you changing back into your human body and starting a heated session.

This time unfortunately Woo Young pushed you a little bit to hard against the tree earning him a painful howl out of you. First you can hear him jumping around snickering for winning the battle but when you’re still lying down not moving much he slowly emerges your side tilting his head confused.

„(y/n)?“ He nudges your side with his snout trying to get a response from you but you keep breathing hard letting out little whimpers.

„(y/n)?! Are you hurt?“ Immediately his playful demeanor is gone and he changes back into his human form to search your body for any injuries.

„Oh shit! Change back! Come on!“ He’s totally devastated by now trying to caress you and encourage you with slow motions. You’re a crying mess when you’re back in your naked form.

„Woo Young... my b-back...“ He’s quick to pick you up bridal style and carry you past the trees in a lightning speed.

„Hold on a little bit longer, sweetheart.“ His firm voice and determined gaze really does it‘s wonders and you try to hang on to it until you reach the hospital.

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c h o i  j o n g  h o

Jong Ho could only snicker how you always managed to get out of his way. The campus was big and you really thought the handsome male that just happened to cross your way out of pure coincidence. Of course Jong Ho made sure to follow your every step because he just couldn’t help himself.

Finally finding his mate filled his body with adrenaline and having you not in the eye sight drove him crazy. The only problem that stopped him from immediately getting to you: you’re human. Probably not knowing about the world of magic and their creatures.

It was just the problem that you happened to have a boyfriend and one day it was too late for self control when he had the boy pinned to the wall in one of the cafeterias of the campus.

„Stay away from her!“ Your boyfriend shuddered at the low growl that came from the boy in front of him not knowing the slightest what he did wrong when he just gave a you peck on the cheek.

You screamed and kicked at him not knowing what happened a few seconds ago. When he suddenly turns around leaving you dumbfounded and all the others in the location you decide you wouldn’t let him go this easily.

You follow him and don’t even recognize that he’s going into the woods. He stops in his tracks when you don’t stop talking and you can see him breathing hard. Jong Ho tries to control his feelings but the frustration is taking over and when you try to turn him around by his shoulder he accidentally pushes you.

Your head collides with a stone and blood can be seen leaving the desperate wolf speechless. He runs to your side trying to wake you up but he’s getting no reaction out of your form. With tears pricking his eyes he’s quick to carry you to his pack to help you knowing it is now to late for you to turn back.

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#ateez wolf #ateez werewolf #ateez mate #ateez reaction #ateez au #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez writing #ateez reactions #ateez x reader #ateez werewolf au #ateez wolf au

[cornacopicimagines]

A Rose Blooms │t.h

pairing: prince!tom holland x princess!reader

words: 8.4k (WHOOPS)

warnings: arranged marriage, SMUT (we been knew), slight praise kink and 10000% breeding kink, therefore unprotected sex, swearing, slight cockwarming & good lord there is so much

summary: Perhaps God does have a sick sense of humour. To allow such misguided souls to one another. Souls that shouldn't be allowed to feel the sense of happiness he can provide, that should accept their dire situations. The Prince of Wales and his new bride can attest to the quite well. 

a/n: what do y'all mean a historical prince au!tom holland with major smut and breeding kink is not a thing. i know the sluts want it, even if they never ask for it. i must provide it.

masterlist

━━★✼☆｡

y/n of Burgundy was a splendid piece of artwork. A sweet and humble French Princess with a huge dowry and a bright future. It was as if DaVinci had casted the girl from Venus's shadow and gifted the baby to displeased parents. Parents who so wished for a boy, that the arrival of a healthy girl is so overlooked that the girl is better off dead. The sadness is heard across not only France but the entirety of Europe. Poor y/n of Burgundy! The Unlucky Princess of Burgundy! It's all she hears; she is deemed a tragedy before her life is even written. Perhaps that is her greatest misdeed in this life, that because she is born the wrong sex to what is expected she is casted to the side as a woman destined for slight and anguish for her entire life. Even if this is the case, y/n wished to think of herself as unwritten for the moment being. A woman waiting for a calling no matter how big or small. A woman who's only current wish to sit atop this windowsill, letting the cool September French breeze kiss her flushed cheeks. Alas, even this is stripped from her.

"Get off the window, y/n!" her mother's shrill voice shrieks as The Duchess yanks y/n to the floor. It's harsh and frantic, as if an arrow is to fly through and hit her. Her tightly coiled chest hit's the wooden floor hard. It knocks the only wind y/n really has left, a wasteful shame.

"I am sorry mama," y/n responds quietly, her hands desperately pat to find a piece of wood that will not cut up into her as she attempts to regain her balance. Though her room is filled with four maids not a single one offers their own hand to help her. She knows it is because of her mother's cowl. If they dare so move in a direction towards her, The Duchess will become a Fury of Hell himself.

"The breeze is so sweet at this time of afternoon." Finally, y/n does place her feet back on the floor with a small clack of her heels. She takes a moment to take in the state of her gown. While she has countless others, something about the pure white of the satin being destroyed by the inevitable dust that has collected is disheartening even to her. The pattern of bright red roses now looks more of a dull blood grey than a true flower.

"The breeze is something so frivolous my dear," The Duchess is suddenly content with her surroundings. "Busy yourself with something more intelligent, it makes for a much better bride." 

"Thank you for the wise advice mother," y/n snaps, her fingers gripping the ruined material of her gown. "I'll be sure to not engage myself in something that gives me the slightest bit of freedom in the lifeless castle," it was no louder than a whisper. Her braided hair still muffling the sounds.

As if her words seemed to not even reach her, The Duchess mumbles in agreement before taking her leave. The door shutting loudly behind her, the air was finally safe to breathe. The maids immediately begin to swarm her. Like flies to honey; they grapple her, prod at her and pinch her. It was too much. It was as if a million ants had swarmed her body, nipping at any piece of flesh they could just because it was what they were meant to do. An instinctive need to draw more blood than necessary, it was overwhelming. They inspected her perfectly capable hands, wondering if their incompetence has cost them their heads because y/n of Brittany split her blood and The Duchess refused to let them help. She was suffocating.

She didn't mean for it to slip, it just did. Her voice raised, "Get out." It was softer at first. "Get out," they still didn't move, still abusing her. "I said get out!" Everything stopped for a moment, the air her mother had ensued had now come back. The maids all took a single step away from her. y/n felt the tears threaten her, warning by dancing across her lower lashes. "Do none of you listen, get out for Christ’s sake!" That's all it took, in a matter of seconds y/n was finally alone. She could hear the faint song of the trees whispering to her, it was calm, but she couldn't appreciate it. She dropped to her knees and began to softly weep into her palms. The groans muffled by the skin of her hands and the tears halted from falling by her fingers. In this moment and forever ahead of her, she was desolate.

But like all things, even this bleak minute of sorrow was cut to an end by the deafening sound of her father's boots storming down the hallways towards her room.

━━★✼☆｡

Tom spectated as the pole shattered into a thousand pieces. The splinters hitting ever edge of the arena. He watched as the knight fell limp and as his horse rode on through the chaos. The young prince roared out of his seat, his knees hitting the harsh wood of the royal box. His name echoed on the young knight's medallion above his breast. He had picked the winning side and rightfully so, Sir Harrison had never been defeated. For a moment, Tom turned around to face his beaming mother. A woman who loved the games, Tom always relied on his mother to accompany him to these festivities but his father. The Prince would always ask graciously but was refused every time. Constantly belittled for the consul of old men with a working cock between them, it was a joke. The King had many failed efforts to rile the English people to cause, Tom had offered a large gathering to help inspire the people. The King told his son this would cause nothing but useless panic and many painful deaths. Scoffing, Tom waltzed back to his seat. It was uncomfortable, it felt as if ants hand made their nets below the seat's support. He wished to ride alongside them.

"You cannot and you will not," The Queen smiled at him, waving to squires as they led the horses away. Tom's head swivelled around to meet his mother's. "I refuse it my son."

"I had said nothing mother," Tom replied quietly, he too doing his duty to the lower noble men who had come out today. Each one sweatier than the last. "Perhaps you are hearing things, 10 childbirths can change a woman's mind," Tom stifled a laugh, too which he received a slap on the arm for.

"Don't play smart with me son," The Queen spoke coolly, her countless rings clanged as she rose from her seat. Tom followed suit, allowing a hand for his now middle-aged mother for gracious help down the impossibly large stairs. "I almost lost your father to one of these silly little cock shows, I will not go through it with you my boy."

Tom raised an eyebrow, watching his mother's golden trim become bleaker by the stain of the grass. "I had half a mind to believe you enjoyed these silly little cock shows," Tom played. The Queen peered up at his through hooded lids. It was dangerous waters even for him, a man who has seen the blood of war. He allowed his mother and her ladies to return to Windsor, watching as if to wait for the shark to disappear.

"Your Royal Highness, if I may have a word," a soft voice called out from below the podium. Tom paced to the edge and stared down. Constance, he thought to himself as he smiled wickedly. She was a short and mildly plump woman, with wild unruly hair that had to be constantly shoved out of her face. He remembers her name because of how sweet his name sounded dripping from her tongue. Countless nights spent in the throes of passion, wearing moonlight as cloth. Tom knew he had dishonoured her just by bedding her, but he couldn't help himself. She was the first woman who really took an interest in him. Still, he had to come to her aid on multiple occasions. While he likes the way, she grips at his biceps, he however, doesn't like when her father comes storming into court demanding his daughter's honour back because Tom had prayed on her. Perhaps, it was the odd lack of ladies that would flock to his side or maybe it was simply because he wanted a little bit of fun before the inevitable. 

"You may, my Lady," Tom smiled widely making his way to her side. He could tell the mud was ruining the polished leather of his boots, he completely forgot about his favourite riding boots he had put on in hopes that he may indulge himself in the sports. Still, he pushed the though deep down at met her eyes. He not an unusually tall man but the way he almost dwarfed her was delectable. As he watched her squirm, he wondered as to why she would speak with him where anyone could see. There was no danger for him, but the world's eyes were on her.

She played with the small ring on her pinkie finger, riding it up and down the skin. "Why did you not tell me," she whispered, refusing to look up at him. Tears began to well.

"What on earth do you mean?" He queered, genuinely curious as to what had got her all worked up. His hands went to stroke her cheek gently, but she abruptly pulled away from him. This time her eyes did meet his, the salty liquid glossed over her eyes.

"It is bad enough that I am called the Prince's Whore but now they are cursing my name because I have ruined the royal couple!" she cried out, her deep green dress swallowing the mud below. "That a stupid maid slut has stolen you away from the beautiful French Princess!"

Tom saw nothing but red. Not because of Constance but because of what she said to him. He had begged his parents to let him choose his own wife. If he was to rule England after his father's passing, he wished to at least have a woman whom he truly loved by his side. He said nothing to her as he stormed away. The small drizzle of rain hitting his skin as he picked up his speed. He knew that his father was in a council meeting alongside his mother. Perfect opportunity to unleash his rage. He faintly heard her calling after him, that was muffled by the buzzing in his ears.

He had been told who he was meant to be and what he was meant to be from the moment he was born. Hardly ever seeing his mother or younger brothers because he was eldest, never knowing true companionship because he would be constantly cooped up listening to his advisors and tutors as they taught him the art of war and foreign policies. This was his one chance to spend his life with a woman who understood him and would grow a loving family much in contrast to what he had.

His hands pushed the heavy wooden doors, they hit the walls with a large smack. The entire council stood for the Prince, with the exception of his mother and sickly father. He walked past them with ease and took his seat at the opposite end of table. His eyes focused solely on his father as he absently noted the appearance of his son.

"Wonderful of you to finally join us," The Duke of Essex smiled weakly, in any attempt to deflect the tension elsewhere.

"When were you going to tell me?" Tom spoke, his voice barely above a whisper and laced with venom. His elbows digging into the cool wood of granite of the table. He watched his father finally face him; the man was a wreck. His greying hair stuck to his hair with copious amounts of sweat, his brown eyes had sunk deadly back into the sockets and his skin was pale and filled with wrinkles. "When were you going to tell me father?"

"You were spending too much time with that scullery maid," The King respond calmly, still flipping through royal documents. Tom was on the verge of an explosion. If the Prince was known for something, it was his anger. Much like Mount Vesuvius, he didn't get angry often, he hated how it affect those around him. The times he is pushed to the breaking point however, he was destroy everything in his path. "We had to put an end to it."

"We?" Tom pushed.

"Your mother made the arrangements; she is being brought here as we speak." Once more, the King had no interest with the devastated look on the Prince's face. Too caught up in an attempt to stile a cough.

"You promised me my own choice of bride," Tom seethed. He faced his mother, if the King wouldn't listen perhaps the Queen would.

His mother sighed; the silk of her sleeves draped over the arms of the chair. "That was before you had instinctively made the choice, we hoped that perhaps you would have fallen for the daughter of a Duke or at worst an Earl. You were going to marry that girl, after everything her family has done against the court. We couldn't allow it."

Tom jaw clicked. "Who is she?" He was done arguing, done protesting.

"You'll marry the granddaughter of the French King; y/n of Burgundy," his father spoke up before his mother could sugar coat it. "The family sent a portrait of the girl as the first payment of her dowry; it has already been placed in your room. Hopefully, you can find the slightest bit of attraction for your new bride before the wedding."

"Will I get to meet her beforehand?" He at least hoped to see the girl with his own eyes before calling her his wife. Finally, the King met his eyes. He dropped the quill on the desk as locked his eyes, leaning towards him.

"Did you really think you'd get that luxury?"

━━★✼☆｡

The sea breeze prickled at y/n skin as she sat atop the deck. She could tell they were getting closer. The wind went from a soft tone to a howling scream, something her great aunt had told her all about. English weather could go from a perfect sunny day to god's worst mood. In all honesty, she preferred it to French. It was wild and unpredictable, something she so desperately needed.

She remembered how she got into this predicament as she lay down a 9 ace on the table. Waiting for the ship to land.

"You'll leave tomorrow, it will take you a good couple of days to get there." Her father exclaimed, picking a raspberry from the plate and eating the sweet fruit. y/n stood in silence, still reeling her tears back into her eyes. She refused to weep in front of the Duke. She moved around the large room, in order to hear his words. "You'll make a fine queen," he smiled, placing his hands atop her cheeks. y/n smiled warmly before raising a concern.

"How do you know this will be different than the last?" she asked quietly, staring down at her shoes. Her father sighs before picked his coat up from the chair.

y/n placed her bets, her hand is exquisite. Three queen and a pair of Kings. If she doesn't win, it's as if God is going against her. The men that sit beside her raise their brows in confusion. She's not backing down.

"Because, you know their language and their culture from Great Aunt Mary. You were her favourite after all," her father tells her, the memory of the old lady teaching her English brings a curve to her lips. That was not the answer she was looking for, however. Her father knows it as well, he knows the answer she wants but he cannot give it to her. "Trust me pumpkin," the endearment is wonderful. Unlike her mother, y/n's father has always been kind to her. She doesn't know if it because she is his eldest daughter or because her brother is a lousy boy and she is the only child with a head still attached to her shoulder blades.

She releases her tension; she knows whatever comes out of this she must go along with it. She must accept whatever situation is handed to her and accept her duty as a future queen and mother to the English Throne.

y/n squeals, her hand's won. The rest of the chips are placed in her corner, she is asking if they want to go another round but instead, they all huff and walk away from her. y/n feels her heart sink into her stomach. Perhaps the English wind has turned their moods sour. Soon enough her worries are washed away as the boat docks into Brighton and y/n hears the cheers for her. She can't exactly make out what they are saying. Sadly, she doesn't get a chance to even greet her new subjects as her new English ladies are gently pushing her towards the carriage. The only thing she can do is wave and smile at them, hoping to instil a fraction of hope for the new royal couple. As she steps into the carriage, a huge white dress follows her. The abundance of ladies and herself are stuck in the cramped space for a little over an hour before they start agreeing to change her dress into the one being coddled.

"Why? This is dress is perfect as it is," y/n laughed gently, her fingers playing with the pearls that lace the neckline.

"Forgive me, my lady, but His Majesty; The King has requested that you wear a white gown." One of the younger girls pipes up. Sighing, y/n nods her head to agree and goes to stop the carriage.

While they don't completely undress her, she knows that the smock under her dress is shear and leave nothing to the imagination. Quickly they strip her of the current dress, even unlacing the corset before adding another one. As they place the soft silk of her veil over her head, she can hear the ringing bells at Westminster. It hasn't completely dawned on her what she is exactly going through. Marrying a man she has never met. Marrying a man for all she knows could be a tyrant. She's heard quite a few English Monarchs fall under that said category. Her heart started to jump now; she could fell the beat thump against her vocal box.

The people began to line the city. Countless bodies waved at her as she strolled through the city of London. The abbey somehow seemed ten times bigger in person. White rose petals fell through the air as the coachman opened the door for her. The walkway was paved with red velvet. Her heels felt as though she was ruining the beautiful material as she walked.

Tom can physically hear her pounding heartbeat from where he stands. He can't exactly make out her face, but he can see the white gown strutting towards him. It's the same patterns as the dress his mother wore more than 20 years ago. He's seen it in countless paintings, his mother scowling as she attempts to salvage any positive thing out of such tremendous pain. Harrison lays a hand on his shoulder; the contact makes him jump.

"I heard she looks like a siren," he joked, dusting a small particle of fluff off Tom's shoulder. "Perhaps she'll sound like one too," the comment was enough to grant the knight a hard whack on his arm from the Prince. He truly did wonder if she would as beautiful as the painting which depicted her. A small red rose for his house in her fingertips as she grinned softly. It was as if she was staring into his soul.

Tom reached out to allow her aid in getting up the stairs. She graciously accepted muttering a small thank you as her other hand lifted the countless layers of fabric to mend her steps. Her touch was soft, something he wasn't used to. The gentle touch of a noble woman, even if it was only upon his fingers. The entirety of Westminster Abbey went silent as the faced each other.

y/n could barely hear anything over her rampant anxiety. Though she was eased slightly as she blindly grasped at his fingers, she was afraid she gripped a little too tightly. Finally, she stood in front of him. The gown dipping down the stairs to end in her ladies' hands. She wondered what she looked like to him. Wondering if it was a glorious sight to witness a new bride waltzing towards him. Or if it was one of dread, to be in holy matrimony with someone you've just met for the first time. She's still trying to decide between the two.

The ceremony was beautiful. A simply yet elegant affair, as two young royals wed. She knows that she is marrying the Prince of Wales, a worthy husband for any noble woman. Yet she can't help the dread that builds as the Archbishop drones on. The hymns falling deaf ears. She tries to pay attention, but she can’t, all she can hear is the drumming of her heartbeat. It pounds against her ribs, creating echoes in her head. Before she knows it, his hands reach for hers. There was no strength in his grip unlike beforehand, it was soft and gentle. As if she was a beautiful yet delicate doll, that she would completely shatter if he pressed just that bit too hard. Their fingertips locked; her skin fell into the ridges of his knuckles.

“I proclaim thee, y/n of Burgundy to be my lawfully wedded wife from now until the end of my days,” he hesitated. She could hear it in his voice. “She shall sit beside me as I rule the kingdom.” The ring passes down her skin, the metal biting at her finger.

She repeats him. “I proclaim thee, Thomas – Prince of Wales to be my lawfully wedded husband from now until the end of my days. I shall sit beside him as he rules this beautiful country.” She smiles at the end, though she never intends to. y/n thanks her ladies that they cover her grinning face behind the thick white lace of her veil.

The entirety of Westminster Abbey is silent, no one dares even breathe as Prince Thomas coils his fingers around the tipping of the lace. He lifts it over his now wife’s face. He taken aback slightly. The painter wasn’t paid enough, clearly. She was even more beautiful standing in front of him. The same clear complexion now glistening in the soft sunlight of England. He doesn’t pry of course; it would be rude of him. Just to stare at his bride, as if they were the only people in the hall. Good lord, does he wish it was.

His hands reach her cheeks. Tender once more, he brings her forward. She shifts on her feet as they meet. A quaint and soft kiss, unlike anything either of them has felt ever. He can’t remember the last time, it was this – well, gentle. Thomas doubts he has ever kissed a woman of such luxury in his entire life up to this point. y/n is the first to pull away, her fingers resting lightly on his raised wrists. Their eyes meet for a moment, a short moment.

Westminster Abbey erupts into celebration. Red rose petals fall from the ceiling and music begins to flood the area.

As she stared around, y/n began to think to herself. I do not know what will come out of this, but I already can see that joy my presence brings to these people. I shall not let them down.

Prince Thomas of England, Heir to The English Throne and y/n of Burgundy, Granddaughter of The French King had been wed. They were now locked in holy matrimony, a feeling unlike any other. Both horrendous and hospitable.

━━★✼☆｡

The Hall is a grand party. Laughing and singing is heard from every corner, mugs of beer and wine are flung across tables and scraps of food are being thrown to the dogs. y/n has never seen such a scene unfold. Too contained by the prudish French court. The most scandalous thing she has seen is a risqué dance meant to be for a married lover.

That is what she always despised about the French Nobility. Their secrets. Whispers and Rumours spread faster than fire. If you had committed some heinous act, the entirety of France will hear about it by the end of the week. Perhaps that is another reason why she felt so trapped in Burgundy. y/n could never do a single task on her own before her ladies’ loose tongue would find their way back to her mother. A delicate little flower, such a waste of potential.

Tom noticed her prodding, her fork twirling the few peas left on her plate. He hadn’t said a word to her all night and yet he looks at her if she’s unwillingly to speak. Does she know any basic English? Perhaps not.

“How are you liking the food,” Tom asked her, leaning into her. She smiled up at him, he spoke to her in French. It made her heart swell for a second. y/n turns to face him, smiling warmly. Tom wishes he could keep that smile forever.

“It’s is very well Your Grace,” y/n replies to him. Her flawless English rolling off her tongue with a petite French accent. It’s like heaven to his ears and he’s taken aback. “My Great Aunt was an English Countess, I loved her very much. I was fluent in English before I was 8.” She explained, almost as if she had read his mind.

“You need not call me Your Grace,” he teased, it was somewhat natural for him.

“Then what shall I call you?” y/n queered.

“I am your husband now, whatever pleases you pleases me,” Tom replied, turning back to his empty plate in an effort to hide the rising red flush on his face. y/n knew she should leave it at that, so she turned her attention elsewhere.

“Are royal weddings usually this,” she paused, “loud?”

Tom laughed quietly, he too turned to face the ruckus crowd. Men laying in the laps of maids, dogs feasting over food that had been flung across the floor. Loud chants to the beat of the music filled the hall. He would have been completely embarrassed by the state of his people in front of his new bride, if he hadn’t seen the amused look on her face. “Not usually, I have only been to one other wedding and that was extremely sombre.”

“How so?” she asked, sipping from the freshly poured wine.

“I went to my uncle’s wedding a few months ago. He had also married a noble woman like yourself, but the poor thing was only 11. My uncle was 35 and counting.” He wishes it was different but like all things in this world, he is powerless to the wills of those who think they are higher than others.

He peered at her; y/n was already looking at him. An eyebrow and a lip raised in disgust. It was quaint.

“I wish I could be more repulsed by that,” Tom wondered if she was joking or if she was serious. He couldn’t tell just by the use of her tone. He did however note her wit. Something he so longed for. They talked for hours, sitting by one another and discussing anything that arrived at the conversation. Tom can’t decide whether it’s her honey-like voice or her banter but it’s making him feel things no one should for someone they are being forced to wed.

Just while they are comparing the contrasting jousting techniques, the joyful music suddenly stops. It’s a quick snap and the entire hall is now dead quiet. The Earl of Salisbury mounts himself on one of the tables. His cheeks red with drunkenness.

The Earl points directly at y/n and Tom as they sit in confusion. “The final tradition, an honour for any noble man. The Great Bedding!”

y/n turns to Tom, clinging slightly to his sleeve. He takes immediate notice. “Thomas, what is The Great Bedding?” There was great concern in her voice as she watched all of the men rush towards them. He didn’t get to answer as the women abruptly hauled him out of his seat and down the hall, away from her.

y/n didn’t fear too well either. At least a dozen grimy hands placed themselves all over her body, pulling harshly as they brought her into the air. Dancing her down the halls. She constantly whacked their hands, to no avail of course. They only dropped her once they got to a dimly lit room.

It was already buzzing with people. Hustling around a single bed, covered by finely woven silk. The men dropped her gently, placing her feet against the ground. y/n tried to turn around to give them a piece of her mind but was stopped as her corset began to become loose around her waist. Incredibly uncomfortable, y/n looked up to distract herself in any regard and found Tom at the other side. The maid’s hands undoing every buckle of his coat, tiny fingers unthreading the lavish ropes across his body. y/n blushed at the sight.

Tom was trying his hardest not to look at her, not to stare as countless men of the court undressing her. He could hear the bulky wedding dress hit the floor of the room, he could feel her eyes on him, and he could see the variety of unknown nobles swarming them in any hopes to achieve the right to gossip tomorrow morning. It was despicable.

He climbed in first, the cotton of the blankets itching his skin as he settled. The only comfort he found was in the softness in his unkempt hair. Not restricted by the gel he was forced to wear.

y/n slowly followed his lead, it was dead silent. No one dared breathed as the new Princess of Wales found her spot next to The Prince. All the while, the exact same priest Archbishop chanted away, and priests flung holy water at the bed. Some of the liquid found itself on her skin. Finally, the crowd bowed to the couple and began to take their leave.

Tom watched in peace; he would be alone. He closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh, perhaps he would be able to get some well needed sleep. That seemed achievable until he felt a cold grasp around his wrist. His eyes shot open to find his father’s glare directly at him. “Don’t let the spring pass, I hope to see a grandson in the next few months,” The King spat.

It had been hours since the quarry of guests had left the room but the the monarch’s words etched themselves into his mind. Echoing nonstop, getting wilder as Tom felt y/n settle herself next to him. The mere presence of her alongside the duty he had to fulfil was too much for him. Tom shot up and quickly gathered his things, hauling his boots and clothes. He couldn’t be near her for another moment, too afraid of what he might do if she was subject to this sort of cruel punishment. Tom quickly decided he was sleep next door, just far away to have the thoughts no longer plague his mind but not too far that he would impose the wrong meaning on her. He reached for the door when she chimed in.

“Where are you going?”

He halted instantly. He wished that they could have gotten along like most royal couples should. A cold and initially distant meeting, then hopefully something would blossom over the years. Instead they had gotten along quite well, too well in fact. He was used to going slowly, taking his time in bedding a girl. A constant glaze over the court every few days, then promiscuous banter and in the span of months he would have her melt in his hand with a simple word. Now, he was feeling flustered and out of control and all of it was happening over a single night. Tom pressed his forehead against the wood, taking a deep breath. He turned to look at her, just like a painting coming to life. Her hair was down, unlike anything he had ever seen. Not grimed with sweat and dirt nor was it pinned underneath a headdress or away from her face. This time, the soft curls framed it. The nightgown clung to her shoulders; the fabric dangerously close to falling off. It made his life that much more difficult.

“I am sorry. You are a beautiful woman, but I just cannot fulfil the expectations that are placed upon me tonight. I will be sleeping in the room next door if you need me,” Tom blurted out. He waited for a response before he could speed out. She sat there, like a perfectly sculpted statue. It was torture.

y/n sighed, “nothing has to happen tonight.”

“But they will ask, they will pry like they always will,” he countered.

“Who says we have to tell the truth?” y/n giggled. God, it was a symphony to him. Tom watched her leave the bed, waltzing around to meet with him at the door. He wanted the tell her to stay exactly where she is, not to move even an inch closer but with ever step she took, his breath hitched higher in his throat. “I would prefer to spend the first night of my marriage with my husband, whether something happens or not.”

He swallowed thickly, “you are incredibly calm.” He now met her, his full attention on y/n as she chuckled in delight.

“I am filled to the brim with anxiety, just not that same fear that you are feeling,” she told him as she sat down the small longue in the middle of the room. She took the wine from the table and poured each of them a glass. Tom was hesitant at first, still wishing to flee the room and into the safety of his own solitary. Still, he found himself pacing towards her. Taking soft and flinching steps until he sat beside her.

“Then what is the fear?” He took the other glass, quickly chugging the alcohol. y/n said nothing but just stared at him in confusion. “The fear you feel, why?”

It was now her turn to become flustered. He looked genuinely curious as to why she was feeling doubtful, but she was unsure if he truly wanted to know the answer. Her father made her promise never to speak of it to anyone, a shameful secret that would ruin her future if it was released. But Tom was now her husband. They were bonded by law, a thought she really didn’t wish to dwell on. Surely, whatever she told him wouldn’t cause them any stress? Still, it would be rude of her not to tell him the reason after he had just clearly demonstrated his own fears in the commitment. “You must promise not to become angry.”

Tom nodded his head gently, even more intrigued then he was before.

y/n quietly exhaled, avoiding looking at Tom. “I was married once before, he passed from the sickness 3 months into our matrimony. Perhaps it was God way of guiding me to a better future, but it ruined almost everything. His death caused create strain for my family as they attempt to rebuild myself as if I was not capable of it myself. I am terrified that I am cursed, that I shall find myself falling in love with you only to be weeping over your coffin months later.” She had poured her soul out, shared such a personal section of her life. She was ashamed to see his face. Too afraid that pure anger and disgust would paint his face.

“Who was he? The man whom you had married?” Tom asked her again. His voice calling out as she stared directly at the purple velvet beneath her dress.

“The Prince of Spain,” y/n squeaked.

“That inbred!” Tom joked, suddenly becoming relaxed by the mere mention of the Spanish Royal Family. “I am surprised you got three months and not three days, that kid was on death doors for his entire life,” Tom was now in a fit of laughter. It wasn’t directed to her but more that they allowed such a beautiful woman to be the wife of such a dull man. y/n peered up, thoroughly embarrassed as she gave him a light whack. Tom finally came down from his laughing fit, staring directly at her. “You are cursed Princess; you are just coddled. Forced into a life clearly not meant for someone like yourself.”

The mere mention of the cradling of her life got y/n riled up, “that’s another thing! The Spanish constantly treated me as if I was some porcelain doll ready to shatter if they dared even look at me! I felt like a child trapped in a woman’s body and he touched me like that as well. God, I was finally ready to truly live my life and then he just was too soft, I wanted something much mor-” Oh. Oh God. She had run her mouth too far, dug her own grave with her rambling. Her hands clamped against her mouth as a heat rushed to her face. She could see the French ships arriving for her next month, giving her passage because she was not in pristine condition. Hopefully Tom didn’t pick up on what she was inferring.

“You aren’t a virgin?” his voice was quiet, almost dark. She felt her entire world shatter. Tom scooted towards her slowly, it was completely unnoticed. She was too deep in panic to recognise the growing flirt rising in the Prince of Wales. y/n shook her head feverously. “That little tick took you?” When he put it like that, it made her stomach tingle. She had never heard such a sentence used in that tone. She was drowning in thoughts.

“I didn’t know what I was doing, that’s why I was so unsatisfied,” she tried to explain, her hands now bunched up the fabric against her knees. “He was just so soft, too soft and I wished he would have-”

“Would have what?” he toyed. Tom doesn’t quite know why he was acting like this. So intent on prying her little secrets out of her. Usually, he would have just simply got straight to the point but now, seeing her become red with frustration was a view causing him great pleasure. Any abstinence he hoped to place upon himself earlier in the night had been thrown out the window. He finally felt back in control, something he longed for. Something she was serving to him on a silver platter.

“I..” she began but the words got caught in her throat. Her tongue stopped completely, almost refusing to finish the damning sentence. She wanted him to be rougher with her, she wanted him to treat her like a woman and not a girl. “What happen to you wishing to keep your hands to yourself?” She attempted to change the topic, trying to flee but to no avail as he quickly caught her wrist in his palms. Their skins igniting on sight.

“Don’t try to change the subject Princess,” he purred, standing up to meet with her at the side of the bed. Her title now held a completely different meaning, it wasn’t being used to describe her. It was being used to utterly destroy her; a nickname only meant to be whispered in the dim light of a dozen candles. “I can see right through you,” Tom’s calloused fingers met the loose fabric on her shoulders, dancing over her collarbone. It was soft but held meaning. “I can see that you wished he touched you differently. Touched you like a real woman, rougher and passionate.”

His words were damned. She should feel ashamed that she was feeling light-headed just by the grazing touch of his fingers above her perked breasts. “Yes,” it was the only thing she could get out. The only single three lettered word that allowed itself out of her mouth. Tom pressed his lips to her neck, underneath her jaw.

“Perhaps, he too was inexperienced.” He spoke through small pecks. “Allow me to show you something different, something better,” it was barely above a whisper, but y/n heard every word. Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair as he peered at her.

“I would enjoy that very much,” y/n responded just as quiet, all the gentle touches he currently had placed upon her turned darker. He pulled her into his embrace quickly before tripping her feet from under her and ending atop her on the messily made bed. His hand instantly found the inside of her thigh, his finger bruising her skin. It was delightfully, the slight pain sending shivers down her spine.

Their lips met, gentle at first. Her hands moulding themselves against his jaw, moaning into his mouth as he pushed her deeper into the mattress. She wished she could stay like this forever, wrapping in Tom’s embrace as they mended together. Alas, he pulled away from her. Lips separating with a small pop and a soft whine from y/n underneath him. Tom took a distinct look at her; she was sprawled out and whimpering for something more. Did she give this look to him as well? Did she use the melody that was her voice to beg him to do anything? Tom didn’t particularly wish to replay the thought in his head but yet, he couldn’t help himself.

Her nightgown quickly found itself discarded; her nipples perked in the cold. His lips immediately latched on, massaging the soft tissue. He never knew something could feel this smooth, without any flaws or imperfections. Even though he knew he could spend an entire night between the valley of her tits, he too longed for something more.

In a matter of moments, he found himself staring directly at her sex. A glorious sight to behold, glistening with her arousal in the pale moonlight. She was practically dripping onto the sheets below her. He placed a soft kiss to her pelvis, she jumped at the contact. “If you feel uncomfortable, you need to tell me,” he told her all the while his fingers toyed at her hot hole. Dipping even so slightly into her heat. She was already in euphoria just from the slightest bit of pleasure. y/n nodded her head before locking eyes with him.

He didn’t waste another second, quickly licking a fat stripe through her folds. The taste was pure heaven, he didn’t give her a moment to register the feeling before diving right back into her juices. Sucking and pulling at her, wasting the night away feeling her thighs clamp around his head every time he flicked her clit coupled with a singular finger prancing in and out of her.

y/n wasn’t quite sure how loud she could truly be. She knew that even though they were in the far south-east of the castle, there could be a dozen scullery maids listening right outside the door. Or if someone was trying to achieve some sleep right beside them. At this very moment though, with Tom’s head in between her thighs devouring every inch of her throbbing cunt, she couldn’t give a single fuck. y/n allowed the string of curses and praised to tumble from her lips as she clasped onto the bed sheets for dear life.

“Such a dirty mouth,” Tom remarked, releasing her for a few seconds, “for such a pretty and delicious pussy.” He chuckled darkly. y/n wanted to bite back at him, but she was cut short but the addition of another of his digits sliding into her tight entrance. y/n clasped down hard on her hand. A foreign feeling began to drive itself into her stomach. While unusual, it was not at all exotic to her. It was thrilling, feeling her walls contract around his fingers as y/n began to instinctively rock her hips against his digits.

“God,” he purred, “that’s it, make yourself cum on my fingers Princess. Let me see that gorgeous face while you do it.” Tom had now retracted his mouth from her, completely mesmerised by the way her eyes screwed shut as she reached her peak. A cacophony of beautiful and dazzling sounds stumbling out of her mouth as he felt her climax all over his hand. Such a tantalising sight for any man.

y/n was too deep in her own return that she didn’t notice the retraction of his presences from the middle of her legs. So, when he felt his hands roughly pull her to the edge of the bed, she almost choked. The exhilarating feeling of his strained cock rubbing against her drenched folds made her forget her place. Made her speak before her mind could catch up. “I want you to fulfil the expectation.” She told him, her eyes never wavering from him.

Tom halted all his movements. It was painful but he needed absolute clarity before he did anything without her reassurance. “You need to elaborate Princess,” he told her darkly. He knew exactly what she was asking of him, he knew exactly what she desired.

“I want you to come inside of me,” she spoke as if she was a different person. y/n doesn’t quite know whether it’s the shift of mood or her own personal feelings but either way, she wanted to feel their juices mix and then leak out of her. Wanted him to fill her right up to the brim until the possibility was certain.

“You want me to fuck my seed right into you?” his words were dirtier than she expected but so was he as he slid in and into her. His naval hitting hers with a loud smack. He refused to move until he had played with her just that tad bit more. y/n’s head thrashed into the sheets behind her. She was so full, never has she felt this complete in her entire life. He wasn’t even moving but she could feel every inch of him deep inside of her.

“God yes,” she whimpered. “I need it so bad,” she was going to drive Tom insane. Just by a simple sentence, he was going to lose his mind and cum right now without even doing anything. 

“Want to carry my child, our own Prince or Princess,” he pulled back out of her and slammed right back in, knocking the wind out of her y/n. It was so profoundly dirty, just discussing it. It thrilled her to the very core, child-bearing was meant for women not girls. Perhaps that is why she is so drawn to the talk, the talk of something so primally feminine set her entire body on fire. She couldn’t speak a coherent sentence instead she just let out a continuous plea.

He began slow, hips rocking to find that perfect beat. He revelled in the only sounds in the room, the sound of his cock hitting the divine spot inside of her over and over again and her delirious moaning. It was a symphony he was lucky enough to hear. He wanted to hear more, listen to the pure sounds of him railing into her. So, he picked up the pace. His thrust became not only deep and harsh but fast.

God, if he could immortalise this feeling he would. The feeling of her walls constricting around him as he pounds right into her, the feeling of her legs wrapping around his constantly thrusting hips and the feeling of her sweating skin underneath his fingers as he grips for support. It’s like the Lord himself made her tight little cunt just for him.

“You’re so big,” y/n praised mindlessly. He’s never had someone say that to him without it sounding forced. It’s so raw that he can’t help but go even harder into with each praise that falls off her lips. “Fill me up, I want to feel you all inside of me.” It’s a dangerous game, she’s tapped on something so feral inside of him it hurts.

y/n wants to prop herself up and explore his body while he pounds into her, but she simply can’t. Her limbs give out with every thrust. Her entire body spasms each time he hits the perfect spot inside of her. She a moaning mess, trying to maintain any sense of normality but failing miserably. It’s a constant state of pleasure, she’s afraid that she’s lost track of time. That is until the faint, but all the desirable fit finds itself lit in the pit of her stomach.

“I’m almost there,” she whispers, it’s the only thing she can get out. His thrusts, that once had gained a steady and harsh rhythm are now falling. He’s losing focus with each grip he receives. With her words though, he gives her the final stretch. No longer does he has some form of structure but instead he’s just railing her like a wild animal.

It’s an explosion and neither knows why but it’s addictive. y/n climaxes around him, her toes curling as her final orgasm hits her long and violent. Shaking underneath, him as she unknowingly milks his own finish out of him. Tom’s fucking his cum right into her, he doesn’t stop for a second. Too focused on the goal ahead of him. Placing it where it counts. It’s a feeling he wants to never forget, better yet it’s a sight he wants permanently etched into his memories. As he pulls out of her, their climaxes tumble out of her. Dripping down her leg.

“Hold your legs up Princess,” he teases as he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. “I heard it works wonders.”

The rose blooms only for those who care properly for her.

━━★✼☆｡

a/n: please don’t flop, omg this is so long and no one asked for this shit. please don’t flop chile 🤡

#tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland #tom #prince!tom #prince!tom holland #prince!tom holland x reader #prince!tom holland x you #tom holland smut #smut #angst #fluff #tom holland angst #tom holland fluff #marvel #marvel imagines #actor #actor smut #actor imagines #actor x you #au #prince au #princess au #princess #prince #princess!reader #princess!y/n #slow burn

[mckennamayfairgoode]

I Take Flight but You Hold Me

Wilhemina Venable x Reader

Word Count: 7k

Summary: You hate her. You hate the way she makes you feel, you hate the way you can’t get her out of your mind, you hate the way she makes you burn. You hate her, but you think maybe you could love her too.

Warnings: Brief mentions of past toxic relationships. Slight NSFW. Angst? Yes. Yearning? Haha, no of course not….. 👀 Also, yes. 

A/N: I’m supposed to be working on a fluffy Ally piece, but I love this song so much and all it does is make me think of Mina. So this happened instead. 🤷‍♀️ Writing her and trying to capture that snarkiness with the underlying insecurity was very difficult. But I think it came out okay.

Song: To Be Loved by Askjell (ft. AURORA)

You’d seen Wilhemina Venable before: walking through the hallways of Kineros Robotics, her cane tapping rhythmically against the ground in a way that insured others kept a wide berth; sitting outside on a picnic table during her lunch hour, always at the same table, the same space, facing the sidewalk, always, always; once, even, as you stepped out of the elevator to the parking garage at the end of the day. 

She’d stood ramrod straight next to her car, one hand gripping the head of her cane and the other fidgeting with her keys. Something inside you had tugged insistently and you had slowed to a stop, your gaze drawn to the fingerless gloves she wore. They were made of a dark purple leather that covered her slender hands all the way to the first knuckle. Her nails were short and unpainted and for some reason, you couldn’t stop staring.

Someone cleared their throat, breaking your trance and causing you to jerk back as if suddenly woken from a daydream. You looked up and met dark eyes. They were deep and brown and furious. She wore a scowl on her face, one you recognized easily as you’d seen it often enough when you passed her in the corridor. “Don’t you have somewhere to be instead of staring at me with that idiotic look on your face?” she snapped and you realized, in all your time working there, you had never heard her speak. 

Your face growing uncomfortably warm, you had muttered a vague apology under your breath as you darted past her and into the direction of your car. Her voice had been nice. Low and husky with a slight rasp that gave you goosebumps. You tried not to think about how you could feel her eyes on your back.

You went home that night and lay in your bed and tried to ignore the heat coiled low in your belly. But your thoughts ran rampant in your mind, pulling and twisting into versions of her you had yet to see. You wondered, if when she touched you, whether she would take those gloves off or keep them on so that all you could feel were her fingertips. You wondered if she would speak to you, low and husky and warm. You wondered if her bite would sting.

The thought burned you from the inside out.

--

The next week, your boss retired and you were granted a promotion. You were excited at first. A better job meant better pay, but now, as you stand in front of Wilhemina Venable’s desk, you think maybe it’s not all that worth it after all. 

“I don’t have time to sit here and indulge in your little exercise. Unlike some people in this establishment, I have actual work to do,” she says, tapping at her computer and not bothering to spare you a glance. Like you are less interesting than a fly she has to swat away. The notion churns in your gut, twisting your insides unpleasantly. You resist the urge to shift on your feet, knowing that she will catch the motion in the corner of her eye and latch onto it like a dog with a bone. She is an apex predator always looking for weaknesses she can exploit. You refuse to show her any.

“This ‘little exercise’ comes down from Jeff and Mutt. Spending time with you isn’t exactly on my list of priorities,” you snap and you blink and you wonder where it came from.

Her motions cease, fingertips hovering over her keyboard. You try to ignore the way your gaze lingers on her hands. “Is that so?” She looks up then, suddenly meeting your eyes. You want to look away, to move, but you feel frozen in place. They are so brown. Her words are sharp when she speaks. “Do you not recall the gaping fish impression you showed me in the parking garage last week?” 

“I wasn’t gaping,” you retort, neck warming. You hope she can’t see. The flick of her eyes to your ears tells you she can. 

Venable gives you a blank look. “Of course not. Because that would imply that the space between your ears is filled with more than just hot air.” The words get under your skin. They rake across the sensitivity of your nerves and coil around your very being and sink into your bones and you hate it. A part of you thinks you could hate her.

Your spine feels like it might snap as you stand up straight, tension lining the squared edge of your shoulders. “Ms. Venable, we really need to discuss these layoffs,” you say, hoping that professionalism will get through to her so you can go on about your day pretending that she doesn’t set your soul on fire.

She arches a single dark brow, pursing her lips. “What layoffs?”

“I’ve been looking at the account ledgers. We’re overstaffed.”

Venable tilts her head, studying your face. “And what is someone with the brain capacity of a park squirrel doing looking at our accounts?”

Your jaw flexes as you grit your teeth. “That’s my job.”

“Since when?”

“Since three days ago when the head of finance retired.”

“Oh really? And they chose you to replace him?” She clicks her tongue, lips pursing once more. They’re a plum color. You silently reprimand yourself for noticing. “I can’t imagine why. It’s clear you have no capacity for intelligence, no work ethic, and not enough brain cells to do it yourself.”

Heat washes through you like an ocean’s surf. “You’re HR,” you retort.

Her fist clenches around the top end of her cane, those damned leather gloves creaking beneath the force of it. “And you’re finance. As far as I’m concerned, if it weren’t for your department, we wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with.” She locks eyes with you for one long moment that makes your breath catch. You force yourself to remain still and curse the fight or flight instinct inside you that’s telling you to run, that she is a danger, that if you look directly at her, you will be turned to stone. “Figure it out,” she demands, voice clipped. Then she drops her eyes and returns her gaze to the screen of her computer.

You resist the overwhelming urge to shove everything off her desk and demand her attention, her time, her respect. Your body burns with anger and humiliation and the need to know what her gloves would feel like against your bare skin, but you smother it down and squash it beneath your foot like a lit cigarette into the pavement of a sidewalk. You turn and walk away and listen as the same rhythmic tapping from before resumes as if you had never been there at all.

You feel her eyes on you as you leave, but when you turn to look, all you can see is the top of her head. It was just your imagination, you tell yourself. The piece of you that spent a better part of a year being aware of any and all movement tells you that isn’t true. This isn’t the first time you’ve been in the sights of a predator.

However, it is the first time you find yourself hoping that you are.

--

Later that night, you still sit hunched over your desk, finalizing the changes you made to the account ledgers. You don’t know what time it is. All you know is that the sun had gone down long ago, that your back will probably hurt in the morning, that you’re exhausted and your brain is running on fumes, but also that you need to finish. Just a little more time, and you can save these people and their jobs. Maybe a part of you wants to show Venable that you can do it too. She doesn’t believe you can. So you will.

You hear her coming before you see her. The building is completely void of life except for the janitor who came by to greet you a few minutes or an hour ago, you’re not sure. The steady tapping of her cane against the pristine flooring echoes in the empty space around you. You look at your computer, save your progress, and wait.

She appears in your doorway like a ghost draped in lavender. Her pale skin and bright red hair stand out from the shadows like the highlights in an oil painting. You will yourself to look away, but find that you can’t. She raises her eyebrows at the sight of you. “You’re still here.” It’s not a question.

You bristle at the tone of her voice and sit up in your chair. You want to cross your arms, but don't; you don’t want her to think you’re being defensive. She will only see it as an act of war and you are too tired to battle with her tonight. Maybe tomorrow you will adorn your sword and shield and finish what you started, but tonight... Tonight, you just want to look at the stars in her eyes. “I had some things to finish up,” you say once you finally find your voice.

Venable hums, her eyes raking over your form in a way that is not comforting at all. Her path raises goosebumps along your skin. You tell yourself not to blush, and bite back a curse when you do. You search her form for a reason to break the tense silence between you when you notice the folder she holds between her fingers. “What is that?” You nod to the item in question. 

She glances down at it as if she forgot she was holding it in the first place before extending it out for you to take. “It’s a list of low level employees.”

You rifle through the papers and recognize several of the names. People you know, people who work under you, people who trust you. There’s the janitor who always checks on you when you work late and the security guard at the front desk who greets you every morning by name and the young woman who used to work in the cubicle next to yours before you were promoted. Her name is Maria and she has a daughter. You know because there’s a picture on her desk of a little girl with a gap-toothed smile. Your stomach churns unpleasantly. “So those you deem expendable.” You can’t help the bitter tone to your voice. 

Venable catches on if the slight raise of her eyebrow is anything to go by. “They’re replaceable,” she says simply. 

You shake your head and with a flick of your wrist, toss the file back onto your desk. It slides to a stop back in front of her. “I don’t need it.”

She blinks once, twice. “What?” She watches as you stand and begin to gather your belongings. “What do you mean you ‘don’t need it’? Unless you simply tossed them from the window, someone still needs to be fired. Don’t tell me you’re that incompetent,” she scoffs.

You grab your bag by the strap and throw it over your shoulder. “I figured it out,” you respond, voice bitter and words sharp like knives. You refuse to be prey, to roll over until your belly is exposed and your weaknesses are aired out for the whole world to see. Not again. Especially not for her.

Just as you’re about to march out the door, she grabs your arm. You freeze in place. You think you both do. The tips of her bare fingers brush the inside of your wrist and you wonder why your skin burns when her hands are so cold. You can’t think, you can’t breathe, you can only stand there and wonder if she can feel the rhythm of your heartbeat beneath her fingertips. Does it speak to her? Does she understand? Does she want to?

You lock eyes. One long, impenetrable moment passes between you and you hate that you can’t tell what she’s thinking, you hate that she has your heart in her grip, you hate her, you hate her, you hate her. She blinks and the sharp glint in her gaze returns. You snatch your wrist back before she can say something that poisons your soul. You flee your office like it’s on fire. But it’s not your office that’s on fire. It’s you.

--

When you’re alone, you think about her. You chastise yourself, force the thoughts away, but eventually, like the tide rolling in, they always, always come back. It is infuriating. You don’t really know this woman, and the things you do know are nothing good. She is selfish and entitled, cruel and hateful, and worst of all, she makes you burn without ever having touched you a single time.

The sound of the bell jingling above the door yanks you abruptly from your thoughts and you resist the urge to sigh out loud as you realize, once again, where your mind has gone. You tighten your grip on your book, forcing yourself to concentrate on the words but only managing to repeat them several times as they don’t sink in like they should. You’re vaguely aware of a familiar thumping sound growing steadily closer and it’s not until it stops at your side that you realize what it is. Or rather, who it is. You look up to see dark brown eyes already staring down at you.

“You’re in my chair,” she says before you can even work up the courage to speak.

You blink. “Excuse me?” For a moment, you’re reminded of the picnic table she sits at during her lunch hour. The same table, the same space, facing the sidewalk, always, always.

“I know it’s hard for you to comprehend the English language, but if you could summon all of your brain cells to at least try, I’m sure society would thank you.” Venable looks at you disdainfully, her eyes flicking to the open collar of your shirt and then down to the book clasped in your hands. “Lord knows I won’t,” she mutters. 

You bristle at her tone, at her words, at her everything. “This is a public space, Wilhemina.” She blinks owlishly at your use of her first name and taps her cane against the ground, just once, before settling both of her hands on top of it. It is a warning you ignore. “You don’t own this chair or this table or this cafe. I’m sure you can find another seat.” With that said, you turn back to your book, intending to ignore her further.

It works… until you hear the scraping of a chair against the floor and you glance up just in time to see her easing into the space across from you. She pulls a book out of her bag and sets it on the table, but does not open it. She looks at you instead, her eyes cold and calculating as she tries to size you up. You could imagine the gears in her head turning but you decide you don’t want to see inside her mind. If you did, you don’t think you’d make it out alive. “I don’t recall asking you to take a seat,” you comment pointedly. Your body hums at her close proximity and it drives you mad.

“I don’t recall asking for permission,” she snaps back. You huff, but concede her point and avert your gaze, anything to keep yourself from looking into her eyes. “I’ve never seen you here before,” she says. 

“That’s because I’ve never been here before,” you retort under your breath, looking at the words on the page but not reading them. 

“Then why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you here? In my chair?”

You sigh and close your book. “How exactly is it your chair?”

“It’s my table.” Her response is spoken with the conviction of someone who thinks they are always right. Your nostrils flare in annoyance. Venable’s eyes are intense and endless as she studies you like you are a science marvel she can’t figure out and it makes you uncomfortable, like you’re nothing more than an experiment under a microscope. She tilts her head, the motion causing her bright red ponytail to fall over one shoulder. 

Your eyes travel the length of it and you’re suddenly gripped with the urge to free it from it’s restraint. You want to see it draped over her bare shoulders or formed into a halo around her head. You want to know what it would look like in the morning, in the earliest rays of sunlight, if it would hurt your eyes to see. You swallow the ball in your throat. “What?”

She rolls her eyes. “You didn’t answer my question. Why are you here?”

You raise your eyebrows and fold your hands around your coffee cup, allowing the warmth to seep into your skin, your bones, eager to feel anything other than the burn inside you. “I just moved down the street from here,” you answer absentmindedly, watching as a man pulls out a chair for the woman in his company. She smiles up at him, warm and real. She’s in love with him, you think. You can see it in her eyes.

“Why?”

You sigh. "Why do you care?” 

She laughs and it startles you so much that you turn to watch it leave her lips. It lights up her face but it is not right. It is cold and harsh and cruel. You wonder if this is what the gods hear before they are smote and sentenced to a mortal life on Earth. “Care?” She laughs again, and shakes her head as if the thought alone is one she wishes to physically knock from her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. I merely wish to know if this will be a common occurrence.”

Frustration bubbles up in your chest and you hate, hate, hate how she can get under your skin. You will not give her the satisfaction of watching you break. You shrug indifferently. “Considering this is the closest coffee place to my apartment, probably.” She looks peeved and you preen a bit like a proud peacock for finally making her feel something other than indifference. You stand up to leave.

“Wait,” she stops you. She doesn’t move; she doesn’t have to when your body ceases all movement as soon as she speaks. That fact alone fills you with dread. You watch in amazement as she shifts uncomfortably in her seat. She flicks her ponytail back over her shoulder and lifts her chin. “You don’t have to leave.”

For the second time in less than an hour, you feel yourself become speechless. “What?”

She rolls her eyes, runs the tip of her index finger absentmindedly along the spine of her worn, hardback novel. “Stay,” she says. She sniffs then, as if allergic to kindness. “If you’d like.”

You meet her eyes, briefly, intensely, too long and not long enough. It feels like a trap. Your brain throws mental hazard signs all around for you to see, bright flashing lights and neon letters that read ‘DANGER, DANGER! DEAD END; TURN AROUND BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE.’ You don’t. “Okay,” you find yourself saying. You sit back down in your seat, pull your book closer to your chest and resume where you left off. Your eyes dart back to her figure and you watch from across the table as Venable does the same. 

Silence settles between you like a blanket. It is warm and comforting and still, you burn.

--

The next week, Venable comes into the coffee shop on her usual day at her usual time, and just as she expected, she finds her chair empty. What she didn’t expect to find was you, sitting on the other side. 

No words are spoken. She takes her seat, you stay in yours. You drink your coffee, you read, you people watch, you take comfort in another person’s presence. You don’t know why, but you feel safe.

You hate it. Truly, you do. It doesn’t make any sense. How can you be safe in the presence of the one who belittles you? Who makes you feel small? Who has only shown you cruelty and whose words are always laced with razor blades? 

And then you realize, this makes perfect sense. For the woman you used to love hid her cruelty behind pretty words and even prettier lies. She had torn you down and disguised the knife in your heart as a beautiful red rose. She had put your hand around the hilt and convinced you that it was you who had done the hurting, the breaking, the stabbing. She had said, with conviction and earnestness in her words, that you were the cause of everything that was wrong with you and her and the both of you together. You had believed her.

Venable is not like that. She does not lie. She does not hide. If you want to find her, all you have to do is look- and she is a painting. It’s pretty at first glance, but the longer you look, the more you see. The beautiful and the ugly, the deepest darkness and the hidden light, all the things she tries to hide and fails to be rid of. You see her.

Sometimes, you wonder if she can see you too.

--

The days bleed into weeks and you wonder if you will ever be free of this hold she has on you. It’s like the seed she’s buried in your head has finally taken root and no matter how hard you try to fight it, you can’t get her out. That’s days, weeks, it feels like years, that you spend thinking about Venable, burning and scorching until you’re sure all that’s left inside is ash. You hate it. You think you might hate her. No, you don’t, a part of you whispers, but you ignore it like you always do.

You butt heads at work. Often and with force, but she will never fire you, because despite her best efforts to prove otherwise, you are competent and you get things done. She thinks you are a menace; you think she is a mad goddess high on a pedestal of her own making. You want to knock her off. You refuse to be another sheep cowering at her feet. When you pass her in the corridors, when you see her on her lunch hour (the same table, the same space), even during the late evenings when you catch her in the parking garage, you don’t cower. You don’t flinch. You look her in the eyes and dare her to smite you.

Every Saturday at 7:50 in the morning, you go to the coffee shop down the street from your apartment. You sit at the table in the back right corner with a coffee and a book and you wait. At 8 o’clock on the hour, Venable will join you. She will sit in the chair facing the room, pull out her novel, and read while you do the same. 

The thoughts that plague your mind don’t stop until you are in her presence. When she sits down, your mind goes quiet. Finally, finally. So you sit and you read and sometimes, only sometimes, do you wish you could reach across the table and stroke her hand.

You rarely speak. When you do, it’s a discussion about literature, about the authors you find redundant and the works you think are derivative. Sometimes, she will comment on something that has happened at work. It is always sarcastic, a jab at some hapless employee or something inane like she is just trying to fill the silence, like she wants to talk to you.

You know this can’t be true. Venable likes no one, takes pleasure from no one’s company, but sometimes you think maybe she doesn’t mind yours.

--

You and Venable eventually settle into a new rhythm, one that ebbs and flows with the days and the flux of your emotions but it is one that is constant and real. Most of your arguments have progressed from barely concealed insults to clever banter and a back-and-forth repertoire that make smiles come unwittingly to your mouth. She smiles sometimes too when she thinks you aren’t looking. A little lift at the corner of her mouth, barely there, but noticeable all the same.  Only because she never smiles and it looks so out of place there on the curve of her lips. If you blink, it will disappear, but you see it. You always do. You think it is beautiful; you also think you are losing your mind, being so attracted to a person you dislike. But you don’t hate her, a little voice in the back of your head reminds you.

You can live with that though. The attraction, the thoughts running on a never ending cycle in your mind, the burn. And you do, for many weeks that turn into months that turn into long hours working together in overtime, that turn into you sometimes joining her on her picnic table during lunch, the same table, the same space, always, always. It isn’t lost on you that she’s let you intrude on her safe spaces, not once, but twice. You don’t know what it means so you don’t think about it. You don’t want to give water to a plant you aren’t sure you want to grow. And you are fine with that. You live with it.

Until one day, you fuck up.

--

It’s one of those Saturday mornings in which you speak. These mornings are not so rare anymore, but when they happen, you cherish them, turn them into memories in your mind. You don’t even know why, but you bottle them up like four leaf clovers and put them in your pocket for safe keeping. The sun is out, shining through the window over Venable’s shoulder. It sets her hair aflame. It hurts your eyes to see, but you can’t look away.

You don’t even remember what you’d said and doesn’t that just eat you up inside? That a woman you can’t stand has the ability to completely turn your brain to mush? You’d said something and it had just come bubbling out of her: a laugh. A real one, warm and low and husky. The sound of it makes it seem like she laughs all the time, like those laugh lines around her beautiful mouth are genuine. You have never seen her look happy before. You wonder if you make her happy. You wonder if you could, if she would let you.

As you look at her, as you watch the smile on her face grow, as her hand comes up to settle on her collarbone like the motion will keep her heart from leaping out of her chest, you feel your own heart drop unpleasantly into your stomach. And you freeze.

Oh.

Oh, no.

You don’t know when it happened. When the Venable who made you feel small became the Venable who laughs at your jokes and smiles where you can see her. When the Venable who tore you down became the Venable who presses her hand into the small of your back when she passes by you at the office. When the Venable you detested and who detested you became the Wilhemina who makes you feel safe.

You don’t know, you don’t know, you don’t know.

She is the deep blue underbelly of the ocean and she is pulling you under. You don’t want to drown. You want to burn and burn and burn. But she looks at you and douses your fire. She is the chain around your ankle, the anchor weighing you down, pulling and pulling and you wonder at what point you stopped fighting and let yourself sink.

Stomach churning, you lurch from your seat and make for the door.

No, no, no. 

You don’t notice her following you until you’ve made it down the sidewalk and feel her hand clasp around your wrist. Just like old times. Her fingers are gentle and soothing and this time, they trace the veins under your skin, timid and softly and barely there but you can feel her. You want to weep. You wonder if she’d been wanting to do that, if she had wanted to do that last time. Can she feel how your heart beats for her?

You watch her fingers for a moment, too scared to look in her eyes, fearful of what might be there. What if she wants you too? What if she doesn’t?

“Wilhemina-” you start, and that single word has her dropping your wrist as if it were on fire. Maybe it is. Maybe you are.

Her eyes darken and she turns without saying a word. Your heart in your throat, you watch her back as she walks away, determination in every step she takes. The picture is enough to hurt you more than the idea of falling in love with her scares you. 

You’ve been hurt before. Mistreated, gas lighted, bruised, and broken. But you are not broken anymore. You remade yourself. You became a new you that you rebuilt from the ground up, piece by piece, until you were a wall of solid brick. You are not soft, you are not naive or gullible or innocent, not any longer. You know the damage she could do, the danger she poses to your heart and your soul and your brand new walls. How did she knock them down without you realizing? The only conclusion that you come to is that she was supposed to. 

You realize, suddenly, with an ache in your heart, that the walls weren’t meant to protect you. They were not even made of bricks. They were the walls of a home and inside was your heart and painted on the front door was a sign. A sign addressed to Wilhemina Venable that simply read: Come on in.

You’d taken too long. She’s almost at the end of the block now. Your heart thunders in your chest as you break into a jog, rushing to catch up with her. “Mina!” The nickname tumbles from your lips before you can stop it.

Wilhemina jerks to a halt, shoulders angry and bunched up around her ears, reminiscent of a disgruntled cat. She locks her fingers around the head of her cane. It seems like she might turn around, like she might let you in. Look at me, please look at me, please, please, please. For a moment, you think she might. Her head turns to the side, just barely, just enough for you to admire the way the sun glints off the sharpness of her cheekbones. But you blink and she’s walking away from you still.

You dodge pedestrians and cyclists and dogs on leashes and in your mind, you beg and plead for her to stop, to turn around, to do anything but walk away from you. You would rather her yell at you and belittle you and call you names. You would rather feel her thorns against your skin, or feel the ire build up in your bones until you know nothing but anger, anything, anything, but this intense helplessness. You can’t do anything but run.

By the time you catch up with her, she is ascending the steps to a townhouse. You reach the mailbox, watching as she pulls her keys from her pocket and fiddles with them like she doesn’t actually want to use them, but feels like she must.  “Please don’t run away,” you plead, your voice quiet from exhaustion, from pain, from the feeling of your love for her overwhelming you completely as it fills your body and inflates your soul. You wonder how you hadn’t felt it before. 

Wilhemina stops and you could sob with relief when she finally, finally looks at you. Her eyes are so very dark, but they are not stone. They are weary, cautious and guarded, but not impenetrable. “Excuse me?”

“You heard what I said,” you retort, and it’s just like old times. The sparring games that never really ceased. It’s time to pick up your sword and shield and fight for the love of your life. “Please, Mina.”

Her jaw flexes and you can see her knuckles whiten from where her fingers grip the head of her cane. “I’m not running from anything. I am simply going home.”

“Really?” You move down the sidewalk, closer to her and further away from the real world. You want to live inside her bubble if she will let you. As she has before. As she will again. If you cannot quit her, she cannot quit you. Please, please, please. “Because I think you love me and that scares the hell out of you. Well, guess what, it scares the hell out of me too.” It hurts to say, and a part of you is afraid that voicing it out loud may make it disappear, but your heart still yearns and your chest still burns. The realization that it’s real, that it’s not all in your head, has you ascending her front porch steps. You need to be closer. You need to look in her eyes and feel the weight of the world lift from your shoulders. You need to see the stars.

“Funny, I recall you fleeing the coffee shop like I had a disease. Clearly, you don’t want to be seen with-'' You kiss her, smother the words against her lips and press her back into the townhouse door, holding her firmly but gently against you. If love is a person, you can feel her right now beneath your hands. Warm and soft and whole.

She hesitates, only for a second, before you hear the clatter of keys and her cane falling to the steps. Her hands reach up, bare of her gloves, and wrap around the collar of your shirt, simultaneously pulling you in and pressing against you. She bites your lip, harsh and unforgiving, and it stings but it hurts so good. You whimper when she soothes it with her tongue. “Foolish girl,” she hisses against your mouth.

“Am I?” You ask breathlessly, running your fingers up her spine. She’s trembling, but she leans into your touch all the same. “I think you like that about me,” you murmur against her lips.

You look into her eyes. They are still guarded, still cautious and they search your face like she is waiting for the punchline. You realize, with a great overwhelming sadness, that she is expecting you to laugh at her, to betray her and say it’s all a joke. She is afraid of you. You reach up with your other hand to sooth the furrow between her brows. You follow the elegant line of her nose, trace the small groove above her top lip, brush your fingertips along the curves of her mouth. “I won’t hurt you,” you whisper. Like it is a secret, and maybe it is, but it’s a secret just for her.

You watch in wonder as Venable disappears, as chocolate brown eyes turn glossy and vulnerable, as her lips tremble, and Wilhemina appears before you. Your gazes lock, and if two souls can speak to one another, you know that yours are speaking right now. They’ve been waiting for each other all this time.

You take one of her hands in yours and press it against your chest, to the erratic beating heart beneath your shirt. She may be the ocean, surrounding you, pulling you under, and holding you down, but you realize that you were the anchor all along. You will not falter, you will not move. She is a force to be reckoned with and you- you are the stone that will not break. “Feel that?” you ask. She nods, bites her lip, searches your eyes for the answers to questions you don’t yet know. You don’t need to know the questions. You vow to find the answers anyway. “That’s yours,” you say. “That’s for you. No one else. Not now, not ever, not even before. It’s always been yours.”

“That’s very poetic,” she murmurs huskily, trying to sound sarcastic, but her voice wavers and loses the sharpness to her tone. Her eyes are wet. You realize yours are too.

“I’ve seen what you read,” you respond. You feel her hand curl into a fist above your heart. “You like my poetry.”

She snorts, leans up, brushes her nose down the length of yours. You kiss her once, just to feel her beneath your lips. “Possibly,” she admits under her breath when you pull away. You smile, kiss her again and again and again. She leans into you like she wants to crawl inside of you and become one person, one soul, one being. You think you already are.

Her tongue slides into your mouth, hot and insistent, overwhelming your senses and causing your brain to stutter. The burn that settled in your being when you saw her that moment in the parking garage flares like a fire that’s been coaxed to life with kerosene. You’re familiar with this burn, with the nature of it. It has been a piece of you for months now. The very first moment you met her, she crawled into your heart and built a fire inside you. As she sucks your tongue into her mouth and bites at the tip and her nails scratch down the length of your neck, you realize that this fire was never meant to go out. It was meant to be a bonfire that could rival the stars.

You don’t know when you picked up her keys and her cane, or when she unlocked the door to her townhouse, or when you followed her up the stairs. You don’t know when you lost your clothes or she lost hers or when you traced her spine with kisses. You don’t know how you got here, with her underneath you, her long red hair splayed across her pillow like a halo around her head, but you are here. And you are in love. 

You watch her throat bob when she swallows. She’s staring at the ceiling as if it holds the answers to the universe. Her eyes are not guarded, or weary, but cautious. Look at me, please look at me, please, please, please. And she does. Your heart somersaults in your chest. She is right. You are a fool. 

The cautious look is gone, replaced with a determination that is both strange and familiar. She cups your face in her hands and tugs you down until your faces are so close, you can feel her lips brush yours with every breath she takes. “I might hurt you,” she admits, voice trembling as she looks into your eyes and you wonder if you look as scared as she does. “But I will try. What I hurt, I will soothe.” Her thumb traces the spot she bit not moments ago.

“I know,” you whisper, before you lean down and press your lips together once more. You gently bring your body down to rest on top of her so that all you can feel is your naked skin against hers. It is warm and soft and unbearable and you know you are crying but they are happy tears. As your kiss deepens, and her tongue comes home to meet yours, you feel a saltiness fall into your mouth and you realize that she is crying too. You kiss her and worship her and love her, love her, love her.

You fall like an anchor into her ocean where you will sit unmovable, impenetrable, always and forever. Her waves can lash at you, the tides can rise and fall, but you will not break. For her, you will be everything.

You breathe her in and feel her body move beneath your bare skin. You trace her spine with your fingertips, press kisses to her collarbone, hold her in the palm of your hands like she is the whole entire world. And to you, she is. You show her the night sky when she closes her eyes, and you teach her to reach up and take the stars for herself. You tell her you love her and you make promises you know you will keep. She doesn’t have to say it back. You can see it in her eyes, feel it in the way she kisses you, in the tender way she traces your face and looks at you like you are the sun. You wonder if she can feel your heartbeat against her chest.

You make love and you burn and burn and burn until you are a supernova ready to come crashing down into her ocean.

#wilhemina venable x reader #wilhemina venable #sarah paulson x reader #sarah paulson imagine #wilhemina venable imagine #american horror story fic #american horror story apocalypse #ahs fic #ahs imagine #wilhemina venable x you #wlw imagine #wlw fic #wilhemina x reader #venable x reader #angst fic #romance fic

[doctoranon]

Jay-Bird Rock.

50′s Jasonette. Or at least a tease of it. This might have turned into a two shot.

Giggling arm in arm with one of her best friends, Marinette swayed into the popular Juke Joint ‘Bat Burger’ on the corner of Gotham’s main street. The music was blaring from the jook in the corner and she couldn’t help but bop along with the rhythm towards their destination, coordination be damned.

Madame Bourgeois had been invited to the Wayne Gala, of course, and when Chloe had learned her father would be declining his invitation (It was election season of course and he couldn't be away from Paris for even a week!) she had decreed she wouldn’t be attending without Marinette. As such, the two girls would soon be in attendance that night, but before that had wanted to enjoy themselves by getting a bite to eat and enjoy the different scenery the American city offered.

Looking over the menu and trying to figure out what sounded good, Marinette would swear she could feel eyes on her, but taking a swift look around, there was no one staring that she could notice. Bringing one hand up to fiddle nervously with one of her ladybug earrings, she figured it was just paranoia from the thought that the Joker gang was known for attacking in broad daylight.

While not something she wasn’t unused to, she was used to being able to fight back as Ladybug. But Ladybug was a magical Heroine from Paris, who dealt with an actual magical villain, not a street brawler or vicious gang in Gotham. 

Feeling the presence of someone by the table, the two girls looked up from their menus, expecting to see a waitress ready to take their order, but had to refrain from rolling their eyes at the duo of boys that had crowded them instead.

“Well ain't you birds a knockout.” the first one schmoozed, leaning his arm over the back of the girls seat, putting him clearly into Mari’s space. Unappreciative of the intrusion, Mari leaned away closer to Chloe, raising a questioning brow at the audacity. Is this what Americans considered etiquette? Sharing a look with Chloe she knew she had had the same thought, though probably a little more vicious in execution.

“Beat feet, Chuckle-head.” Chloe snapped, not having the patience for her afternoon to be interrupted, least of all by a couple of Dunderheads. “We’re no back seat bingo girl’s and thoroughly not interested.” she sniffed, the tried and tested daughter of the Mayor act masking her face.

“Aww, come on sweet cheeks, don’t be like that.” The second one chimed in, leering at Chloe with a smirk. “That’s not what’s happening here. We’re just two upstanding gentlemen looking to invite two hot mamas to cut a rug with us.”

The first of the unwelcome disturbances had taken to leaning in closer to Marinette, not leaving her with much room at all, a frown etched deeply on her face. “Whatcha say, gonna hang with us?” he asked moving his free hand to move a stray hair from her face.

Before she could even move her own hand to stop him, another hand grabbed his wrist, stopping it firmly in place. Following the hand up past the leather clad arm, she was met wit the sight of the dreamiest guy she’d ever seen, his black hair styled like a greaser, and his figure cutting an impressive figure. Meeting his eyes, her breath caught and a blush bloomed on her cheeks.

“Hey Doll, these boys bothering you?” he asked, as she melted. His voice was the richest baritone she’d heard and she wouldn’t lie to herself, she wanted to hear him call her Doll again.

“As a matter of fact-” Chloe started before being cut off by the second annoyance.

“Hey man, these are our birds, go find your own.” Well if that wasn’t the wrong thing to say. Marinette watched as the man’s blue eyes turned to ice as he looked at the boys harassing them.

Pushing the one he had a hold of back and into his friend, the black haired dreamboat scoffed, pulling a smoke from behind his ear and placing the tip between his lips. She had no idea how a man could make that so damn sexy to watch, but this one succeeded. Watching him light it up and take a drag, Mari felt herself flush, and reached behind her to grasp Chloe’s hand to keep herself grounded.

Even her crush on Adrian hadn’t been this fast and hard, but the man in front of her was something else entirely. From the way he held himself, brimming with confidence, to the way he expelled the smoke he’d inhaled, he had her craving his name and wanting his presence.

~~~~

Demolishing the Burger in front of him, Jason Todd savoured the flavour of real food. Tonight was the Wayne Gala, and he knew from experience it would be posh finger food and no amount of pleading would change that. 

He’d even brought Tim with him on his pilgrimage to Bat Burger. Knowing his sleep deprived brother, he could use the pick me up before the masses of pretentious gasbags shmoozed with them, trying to gain B’s favour. Not that it had ever worked for any of them.

His attention was caught by a swish of pink and a lyrical giggle as a couple of girls passed them by, and his eyes followed, head tilted in interest as he watched the swaying hips and bobbing head of the prettiest girl he had ever seen head towards an open booth.

A nudge from his left brought his awareness back to the fact he was gawking with his burger hovering in front of his face. Taking a large bite he cut his eyes to his brother to be greeted with a knowing smirk. “Ya dont have the time Jay-bird.” Tim told him, taking a bite of his own burger and gesturing with it towards the two girls. “We’ve got about enough time for this before B sicks Alfred or Dick on our tail to get ready.

Jason scoffed as he ran his hand over his quiffed hair, eyes moving back to the girl as she looked at her menu. Pity, she really was a knockout if ever he did see one, but he knew what his brother said was true, they were on borrowed time right now and could probably expect Dick to saunter through the doors at any time to collect them. “Killjoy.” he grumbled back, finishing his burger off in one bite, and wiping his hands on a napkin.

Pushing back from the counter, he reached over to swat the back of Tim’s head. “Come on then, Timmers let's hit the road.” he sighed, twirling his ride’s keys around his finger. He chanced one last look back at the girls before freezing. Two of the Joker gang wannabes were crowding them into the booth, a no good look on their faces.

Protective instincts flaring, Jason gripped his brothers shoulder to divert his attention to the situation, meeting his eyes as they held a silent conversation. Really it was none of their business, but they had the self respect to know a couple of uninterested girls when they saw them, and he was sure Alfred would rake him over the coals if he just let them be harassed, personal interest put aside.

Making his way over, his anger got the best of him as he saw the one guy crowding and reaching to touch the girl who had caught his attention. His arm was already grasping the offending appendage before he could stop himself. “Hey Doll, these boys bothering you?” he asked, meeting the bluest eyes he had ever had the privilege of looking into.

When her friend was cut off, he scoffed, pushing the miserable little snob into his equally miserable pal. Taking his smoke from behind his ear, he put it to his lips and lit it, taking a drag and blowing it in their direction.

“I don’t seem to remember asking your opinion on the matter.” he cut back, feeling his brother take up a position at his back. “But I know you weren't about to continue harassing these lovely ladies, were you, ‘cos you’d be just aching for a breaking if you were.” he warned, speaking through the cigarette before taking another drag and taking it in hand.

He watched as the two boys sized him and Tim up before scoffing themselves and scurrying off, tails between their legs. Smirking he took another drag of his cigarette before turning to the two girls.

“You okay now, Kitten?” he asked, eyes firmly on the black haired beauty, before flickering towards the blond as she started to speak.

“We had it handled” she snapped at him, and he raised a brow, grinning at her attitude before looking back into the blue eyes that had caught his attention.

“I don’t doubt it, but I see two knuckleheads harassing a couple of pretty ladies, I ain't gonna leave them to it. Not how i was brought up.” he said, finishing his cigarette and putting it out on the tray on the table, having to lean over his girl slightly, coming close enough to make out the cute speckling of freckles across her nose.

“Thank you.” the girl murmured, her eyes having not left his since he made eye contact. Jason smirked about to answer back when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned annoyed as hell at the intrusion.

“Jay, come on, we’ve gotta beat feet.” Tim warned, though Jason noticed Tims own eyes sliding past him towards the blonde in the booth.

“Fine, whatever.” he snapped, pulling a comb out of his leather jacket to make sure his hair still fell as he liked it. Looking back at the girl he hesitated, he felt such a connection to the girl for having only shared a few words with her, biting his bottom lip he sighed.

“Guess I’ll see you around, Doll.” he told her, winking. He spared a glance at the blond to see her smirking at him, a calculating look in her eyes. Raising a challenging brow at her, he slapped his arm around Tims shoulders, pushing him from the table and following slowly.

#jasonette #maribat #maribat fanfic #maribat fandom

[justplainwhump]

Housekeeping

Based on an RP I'm doing with the most wonderful @what-a-whump. Referenced characters are hers; the narrator (Dany) is mine. (Setting is sort of an AU, BBU-adjacent universe)

Content / warnings: Lady whump, references to noncon and human trafficking, forced nudity, dehumanization, BBU adjacent (whumpee is not a pet herself), some cursing

Context: Dany, daughter of a fallen crime lord, has been sold to mean man Ridley Lordin, who sees breaking her as his fun little side project. This is her first day at his place, after a night of torture.

Enjoy!

---

I'm naked. He went for work, and left me behind, without any clothes and chained by a collar, to his bed. Where I belong, in that sick logic of his.

I can't tell how much time has passed, how long I have been laying here staring at the ceiling, doing my best not to think, not to let my mind run in useless circles. I've heard someone enter the apartment, muffled by thick walls. Not him though. Some cleaning crew, from the sound of it. Talking to each other quietly, vacuuming far away, rattling in the kitchen.

I wonder if they know I'm here, that their mad employer keeps a prisoner in his fucking bedroom.

The question is answered right away, when the door clicks open and a cleaning lady enters, a small woman with a pink company T-shirt and dark hair tied back into a bun, white little headphones in her ears. She grants me nothing but a side glance, before she turns on a vacuum cleaner and starts cleaning the hardwood floors around me.

Instinctively I wrap myself in the covers and stare at her, but she goes on ignoring me, like a piece of furniture.

"I...", I begin to say, but my voice is drowned out by the vacuum cleaner. "I... Please, listen."

She doesn't, and I don't dare approaching her physically, just try again speaking to her, through the noise and the headphones, try to build eye contact, but it's fruitless. She goes on until she is done with the room. She unplugs the vacuum cleaner, takes out her headphones and for the first time, meets my gaze.

"Mr Lordin asked me to inform you that if you try and speak to me or any of the staff, he will be forced to leave you gagged all day."

I stare at her in disbelief and she gives me a shrug.

"Also, I am not interested in what you have to say anyway, pet", she adds.

"I'm not a -"

She casts me another glance, and I fall silent.

"Get up and stand to the wall, while I go on cleaning up that mess you've made."

With my jaw clenched, I obey, scramble out of the sheets and slowly step over to the wall next to the bed. Every step hurts, sending jolts of pain through my body.

The woman's gaze runs over me, up and down, her lips pursed in disgust. "Gotta take care of that later as well. Mr Lordin likes his belongings neat and clean."

I don't move while she works around the bed, changes the sheets quickly and efficiently, rearranges the mountain of pillows he keeps there.

I'm next. There's a guard by the door while she approaches me, watching over us with a hand on his gun. She has a bucket and a loofah, nicely scented soap in a ridiculous contrast to her hard and careless hands on me. I do my best to stand tall, keep my lips pressed together and my hands curled into fists. Still, I can't fight pained whimpers escaping my throat. Nobody reacts to it, though. The guard keeps on looking, the woman goes on scrubbing the loofah across my skin. She has been more careful with the pillows, I note bitterly.

"I wish Mr Lordin would at least keep his fun with his new toys to here. Have you seen the couch in the living room? It's a disaster. Days to clean", she says to the guard, conversational, just two workers complaining about their job."

"At least this one is a pretty girl", the guard replies. "Nice enough to look at."

"Yeah", she admits. "That guard dog scares the hell out of me. That way he growls at us? Super creepy."

She slaps my side to indicate me to turn around. I obey. My face must be flushed with shame. I'm glad to just stare at the wall as she continues. My eyes are wet with tears. That can't be it. That can't be my life. It's... Monday, probably. I should have class at 10 in the morning. Seminar in sociology. What makes people in societies behave as they do. I probably could have learned something there, not only made eyes at the cute teaching assistant. We wanted to have a coffee some time.

I guess we won't now.

"I'm done, pet", the woman says and lightly smacks my butt. "Try to stay clean until tonight. And do something about that blush on your face. He has provided some make-up for you. It's at the bathroom door, where you can reach it. He expects you 'classy', he said. And... ready for him. No surprises there."

"He does have some stamina", the guard acknowledges with a chuckle. "You think he lets his pets fuck each other, or does he do it all himself?"

I hear her step away behind me, with the bucket and cleaning materials, her voice almost by the door. "You're inappropriate", she says to him, her voice almost playful. "Never think about what your employer does in his bedroom. First rule of housekeeping. Will mess with your head."

They pull the door close behind them. A key turns in the lock, and only now do I manage to turn my face from the wall, and to quietly return to where I belong.

#whump #whump writing #lady whump #femwhump #cw forced nudity #cw referenced noncon #captivity #dany

[cozy-the-overlord]

Happiness

Summary: A daughter of Thanos, Eija had grown accustomed to the isolated nature of life on the Sanctuary. Only when her father orders her to keep watch over an injured prisoner does she begin to realize how lonely it is.

Written for @lucywrites02′s Lucywrites19 Writing Challenge on prompt #6

Word Count: 4,078

Pairing: Loki (Marvel) x OFC

A/N: Lucy: *puts together a list of really nice, sweet, loving prompts that would make for some wonderful, fluffy fics* 

Me: And I took that personally

Honestly, this turned into more of a separate challenge for me to see if I could take a fluffy prompt and write an angst bomb. I can say I’m both pleased and thoroughly ashamed of myself.

Happy Birthday, Lucy! I hope you don’t hate me too much after this one ...

Warnings: Implied/referenced torture (it’s not super graphic, but it’s definitely there), blood/injury, character death

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian @imnotrevealingmyname

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

“Are you happy, child?”

It wasn’t the type of thing Eija had expected the hulking warrior to ask a street urchin like her, especially not after catching her wrist in his pocket. Really, she should have known better than to try to steal from someone so clearly capable of crushing her skull within his fist, but his golden armor had glistened so temptingly in the sunlight and besides, she had never been caught before …

When he caught her wrist and yanked her in front of him, Eija was sure that this was the end. The penalty for stealing was steep to begin with, but stealing from a noble (and certainly this man must have been a noble) could lose you your head. But he said nothing of punishment. Instead, he curled his purple lips into a smile and asked her that question.

“Are you happy, child?”

No one had ever asked her that before. No one ever really asked her anything—the most Eija ever got were the curses spat at her on the street, on the luckless days when pickpocketing had brought her nothing and she was forced to beg for sustenance. No one cared enough to ask after her.

No, she told the warrior-noble, no, she wasn’t happy. She was hungry and tired and cold, and she didn’t have money to buy food.

The towering creature laughed, caressing the brilliant hilt that hung at his waist. “I thought not. Come,” he said, stepping forward and motioning her to follow. “I have something for you to eat on my ship.”

…

Eija tugged at the laces on her boot. She had tied and untied them three times already, but she could think of nothing else to do in this tiny room, so she went in for the fourth. Besides her, the Jotun sagged against his braces in the metal chair, his labored breathing the only sound to break the stillness. He didn’t look very Jotun. Lord Thanos had explained that it was some kind of enchantment—the AllFather had magicked away his blue skin when he was a baby to make him look more Asgardian. Eija didn’t really understand the reasoning behind such an action, but she didn’t need to. Her job was simply to make sure he survived the night.

It was a frustrating assignment. Eija wasn’t a healer—she had no idea what she was supposed to do if death came knocking for the prisoner. Unfortunately, she wasn’t exactly an assassin either, and so unlike the rest of her adoptive siblings her role on the Sanctuary wasn’t considered to be of critical importance.

So here she was. Babysitting.

The Jotun groaned. It was a soft noise, but it was enough to rip Eija’s attention away from her shoes. He shifted against his restraints, but there was no force behind the movements.

“Hey,” she called. “Are you awake?” She shouldn’t have been talking to the prisoner. Somehow, she knew Lord Thanos wouldn’t like it if he were to find out. Still, the metallic room housed a lonely existence, and Eija was desperate for any kind of distraction.

Although the prisoner didn’t exactly seem to be the ideal conversation partner. He flinched at the sound of her voice, his feeble movement falling still as abruptly as it began. Perhaps she should have gone back to her laces, but Eija was intrigued. She left her stool to stand before the Jotun, peering down at him through his shackles.

“Are you awake?” she asked again. He didn’t respond. His eyes were closed, his head hanging limply against his shoulders, as if he hadn’t just been rustling about. The thought of some grand Jotun (Asgardian?) prince trying to trick her by playing dead was so comical that Eija had to bite back her laugh.

“Hey,” she said instead, trying to add some of that Black Order sharpness to her voice as she tapped his arm. “Knock it off. I know you’re awake.”

He looked up at her then, his movement slow and labored. It almost made her wince, just looking at the way he struggled to open his bloodshot eyes. Lord Thanos had allowed Proxima charge of the Jotun today, and she had clearly made the most of it—his face was so swollen that she never would have recognized the man Corvus had pulled out of the depths of space only a week ago.

“What do you want?” he whispered, voice low and hoarse. He was making a valiant effort to control his breathing, but Eija knew the look of fear when she saw it. She had seen it in the faces of almost everyone who found themselves in the presence of Lord Thanos and his children, although those faces were never focused on her. This must have been the first time she was the cause of such terror.

It was an odd feeling. Eija wasn’t sure she liked it.

She shrugged, dropping the serious tone. “I just wanted to talk to someone. It gets very dull in here.”

The prisoner only stared at her.

No, not the ideal conversation partner at all.

Eija sighed. It seemed she’d be returning to her shoelaces in short time after all.

“Can you tell me your name at least?” she asked. No one had mentioned it yet, and Eija had been afraid to inquire. Lord Thanos hadn’t been particularly happy when he gave her this assignment—his anger had been more directed at Proxima, for nearly killing the prisoner, but Eija didn’t want to give him a reason to turn on her. She wasn’t often the target of the Mad Titan’s fury, but the few times she was were enough of a lesson for a lifetime.

But the Jotun made no response. “Is this a trick?” he asked finally.

“No. I’m just curious.” A strand of black hair had fallen into his eye. Eija was tempted to brush it away, but she held herself back. “I’ll tell you my name, if it makes you feel better,” she offered.

She waited a moment for him to give some kind of answer. He didn’t.

“Eija,” she said. “My name’s Eija.”

He inhaled. “Did he send you to kill me?”

The question caught her off guard, although perhaps it was fair. “What? No, no I’m just— no,” she stuttered. “I don’t … kill people.”

He eyed her, unconvinced. “Why are you here, then?”

“To make sure you don’t die,” she said. “They were worried, you know.” Proxima had been quite proud of herself. Eija had overheard her bragging to some of the others earlier in the day about how she had the little prince calling out for his mother by the end. They had been laughing about it, how quickly he had succumbed to childish instincts, but the thought intrigued Eija.

She had never known her mother. Before Lord Thanos had found her, she had had no one but herself, scrounging up what food she could from what she stole on the street. She never cried for anyone, no matter how frightened she was. She had no one to cry for.

She wondered what it was like.

“Are you truly not going to tell me your name?” she asked. It was a bit disappointing. She had hoped he’d be at least a little more interesting than this.

He swallowed slowly, painfully. Whereas before it seemed he was afraid to take his eyes off of her, now he seemed unable to meet her gaze.

“Loki,” he finally whispered.

“Loki,” Eija repeated. The name made her smile, although she wasn’t quite sure why it would. “It’s nice to meet you, Loki.”

She asked him more questions as the night went on—questions about his home, his family, his childhood memories. At first, he wouldn’t answer any of them. He’d just stare at her blankly as she posed her queries or whip his head away as if he couldn’t stand to be faced with the words.

So, she changed tactics. She told him about growing up on Knowhere, before Thanos found her, about how when she was not yet six years of age the man she had known as her father dumped her on the side of the road and flew away into permanent obscurity, and about how she taught herself how to reach into another’s pocket and pull out exactly what she was looking for by practicing on the other unsuspecting urchins who lived alongside her on the street. It was strange, to relieve those stories before an audience. Because he was an audience, like it or not. He was listening to every word she said, even more so, she suspected, than he wanted to let on.

When she left that morning, after Corvus came to take over for the day, her throat was so dry she could barely speak. It was a nice kind of dry, though. The Black Order never demanded her voice anyways, so it wasn’t a noticeable inconvenience.

It was worth it.

“You again,” Loki muttered when she slipped into the cell the following evening. “Eija.”

“Hey!” she exclaimed. “You remembered my name!”

“You talked a lot.” He blinked sleepily. “You had a nice voice.”

Eija stopped. She wasn’t certain she heard him incorrectly. “What?”

He yawned. “You had a nice voice.”

She felt a flush rising in her cheeks. It was quite possibly the kindest thing anyone had ever said to her, as ridiculous as it seemed. Eija doubted her siblings could even recognize the sound of her voice—if they did, it would have been to scold her for stepping so far out of line, certainly not to pay her a compliment.

“If you’d like,” she said eagerly, pulling the stool across the room so she could sit next to him. “I can tell you more stories?”

It became the part of the day Eija looked forward to most—the moments where she could talk for hours about anything she wanted, without the ever-present fear of her siblings’ mockery or the Mad Titan’s chastening. It felt … safe, in a way that she hadn’t felt safe before. Warm. She always felt so alone on this ship, wasting away whilst awaiting orders. There were points where even her own thoughts seemed to abandon her to the darkness.

But not here. Not with Loki.

He seemed to enjoy it as well. Of course, she held no illusions that he was quite literally a captive audience, but he listened. He remembered the things she said to him. On good days, he’d even ask her questions, add in thoughts and stories of his own.

“You said you don’t kill people,” he asked suddenly, on one such visit. “Did you mean that?”

Eija shifted uncomfortably. This had always been an awkward subject. “Yes,” she said. “I’m not an assassin. I don’t have the training.”

“What do you do here, then?”

She inhaled. “Steal things.”

“Steal things?” he repeated. “What kind of things?”

Eija shrugged. “Anything he wants,” she said. “Weapons, passkeys, precious gems—whatever.” She remembered that day, when Lord Thanos had taken her from the streets to his ship, what he had said as she devoured the soup his servant placed in front of her.

“I have more trained killers than I know what to do with,” he told her. “But perhaps I could use a sneak thief.”

Eija had agreed to everything he said— it wasn’t as if she was in any position to refuse him, and besides, anything had to be better than sleeping in a trash bin. And so, she became the Titan’s personal retriever, sneaking her way across the galaxy and returning with the treasures he coveted in her pockets. Her methods were straight and to the point. She was in and out before anyone even noticed her presence, and, unlike her adopted siblings, there wasn’t a trail of bodies left in her wake.

“But if your role is to steal things,” Loki asked. “Then what are you doing with me?”

Eija didn’t answer right away. Thanos had not ordered her to continue her night watch over the Jotun prisoner. He hadn’t said that she couldn’t, but she was fairly certain that he wouldn’t be pleased to find that she had. What was she doing here?

“I just like to talk to somebody, I guess,” she said. “Besides, somebody has to make sure you make it through the night.”

Although it became exceedingly clear with each passing day that such a task may be outside of her abilities. One night, she could hear his hacking all the way down the hall, rattling the walls as she rushed to his side. She found him sagging limply against his shackles, soaked in blood and sweat and goodness knows what else as he choked on his own breath.

Eija didn’t know what to do—she could only wipe the blood from his face and hold the bottle of water to his lips.

“What does he want from me?” he croaked, once he could finally speak. There were tears running down the creases of his face, although whether that was from emotion or pain Eija couldn’t be sure. “Why is he doing this to me?”

For once, she said nothing. She had no answer for him.

She tried asking Gamora once. It was no secret that the Zehoberei was Lord Thanos’ favorite—if he were to tell anyone his intentions for the prisoner, it would be her.

But the assassin gave her nothing. “He has a use in mind,” she said. “Don’t question him.”

“But,” Eija hesitated. “If that’s the case, why is he hurting him?” She gulped. “If he has a use for him, shouldn’t he be … using him?”

Gamora glared at her. “If he’s not strong enough to survive this, he’s not strong enough to do Thanos’ bidding.” Her tone lowered in warning. “Remember your place.”

Eija did remember her place. She was reminded of it with every passing moment—leashed to her lord’s beck and call, every day walking that delicate tightrope of anticipating his wishes without asserting herself too far in his eyes, living in fear of the day when the bottom finally fell through and he decided to unsheathe the blade at his waist.

Was this his plan for Loki as well? Torture him to death’s edge until it pleased him to make him yet another glorified slave? She thought of Loki, shackled to his chair, heaving and coughing up blood, sentenced to wither away until Thanos found use for him … for what? The mere crime of existence?

And here she was, letting it happen, watching as Thanos sucked the life out of him, simply using him as a receptacle to her own selfish need for attention.

She was just as awful.

But there was nothing she could do about it. Was there?

Unless …

The thought started as a hypothetical. Isn’t that how all treason began? A tiny what-if, buried under one’s daily worries? The hangers of the Sanctuary were hardly well-guarded. There was little reason to guard them, after all—few on this vessel had cause to sneak off of it, and those who did hadn’t the opportunity. And with the current position they had been holding the last few days, only a small way from the Krylor jump point, which could then take you down through one of the major galactical traffic-ways …

Stealing a ship would be almost too easy.

It wouldn’t work, she told herself as she stood amongst her siblings in Thanos’ court. The ship was one thing, the passenger was something else entirely. Loki’s chains were specifically designed by the Mad Titan to stifle the magic of that whom they held. They were the very definition of unbreakable. And the key—Thanos kept it on his person at all times, hooked to his belt alongside his blades. Any scheme was doomed to fail.

But sometimes, opportunities present themselves.

“And where are you going, child?”

Eija jumped out of her skin when she turned the corner and nearly collided with the lord himself. It took her a moment to find her voice.

“To watch over the prisoner, as you ordered, sir.”

He frowned. “That was weeks ago. You’re not still doing that now?”

She bit her tongue, so hard it hurt. “W-with all due respect sir, you never told me to stop.”

“Well, I’m telling you now. Such action is no longer necessary.”

“Yes sir.” She nodded. “Apologies, sir.”

Eija stood there shaking long after he had continued down the hall. Her heart felt as if it might pound its way out of her chest. He had to have noticed. In a moment, he’d come storming back up the corridor, grab her by her neck, and crush her skull against the wall.

But he never did.

It was just Eija, alone in the hallway, clutching the golden key between her trembling fingers.

There was little time. Her theft could only go overlooked for so long. She didn’t have the chance to question herself as she rushed to Loki’s cell—any moment spent in doubt was a moment wasted.

Loki seemed to be unconscious when she first arrived at his side, but he popped up with a start the moment she reached for his chains.

“What—" he gasped, eyes wild. “What’s happening?”

The key clicked in the lock. He heaved a breath, falling forward as the shackles fell open.

“You’re going home.” Eija’s mind was racing at a mile a minute. They couldn’t steal a Q-ship—it was too big; they’d would be noticed immediately … “Can you fly a pod?” she asked.

He gulped. “Possibly?”

“Good enough.” She pulled him to his feet. It was at this moment she became aware of the fact that she had only every seen him seated. Loki was tall. Much, much taller than her, and when he sagged against her it took all of her strength to keep him from tumbling to the metallic floor. For a moment she feared that he was too weak to even stand on his own and nearly panicked, because oh goodness how was she supposed to carry him all the way to the hanger—

But he managed to stabilize himself, gripping her shoulder so tightly that she lost feeling in it, but standing on his own. Slowly, she was able to walk him into the hallway.

The hanger was only a few floors above them, but the elevator ride felt like an eternity.

Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop …

If it stopped before they reached their destination, they were both dead.

Besides her, Loki’s breathing was labored. He hadn’t said anything since she had come to get him.

She squeezed his forearm, hoping he couldn’t feel how she was trembling like a leaf. “You alright?”

He nodded weakly. “I assume you have a plan?”

“The pods are lined on the far wall of the hanger.” She inhaled. “When the door opens, we run like mad and get you on one. And then you take off for the jump point, and don’t stop until you’ve hit traffic.”

Loki turned to her, brow furrowed. “What about you?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Me?”

“Yes. Surely you’ll not stay here?”

Eija gulped. There wasn’t time to think about that now.

The elevator doors clicked open to reveal a thicket of barbed shadows and twisted metal. The hanger was lifeless and barren this time of night, lit only by the glow of the cosmos streaming in through the glass. They made their way in perfect silence, the only sound being the pounding of her heartbeat behind her eardrums. Every dark shape seemed like a waiting figure. Now, it was Eija that clung to him too tightly, terrified that at any moment someone would jump out and rip him from her grasp. By the time they reached their destination, they were both wildly out of breath.

The pods were small, thin one-man transports. Calling them ships was really being too generous. They weren’t really meant for long term travel, but they could work for a few jumps—long enough to get to civilized airspace, which was all he needed. She helped Loki into the compartment, careful to keep him from hitting his head on the low ceiling. This damn ship had caused him enough pain already.

He sighed, leaning against the seat in one short moment of rest before turning back to her. “You still haven’t said what you plan to do.”

Eija hesitated. What could she plan to do? She had nothing waiting for her beyond this ship. As with all of his children, Thanos held a piece of her that he would never relinquish, no matter how far she flew.

“I’ll stay here,” she murmured. “For now, at least. They might pick up on something if too much is out of place.”

“But—"

“Please,” Eija hissed. “You remember what I said, right? Take the Krylor jump, and just keep towards Xandar.” She inhaled so deeply it hurt, trying to bury the aching dread building in her chest. “Stay with the crowds whenever you can—he won’t bother with you if it means he has to go through heavy populations.”

Loki nodded, but she wasn’t certain he was listening. There was a sadness behind his eyes that seemed to pierce her very soul. He squeezed her hand, pressing her knuckles to his lips in the lightest of kisses.

“Thank you, Eija,” he whispered. “May fate be kind to you.”

…

The alarm went off some hours later, when morning dawned upon an empty cell. They came for her only minutes after. Eija hadn’t been certain of what she would do—would she scream when they broke down her door? Cry for help? Fight for her life? But as the Black Order filed into her room with their weapons drawn, Eija felt only an overwhelming calm. It was good that they were here. The longer they spent with her, the more of a chance Loki had of getting away.

She went with her adoptive siblings willingly.

They took her to the same tiny room where this had all begun, shackled her to the same chair she had watched over so diligently. Eija barely registered it.

Surely, Loki was hundreds of star systems away from here now.

Surely he was safe.

When the pain did come, it filled every fiber of her being, burning through her body as if she were nothing but dry kindling. Her vision bled white. Her screams ripped her throat raw.

They asked no questions. She was relieved for that at least, because her every coherent thought shattered to pieces long before it could reach her lips.

She understood now why Loki had cried for his mother. She would have too, had she a mother to cry for. Instead, she just cried.

Eija wasn’t certain how much time had passed before he arrived. It could have been hours, it could have been months, but at some point when she dragged her aching head to look up she found Lord Thanos staring down at her, the stony weight of disappointment heavy on his features.

Gamora stood next to him. She spared a glance at her former sister, softer, sadder, almost sympathetic, before she turned back to her father.

“Sir, the Jotun is out of tracking range. There’s nothing we can do at this point.”

Out of range.

Eija thought of Loki, raven hair streaming in the breeze behind him as he pulled himself out of the craft, safe on some green, luscious, faraway planet that the Black Order could never reach. She smiled, blood dripping from her lips.

Thanos’ expression remained immovable.

“Well, child,” he finally said, looking down at her as he caressed the glinting hilt at his waist. “Look upon this mess. See what you have done. Are you happy now?” He reached out with his other hand, tipping her chin up towards him with a single finger, as if the mere thought of touching her disgusted him. “You look happy.”

Eija felt a laugh tickle her throat. It came out as more of a cough, blood and bile staining her tongue. Still, she could not bring herself to stop smiling.

“I am happy, sir.”

It was true. A beautiful warmth flooded her aching chest. She laughed again, closing her eyes and letting the feeling wash over her.

She was still laughing when the blade severed her throat. 

#lucywrites19 #loki marvel #loki fanfic #loki x ofc #happiness #cozy writes

[moonlit-imagines]

Heirloom (Part 1)

Din Djarin x Fett!reader

warnings:

a/n: did just a little bit of tweaking to help it fit into canon! (haar’chak = damn it. dinii = lunatic)

prompt: anonymous: “Hi can I request a Mandoxteen!reader where the reader is boba fetts daughter. When boba died they got to keep his helmet and they always bring it with them. The reader usually pickpockets people but this time they got caught and tries to run away but then crashes into din and drops the helmet. Din notice the armor and asks them to hand it over. Then the reader spills about being boba fetts daughter and din’s father instincts just kicks in so he asks if they wanna tag along with him and the child”

part 2

Stranded on Tatooine for about five years, give or take. It wasn’t like it was much of a fun planet. There was sand and...uh, sand people. Things like that.

Your father’s fate was nothing short of devastating for you. You’d always believed that he was invincible, especially with that armor of his. Passed down from your grandfather, a Mandalorian. Jango Fett. Your father didn’t speak of him often, but you could tell that his death had changed his path. After all, he was only ten when it happened. All thanks to those damned Jedi.

And, well, you resented the Jedi just as much after Boba died. One was present when he had been launched into the Sarlacc Pit, leaving you a young orphan on an unfamiliar planet. It took some time, but you’d finally found his Beskar armor in the hands of kleptomaniacal Jawas, and that armor belong to you. Call it a “family heirloom.”

Again, you were stranded here. A foreign planet all on your own. You had no idea how this place was ran or how people acted. That’s why you stuffed your father’s armor into your bag. It would be nothing but a literal target on your chest, you needed to play it safe. Get your bearings before you showed the inhabitants of this planet who you really were.

Over the past five years, it’s been mostly pickpocketing to get by. Sure, bounty hunting is in your blood, but there aren’t too many bounties to pick up on when you’re standing on a planet of sand and sorrow.

You slithered through a crowded area near a cantina and began swiping all that you could. Currency or valuables or food, who cares? It’s all worth something to you.

But your fingers weren’t as agile as you thought, you discovered this when a local took you by the wrist with two of his four arms.

“Going somewhere, kid?” His grip grew tighter as you reached for your blaster and let one loose in the sky, causing a panic that gave you just enough time to free yourself up and make a run for it. Wasn’t long before you heard, “Get that little kreetle!” Seems like you’d have an entourage in just a few moments.

“Di’kut.” You groaned to yourself, looking away from your path for a second too long. Your skull smacked straight into the Beskar armor of one Mandalorian. You tumbled back and fell to the ground behind-first, causing your bag to bust open and releasing its contents. This included a helmet similar to Mando’s own.

“You’re a Mandalorian?” You stammered, trying to gather your things, “I’ve never met another before.” When you looked back up at the glaring sun, you noticed a blaster barrel pointed towards your chest.

“That armor belongs to my people, where did you get it?” He demanded, catching you off-guard. Before you could get an answer out, an odd creature poked its head from his satchel and pointed towards the advancing crowd.

“I gotta get out of here.” You scrambled to your feet and tried to run past him, but he wasn’t in the best of moods, it seemed.

“Not until I get that armor.” You switched your gaze between the angry mob and the man with a strong grip on your arm. What to do, what to do?

“Haar’chak, we haven’t got all day. Just...follow me!” You pulled against his grip and felt the tension ease once he followed you, but now that you were on your way out of the area, blaster bolts came flying your way. It was a good thing you’d now had a human shield, huh? You refused to look back this time, you knew that the Mandalorian would take care of it himself.

After cutting a few corners, you were able to throw them off your trail. A lot of good that did you now that this Mandalorian was focused right back on you.

“Can you put that thing down, dinii?” You requested and noticed a tilt of his head as he lowered his weapon.

“Wait...you know Mando’a?” His voice sounded uneasy. So far, everything he’d learned about you pointed to you being...like him.

“Not much,” you leaned against the wall of an empty alley, sliding down the rough outer walls, “my father only really taught me insults. That’s his stuff, by the way.” You rummaged through your bag to pull out a canteen of water, only a few drops left. “Maybe if you’d given me a chance before threatening me, we’d be best friends by now.”

“Your father was Mandalorian? What happened to him?” Mando kneeled down and let his companion out for a moment, let him stretch his legs.

“You sure do ask a lot of questions.” You told him, smiling at the little alien who climbed on your lap. “This guy got a name?” You asked.

“The Child.” The little one reached out to touch your face as you laughed.

“Ah, I should’ve known. My apologies.” You joked, letting him go about his business. “And my grandfather was a Mandalorian. He died when my father was ten or so.” You explained. “My father...it’s complicated, but he also died when I was about ten years old. Eaten by the mighty Sarlacc when Jedi was on the menu.”

“And you don’t wear it?” God, these questions were starting to strike a chord with you. You hadn’t thought about the past in a while and you didn’t want to start now. But when you looked at this Mandalorian who looked so familiar, it was almost comforting. It was one thing to stare at empty armor, but to see someone wearing it?

“You think I want to attract all that attention? I’m sure you know what I mean.” You paid your attention back to the little one smiling wide at you while holding onto your fingers. You bouced his arms from side to side to see him dance and even let out a sweet little laugh.

“You were running from the locals, why?” You rolled your eyes at him, it was time he figured things out for himself. You hadn’t talked to anyone for this long in years, you were already worn out. “Are you a thief?”

“Why, yes, Mandalorian, I am. There’s not much else to do here, I’m afraid.” If your agitated tone didn’t give it away, the tears in your eyes did. He fell silent for a moment and watched the Child gaze up to him. “Can’t help that I’m stranded on a sand planet.” You muttered to yourself.

“I’m looking for other Mandalorians.” He informed you. “Are you interested in joining me?”

—————

As you rode off through the dunes of Tatooine, a mysterious figure watched from afar. You paid no mind to him, as this planet was filled with peculiar and dangerous people, but he wasn’t as strange as you’d think.

“I’ll see you again one day, my child.”

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @locke-writes // @sweetheartliz07 // @queen-destenie // @lotsoffandomrecs // @captainshazamerica // @ravenmoore14 // @thisetaernallove // @ofthedewthesunlight // @gabile18 //

#the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #mando imagine #mando #mando x reader #fett!reader #mando x fett!reader #star wars #star wars x reader #star wars imagine #din djarin imagine #din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin x fett!reader

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 5.5 Bonus

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T+ for language Warnings: None Summary: Local feral human spends some time with their new family. Four short bits featuring Daphne (Maiden OC), Bela, Lady D, Daniela, and a surprise guest. Enjoy. Previous Chapters: 1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring; 2: Bloodbath, Baby!, 3: Haunt Me Dearly, 4: Portraits For Ghosts, 5: Heart Of The Matter

5.5: Family

i.

“Wait, you’re telling me that you came here willingly?” You asked, mouth agape, eyes wide. It felt like every time you talked to Daphne she had something incredible to say. Which was, of course, why she was your favorite maiden to talk to. That, and the fact that she had adapted so quickly to your ‘charming personality’. So far she was the only servant you had been willing to be honest with. Mainly about your feelings regarding your blood bond, but also just about your relationship with Cassandra in general. Something about Daphne simply made her incredibly approachable. From what you had heard, you weren’t the only one to think as such, with her being fairly popular among the castle workers.

“More of us do than you might expect. Some consider it an honor to serve one of the four Lords, and Castle Dimitrescu is certainly… nicer than either the factory or the reservoir. Personally, I came here for a friend of mine. She, well, had less of a choice. I couldn’t bear the thought of her being here without knowing anyone, so it felt like I only had one option. Can’t say I regret my decision, if you can believe it,” Daphne explained, folding laundry all the while. At the same time, you carefully sort through the not yet washed clothing, separating them into two baskets. After all, you wouldn’t want Lady Dimitrescu to end up with a pink dress! Technically this wasn’t your job, nor did you have a job at all, but you hated having idle hands- especially when talking to someone who was working. At first Daphne had protested, but she had given in upon realizing just how stubborn you could be.

“That’s… impressive. I mean, holy shit, that's a real ride or die friendship right there. Is she, uh, is your friend still, you know, around?” You stuttered, cursing your tongue for asking such a thing. If the answer was no, you were going to feel like a real asshole. Which, admittedly, you had a tendency to be. But this wasn’t one of the times where it was intentional. Thankfully, Daphne is all smiles, and even seems amused by your spluttering.

“Yes, we’re even roommates. Well, us and five others. Possibly with a sixth one on the way, if we ever get someone to fill the empty space,” she replies, pausing to think. Then she’s back to work, refusing to waste any time. “Speaking of roommates… I know I said I’m not one for gossip, and I meant it, but a little songbird told me that Cassandra seems to be in a much better mood these days. Are the two of you, well, getting along? It would be nice to know that soulmates can overcome even the roughest of introductions.” There’s a hint of something odd in her tone, and you take a moment to wonder what she’s (unintentionally) hinting at. Had she met her soulmate, only for things to go poorly?... Before answering her, you make a mental note, deciding to see if any of the other maidens had a scar across their nose.

“It’s not like she and I are dating or anything. We’re just, you know, not hating each other. Currently,” you said, shrugging. But Daphne raises an eyebrow at you, and you find yourself instinctively feeling guilty, somehow feeling small next to the shortest person you knew. “Alright, alright, we might have… Okay we kissed. And promised each other not to die, because having your soulmate die hurts like hell. Also maybe she showed me her mom’s art collection and I made a joke about the titty sculptures because holy shit, this house has a lot of titties.” At this, Daphne bursts into laughter, grinning from ear to ear.

“Amen to that, for sure.”

ii.

“So… fan of science, I see,” you say, awkwardly, bouncing a little on your heels. Next to you is the eldest Dimitrescu daughter, who had unexpectedly joined your table in the library. There were several other places she could have sat, with both more comfortable seating and more workspace, but for some reason she had chosen here. So far she hadn’t said a word. Hell, you hadn’t spoken to her since your first meeting, where she had suggested killing you. Naturally, you weren’t quite sure what to make of her. Something told you that she felt much the same about yourself.

“Fan of oversimplification, I see,” Bela counters, after a few tense seconds. Then she sets down her book- a heavy text about Romanian avian fauna- to give you her full attention. “It would be more accurate to say that I enjoy studying biology, particularly the branch of zoology.” Well, this conversation was certainly… happening. Honestly, you couldn’t tell whether she was legitimately judging you, or merely chaffing you for her own amusement.

“You’ll have to, er, forgive me for being overly broad. Consider it a side effect of my nerves, those themselves being due to our unsavory introduction. In case you don’t recall, you put that sickle of yours into my shoulder,” you reminded, with a sarcastic smile. To your surprise, Bela chuckles at this, almost as if fondly remembering the incident. Seriously, you think, why did my soulmate have to be from this family?

“Staying silent was an option. Perhaps that would have suited you better?” Bela says, now clearly teasing, smile much more genuine than your own. Knowing she had a point, you’re quick to blush, mildly embarrassed.

“Touche. I am curious, however, why you decided to sit next to me in the first place. I certainly wouldn’t have tried starting a conversation if you hadn’t,” you explained.

“Like I said… I enjoy studying zoology,” Bela replies, with a sly grin. It takes you a few moments to understand the intended implications. Once you do, however, you’re giving her a hard stare. Then you scoot your chair a few inches away from her, in exaggerated movements. “Don’t worry, I was only joking. Though you certainly are an interesting human. Much more, hmm, cheeky? Compared to the servants, at least.”

“Somehow I get the feeling that they simply prefer being alive, as opposed to not being as snippy. Except maybe Daphne, now that I think about it. Very sweet, that one,” you muse. “Regardless, I think I’ll return to my book now, for it lacks a tongue, and is therefore less likely to taunt me.” Doing just as you had said, you open the book, holding it a bit higher than what would be comfortable, so that it becomes a ‘shield’ of sorts. Nothing was quite as satisfying as subtle body language.

Accepting your words with a shrug, Bela also resumes reading, turning to a bookmarked page. Roughly an hour of relative quiet passes. Neither of you so much as glance at each other, not even when she drops the pen she had been taking notes with. In the end, you are the one who leaves first, and finally the silence is broken. You give your goodbyes, and Bela returns them politely. Though you do not know it, she sets her book down as soon as you leave, pausing to think about you. Now that things had ‘calmed down’, it was reassuring for her to know that you weren’t always full of spite. Still, you held onto your cleverness (for the most part), leaving her with no doubt about the universe’s decision. You were her sister’s soulmate.

iii.

“It’s official: I’m lost in a creepy castle. The universe hates me. Probably should have realized that sooner, considering how it decided to introduce me to my soulmate,” you mutter, scowling deeply, as you wander unfamiliar halls. How had you even gotten lost? Sure, you had taken a wrong turn, but it hadn’t taken long for you to realize your mistake! Evidently you somehow managed to make another one while backtracking. Now you were standing in the center of the corridor, hands on your hips, desperate for some maiden to come rescue you. What you really didn’t want was Cassandra to find you, because she’d make fun of you for the rest of your life. It’s not like she had specifically joked about you getting lost before. Except that was exactly what had happened.

A few minutes pass uneventfully. There aren’t even any distant sounds of life; no footsteps, nor echoing voices, nor the squeaking of floorboards. All you can hear is your own breathing. As well as the occasional sigh, admittedly. By this point, there’s a part of you that’s starting to panic. After all, there was a chance that the castle was big enough for certain sections to be abandoned. Hopefully that’s not the case, you think, I mean, they’d cut the power to those parts, right? Here’s hoping… With that in mind, you get back to wandering, figuring that you’d have to eventually run into a familiar landmark. Or better yet, someone who actually knew the castle’s layout.

When salvation at last reveals its holy visage, it is not in the form of a lowly servant, rather the muffled voice of none other than Lady Dimitrescu herself. Neither her exact words nor who she’s speaking to is clear. At first, you can’t even tell where her voice is coming from, but you quickly approach one closed door, then another, searching for the source. Several doors later you’re certain you’ve found her. By then you can tell that she’s not alone. Not wanting to seem rude by interrupting, you take a few steps back, leaning against the wall to wait. For the most part you still cannot make out what’s being said, but a few words do reach your ears.

“-expected more from you. How am I-” the voice gets cut off, not by Alcina, rather a sudden gust of air, akin to massive wings flapping. When the speaker continues, they are both louder and angrier. “Someone is listening. Have you not taken steps to ensure our privacy?” Then the door is swinging open, revealing your soulmate’s mother. At first she’s practically shaking with rage, but her expression turns to shock when she sees you.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with Cassandra?” Lady Dimitrescu asks, clearly stressed, as she steps into the corridor. There’s movement behind her, although you cannot make out any details. Besides, you’re quick to answer her, wishing to avoid her wrath (and that of whoever she was speaking to).

“I’m so sorry, Lady Dimitrescu, I was walking from the dining hall to Cassandra’s studio, and I took a wrong turn. I’ve been wandering for half an hour now. When I heard your voice, I thought perhaps I could, well, enlist your assistance. But you were busy, so I figured I’d wait outside. If I had-...” you pause, gulping, as the other figure steps into view. It’s a face you’re all too familiar with. One that popped up countless times through the village, and again throughout the castle, the owner’s name always spoken with acclaim, with worship. Mother Miranda, in the flesh, wings spreading out behind her, somehow cutting a more impressive silhouette than even Lady Dimitrescu. Instantly you’re falling to your knees, knowing that your sharp tongue was no match for this practical goddess.

“Who is this, Dimitrescu? Why isn’t their blood staining your claws?” Miranda questions, gaze never leaving your trembling form.

“This… this is one of my daughters’ soulmates. They were brought in with the last group of sacrifices,” Lady Dimitrescu explains, uncharacteristically hesitant. ‘Twas a true testament to Miranda’s power, as well as her influence, that she could make someone so powerful seem so weak. Which was exactly why you were shaking with anxiety. But to your surprise, the goddess does not immediately order your execution for your trespass.

“And already they know their place, hmm? Kneeling before me?” Miranda says, a strange smile dancing on her lips. Whatever anger she had been feeling a minute prior had faded, though you couldn’t even begin to guess as to why. Regardless, both Alcina and yourself are quite relieved, though neither of you are quick to show it. “Either they have a good head on their shoulders, or you still take care of some of your duties. Very well, they may live. For now. But I expect next week’s report to be far more favorable. I don’t need to remind you of the price for failing me.” With that said, Mother Miranda turned to leave, a swirling mass of dark feathers flying past you.

A minute passes, maybe two, before either of you feel capable of speaking up.

“Let’s get you back where you belong, yes?” Lady Dimitrescu says, quietly, before placing her hand on your shoulder to guide you. Tension hangs clear and heavy over both of you. Even as you walk down corridor after corridor, the feeling does not ease. At least not until you’re back in familiar territory, near where you had originally made your mistake, finally able to breathe a little. It’s here that Lady Dimitrescu pauses to speak once more. “Tomorrow I will assign one of the servants to give you a tour, in the hopes that this does not happen again. Furthermore, I ask that you forget everything you heard earlier, for it is neither your business… or my daughter’s.” You’re quick to nod, and with that she bids you farewell, leaving you alone. Now, you think, was it left from here, or right?

iv.

“I’m just going for a walk. Why do you care so much? It’s not like it’s any of your business,” Daniela assures you, despite the fact that all you had done was say ‘hello’. If this was her attempt at casting aside suspicion, she had done a terrible job of it. What made her so nervous? Was it even worth investigating? Only one way to find out.

“You’re rather bundled up, planning on being out for long?” You ask, trying to sound casual, leaning against the wall as you did. In response, Daniela pretty much stomps her foot. There’s something odd in her expression, however, that implies your question hit a soft spot. Certainly wasn’t what you had expected. “Don’t mind me, just trying to make conversation with my soulmate’s sister. Speaking of her… have you seen Cassandra? Is she, perhaps, going with you?” A little misdirection never hurt anyone. Probably.

“No!” Daniela replies, fast as a gunshot, too much emphasis to be unintentional. But she realizes her mistake as soon as she’s made it, and makes a clear effort to relax herself. “She’s probably in her studio, doing whatever it is she calls art, on the other end of the house. Besides, I don’t want any company for this walk.” For a moment you merely squint at her, unsure of how to proceed. In the end, you decide that it really is none of your business, being more than satisfied by what teasing you’ve already done.

“Alright, alright. Well then, I’ll leave you be. Just… be careful, yeah? If you get hurt, and your mother finds out that I didn’t stop you from going… not sure Cassandra could save me,” you say, with a shrug. At first Daniela can’t decide whether to be upset or relieved, but she seemingly settles for the latter, giving you a brief nod before heading outside. As the door shut behind her, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had done the right thing.

#cassandra x reader #cassandra dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu #resident evil: village #re8 village #yeah I'm back #don't be weird about it

[donutloverxo]

Pink lady

Note - For the lovely @lielullabyes 500 followers challenge! Congrats babe🥰🥰

And for @navybrat817 and @stargazingfangirl18s challenge and birthday! I'm sorry I'm a bit late! Hope y'all like it❤❤

Summary - You try to convince your professor to give you a better grade.

Warnings - smut, age gap, professor/student relationship, deep throating, cock warming.

Prompts - professor!character x student!reader for snow

Gif prompt + your professor has a different kind of extra credit in mind for navy and siri

Pairing - Andy Barber x reader

Word count - almost 4k

Masterlist is linked in the bio!

You closed your eyes rubbing them to sooth the dryness. You had a long day and getting anything through your thick skull was turning out to be a challenge.

Of course it would. You were never an amazing student. You just studied the night before the exam and cramped whatever you could, writing what you remember on the test the next day. And yeah it wasn’t the most ideal way to study but it had worked so far for you. You got by alright.

It was more of all the shitty professors you’ve ever had than your fault. None of them could ever get you really interested in their subjects. They either didn’t care enough or only knew how to abuse their power.

But then he walked into your class. He was pretty enough to be a model or an actor. You just assumed he was someone famous. You felt as if you’ve met him before, as if you’ve known him your whole life. You were shocked to hear he was your new criminology professor, along with being a DA. Which has to be a demanding job.

It was impossible to not listen to him when he spoke, his voice so smooth like honey, carrying hints of a Boston accent he let slip whenever he got too passionate, which was quiet often.

He had broad shoulders and thick biceps he hit under those expensive suits and dress shirts. But it was more than that. He acted as if he cared. About his students, about the things he was teaching you. He always encouraged questions and helped everyone with their doubts. He had you on the edge of your seat with every word he said.

He even knew all the students by their names. Well... everyone except you.

You never interacted much in your classes, too afraid to make a fool of yourself in front of your dream man. So you had decided to buckle down and study as much as you can so you can finally raise your hand when he asked a question. How amazing it would be to hear him say ‘Good job' to you.

Maybe it isn’t classy to harbor such sinful thoughts about your professor. But the way his pants stretched over his round butt, hugging his long legs and creasing as he leaned against the edge of his table, his thick dark beard framing his face so perfectly, was just so mesmerizing. He was sex on legs. Were you really to blame here?

You had made sure to get to class ten minutes early so you could sit on the first bench. To get a close up look at the show. He was talking about something, you couldn’t really focus on. Your eyes stuck to his crotch, and how you could clearly see the imprint of his...

“Shit” You whispered as you heard him call out your surname, suddenly realising that he had his eyes on you.

“What do you think?” He asked.

“Wh – I – don’t really think a lot.” You stammered “I’m sorry what was the question?” You cringed at yourself.

“Try to pay attention next time.” He scolded you as you cowered under his intense gaze, his lips set in a hard line as he went back to addressing the whole class and resuming his lecture.

He didn’t even spare a look at you the rest of the class. You had to keep your tears at bay. It would’ve been better if you were invisible to him. Anything would be better than being publicly humiliated like that.

You decided then and there that you don’t like him. Sure you weren’t paying attention but how dare he point that out? He would never do that to anyone else. What the fuck did he have against you.

Nope. You were going to hate him now and bear him till the end of the semester. But then, all your resolve went out the window as soon as he turned around to write something on the board, giving everyone a nice view of his 'cute bubble butt'. At least that’s what you heard someone else call it. Although the kind of feelings it gave you were anything but cute.

After two long torturous hours the class was dismissed. You scrambled to pack up your bag. You were about to leave your, but body stopped of its own accord when you heard him call out your surname again. Sending shivers down your spine. You took a deep breathe turning around to look at him, your mouth suddenly dry and your hands clammy and sweaty.

“Yes professor Barber?” You asked as you stood a few feet away from him, staring at his shoes as if they were the most interesting thing you’ve ever seen. You could not look at his face. You would melt on spot and make an idiot of yourself, again.

You cursed as he walked towards you standing just in front. You had never been so close to him before, you could smell his musky cologne, feel his hot breath on your forehead.

“Don’t you think it’s rude to not look at your professor when speaking to him?” He asked cocking his head.

He couldn’t but feel proud and satisfied as you complied so easily, looking up at him. The tip of your tongue peaked out to lick your lip before your lower lip was caught in your teeth as you chewed harshly on it. A very distracting habit of yours. He really had to resist the urge to groan.

He wondered if you knew you were so cruelly teasing him or if you were as oblivious as you seemed to be.

He was excited when he was offered a position to be a teacher, a chance to shape young minds. To make a larger difference in the world. He stayed up all night preparing for his first lecture. He was always thorough with his work. He had made up his mind to do his best and be a good teacher.

But he knew he was ruined as soon as his eyes landed on you.

He wasn’t one for making friends. Always having trouble trusting people. Especially in his profession. It wasn’t that he was shy. He hated small talk and just didn’t have a lot to say, unless he was in a courtroom, even if he did he wasn’t always sure how he should say it.

But when he and his colleagues had a win on a particularly hard case, bringing down a huge mob after working tirelessly for over 3 months, he agreed to go out for drinks to celebrate. He did need to wind down a bit. When he wasn’t at the office he was at home either working or sleeping.

He was sitting on the bar stool with Henry the paralegal he had come to like the guy. He had been a huge help with the case. Henry was going on about his daughters biology project when Andy felt a tap on his shoulder he looked over his shoulder before turning around to get a proper you.

There you stood, leaning against the bar with a dopey grin on your face. He couldn’t help but do you a once over, looking you up and down, you were wearing a hot pink dress that hugged your waist before flaring over your hips. He smiled at your cute kitten heels with small white bows on them. You looked so beautiful, your hair tied up in a high ponytail as curls framed your sweet face.

“Hello mister businessman mister!” You giggled before covering your mouth as you let out a hiccup. “Oops excuse me.”

“I’m not a businessman.” He smiled shaking his head.

“Well you sure do look like one!” you laughed weakly punching his bicep “Oh my gosh” You gulped pressing his bicep in your palm “You must work out.”

“I dabble here and there.” He said waving it off as if it wasn’t a big deal “Can I buy you a drink? Are you old enough to be here?” He wondered.

“I’ll have you know I’m more than old enough” You said proudly. Normally, he would never even consider flirting with someone who looked so young, but for some reason he just couldn’t stop. “Yes I will have a drink. Wait no! No I won’t!” You gasped.

“That’s probably a good idea. You seemed to have had plenty. How about a coffee?” He offered.

“Nope I’m fine. I’m here for my friend Stacey. She likes you.” You drawled out moving your hips side to side dancing to a tune stuck in your head.

“And you don’t like me?” He pouted.

“Noooo” You whined cupping his beard in your hands. He kept pouting to milk some more sympathy from you but was completely taken aback when you pressed your soft cushiony lips over his. You pulled back staring into his eyes and said “I like you a lot! But sisters before misters you know. I couldn’t do that to my friend.” And now you were the one pouting.

He heard Henry clear his throat behind him “I’ll just go on home then. See you tomorrow man.” Andy couldn’t be bothered to turn around to say goodbye, his eyes completely focused on you.

“Oh no your friend left. Whatever you’re going home with Stacey anyway.” You looked around for your friend “Where is she? Oh no! She’s not here.”

Andy frowned looking around the bar with you “Don’t worry she must be in the bathroom or something. Why don’t you try calling her?”

You whipped out your phone from your bag. Your lips starting quivering and eyes turned glossy as you looked at it. “Hey what happened?” His instincts screaming at him to sooth your panic state. He just ran his hand up and down your forearm, there wasn’t much else he could do without seeming like a creep.

“My friend left! She said she went home with a wall street guy. Left me all alone.”

He frowned at that. “Your friend doesn’t deserve you.” He stated as if he knew you. He didn’t but he knew how loyal you were to your friend when you turned him down. Who would abandon such a sweet thing like you?

“And we were gonna go to dinner and everything.” You sniffled “I’ll have to walk home now.”

“No you won’t.” He blurted clenching his jaw. He knew just how bad men could be. He would never let a clearly inebriated woman go home alone.

Sure in any other case he would’ve called or even paid for an taxi. But he couldn’t say goodbye to you just yet. So he offered to take you home. And with some convincing you agreed.

He secured you into the passenger seat before putting your address in the GPS. He found himself laughing more than he ever had at your incoherent drunken ramblings.

“Do you believe in aliens?” Before he could even answer you continued “What if this is all just a simulation. By aliens. Like what if we’re in a tv show. That’d be awesome.” You leaned against the window, closing your eyes.

“Are you this funny when you’re sober?” He wanted to know. Although he had an inkling that you definitely would be.

“Yes I am! But my friends tell me I talk too much.” You said scrunching up your nose.

“I could listen to you talk all night. But I think we’re here.” He said parking across a building. “is this it?”

“Yeah” You nodded. “You’re right dude. They don’t deserve me.”

“Don’t call me dude.” He grumbled. You call your friends ‘dude’. And he had no intentions of being just a friend to you.

“Fine dude” You chuckled. “Do you have a pen?” You asked.

“Uh I think” He felt his pockets and then pulled out a fountain pen he always carried around with him.

You took it from him and shook your head. “You business men and your pens” You snatched his arm and started writing something on his palm.

“I keep telling you I’m not a business man.” He argued.

His heart swelled with giddiness as he saw you write down numbers on his open palm.

“Call me if you wanna hear me talk some more, ‘night.” You struggled to open the door before stumbling out. He made sure you got inside your building safely before he entered your number in his phone. He didn’t ask your name, too caught up in your rant about women’s jeans not having pockets. So he just saved it as ‘pink lady’.

He was so excited to hear from you again that he called you the next morning. Only you had given him the wrong number. He didn’t know if it was a mistake or if you had just lead him on. He considered maybe ‘accidentally’ bumping into you near your apartment. But then he saw you. In his class, as his student.

You didn’t seem to remember him but obviously had a crush on him. You weren’t such a confident talker without the influence of alcohol, the one time he asked you what your name was you just replied with ‘I’ve never had one.’ Which was adorable but also infuriating.

Was he so damn forgettable? How did you manage to do such a number on him, so much so that you haunted his wet dreams, but you had completely forgotten about him and the whole encounter. Going about your merry life, your mind not plagued with such unprofessional and unethical thoughts.

He wanted to know you. To hear you ramble some more or be awkward. Literally anything but the cold shoulder you were giving him. So he did a bad thing. He called you out when you were clearly too busy ogling him. He revelled in the sick pleasure he got from embarrassing you.

“Why don’t we go talk in my office?” He suggested and collected his books without waiting for your answer. You both made your way over to his office, you following a few steps behind him. “After you.” He said as he held the door open for you.

He locked the little latch as he closed the door, instructing you to take a seat. He wasn’t sure why he had called you over. It wasn’t like he could actually act on his feelings. Or ask you if you remembered him at all. It would be out of the question. He would get fired from the university, his reputation would be tarnished.

He took a seat at his desk shuffling through the papers in his drawer and brought one out on the desk.

He felt his cock twitch in his pants as he took in your demure state. How you had made yourself so small across him. He decided then. He couldn’t possibly not do anything about his feelings. Once his mind was set on something he HAS to have it.

Every fibre of his being was screaming at him to simply bend you over the desk and take you in the most primal way possible. But he could wait. In just a few months you would graduate and he would ask you out. There was a possibility that you would turn him down. Again. But he’d take his chances and get what he wanted. He always did.

“Your grades aren’t doing so well Miss L/N” He said passing the paper over to you. “It’s a C. You barely passed. If you don’t get a B or up in your next exam you won’t pass my class.” As much as he loved seeing you everyday he needed you to graduate so he could have his way with you.

“Oh” You let out as you looked at the test.

“That’s all you have to say? What’s wrong? Do you not understand my teaching?” To which you shook your head no “Maybe you should focus on your studies before going to clubs and getting drunk.” He spit leaning back in his chair. He knew he was being harsh, but he also knew that you needed some tough love.

“I – clubs?” You looked up at him and frowned “I don’t go to clubs! How would you know anyway?”

“Oh so you don’t remember.” He sneered not taking too kindly to being forgotten so easily. “January’s last Thursday. You were wearing a pink dress.”

You looked as if you were in deep thought before your eyes widened almost popping out of their sockets. “Oh my god! You’re that business man!” You gasped.

“Listen closely. Because I won’t say it again. I’m not a business man. I’m a district attorney and your professor.” He said sternly as he threw his head back loosening his tie so frustrated with you. He’d have to be patient. Something he very obviously wasn’t. It’s alright. You were worth waiting for.

“Sorry” You mumbled half heartedly. You knew you remembered him from somewhere. You thought you had dreamt of meeting a handsome and charming business man. Apparently you were wrong. “Why am I here professor Barber?” You asked.

“I told you. You need to get your grades up.”

“Yeah but I’m sure many other students must’ve gotten a C or lower as well. Why are you so concerned with me? What’s so special about me?” You spit with an accusatory tone.

“I care about all my students.” It wasn’t a lie. He did. He just cared about you a little bit more.

“Uh – huh. Then why did you lock the door?”

“I didn’t want anyone to disturb us.” He cleared his throat as he sat up straight in his seat.

“Sure.” You rolled your eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me.”

“Why? What are you gonna do about it?” You asked before exaggeratedly rolling them again.

He scoffed “You’re such a brat.” He shook his head. “I’ll have you straightened up in less than a week when you’re mine.”

You hummed at that. “In your dreams old man.”

“You’ll see sweetheart. I just have to wait till June.”

“Well how about you can have a little taste now? I can give you something if you can change my grade.” You offered biting your lips again.

He groaned at the tempting offer and sight “There’s nothing you can give me that will change my mind.”

“Isn’t there?” You got up and walked around the desk to him, exaggeratedly swaying your hips.

He moved in his chair to look at you kneeling between his legs. Rubbing your hands on his thighs.

“I’m sure I can change your mind.” You said confidently as you undid his buckle and pulled down his zipper.

“I doubt it.” A thought of maybe stopping you as you took his hard cock out of his briefs came to him. But then you looked at his length with such awe, as if you were admiring it.

“You like it?” He smirked.

You could only nod your head and try your best to not drool. “It’s the most beautiful dick I’ve ever seen.” You admitted. It was also the biggest, his rosy mushroom head slippery with precum, couple of blue veins adorning his thick shaft. You could wait to suck the life out of him.

“How many dicks have you seen?” He frowned. He didn’t really liking you thinking about anyone else’s dick, not when his was right in front of you. “Never mind. Finish what you started.” His impatience took over him as he pushed your head down, forcing you to open your mouth and swallow him whole. He moaned at the feeling of your warm wet mouth wrapped around him. “Relax your throat.” He ordered as he pushed deeper into you.

Sighing deeply as his tip hit the back of your throat, groaning as you choked around him before swallowing. “That’s it good girl.” He praised caressing your jaw. Rubbing away the tears cascading down your cheeks.

He pulled some papers out of his bag as your raised your brows at him. “I need to get some work done sweetheart.” He shifted his hips to sit back on his chair. “How about you keep me warm till then?” He said as you whined “What? Do you have other plans?”

You shook your head as he muttered a “Good” And started going through his paperwork. “You can swallow honey. But that’s all you can do. Don’t you dare move.” He warned.

It was proving to be quiet a task. He couldn’t really focus on anything but your mouth and how he wanted to just fuck it and you stupid. But he was teaching you a lesson. He had to wait a while before he came down your throat. Besides this would give him an opportunity to really savor the feel of you.

You laid your head on his thigh as he flipped through his papers for the next half an hour. Suckling here and there to not mess up his pants. When you realised that he might be interested in you, even just a little. You hoped he would just take you, make your dreams come true. You had no idea what the fuck this shit about waiting was. But you were too afraid to say no to him.

He haphazardly put down his pen. Releasing a shaky breath he finally took hold of your head. Rolling his hips a little, he pulled his length out and pushed it back in. Setting a slow and steady pace, knowing that he’d come all too soon.

You moaned as his hand went down to cup your breast fondling it so gently. He lost it as he felt the little vibrations “Do it again” He demanded as you moaned around his length. He held onto the back of your throat driving his hips up a couple of times before spilling in your throat. “Swallow it all.” He ordered as he pulled out of your mouth with a loud ‘pop’.

He groaned as he as your throat swallow a gulp “Clean me up. I have to go to work.” He pushed his tip against your lips as your tongue peaked out and licked what you couldn’t swallow and your spit off of him. You gave his tip a last kiss before tucking him back in his pants.

You stood up on wobbly feet, straightening the wrinkles in your dress. You went over to your chair cleaning your mouth up with a hanky Professor offered. “So you’ll change my grade now?” You pushed your test towards him.

He laughed “We never agreed to that sweetheart.”

“But I – but we – but I just!”

He shushed you putting his papers back in his bag “That would be unethical. You’ll be coming to my house for lessons. We have to make sure you graduate. Are you free tonight?” He looked up as you nodded “Good. Then we’ll decide if you’re worthy of a reward.” He pulled his laptop bag over his shoulder as he walked towards the door, unlatching it and holding it open for you. “I’ll see you tonight sweetheart.”

Tags will be in the reblog! Click the link in the bio to be join the taglist or shoot me an ask/dm. Comments and feedback are appreciated! ❤❤

Beautiful dividers by @whimsicalrogers.

Please note that my work is not to be reposted or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or AO3 account without my permission. Reblogs are most welcome though!

#shamelesshoesforchris #snowswritingchallenge #andy barber #andy barber x oc #andy barber x y/n #andy barber x you #andy barber x reader #andy x reader #chris x reader

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Unexpected Places (Pt. 02 of 11)

Pairing: Ivar the Boneless X Reader/Bjorn X Reader

Word count: 3 K

Summary: As a princess, you've lived in a golden cage all your life, always a piece on someone else's game. But everything changed when the Norsemen came crushing down on Wessex, like waves in a violent storm. Their king spared your life and decided to take you with him to his kingdom, in what felt more like a rescue than a kidnapping. There, you were not only confronted with a completely different culture and lifestyle, but also with two of his sons. The oldest one has his eyes set on you, but it's the youngest one, Ivar, who gets who claimed your attention since the first sight. And he seems to have an unnamed interest in you. Of course you hoped whatever that was would pass, but when unexpected feelings start to flow a different way, things begin to change.

<- Previous part 01

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{Vikings Masterlist}

×

A Christian Among Vikings

It takes two days to share your entire life with the Queen of Kattegat, but she did seem interested after you started. Mostly on the parts where you give voice to everything you couldn't stand. The lies and hypocrisy. That, Aslaug loves, and you have no trouble telling her that. It feels good to say all these things without the fear of being caught.

So, since today you'll finally go to the feast they're still having for the third night on a roll to celebrate this year's raid, you relax in the tub, the warm water slowly getting colder, a sign that you'll have to leave soon.

You're stretching your legs, watching the water drops rolling from your ankle to your knee, before falling back into the water. “Aslaug, where's the–” The voice makes you turn your head at the door, pulling your legs down to the safety of the water. Ragnar stands there, wide eyes and mouth half-open. “I thought this was my wife.”

“Well, it isn't so go away.” Thanks to the distance, you know he can't see anything, but even so, it makes you uncomfortable.

“I live here, do you know that?” He snaps back and you roll your eyes.

“I don't care. I'm not your wife so get out.”

“This is my–”

“Get out!” You raise your voice, throwing water at him. “Or I'll scream for help.” You're not scared of Ragnar, and you don't think he'll try anything. But you know him enough to know he's a teaser, and he loves putting people in uncomfortable positions.

He raises an eyebrow, shrugging his shoulders. “Then do it.”

Squinting your eyes, you move closer to the edge, making sure he won't be able to see anything. “Help!” You shout, trying not to laugh. The situation is quite funny, and, if he wanted to try anything, he'd already moved. So you decide to play along. “Somebody help me!” When you hear footsteps, you smirk victoriously. But, when another man comes in, the smile fades, and out of instinct, you cross your arms over your chest.

“What's going on here?” The guy asks, confused as hell, furrowing his eyebrows at you and then at Ragnar.

“Princess, this is Hvitserk, my son, who so bravely came to your rescue.” Ragnar starts, pacing around to the other edge of the room. “Hvitserk, this is (Y/N). Aslaug has been keeping her in here I have no idea why.” He sounds a little pissed, but you don't mind him in the back, your eyes focused on his son.

“Hi.”

“Would the two of you just leave?” Now you're annoyed, running a hand through your soaked hair. Relieve washes over you when Aslaug comes through the door, her eyes quickly finding her husband.

“What's going on here?” She mutters, and through the corner of your eye, you see Ragnar already moving.

“Just came to take this.” He answers, showing her something you can't see, right before leaving, grabbing his son's arm and pulling him along.

“Your husband is a complete idiot.” You say, relaxing once again.

“I noticed.” She gestures at the dress she brought you, laying on a chair. “Get dressed. I'll do your hair like a Viking woman and you'll join the feast tonight.”

Doing as she says, you put on the dress, which is different from everything you ever wore. The fabric is strong, yet beautiful, in a wonderful shade of blue with golden details that look like flowers. Aslaug braids your hair, way too patiently, and when she's done, you do look like a Viking. She even teaches you how to paint your eyes, and you wonder why she changed so much in these two days. As you wait for her to get ready, with the aid of her slaves, you decide to ask.

“Why are you being so nice to me now?” Playing with the tip of one of the many braids, you rest your back against the chair you're seated on. “When I got here I thought I'd end up living with that Lagertha.”

“Because it's more than rare to find a Christian I don't find stupid.” Dismissing the girls, she stands up. You're not entirely sure that was a compliment, but you decide to take it. “And I have the feeling, mostly after everything you told me, that this was most of a rescue than a kidnapping.”

She has a point. “It certainly does.”

“Now, come. Today I want to introduce you to the town.”

“Introduce me?” Following her, you wonder what that's about.

Aslaug doesn't answer, and it doesn't take much until you start hearing the feast. How long do these things last? Is the third day and it doesn't seem like anyone is tired. The moment the Queen enters, some heads turns, and, as she stands right before her chair, a silence starts to fall. You stat in the back, waiting to see what's going on when she gestures for you to come. Taking a deep breath, you move to stand next to her.

Many eyes lie on you. Probably all of them. You can identify hate, curiosity, disgust, indifference... And other things you can't quite place. At least you look like one of them... It must be of some help.

“People of Kattegat, this is Princess (Y/N), daughter of King Ecbert of Wessex,” Aslaug speaks, loud and clear. “She was brought here by my husband, and now will live among us.” That gets some people talking. They're not particularly excited about a Christian among them... You can't blame them. Your people kill them, and they kill your people back. They're like natural enemies. “I'm aware of the fact that you have no affection for her kind, and neither do I. So that's why she will tell you what she told me.”

A breath gets caught on your throat, and for a moment you feel like you're back home, forced to admit your sins, even though you haven't committed any. You've been in situations like this, but now, it's different. You can speak. You can let out the very thoughts that once had you imprisoned, confined to your chambers for days no end. Maybe they'll understand, unlike people in Wessex. Aslaug did. “Tell what?” You ask because you did speak great too many things with her. You have no idea where to begin.

“Tell them about your relationship with your faith.” She seems so secure, unbothered by how some men and women look so angry at this whole thing.

Taking a deep breath, you look ahead, eyes scanning through the room for any kind face... But it takes a long time until you find that Ragnar son who went to your rescue, Hvitserk. He doesn't look like he hates you, so you focus on him. “I have no love for the Catholic faith.” You start, stepping forward. “Since I was little, they've been telling me you worship false gods, made of stone, wood, iron, and silver. But they do the same.” Hvitserk furrows his eyebrows as if asking something. “My father himself spent hours repeating prayers for a cross made of gold. They accuse you of doing the same things they do.” If your older brother heard this, you'd be whipped, probably. “They're all hypocrites, punishing and condemning people for the same sins they commit, over and over again, and that I could never accept.” Chuckling, you move your eyes from Hvitserk, noticing how some angry faces are now... Inquisitive. “I was told you're all murderers, but so are they. So what if you come home covered by the blood of your enemies? Isn't that what a battle is? If it was me on the battlefield, I'd rather kill a hundred men than die by their hands.” The hall erupts on yells and shouts, hands being raised. It takes you by surprise, and for a moment, you're scared they heard enough, and decided to end your life right here and now. But the yells are from... Praising, approval. “And, as Ragnar Lothbrok as my witness, I'd rather face death than go back into the life I had there. If I can even call that a life.”

“That's true.” Bjorn raises his voice, coming from behind some men. “The moment she learned her father was dead, he stood before my father, ready to face her fate. I've never seen a Christian girl do that.”

“Don't forget about how she stood in the pouring rain with that idiot over there,” Ragnar says, pointing out his hand at Floki, who's standing on a chair or something, at the very back, watching the commotion.

Floki giggles, tilting his head at Ragnar. “Even though she can't swim. And don't get me wrong, I'd still rather she fell off to the mighty waves than have her here with us.”

“Don't say that Floki,” Aslaug warns, moving to sit on her chair. “I plan to make a Viking out of (Y/N) since she's more than eager to leave behind everything she once knew.”

“No doubt.” You mutter, wondering if this is it, if you can go sit down somewhere.

“What about that man, Edward?” Bjorn asks, coming to stand before you. He's so damn tall. You don't think you ever met a man this tall before. “You said something about a marriage.”

“Oh, that.” Rolling your eyes, you shrug your shoulders. “My father would have me dragged down the aisle in chains if it was necessary since the political implications of the union were... Delicate. But you guys decided to show up and ruin his plans. Thankfully.”

“Was he that bad?”

“The most disgusting man I've ever met in my life, so, as the Queen said herself a few moments earlier...” Turning at the people once again, you sigh. You don't expect to be accepted by everyone here, you just hope they won't hate you. Not so much, at least. “This was more like a rescue than a kidnapping.”

“Well, now that you know our new resident, I must make something very clear,” Aslaug speaks up, her voice rising above everyone else's. “(Y/N) is a free woman.” She takes a cup from the small table set next to her chair, spinning it in her hand, not bothering to look up from it. “Whoever touches her loses the balls, the hands, and the tongue... As a start.”

You giggle, thinking she's joking, but by the way, the silence persists for quite a long time, you understand that was no joke. And that's very good. That will surely keep them away from you.

“Well, let's celebrate!” Ragnar shouts, and everyone sets in motion again.

You're not sure where to go, so you find a table that's half-empty to sit down, taking a cup and filling it. Being isolated for two days with Aslaug didn't really help you being sociable, and it does feel like you're from two different worlds now. Because that's the truth, even though you're dressed like them. There's an invisible barrier keeping everyone distant, and not only for what Aslaug just said.

“Hey there.” Someone says as they settle down by your side. Hvitserk glances at you, kindly smiling. “Sorry about earlier. Heard a girl screaming, thought something bad was happening.”

“Well, something bad was happening. Your father was annoying me to death.” Taking a few sips from your drink, your eyes find that man again, Ivar. He's seated on Ragnar's chair, chatting with his mother. As if being called, he stares straight at you, suddenly angry.

“I see you already met my little brother,” Hvitserk mutters, and only then do you notice he had followed your gaze.

Clearing your throat, you look away. “Not really. But by the looks of it, he hates me.”

“I wouldn't say he hates you. Ivar is just... Not really fond of the idea of–”

“Of a Christian girl among us.” The voice comes from the head of the table, and when you raise your eyes, you see the man himself. But this time, you don't let his eyes pull you. Somehow, you manage to distract yourself. “You know you're only here because my mother wants to turn you into a Viking.”

“I'm not interested in being anything else than myself.” Drinking what is left on your cup, you sigh. “Haven't had the chance since I was born.”

“Do you really expect anyone here to believe you didn't like being a princess?” His tone is mocking you, a fake pity expression on his face.

“Being a princess in England might be fun if you just do as everyone says, no questions asked.” For some reason, you're pissed. Ivar pushed some button that got you suddenly annoyed, so you stand up, bending over the table to get the jar and refill your cup. But before you can reach it, Ivar takes the thing, drinking straight from it, some of the liquid dripping on his chin. Sighing, you squint your eyes at him, a humorless laugh escaping your lips.

“Here.” The voice gets your attention, and when you turn at him, you see Bjorn filling your cup again. “This one's better anyway.”

“Thanks.” Sitting back down, you give Ivar one last glance before taking long sips.

“Are you going to live here?” Bjorn asks. “Or are you going to live with my mother after all?”

“I'm staying.” Nodding, you look at him. His mother is the most famous shieldmaiden in the world, a skillful fighter. Also Ragnar's ex-wife, reason why Aslaug can't stand her. “The Queen already helped me settle on my chambers.”

“That's good.” He smiles, and a man pushes his shoulder quite violently. Bjorn turns to face him, cursing, but soon enough bursting into laughter.

Ignoring the two men, you look down at your cup, now almost empty again. Music starts playing suddenly, and it doesn't take much for people to start dancing. It gets louder as the minutes go by, and Ragnar and Floki stand on your table, moving around and laughing, kicking everything out. Your eyes follow the whole commotion, standing up and stepping away from the table when they get a little too close. But you don't mind. You've never seen people acting so... Crazy. So happy. And you can't stop smiling, seeing as other people join them.

“I bet you never saw anything like that,” Hvitserk says, raising his voice a little to make himself heard. “I know how boring the feats are in England.”

“This is so much better.” Ragnar jumps to the ground, but one of his legs get caught in between the bench and the table, making him fall. But on the next second, he's up again, a smile on his lips. “My brother would have a heart attack if he ever saw this.”

“Aethelwulf?”

“Yeah.” Someone bumps on your back, making you almost fall. But Hvitserk holds you up, and he seems quite confused to find you laughing. “What? It's alright, I like it. At least this chaos is real, people aren't faking it.” As your eyes move through the hall, you find Ragnar, behind this weird curtain made of leather. You didn't even know he left. “What's that weirdo doing over there?”

“He's observing.” Hvitserk answers, leaning closer and lowering his voice. “From back there, he can see who's sleeping with who. Who's not sleeping with who anymore, who may be plotting something to put him in a dangerous position.”

“Smart guy.” Nodding to yourself, your attention is stolen by the crowd, that starts moving outside, shouting something you can't really understand. “What's going on?”

“Someone's gonna fight. Come watch.” Hvitserk helps you walk among the people, all the way to the beach. Torches came out of nowhere, illuminating the night. Everyone seems oddly happy for this to be about a fight, but Hvitserck wasn't wrong. On the sand, the two men pace around each other, shouting, cursing.

“What's this about?” It happened out of nowhere, and you're not sure how serious this is. The warriors are clearly pissed at each other, but the public is cheerful. This is when you feel how new and different this culture is. Something like this would never happen back at Wessex, and it will take a while for you to get used and understand how things work here. It's a shock, a sudden impact.

“They're both in love with the same woman. She claims she loves both, but they won't share.” Hvitserk explains, as someone passes him a torch, which he holds up high. “The one who survives gets to be with her.”

“Damn.” You mutter as the two men start attacking each other. You've never seen an actual fight. Girls aren't allowed on the battlefield, mostly not a princess. The only glimpses you had were from soldiers training, and it was nothing compared to this. This is violent, powerful, and you can't help but be impressed by their skills. Of course they're good. They're Vikings, a freaking force of nature, they had told you back in England. It's impressive how they keep getting back up, even after so many wounds. Cuts, punches, everything.

A particular loud shout coming from the crowd gets your attention. It's Ivar, seated on the sand, eyes shining and a bright smile on his lips. He's enjoying this. Everyone is, actually. And once again, as if you called his name out loud, he turns to look at you. And somehow you know exactly what he's looking for. Fear, desperation. He wants to see if you're scared.

But... You're not.

Every single person here is joyfully yelling, and those two men choose their fates. They're not being forced to it, it was their decision, as it was yours to stand up, neck exposed, ready for the ax Ragnar was holding. They're choosing to face death, fearlessly.

Then, your eyes aren't on Ivar anymore, but following the men's every move. It doesn't take much for you to gasp and yelp when one or the other successes to throw a blow. You feel like a savage, laughing at the thought of what your father and brother would say if they saw you now.

When the tallest man, with long dark hair, falls dead, the crowd goes insane. The victorious raises both his hands, still holding an ax. A woman comes from the crowd, hugging and kissing him. “That's insane.” You chuckle, running a hand through your braided hair. “Teach me.” The request comes out suddenly, and you don't even give it much thought.

“Are you sure about it?” He asks, looking down at you. Hvitserk is being nice to you, and that's a surprise.

“I mean, I could never be a shieldmaiden but... I'd like to know how to defend myself.”

“Well, I've got nothing to do tomorrow, so I guess we could start.”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you smile. “Thanks. You're the quickest and... Probably the most real friend I've ever made.”

“Yeah, you'll need someone to help you out around here until you get the hang of things. Ragnar gave me this task.”

“Oh...” Looking down, you start walking back to the hall, following Hvitserk's pace. Maybe it was a little stupid to expect him to be so nice to you. “You don't have to. I will get used to things on my own.”

“I didn't mean it like that.” He quickly responds, leaving the torch on some post along the way. “You're pretty cool, actually. For a Christian. You've been a good friend so far.” He gives you a glance and a smirk. “And I don't have to obey my father, you know.”

Blushing a little, you giggle. “Thanks again, then.”

“Now, get a good night sleep and get ready for tomorrow, I mean...” Hvitserk takes a look over his shoulder, a little too dramatic for your taste. “If my older brother doesn't mind it.”

“What do you mean?” Following his gaze, you find Bjorn staring. He doesn't seem angry, but he's not happy either.

“I think Bjorn likes you.”

“And? If it wasn't for you I wouldn't have watched the fight.” Shrugging your shoulders, you stop at the entrance of the hall, waiting as the crowd moves inside. “You've done more for me than he did tonight.”

“So you enjoyed the fight?”

“I have no idea why, or how, but I did.” Nodding, you smile again. “Now, friend, let's drink some more, and maybe I'll consider dancing.” Gesturing at the hall, you both walk in.

The warmth is welcome, and you soon find your way back to the table. But, as you sit down, you see Ivar again, crawling. He moves fast, talking to a man. As he moves past your table, he gives you a stare. It's different from before, but you can't read it. His eyes, like magnets, attract you in a way you didn't even know was possible. You think about waving, or smiling, but then he looks away and disappears inside the house.

“Don't mind Ivar,” Hvitserk says, and you look down at your cup. “He'll get used to your presence.”

“Let's hope he will.”

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