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#I really forgot Sniff on the first drawing
chrisevansleftpeck · 1 year
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Mousse and Curls
Word Count: 735
Content Warnings: Short makeout sesh, fluff 
A/N: i really just wrote this to feed into my fixation on Spencer’s curls (chooses a gif with no curls)
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You spritzed perfume around your neck, cherry vanilla. You placed it back down on the table, nearly forgetting to cap it before running towards the front door of your apartment and taking a quick glance in the mirror hanging on the wall. You were glowing, your eyebrows slim and tamed, your skin shining, and your lips glossy, cherry red. 
You heard another knock at the door as you fixed the placement of a loose hair quickly, just to find another loose strand. You sighed.
“Um, just come in Spence.” You yelled before hearing the door knob jiggle. Spencer had a key to your apartment, but he always liked to knock and be greeted by you at the door, usually in a beautiful frantic mess.
But tonight you were too focused on looking perfect for dinner. You were invited over to Rossi’s for a fancy Christmas dinner. You wore Spencer’s favorite body-fitting bombshell red dress. He told you it was his favorite but what he didn’t tell you was that when you were in it, he couldn’t control his mind, or his dick.
Looking in the mirror, you saw Spencer come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist. He rested his soft, stubbled chin against your bare shoulder, only a thin red strap covering it, and hummed lightly against you. 
“Spence,” You whispered, more involuntarily, while bringing your hand up to scratch his head. You turned him around as soon as you identified a tricky spot to run your fingers through. “Come here.” You said, running to your small kitchenette and dragging him with you. 
On the counter was a basket of hair products that you rifled through, pulling a small black bottle of mousse and a another bottle of hair oil. You rubbed the mousse in your hands then reached towards Spencer. He quickly cocked his head away from you, looking at the foamy substance on your hands.
“Can I smell it first, please?” He asked gently. Sometimes you forgot he was sensitive to strong smells, even if they were smells he liked. The last thing you wanted to do was overstimulate him before a big dinner.
“Oh of course, I’m sorry my love.” You kissed his forehead gently, then brought your hands up to his nose. He closed his eyes, drawing in one long sniff, then decidedly nodded at you. “Am I good to go?” He nodded once more before you ran the cold, fluffy mousse through his curls, finger-combing it through his hair. Once it absorbed you scrunched his hair up and down in your hands. 
“Can we skip the oil?” He asked, looking at the bottle menacingly. 
You smiled at his cute distaste, “Yes, we’ll be late anyway.” 
Without notice, Spencer grabbed your face and kissed you passionately, sneakily moving his hands to your hips, then to your ass to squeeze it lightly as he kissed you. You hummed into his lips, feeling his tongue rough and wet against yours. 
“Soft.” You found a moment to whisper as you pulled at his hair. 
You nearly walked him over to the couch before a ringing hit both of your ears: your stupid alarm clock. 
You pulled away from Spencer to touch your phone. “What are you doing?” Spencer asked, watching you hit snooze. 
“You’re beautiful.” You whispered, tugging at his just fixed curls. He tried to pull away as quick as possible, knowing if he continued for even a second longer he wouldn’t be able to stop.
He panted, staring into your eyes. You always left him breathless. “Let’s go to Rossi’s and eat some, okay?”
You frowned at him, wrapping your arms around his waist and looking up at him with puppy eyes. “Why?” You moaned.
Spencer laughed, planting a small kiss on your forehead. “Cause,” He let his hands rest on your hips, then give them a small squeeze, “You’ll need those calories for tonight.” 
You giggled into Spencer’s chest, letting him lean over to grab your purse. “For you, my love.” You took it from him gratefully.
On your way to the door, Spencer stopped in front of your hallway mirror, adjusting his hair.
You quickly caught up to Spencer, watching him strategically place his curls. “Don’t bother, I’ll just mess it up again later tonight.” 
You commented wittily,, earning you a big uncontainable smile from Spencer as you both walked out the door.
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fredwkong · 9 months
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Bro, this support job at Chronivac Inc. is really exhausting. I could really use some time off. Something last minute to the Mediterranean would be cool. Mallorca, Antalya, Croatia... I don't care where. Cool would be if it was something with an outdoor gym on the beach....
We can’t have our Chronivac whisperer getting burned out! We’d lose an absolutely essential service if you didn’t get a vacation once in a while. Let’s see here…
Thanks for your booking with FWK Vacations. Your Mediterranean beach getaway is about to begin!
You wake up to the sea breeze on your skin and a tingle in your fingers. You NEED a smoke. You sit up in your beach chair and fumble beside you for your cigars and lighter. Somehow you forgot your lunch hour smoke, and now you’re all jittery. You need at least four a day to keep steady.
You relax as soon as you take the first puff. The taste fills your mouth and the smoke sinks into your mind. You’re a Croatian god, the king of this beach. Your sick muscles and hairy legs make locals and tourists alike kneel before you to slobber on your thick Balkan dick. Not to mention the cloud of cigar smoke that always hangs around you, drawing attention to your virility and manliness.
You blow a smoke ring at a bro walking by, and he wrinkles his nose at you. Asshole. He should be worshipping you for even looking at him. Your phone buzzes with a notification. Chronivac? The hell? Some kind of fantasy roleplay shit. You type “White boys can’t resist Balkan pheromones. It’s totally normal for a Balkan alpha to have his cock out with some white boys fighting over it.”
The world blurs, and the bro’s between your legs, reverently pulling down your board shorts to sniff the potent pheromones seeping from your dick and balls. That's just the way things are.
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Enjoy your vacation!
Want to go on vacation? Drop me an ask!
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romanestuffsposts · 4 months
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Coul you do one were the reader got pushed? Or like some guy pushed the reader and her daddies saw it and were overprotective
Hi there love! 💜
Of course I can! Thank you for being so patient toward me, I know it was long and I apologise deeply for that!
I hope you like how i wrote it <3
Enjoy <33
*****
Warnings : little reader being pushed, tickle to cheer up, reassurance, apologies, fear, angry Daddies,
Pairings : Daddies!Stucky ; Daddy!Bucky x Papa!Steve x Little!Reader
Summary : a mean guy push you away at the mall. Lucky for you, your Daddies were here for you
*****
It was a really hard day today. You absolutely needed to go to the mall with your Daddies because it’s winter and your clothes are not warm enough for the season.
It was the only schedule you all had free so it was now or never. There were reductions so it was the perfect moment to go shopping now.
But your Daddies didn’t thought there would be that many people at the mall that night.
You couldn’t see at two meters Infront of you because of the crowd in the stores. It really scared you and the idea of losing your Daddies in there scared you even more. You always had a piece of their clothes or their hands in yours.
But sadly you couldn’t be holding onto them all the times… you were attracted by a shop window where there were drawings stuff and books for kids.
You love going in store like this and just wondering around, eying everything that’s around you.
Your Daddies were behind you and kept an eye on you but they let you enjoying the view alone, which was a mistake..
A man was standing beside you, looking inside the window just like you. Only you can see from the corner of your eyes that he’s moving toward you while keeping his eyes on the toys.
You were about to move so he could walks past you but something caught your eyes and you forgot everything else.
A new set of drawing pens was exposed in front of you and your eyes sparkled with stars.
You forgot about the crowd and the man beside you, that until you feel his hand on your shoulder and then your butt hitting the ground.
You were too shocked to do anything. You stare down at you and wonder how the hell you ended up there. You quickly feel the tears coming in your eyes because the pain is only felt after the fall.
Your Papa is running toward you and is quick to pull you on his laps. He pulls your face in his neck and gently stroke your back ‘’shhh baby, you’re okay, you’re perfectly fine’’ he tries to reassure you so you don’t cry.
At the same time, your Daddy grabs the man and pulls him against the wall, his forearm against his throat and a murderous look in his eyes.
Your Papa keeps talking your so you don’t hear what is happening ‘’you fell but you’re fine, nothing is broken’’ he kisses your temple.
You sniff and look up at him through teary eyes ‘´you sure’’ your sweet and quiet voice asks.
You Papa tilts his head ‘’we can check if you want but I’m pretty sure nothing is broke’’
You nod your head because you really want to be sure. Little tears are falling down your cheeks because it really start to hurt.
You watch him touching your arm first ‘’does it hurt ?’’ He asks. You shake your head. He rolls it a little so you can feel that nothing is broken.
He does the same with your other arm and then your legs. He then looks at you ‘’do you feel better ?’’ He asks pulling your hair behind your ears.
You pout and hide your face in his neck again, he gently chuckles at how adorable you are ‘’I should probably keep checking, don’t you think ?’’
You nod your head and feel him grabbing your wrist, he lifts it up and as you thought he was checking your shoulder, his fingers fall in your ribs and wiggle his way in between the bones.
You flinch and fall more in his arms as you squirm, laughing loudly ‘’ maybe a bone in there isn’t doing good. I think I should keep checking, no ?’’ He teases.
You shake your head and grab his hands so he would stop tickling you ‘’notin’ broke’’ you say, a left over of giggle leaving your lips after the words.
Your Papa laughs and nod his head ‘’alright then, everything is fine. Nothing is hurt’’ he kisses your little nose ‘’your butt can be sore again for a little but it will go away very soon’’
You nod and close your eyes when his forehead fall against yours.
Someone clears his throat beside you causing you to look in that direction. When your Papa sees the man held by your Daddy at the neck, he stands up with and lifts you in his arms.
You rest your cheek against his shoulder and look at the man. Your Daddy squeezes his neck causing the man to grimace. But after that, he starts talking.
‘’I wanted to apologise to you’’ he says with a weak voice ‘’I shouldn’t have pushed you away. I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t hurt you’’
You can’t see it but your Daddies know how fake his apologies were. But before they can say anything, you talk ‘´is Oki, I no hurt. Papa checked’’
Your Papa smiles down at you and kisses the top of your head ‘’that’s right, I checked and he’s lucky that you have nothing’’ he smiles down at you, but his voice a little bit harsher so the man really know how lucky he is.
Your Daddy pulls his ear to his mouth and say something that you can’t hear before shoving the guy away. This one almost fall on the ground but is quick to run away once he found back his balance.
Your Daddy comes to you and takes you in his arms ‘’ how are you feeling my precious little one’’ he asks, worried. ‘I fine’’ you whispers and wrap your arms around his neck and his your face in his neck ‘’but I tired’’ you mumble
‘’I Know baby doll, I know. We’ll go home now, it’s enough for today’’ he kisses your temple.
‘’Please tell me you didn’t just shove him away without being able to find him back’’ your Papa quietly asks so you don’t hear.
‘’I’m not stupid Steve’´ he show him his phone where a little blue bubble is seen
‘´Good’’
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sublimecatgalaxy · 1 year
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Growing Pains
Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader
Warnings: swearing, nothing but medical talk
A/n: This is a request made by @tee-swizzle my love, "hi bestie 😃 I was wondering if you could recreate me and the hubbys first Valentine’s Day with Rafe." I love you and your requests.
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My eyes crack open to see Rafe standing in the doorway, flowers in his hands and a small smile on his lips and he takes a few hesitant steps into the room, eyes dragging over the brace on my leg, his smile tugging down.
"Hi sweetheart." Rafe whispers, sitting down beside me before flicking on the lamp beside my bed, his eyes finally glancing over my tired expression after a long day of being away from each other.
"Happy Valentines Day." I hold my hand out to him, stealing the flowers from his grasp with a bright smile, loving the purples and pink ones mixed in with the red roses.
"Oh yeah, I totally forgot." He scoffs with a simple eyeroll, sitting beside me on the bed, trying not to touch my leg as if it's glass.
"Shut up." I giggle, the ache in my chest, the anxiety I felt, all gone now that he's here beside me, his hair ruffled on the top of his head and his eyes look tired and there's a part of me that feels bad for putting him through the ringer these last few days of me being in the hospital.
"How're you feeling?" He asks with a sigh, smiling as I sniff the flowers, eyes fluttering closed. "Do you want me to just wanna chop it off?" He nods towards my bum leg with a small smirk and it finally draws a laugh out of me after a few days without it.
"Not necessarily."
"Is there anything I can do?" He asks with a heavy heart, hand reaching out to take my free one in his, gripping it tightly and I really begin to see his exhaustion shine through his handsome face.
"Just hang with me." He nods as if it's the simplest request ever, his smile brightening tenfold as he scooches a bit closer to me, brushing a hand across my cheek "Thank you for the flowers, they'll brighten the room a bit." He takes them from me and sets them on the table and I can already see the question 'where will I get a vase' churning in his mind.
"In the morning I'll go grab your favorite breakfast, wherever you want." He promises, leaning down to press a firm kiss to my lips, reminding me that he's here, that I'm here and everything's okay.
"Sorry we're spending Valentines Day here." I huff, feeling the weight on my chest return and he grins, his eyes shining with the most honesty and sincerity that I've ever seen from his typical joking manner.
"I'm just glad I'm with you."
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thetomorrowshow · 1 year
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out of aces
trust au masterlist
this one has been long in the works ksdhfjk (mostly bc i left it open as a tag for weeks on end while working on future parts)
cw: previously existing eating disorder, ptsd
~
It’s still early evening when Scott circles down over the Cod Empire, drawing his wings in tight to dive. Some of the citizens point up at him, one child waves. Cautiously, Scott waves back.
He’s had far too long of a day. Between three different meetings and hours spent poring over boring courting and marriage rituals whilst searching for some answer on how to handle Xornoth, it feels as though it’s been five times as long as normal.
He really just wants a good night’s sleep.
He lands smoothly in front of Jimmy’s residence, doesn’t bother knocking before coming in—the door, as always, is unlocked. Scott clicks his tongue, reminds himself to once again tell Jimmy that he needs to keep it locked. 
The rich, warm scent of food hits Scott in a wave and he takes a moment to inhale. Jimmy’s house is always so homey, compared to his palace. From the kitchen, Jimmy looks up and awkwardly salutes.
“Bit early tonight,” Jimmy observes, glancing out the window. His brow furrows anxiously; Scott’s quick to smooth over the issue.
“My advisors think I’m here for the weekend on invitation from you for discussions on how to approach the House Blossom matter,” Scott explains, but the anxiety on Jimmy’s face only grows.
“I nearly forgot that was coming up,” Jimmy says quietly. Scott understands—this meeting with Katherine will end in the dissolution of the House Blossom alliance, no matter what side Katherine takes. Scott’s had quite the challenge keeping his kidnapping a secret these past couple of weeks, but he’d been advised to wait, see how other empires reacted to his clear war preparations. Now it’s time to confront Katherine and ask her to join him and the rest of the Codfather alliance in this fight.
He’s more than a little nervous. So is Jimmy, clearly.
“Well, good thing you’re here, because stew is ready!” The subject change is conspicuous, but Scott lets it slide. He notices a pot over the woodstove, now that Jimmy mentions it—and if Scott isn’t mistaken, what Jimmy is ladling into a bowl is the same stew Jimmy made last week: the first thing that Scott managed to eat from Jimmy.
Jimmy takes a bite out of the stew, making sure to scrape the spoon along the bottom of the bowl, and noticeably swallows before handing it to Scott. Most of the nerves that had suddenly begun bundling in the pit of his stomach at the sight of food are gone, leaving it rather empty. He tugs off his gloves and carefully maneuvers his wings out of his travel coat, which he hangs on the hook beside the door, before sitting down at the rough wooden table and digging in.
It’s a little chewier than last time, but otherwise a wonderfully savory beef stew that has a good ratio of vegetables to gravy. His bowl is empty in mere minutes, just as Jimmy sets a hot bread roll on a napkin beside him.
Scott’s eaten bread before. He actually had bread yesterday, but the difference had been that he had made it—and even then, he’d only eaten a couple of slices before he couldn’t trust it any longer. He’s never eaten bread that Jimmy made, and while he doesn’t believe that Jimmy would purposefully put something in it, it’s always a possibility.
He eyes it suspiciously, and with a little widening of his eyes, Jimmy picks it back up and takes a bite out of it. “You don’t have to eat it,” he assures, a gentle smile quirking his lips. “I was just already making rolls and thought you might like one. It’s okay if not.”
Scott contemplates it. Breaks it open. Sniffs it. Steam rises up to his nose. It seems . . . it seems fine. Like a normal dinner roll.
Still, the idea of eating it makes his heart jump into his throat. Already, the bowl of stew sits almost uncomfortably in his stomach, more food than he’s used to consuming in one sitting.
There’s no pressure to eat it. Jimmy told him so. There’s no expectation on him here, in the quiet of Jimmy’s home. There never is. Maybe that’s why Scott’s here every single night.
He just knows he’s looking particularly pale as he wonders what his council would think if they knew that he sneaks out nightly like a lovesick teenager to crawl into bed with his crush. Of course, there’s nothing romantic between them—and there never will be, if Scott has his way, he never wants to make Jimmy uncomfortable—but there’s only one way for his actions to be perceived.
He doesn’t want to think about that, though. Thinking about how much he likes Jimmy with Jimmy right here is sure to lead to him doing something embarrassing. So, he clears his throat and asks the first thing he can think of.
“Any trouble from Sausage?”
“Not really,” Jimmy says, now sitting opposite Scott, his own bowl full of stew and two rolls beside it. His gaze turns troubled, though, and he adds slowly, “I did catch him and fWhip sneaking around real early this morning by the border, but they left once I arrived.”
Scott’s shoving back his chair and standing before he even realizes it, heart skipping a beat. No, if they were here—if they—
“Did they hurt you?” he asks frantically, and Jimmy’s reassurances that he’s fine do nothing to hide the way he brings his left hand to cover a bandage on his right forearm.
Scott grabs his arm, ignoring the way Jimmy flinches back as he turns it this way and that, scanning his skin for damage. There’s nothing recent aside from the bandage, and he reluctantly lets his arm fall.
“Really, that’s it,” Jimmy says, rubbing his arm. “It just . . . fWhip shoved me over, and I landed on a sharp rock. They were . . . they were in a hurry, I think.”
“That’s suspicious,” Scott says instantly, wracking his brains for any reason that they might’ve been here. The obvious answer is that they were looking to antagonize Jimmy, but they had left as soon as Jimmy appeared, implying that their intentions had been less than honorable. It’s very possible that they had been attempting to sneak through the Cod Empire on their way to scout out the Ocean Empire, but Jimmy had either thwarted them or caught them on their return trip.
He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like it at all.
“Has anything changed?” asks Scott, glancing around, though he knows that nothing would be missing from Jimmy’s home. “Did you alert Lizzie? Was there anything—”
“Scott.”
He looks back at Jimmy, who is eyeing him with a—a strangely fond look. “Yes?”
“I’ve dealt with them for years,” he says, raising his hands placatingly. “All things considered, this was a good interaction with those guys. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll look around in the morning and ask my guards if anything suspicious happened.”
It does make him feel better, so Scott nods his agreement and accepts that there’s nothing more they can do at the moment. In all likelihood, everything’s fine and he’s making a big deal out of nothing, so it’s the least he can do to stop asking Jimmy to worry about it.
He doesn’t end up eating the roll. It’s a disappointment, even if Jimmy doesn’t say so. Scott watches him toss the roll into the composter out back, shame licking at the insides of his stomach.
He’ll eat breakfast tomorrow. He has to.
The shame is mostly forgotten as they while away the evening talking, and for the moment it feels like it did before Scott was hoarding these awful, taboo feelings for Jimmy—casual, friendly, light. He manages to laugh at a joke and tell one in return, dry teasing that turns into a fit of giggles when Jimmy goes red and starts sputtering a weak rebuttal. The jokes wind down into general discussion, gradually getting deeper (as conversations are wont to do) until both of them are yawning and barely keeping track of what they’re talking about.
It’s nice, and the air doesn’t lose its friendliness when they crawl into bed together and turn out the light.
-
Scott wakes late the next morning alone.
He can't breathe for a second, he’s alone and he doesn’t know why because Jimmy was here when he went to sleep and he’s supposed to stay—
Scott forces himself to breathe against the imagined bands around his chest. Jimmy’s a busy emperor who has the right to go wherever he wants whenever he wants, and Scott can’t expect him to hang around when there’s work to be done.
It takes far too long for the bands to loosen, minutes that Scott spends cursing himself for not having a better handle on his emotions—it’s just Jimmy, and Jimmy’s just another person. Scott doesn’t need another person there to stay in control.
(The irony of him sitting on Jimmy’s bed while telling himself that does not escape him.) 
He rolls out of bed once he feels like he can properly breathe again and slips into the casual clothes he’d brought for today, pointedly not looking at the ornate official set he’d brought to wear to the Overgrown tomorrow. He can only imagine all the horribly diplomatic things he’ll say in those, trying to save both an alliance and a friendship.
He wanders out to the main living space and finds it empty and quiet, the only sounds the gentle lap of water at the shore and a bird chirping through the open window.
Jimmy must have been called away early. Not that it isn’t okay—it’s Jimmy’s empire, after all—but it does worry Scott.
There's no breakfast set out on the table and no dishes in the sink, so to distract himself, Scott goes through Jimmy’s cupboards and icebox before deciding to fry up some eggs with a couple of pieces of pork he found lying around. The milk and the bread have been delivered, so Scott puts the milk in the icebox and the bread on the table and cooks, trying not to think too hard about where Jimmy might be.
Soon enough the eggs are fried and the pork is sizzling, so Scott sets out two plates and the required silverware and some salt and pepper for seasoning (not that he’s going to be using it, but Jimmy tends to over-pepper just about everything).
He’s just sliding the pork out of the pan when the front door slams open.
Scott drops to the ground before he can even think, fear shooting through every limb. Something’s wrong, something bad has happened, they’re here to take him back there—
“Scott! Scott, it’s okay, I just—well, it’s not okay, but—”
And then Jimmy’s there, helping him up, and Scott can blink past the sudden static of fear and focus on Jimmy.
Jimmy’s smiling, but it’s tense, forced, and Scott knows right away that he’s trying to hide whatever’s wrong so he can help him feel safe.
Jimmy’s too good for him, Jimmy’s wonderful, Jimmy’s the best person in the world and Scott is in no way worthy of him.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he demands, extricating himself from Jimmy’s hold. He corrects his balance when he stumbles, wings fluttering behind him, and the stumble makes Jimmy bite his lip a bit and reach out, but pull back. His hands shake.
“The Codfather head. It’s gone.”
Okay. Not nearly as bad as the emergencies his mind had already conjured. Thoughts of invasion, torture, had filled his head, but here the worst case scenario is robbery. If his crown had been stolen, he would’ve been miffed about the lost history, but it ultimately wouldn’t matter too much.
It clearly means a lot to Jimmy—his eyes are going all watery—so Scott swallows down the last of his fear and gestures to the table. He can be the comfort this once.
“I made breakfast, how about you sit down and—”
“Scott, you don’t—it’s gone, Scott, it’s gone, and—”
“Sit down,” Scott says again, pulling out a chair, but Jimmy doesn’t sit, hands curled in his hair, as he begins to pace.
“I don’t know—there’s nothing—”
It’s—
It’s just a crown, isn’t it?
“Jimmy, please explain,” Scott asks, and he fights to keep his constant level of irritation (useful vocal habit to develop as an emperor, far less useful as a friend) out of his voice because if this is actually something important, he needs to know why—but he doesn’t want to agitate Jimmy any further. 
Jimmy freezes, turns back to face Scott. A tear has escaped the corner of his eye, slowly traveling down his cheek. “The Codfather head,” he says, his voice trembling, “holds the claim to the throne.”
Oh.
Oh no. That’s not good at all.
But it still isn’t terrible.
It’s certainly a bad thing to occur, but the empires aren’t savages. One can’t just steal another’s crown and declare themself king—there’s a royal lineage and the crown is merely the birthright, not the declaration. With a bit of luck, they can actually manipulate this in their favor with their meeting tomorrow, sow seeds of dissent against Sausage and fWhip—because of course they must’ve stolen it, Scott hadn’t forgotten yesterday’s mention of them at all.
“That’s bad,” Scott agrees, maintaining the note of calm, “but not insurmountable. We should be fine—everyone knows you, so if we announce now that it’s been stolen then you cannot be accused of creating a counterfeit if someone tries to steal your position—”
“No, you don’t—you don’t understand—” Jimmy’s back to pacing, hands no longer pulling at his hair and instead wrapped around himself in a self-hug. “I need the head, Scott, I need it—”
“I know, but as long as you can prove your royal heritage, you’re going to be fine. I mean, a lot of extra paperwork, I bet, but . . . Jimmy?”
He trails off, because Jimmy—Jimmy has gone utterly still, tension in every line of his body.
Scott takes a moment, tracks back his entire sentence, before it hits him.
His heart sinks.
He can barely force himself to ask the question. “You . . . you can prove your royal heritage, can’t you?”
At Jimmy’s miserable shake of his head, Scott is rendered speechless. For several long moments, all he can do is stare at Jimmy in disbelief as his shoulders begin to shake, head ducked.
“What?” he eventually says, and he can barely comprehend that Jimmy— “You—you don’t have a right to the—you’re a usurper?”
“That’s the issue,” whispers Jimmy. “I don’t know.”
-
They’re sitting in Jimmy’s living room now, breakfast left forgotten on the table. Jimmy had pressed a cup of tea into Scott’s hands that he knows he’s not going to drink, but he holds onto it for Jimmy’s peace of mind.
“How much do you know about the Cod Empire’s history?” asks Jimmy, fingers tapping anxiously against his knee. Scott casts his mind back to what he’d learned from his tutor in childhood—not much, in this regard.
“It’s been around for a while?” he hazards. “It formed as an off-shoot of the Ocean Empire, as far as we know—but both empires were entirely underwater for centuries. They’ve only surfaced in recent history, but I was told that we didn’t have any contact with the Ocean Empire until Lizzie joined House Blossom close to thirty years ago. Everybody sort of—” he grimaces— “We all ignored the Cod Empire for decades because it always looked like it was made of . . . lesser . . . people, I suppose.”
Jimmy rolls his eyes. “Yeah, you lot thought we were savages, I know. We were normal, just . . . fighting a long war. Or, they were.”
There’s a sinking feeling in Scott’s stomach as he hears the pronoun change. Jimmy doesn’t count himself as a citizen of his own empire. That can’t be good.
Jimmy sighs, sips his own tea. “Scott, when was the first you’d heard of me?”
“Ten years ago,” Scott replies instantly. He remembers the meeting like it was yesterday. “Pixl came to the House Blossom meeting one month to announce that he’d reached out to the Cod Empire and made contact with a new ruler who was looking to make alliances and open borders for the first time. But what—”
“Ten years ago,” Jimmy interrupts. “No knowledge of me before that? No knowledge of any predecessors?”
“Well, as I said, we didn’t exactly pay any mind to the Cod Empire—”
“There was a royal family. But the Cod Empire was engaged in a war for many, many decades without help. About twenty-some years ago, the last member of the royal line was killed in battle.”
“So you’re a conqueror?”
“I—I don’t think so?” Jimmy winces, sets his tea down to scrub at his face. “Scott,” he explains patiently, “the first thing I remember is waking up on a beach and not being able to breathe.”
Weird direction to take, but all right. Scott frowns. “As a child?”
“Ten years ago,” Jimmy corrects. “I was quite a bit more—er, fish-like, then, and my on-land lungs hadn’t grown to the capacity I needed for full-time land breathing. And there was this temple nearby, and—” he swallows, and his eyes are shining with tears that Scott wants nothing more than to wipe away— “and inside was the Codfather head, and I put it on—to see if it would help, and it did, and—here I am.”
The last bit comes out as a whisper, so quiet Scott can barely hear him.
“I don’t remember anything,” Jimmy says shakily. “Nothing before then. Where I came from, who I am. I’m not—I’m not a salmon, obviously, but I don’t have the right to rule. I’ve just been—doing my best.”
Jimmy finishes, hangs his head. And Scott. . . .
If he weren’t already sitting down, he’d have to sit down.
This is—this is so much information, this is enough information to start a war with, and here Scott is in the middle of it trying to make sense.
He has so many questions—starting with why and how and everything in between, but without his input, the stupidest one falls from his lips.
“You have amnesia? But you don’t act like it.”
Jimmy gives him a dry look. “And what on earth do amnesiacs act like?” he challenges. “I can’t remember anything before ten years ago. How else am I meant to act?”
Scott swallows, his face going pale in embarrassment. Stupid questions and all that. “Right. Sorry. But—you’re cod, aren’t you? How do you know that you aren’t some long-lost descendant of the royal line?”
“I could be,” Jimmy shrugs, “but—I can’t prove it. There are other cod hybrids, you know, the empire’s practically made of them. And—there’s another thing, Scott.”
Another thing? This is already a giant issue, how could there be more?
Jimmy looks like he’s about to cry again when he speaks. He looks around, as if to double-check that they’re alone. “You can’t tell anyone this. But—me being in danger puts Lizzie in danger.”
“Because you’re siblings,” Scott realizes as Jimmy says it. Aeor above, this is a mess. “And she doesn’t—?”
“Nothing before thirty-odd years ago,” Jimmy confirms. “The only thing we’ve managed to figure out is that we’re siblings, so the amnesia must run in the family.”
Scott sits back, processing just . . . how much information he’s received. Jimmy is not only a usurper to the throne of the Cod Empire (and a rather good one at that, seeing as he’s managed to pull it together for the first time in centuries), but also amnesiac and . . . possibly more than a simple cod hybrid, given the implications of his body so quickly evolving to fit his needs. That’s not exactly what’s important, though.
He should report this to the House Blossom council. Years of tutoring and training are screaming for him to immediately cut all ties with Jimmy and make certain that everyone knows he’s a false ruler, an imposter who could catch them all by surprise at any moment.
He really oughtn’t interact with Jimmy or Lizzie ever again.
“You need to hide, then,” Scott says instead, and that’s it. He’s more committed to Jimmy than he is to his common sense, and maybe that’s a good thing and maybe it isn’t, but the facts are that fWhip and Sausage likely have the Codfather head (he knew he was right to be more concerned last night) and Jimmy needs to get out of here as soon as can be arranged. “We can go to Rivendell—it’s near impenetrable, we can—”
“Scott, I can’t go to Rivendell,” Jimmy shuts him down, voice firm. When Scott raises an eyebrow, Jimmy continues, eyes down, cheeks coloring pink. “I—we’re new allies, we’re young, we’ve been spending a lot of time together—I mean, people have been gossiping ever since we danced together twice at the wedding. It would—me, going to Rivendell? It would be a scandal.”
Jimmy’s fully red in the face by the time he’s done speaking, and he ducks his head to try and unsuccessfully hide it. Scott can feel his own face pale at the implications—of course Jimmy can’t stay in Rivendell, of course that would be inappropriate—he’s such an idiot sometimes—
“Right,” he blusters, trying to cover his mistake. “Uh, Lizzie’s, then? It’s fairly—oh, but—”
“That puts Lizzie into the public eye,” Jimmy finishes, standing. “And her people know me too well—they would be confused if I never appeared publicly and they would notice—”
“Joel?” Scott throws out, standing as well to pace the length of the room. He sets his teacup down beside the now-cold breakfast on the table. “Mezeleans are—well, they’re strange folk, surely they won’t ask—”
“Scott, Mezelea’s too hot for you, you’d get sick,” Jimmy butts in, an adorable little crease between his eyebrows.
Scott blinks a couple of times. “I—Jimmy, this isn’t about me, it’s about you.”
“Well, yeah, but I figured you’d still be coming over at night.”
Maybe it’s stupidity, maybe it’s innocence, maybe it’s the open selflessness that’s always been such an essential part of Jimmy, but those words leave Scott gaping. Jimmy’s rule—Jimmy’s life is in peril, and he’s still thinking of Scott first.
His heart wants to shatter.
He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat.
“It doesn’t matter, though, does it—Mezelea might work temporarily, but it’s too dry for you, isn’t it?” At Jimmy’s nod, Scott continues. “Pixandria is far enough to put you out of mind, but there’s the same dry heat problem—”
“And Katherine’s still allies with all of them, I can’t go there—”
And there’s no one else. That’s all of their options, neatly exhausted.
There’s nowhere. There’s nowhere they can hide Jimmy, short of some hut in the forest—but that would be just as bad as ceding victory to fWhip and Sausage, they could declare Jimmy a traitor or dead and take his throne—
Whatever they do, they’ll have to find a loophole in the laws of the land, something that allows him to remain closed-off from investigation—but he’s an emperor, what could apply to him? Most laws are built to apply to everyone but the rulers, so they’d have to find a law that either encompasses all or focuses on royalty, as unlikely as that would be.
Scott’s been reading a lot lately, spending long hours each day in the library, perusing book after book in search of any ancient laws of any land, any way he could restrict the demon from being freed—it’s where he’d learned that the Ender Dragon imprisons Exor’s heir—and in those stacks he’d found—
He’d been so tired yesterday, but there was time for one more; he cracked open a book on sacred Rivendell customs and law, and he’d found himself boredly skimming through a section that he hadn’t paid much mind to in school, one that everyone knew because it had always been—
Oh.
Oh no.
There is one law that he knows of. One that could keep Jimmy safe for quite some time.
“Jimmy,” Scott says after a moment—he doesn’t want this one, doesn’t want to do this to Jimmy, but there’s no time, his heart is racing and his mind frantically searching for any other option but there isn’t one— “Please—please don’t take this as indicative of my respect for you nor my typical chivalry, but—Rivendell is safe for you on one condition.”
Jimmy sighs, stress and exhaustion and adrenaline all dripping from the sound. “Scott, we can’t—it’s dangerous enough that—”
“Agree to marry me,” Scott says over him before he can lose his courage, “and I can promise your safety.”
Jimmy stares at him.
The house is suddenly eerily silent.
“Are—”
“I’m not trying to coerce you into a marriage, I promise, I’m not taking advantage of your vulnerable position, I just—” he cuts himself off as Jimmy doesn’t do so much as blink, and dear Aeor this is the most embarrassed Scott’s been in years— “Forget I said anything, let’s—what if you stayed indoors at Pixandria the entire time, in a pool or—”
“Explain,” interrupts Jimmy, then, softer, “please.”
Where does he even begin?
“There are laws,” Scott decides on after several long moments. He’d just been reading over those laws, it’s true, but they’re rather complex and he doesn’t think he’d have been able to easily understand them without having grown up with them. He’ll have to simplify this the best he can. “See, elves live quite a bit longer than most races—I’m very young for a ruler, most of my advisors are well over eight hundred years old—and because of that, there are sacred laws and customs around marriage. They want to make sure you’re committed to your partner, see,” he adds, perhaps unnecessarily. “So the betrothed couple, by ancient law, must live in seclusion for an entire year before marrying. They are not permitted to be seen by anyone during this period.”
He doesn’t look at Jimmy now. He turns away, fiddles with the ties on the front of his shirt. He’s honestly just trying to help, but he knows if Jimmy turns down his plan he’ll be utterly crushed. It’s not meant to mean anything. It’s just to protect Jimmy. Yet to some selfish part of Scott’s mind (possibly the part to suggest it in the first place), it means everything.
“You’re the emperor, though,” Jimmy says behind him. Scott can’t tell what he’s thinking, voice flat and emotionless. “I’m one, too. How will we do our jobs?”
“Well, the law’s been adjusted some with modern times—they’ll likely give us veils, gloves, the like—but Elinus alone, not to mention the other members of my council, would fight an entire army to uphold these laws. No one would see that you don’t have the Codfather head. Most people wouldn’t even be able to speak with you—we’d both be practically locked up in my palace, which, I know, sounds terribly boring—but you’d be safe,” Scott stresses, “and as soon as we have the Codfather head back, we can break off the engagement. I swear it.”
There. His piece is said, and now it’s time to think of a real solution. One that doesn’t force Jimmy to pretend to be engaged to him. Scott falls back into one of the kitchen chairs, head in his hands. This is an utter disaster. Adrenaline is still coursing through his veins, they have to get Jimmy out of here, they have to do it now he isn’t safe—
“I’ll do it.”
Scott whips around, sees the pink dusting Jimmy’s cheeks, the determined gleam in his eyes. “You don’t have—” Scott begins, but Jimmy cuts him off.
“I’m an emperor, aren’t I? This is for my people. You’re right. It’s a good plan, it’ll keep them safe and keep suspicion off me.”
Surely there’s another way. Surely there’s something they haven’t come up with.
But there’s no time to try and find it. Every minute they spend discussing is another minute that fWhip could be spending bringing this to the attention of the House Blossom council.
This is going to break his heart.
Scott nods. He moves almost mechanically to go into the bedroom, gather his things, but Jimmy catches him by the arm, lips turned in a bit of a pout.
“I expect a good ring to make up for this proposal,” he teases.
Dear Aeor.
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xxrainshadowsxx · 2 months
Text
New Elite, Chapter 2
Was this supposed to be out last week? Yes. So... sorry. Mental health decided to be a bitch. So, I won't waste any more of your time and let you get on with the chapter.
The following week passed by in a blur, and before you knew it, Nellie was waking you up on the morning of your debutante. You take in a deep, shuddering breath and she draws the curtains back, letting in streams of sunlight. You didn’t feel ready, but that did not matter. Ready or not, you had to do this.
“What perfume would you like for today, miss?” Nellie asks as she bustles about. “I know it’s not something we usually use, but seeing as it’s such a special occasion, I don’t think your mother would object.”
“Rose,” you decide after little consideration. It was a comforting scent to you, and in no way scandalous, so your mother had no reason to disapprove. “But Nellie, isn’t it a little early to apply a scent? It’s only morning.”
“I’m going to iron your dress with it, miss,” she explains. “It’s mostly already finished, it won’t take long now, but we really want that scent to stick with you all night. You best be getting along to breakfast now, you know your mother doesn’t like it when you dawdle.” She tweaks your nose affectionately before dressing you for the morning. You don’t pay much attention to the attire she selects. You’ll be changed out soon enough anyway.
All throughout your meal, your mother prattles on and on about what you’re to do and how you’re to behave yet again, nearly causing you a headache.
“Remember, the first thing you’re to do is speak with Mr. and Mrs. Dix, and congratulate him on his election as governor,” she’s saying for the umpteenth time that week. As if you could forget. This whole part happened to the celebration for Mr. Dix being elected as governor, and it also happened to be the first major event for New York society after you turned eighteen. In old times, your family would have had to have hosted your debutante themselves, but such customs weren’t standard anymore. And according to your mother, you couldn’t have asked for a better event to come out at. All of New York society was sure to be there.
As far as you were concerned, however, you would have taken any other event. Even though this was a political outing, it would largely be attended bipartisan; it would be considered an insult to not come. Even Mr. Stimson, Mr. Dix’s opponent, was invited as a sign of good faith.
So in addition to everyone being there, half of the attendees would be unhappy. Unbeknownst to your mother, you had followed the election closely, being a secret champion of women’s suffrage. The election had been a tight one, from what you could gather from under your mother’s ever-watchful nose.
“After breakfast, I want you to practice the newest dance,” your mother says with a meaningful stare when you’re very nearly done.
“Oh, Mother… I’ve rehearsed it until my feet have bled,” you protest. You’re not exaggerating either; Nellie has had to take special care with the blisters that have formed on your feet from the endless dance lessons. “Can’t I have the morning to myself?”
She raises an eyebrow, and you know before she starts speaking that this simple gesture means all hope is lost for you. “Certainly not,” she sniffs. “Have I not impressed that this is the most important night of your life? You can never be too prepared. How would it look if nerves betrayed you and you forgot the steps? You must have them mastered beyond any chance of fault.”
You sigh, but say nothing further. It seemed that you were to be doomed to both a morning and an evening of pained feet. At this rate, you’d have arthritis before you reached thirty.
Thankfully, you manage to get through the morning without reopening any of your blisters, though the arches of your feet are throbbing. You rub them the entire time Nellie is putting the finishing touches on your dress, before your mother can come in.
But far too quickly, the sun starts to set, and that can only mean one thing. It’s time to start getting ready. You’d take a thousand days of sore feet to put this off, but that’s not an option. All you can do is take one last breath for strength before Nellie puts on the accursed corset.
Since making the finishing touches on your dress the previous week, getting dressed goes quickly enough, and then mercifully, you can sit while Nellie pins up your hair. This process does take some time, since you simply have so much hair to pin.
At least you didn’t have to wear one of the increasingly large hats your mother favored. Being unmarried, you could still show some of your hair. Nellie decorates it with a few pretty, and most importantly, not ostentatious, feathers.
You hardly recognize yourself when you’re finished being made up. You don’t appear quite so young as the first time you put on the dress, but instead you’re caught somewhere between youth and being grown. You don’t love it, but your mother is fawning over it, and of course it’s far too late to change.
“Milady, the buggy has arrived!” Nellie calls, spurring you into action. You pull your gloves and shawl on, then follow your mother to the foyer. “Tell me how it goes,” Nellie whispers just before you cross the threshold, and she closes the door, and your old life, behind you.
You take the footman’s offered hand as he helps you into the buggy, then he sits at the reins and you’re off. You’d told your mother that most people would be arriving in automobiles, but, ever the traditionalist, she’d insisted on doing it this way. Probably because it was cheaper.
However, it’s not a far distance. You only have to brave the New York winter for a matter of minutes. And when you do arrive, you’re far from the first ones, and true to your prediction, most of the transportation you see are indeed automobiles. Focusing on details like these helps keep your mind off of what’s about to take place.
But of course, the buggy stops, and the footman comes back around to help first you and then your mother down the steps. Ready or not, it’s time.
“Chin up,” your mother hisses as a final form of instructions before you follow her inside.
It’s not so much a different world; you’ve grown up with the elite of New York since birth, but always on the fringes due to your age. The room is a glittering white, only a few shades darker than your own gown. An orchestra is playing soft music in one corner, though it’s obvious that the dancing has not quite begun just yet. Supper was to happen first, and there are tables lined with gleaming plates, silverware, and stemware.
For the moment, however, the attendees are milling around, greeting each other. Mr. and Mrs. Dix are easy to spot in the center of the crowd as everyone is expected to make their way to them as soon as possible, and sure enough, it’s towards the two of them your mother steers you towards.
She finagles your way through the crowd expertly, managing to seem casual while constantly moving the both of you closer to her target. As soon as an opening presents itself, she plants you right in front of the Dixes, and she and Mrs. Dix greet each other like old friends, although to your knowledge they were merely acquaintances at best.
And then came the dreaded words out of her mouth. “I don’t believe you’ve met my daughter before?” she says as she gestures you forward.
You dip into a quick curtsey. “It’s lovely to meet the both of you. Congratulations on the results of your election, Mr. Dix,” you say with the quiet confidence that’s been drilled into you. Both of the Dixes regard you politely.
“Is this your first event of the season, dear?” Mrs. Dix asks you. You hope it’s only because she noticed the color of your dress and not because of any social ineptitude.
“Yes. I only turned eighteen a couple of weeks ago,” you explain, willing your cheeks not to become pink.
“Well, we’re honored to host your debutante,” Mrs. Dix says, and you hope she isn’t faking the warm smile on her face. It can be so difficult to tell in high society what is fake and what isn’t.
“Well, we won’t take up any more of your time at present; I’m sure you’re quite in demand this evening,” your mother laughs. “But I do hope we’ll have further opportunity to speak later.” You smile your own farewell-for-now to the Dixes before following your mother into the rest of the throng.
“Well done,” she whispers, and you feel an enormous sense of relief wash over you. “Now come. There’s several families I wish to speak to before supper is served–”
“Dot!” a voice calls out, making your mother stop in her tracks and also causing her to wince; you know she hates the nickname because of how informal it is. Nevertheless, she turns, only to find Mrs. Ryan, a woman who Mother thought scandalous for a number of reasons. She had originally been from a middle-class family when she married an Irish immigrant, and though they weren’t divorced, they were amicably separated and living different lives. You were quite sure her husband was not at the event tonight. He might not even be in the same country.
But the worst thing about Mrs. Ryan, at least according to your mother, is though she’d grown up middle-class, she was unbelievably rich now because her husband had discovered a wealth of oil a few years back. And that made the Ryans ‘New Money,’ a blight your mother could never forgive.
But, loathe as your mother was to admit it, Mrs. Ryan was part of society now, which meant your mother had to put on her best manners. She smiles at Mrs. Ryan, though you can tell the smile is far from genuine. “Matilda. How are you this evening?” she asks, her voice strained.
“Oh, just the same as always,” Mrs. Ryan laughs before she notices you. “This your daughter, Dot? My, you’ve grown up from the last time I saw you. You look a vision, dear. In fact, I’ve got someone who you should meet.”
She shouts again across the room, though you don’t quite catch the name. Your mother seems to, however, and judging by her reaction, she’s not at all pleased. Her face goes stark white, and she can’t keep up the fake smile any longer; it slides from her face like quicksilver.
But before you can do more than shoot her a covert questioning look, an extremely tall man makes his way over to the three of you. “This is Mr. Onceler,” Mrs. Ryan introduces, and suddenly your mother’s reaction makes sense. You knew who Mr. Onceler was. All of New York knew who he was. He had come from nothing until inventing and selling a fashion item, the thneed, which half the attendees, Mrs. Ryan included, were wearing.
But coming from nothing meant one thing, and it was the only thing that mattered to your mother. He was New Money, and your mother was terrified of New Money monopolizing your time and scaring other, ‘better’ prospects away.
Mr. Onceler, however, doesn’t look like he’s interested in taking up all of your time. Studying his face, he looks quite disinterested in being here at all. When Mrs. Ryan finishes her introductions and you give your hand to him as courtesy demanded, he only just barely brushes the back of your gloved hand with his lips, not looking at you once.
“Mr. Onceler’s just gotten back from upstate, where he’s built a new factory,” Mrs. Ryan says proudly, as if she’s listing off the achievements of a son instead of a mere acquaintance.
“I can’t take all of the credit for that, Matilda. Your husband was one of the people who convinced me to do it,” Mr. Onceler says, and you can tell, despite his slightly dismissive tone, that he and Mrs. Ryan have genuine affection for each other. It could very well have been the case that she introduced him into the world of society. “And as much as I would love to stay and chat–”
“Yes, yes, go and talk about important things with important men, don’t stay here and gossip with us ladies,” Mrs. Ryan says with a wave of her hand. Needing no further invitation, Mr. Onceler leaves, barely inclining his head towards you and your mother as a farewell.
Mrs. Ryan turns to you. “What do you think, eh? Handsome, isn’t he? And he’s young too, only twenty. He’s the most eligible bachelor in the state right now.”
“But his manners!” your mother blurts out, though she can’t bring herself to raise her voice any higher than a whisper. It seems she couldn’t hold back any longer, even in the company of one she considered inferior like Mrs. Ryan. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a man so rude!”
Mrs. Ryan waves her hand impatiently again. “Come off it, Dot. He’s had all the cards stacked against him. He hasn’t had his money for a year yet, and he’s not even used to northern society as an outsider; he’s from Atlanta. It’s a wonder he’s doing this well at all. And manners matter less and less these days. Cash is the only thing that speaks, and trust me, he’s got plenty of that.” She gives the both of you a meaningful look. “I’d keep that in mind before immediately writing him off.” She gives you an extra look, one that you can’t quite read before saying, “Well, I expect I’ll see both of you later.” She grabs your hand. “You look effervescent, dear. You’re only young once. Enjoy your night.” With that, she takes her leave.
As soon as she’s out of earshot, your mother starts hissing in your ear. “The nerve of that awful woman!” she bemoans. “How dare she imply that my daughter can’t do any better than him? His manners were worse than hers! He barely acknowledged you at all–”
“I think that means he’s not interested in me, Mother,” you remind her as gently as you can. “We have nothing to worry about if he doesn’t like me. As you said, there are much better options.”
Miraculously, your mother actually manages to calm down. “Of course,” she murmurs, collecting herself again. “Of course. There’s no use worrying about his opinion of you. He’s new money. He’s not worth expending energy over.” You can’t help but wince as she says that. You very much hope no one else heard her. You’d never admit it to her, but there was nothing wrong in your eyes with New Money. Mrs. Ryan, for example, you actually liked very much for her bluntness. Your mother was just so old-fashioned, and had an inability to understand differing viewpoints. You’d learned this long ago, and didn’t bother arguing with her much over it. It was easier to pretend you agreed with her most of the time.
“Well, let’s get moving. There’s still people we need to speak with before supper,” Mother decides before whisking you back into the room. The next half-hour or so is filled with conversation much more suited to your mother’s preference–polite and removed. To you, it’s empty. Just vain people speaking of the same things over and over again.
You also can’t help but notice that everyone your mother speaks with is an old New York family, and that they either are or have a son that is an heir to a large family fortune. She pushes you in front of these single men, and to your slight dismay, you can tell that some are indeed interested in you, specifically in your last name. Several of these people felt the same way as your mother–that a family name was far more important than being a decent person.
Finally, after you don’t think you could stand another stiff introduction, you’re called to dinner. You know it will be more awful, forced conversation, but at least you won’t be shown around like a prized animal at a fair. You find your seats, and discover Mrs. Ryan is also at your table, which clearly displeases your mother.
You didn’t think she had too much reason to complain though. Also seated with you is the Hunte family, one of the most respected in New York. Their son and heir to the fortune, Thomas, was seated right across from you. He was quite a bit older than you, being nearly thirty, but at least he wasn’t a widower in his fifties. Your mother seemed almost hungry when she looked at him, and you would practically feel her willing the two of you together.
And for the moment, you think you’ve managed to make a good first impression. Though conversation flowed quite easily (to your slight shock) between all at the table, Thomas Hunte did make a point of speaking directly to you on a few occasions. And you were on your best behavior, not bringing up topics your mother forbade and directing the conversation back towards him, so that he could feel important. Men did like to feel important.
Just as the dessert course is beginning to come to an end, the orchestra starts playing tunes you’re familiar with; the dancing has clearly begun. You look up at Thomas, sure that he’ll invite you to dance, but his immediate attention has been captured by Mrs. Ryan, who has asked him a question. Before he’s free to speak with you, you feel a hand on your shoulder.
You turn, and, with no small amount of surprise, you find Mr. Onceler there. You're sure the shock must register on your face, and you can't even find any words to say, but he doesn't comment on that. “I was wondering if you would join me for the next dance?” he asks instead, without any sort of preamble.
To say you're flummoxed is an understatement, but the drilling of your manners mean they're able to return to you, even through your confusion. “Oh… yes, of course,” you murmur. Mother won't be happy, and sure enough, she's stone-faced when you glance at her. But what else can you do? It would be beyond rude, practically unthinkable, to refuse. One dance meant nothing. Everything would be fine.
So, you stand, take Mr. Onceler's proffered hand, and allow him to lead you to the other side of the ballroom.
A note on some of the characters:
The Hunte's are purely my invention. Mrs. Ryan, while fictional, is based on Molly Brown, who wasn't born into society but her husband became rich, and was always considered uncouth. John Dix, however, was real and was elected governor of New York in 1910.
Also, apparently Americans used the word buggy instead of carriage. I hate that very much.
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@carsgeek24 @robocatfan
Day 17, hero. I’m not sure i did the best job with the prompt, and its effectively a sequel to day 16.  Edit: So i forgot to bring up that insects -spiders in particular, play a role. 
When Artie didn’t catch up mid hunt, Kario wasn’t too concerned. After all, he was a less experienced hunter. It took a few weeks to really get a lay of the land, and there where plenty of new resources and supplies to be gathered.
When he still didn’t show up by dusk, he knew something was wrong. Artie was still young, fighting for fancy title. You couldn’t become a hero if you just abandoned a quest. Even if he had to abandon the quest because something came up, he would have said something before hand. Sent a message via Cohoot, or left a note by the camp.
It was probably best to start looking, then.
On the back of his Palamute, the first two hours where a casual lap along the volcano’s exterior. Doubtful that a hunter would get lost outside, but common for a hunter to get distracted. His zenny was still on the odds that the other had gotten distracted gathering resources or hunting helpers, before they properly fought the monster. He’d probably find the guy collecting scales or stone somewhere.
As time passed, as it blurred,  that flame of hope started to become little more then a flicker. With the sun having set, he could only see by the faint glow of an insect. Nothing he wasn’t already used too. Except, he really wansn’t used to this at all.
Kamura had dulled his senses. Cohoots scouted out the target monsters, and it had been years since he actually had to track one down. Even so, tracking a monster wasn’t too difficult. They left claw marks, cracked stone, scatterings of scales. Plenty that he could work with. But a  human? A hunter wearing armor, armor specifically designed to mask their movements? Armor designed to mimic the claws of beast?
He’d sooner find a mantle in his pantry, then he would find a footprint on stone.
By the time he found Artie’s hammer, he’d no longer knew how long he’d been searching. He felt a weight press against his chest.
“Right. Right, got it. “ He clapped his hands, and took a deep breath. His attention now turned to his hound. “Art wouldn’t just toss that aside. Must have been attacked-must have had to abandon it. That-that sounds right, right?”
“Affoo!”
“Right. So-you think you can sniff him out, buddy?” His hand was shaking. “There’s rathalos tracks around, but htey just, live here. Might be old, probably never went after him..”
The dog nudged his hand.
“Right. I mena, I presume that-“
“Hrrrnnoonk!”
“Sorry.” He swallowed, shaking his head. “Just trying to get my  Goocoo’s in a row. He’s alive. Until we see otherwise, he’s alive. He was probably attacked and injured. If it was a Rathalos, then burns or toxins-or he was-no. No. I’m not going to entertain that thought. He’s probably just trying to hide somewhere.”
The dog barked twice, before rushing ahead. He’d trust in the dog’s tracking skills, more then his own right now.
The den they found was certainly off map. The sort of hell that no hunter would willingly enter, though if they where confused or desperate enough…
The webs dangling along the walls, and the Rachnoids lazing about told him enough. This was a Rakna Kadashi nest. Not the greatest sign in the world, not the worst either. The creatures weren’t actively hunting: why would they so close to their home? What creature would just wonder in by accident or curiosity? Besides himelf, that was.
Within only a few feet, the air started to burn his throat. For a moment, Kario remembered some hunter ranting at the hub. Something about how bees heated their hive, to protect it from invading insects. Was this the same thing? Or was it just luck of the draw? How could the air burn this much, this quickly?
A strained yell cut off that thought.
He ran.
Artie was pressed against stone. He was biting back another yell, trying to look as threatening as he could with a rock in his hand.
The Monster-the Rakna-kadaki, wasn’t concerned. It stood tall, its lacework gown glistening under the glowing insects that flittered about. It swiped lazily at Artie’s leg-was she mocking him? Or was this a case where she was just trying to teach her young how to fight? There where certainly enough of the smaller ones around, the tiny moving yarnballs.
He rushed between hunter and spider, blade drawn and pointed at their foe. “Art! Can you stand?”
“No.”
He couldn’t help but catch the bitterness in his voice. “…Stay there. I’ll deal with this beast!”
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Text
My moomin redesigns about my designs this is kinda of au I'm thinking of so I changed a couple of things in canon💅
Moomin was mainly based of his comic and 90s anime I gave him freckles because I think he suits them also moomin mamma has freckles as well in this au snorkmadien and him are m/w solidarity that have sleep overs all the time talking about their crushes snufkin and little my😏.
Snufkin was based of his 90s look and the new game one that's coming soon I tried to make him still look like he gets hand me downs💀 while also looking chill and comfortable with giving him a hoodie another thing about this au is that the story is basically the same with the addition they have more modern clothing and almost everyone in moomin is gay ™ but thats already canon tho 🤭.
Snorkmadien was mainly based of her 72 anime look and her 2019 look I gave her a light brown with white strips dress because I have 2 of them and I thought she would rock those type of dresses I do think she has the most "modern "clothing" out of the main 4 she also probably the most different from canon but she basically the same aswell lmao 😭in this au her and moomin troll did date but the both of them realized they do care for each other but the don't love each other romanticly as the first thought they did but they most definitely love each other platonicly her personality is here is kinda in the middle of her 72 personality to her more recent ones.
Finally little my is basically the same were she is really chaotic but does sense and now how people feel to a tea except *cough* *cough* snorkmadien 🤭😏 but she still is really Agumentive especially to stinky and law sometimes sniff aswell I felt like she is definitely the type to wear shorts with a Jean jacket with black boots.
Anygays that's all for my au for now if this does well I may write a story for this and draw the other characters like sniff, snork, moomin mamma, moomin papa and other characters depending on that and how to incorporate them into a snufmin /snorkmy storyline(pls let me know their ship name if it isn't this or any I put in the tags I kinda forgot 💀)
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hal-in-the-family · 1 year
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One quick respawn later...
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          “YEOW! Oh, that’s smarts!” Qbby exclaimed, still feeling the ‘phantom pain’ from the slice.
          “Box... smart?”
          “No, it means that it really hurts!”
          “Oh...”
           “Hey, you dropped thish.” Reaching with a very stretched out arm, Ankh grabbed the container of steamed buns (they were there before I just forgot to draw it OTL), which Qbby dropped once he briefly fell apart... in the literal sense. Handing it back to the box soon after, Ankh focused on the ‘magic vibes’ that the leaf shield was giving off.
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           “..........!” How strange. The only magic she can feel from is not only her own... but Jobski’s, too.
...Whoo boy.
           “...It’sh gotten shtronger...”
           “What’s gotten stronger?”
           “...Their vibesh... their magic vibesh...”
           “Wait. Magic? UFO... has magic??”
Ankh did not even had bother to answer Qbby’s confusion as she was already glowing with a small big of her healing magic... onto herself.
            “I’m going in.”
            “Ankh... b-be cafeful...” 2FO watched in worry.
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With a little bit of her power to keep the leaves from hurting her, Ankh braved through the hurricane-like ‘shield’. Admittedly, even she was struggling to keep herself from getting knocked off-balance. But as long as the djinn knew UFO needed help, she still persevered.
Step by step, inch by inch, Ankh kept on going forward. Right until she was finally close enough to kneel down to the fall-fashioned flying saucer.
              “UFO...?” She whispered gently. “...What’sh wrong?”
              “..........” UFO still had the beanie covering their eyes, but with their ‘imaginary’ hands raised it slightly to show distraught, teary eyes. Self-isolating for weeks made it hard to believe that Ankh was right here with them... Or that anything they’re experiencing is real.
               “...U... UFO.... d-do not know.....”
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                “....What if UFO... m-malfunctioning?”
                “Mal....functioning?”
                “U-uh huh.... *sniff* UFO... F-feel cold a lot.... and imagine things. UFO... hear things n-not supposed to hear. See things... n-not supposed to see.”
                 “What do you mean...?”
                 “...U-UFO keep... imagining hands. Like UFO have hands... A-and see leaves... a-and now UFO... i-imagine Ankh on moon... *sniff*
....Ex-bosses are right... U-UFO... is m-malfunction.... Don’t know.... w-what to b-believe...”
A long silence followed. Ankh having quietly listened with great concern and confusion. The UFO said they’ve been imagining having hands of their own... ...but even she could clearly see them. White, gloved, floating hands...
...Oh. That time when she thought her powers were slowly returning while she was a UFO... those were always a part of their kind, wasn’t it?
                “........” With the prolonged silence, UFO assumed that the ‘imaginary’ Ankh would eventually disappear alongside these ‘imaginary’ hands.
But even the strongest sense of doubt could not prepare them for what Ankh did next.
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               “.......!”
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Ankh gently held one of their hands with the both of hers. There was no denying the sudden touch of warmth from between her hands, even if they didn’t have any arms. A warmth they had first thought was long impossible.
               “....Jobshki.....your handsh...”
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              “....They’re real... they’re really here...”
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             “....Jusht ash much ash I am.”
Suddenly, it doesn’t feel as shivering cold anymore. Even the harsh wind and brown leaves seem to have vanished as the realization sunk right in.
If 2FO and Qbby had any jaws, they would be dropping right at this moment.
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damianito · 3 years
Photo
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Some Moomins doodles i did while practicing a new art style 🌿
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holylulusworld · 3 years
Text
Single Parent
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Title: Single parent
Square Filled: Relationship break-up
Ship: Mobster!Dean Winchester x fem!Reader
Characters: Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Benny LaFitte
Rating: Mature
Summary: Your arranged bond with Dean grows fruits but you can’t be happy as you should.
Warnings: angst, language, arranged marriage, unrequited feelings, sad reader, abandonment, Dean being a douche, giving birth (no description), shitty relationship, pregnant reader
A/N: I already outlined the story before I got the request. I changed the ending and a few scenes to make it fit.
Word Count: 3.5 k
Written/Created for: @spnmixedbingo​​
Divider by @firefly-graphics​​
2021 SPN Mixed BINGO Masterlist
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Now…
“No John, I’m done,” you cry, running your hand over your baby bump. “You could force me to marry your son, to stay with him and have his heir,” you sniff, looking around the guest room you chose over your comfortable bedroom. “But you can’t force me to play the obedient housewife. I tried, John—I really tried but Dean doesn’t even like me.”
“He’s just a little stubborn and rough on the outside like me, doll,” John tries to reason with you. “Show him the latest ultrasound and he’ll change.”
“No, he won’t,” voice bitter you sit on the bed, shaking your head lightly. “That’s the problem. I-I’m nothing more than a breeder to your son. I know he doesn’t reciprocate my feelings, but I had hoped he’ll be kinder to me when he sees me swollen with his child. I know he cares for the baby, but sadly I’m not sure it’s because he loves them or as you want an heir.”
“Y/N,” sitting next to you John watches you tear up. Months of rejection and coldness took a toll on you. “I didn’t know it’s that bad.”
“He told Sam I’m nothing but a vessel for his child, John. I could be dead, and he wouldn’t care,” choking out a sob you give John a sad smile. “Did you know he never came to the doctor with me? He never showed and my gynecologist believes I am a single parent – and maybe I am.”
“What happened last week? Why did you suddenly move out of your shared bedroom, doll? Did Dean hurt you?”
“Not physically-“ you huff, looking at the wedding band around your finger. “I was at my doctor’s practice for the next check-up, as usual, Dean didn’t show, even though, he promised to be there,” sniffling you take the wedding band off, dropping it onto the bed, not wanting to feel it on your skin right now.
“We had a meeting, I’m sorry for keeping Dean away from you,” John lies, you can see it in his eyes and his voice is a little too low. He doesn’t realize you know him too well to not see through his lies. “Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt you, Y/N.”
“I saw all those happy couples and excited dad’s pacing around the waiting room and realized, Dean gives a shit on me and his child. I can’t leave, but at the same time I won’t pretend Dean is not the cold-hearted man he is,” sadly you can’t hide you are still in love with his son, but your try your hardest.
“What happened, Y/N? I heard you fought with your husband. Did he hurt you?” John presses. “I need to know…”
“You really want to know? Fine, I’ll tell you everything happening that day-“
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One week earlier…
“Mrs. Winchester,” the nurse chirps, leading you into the room. “Where’s your husband? Didn’t he want to join us today?”
“He wanted but as always, business comes first,” you grumble, handing the young woman a business card. “That’s my brothers-in-law’s number. If I ever need help, please call him.”
“What about your husband?” confused the nurse looks at you, blinking a few times before she recognizes your teary eyes. “Ah, got it. I will call Sam Winchester if it’s necessary. We will add it to your medical record.”
“Thank you,” giving the nurse a sad smile you try to push the tears away. “As I said, my husband is always busy, and Sam offered his help. If not, call the second number, that’s my father-in-law.”
“No problem, Mrs. Winchester. Now let’s turn our attention toward your baby. Are you excited to find out about the gender?” nodding you swallow the lump in your throat, hiding you wished Dean would’ve come to find out with you.
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“All done, Cher?” watching you walk out of the practice, a soft smile on his lips Benny offers his hand to you. “So, did they tell you the gender today?”
“It’s a boy,” you choke out, done fighting the tears. “You’re the first one I told, Benny-“ ignoring people watch you cry outside of your doctor’s practice you hide your face in Benny’s chest.
“He should’ve been here, Y/N. I’m sorry.”
“Everyone is always sorry; everyone but Dean,” angrily fisting Benny’s jacket you look up at your bodyguard. “I’m done trying, Benny. This is ridiculous. He’s not interested in me or the baby.”
“Dean cares about the baby, Cher,” you huff, rolling your eyes. “It’s true.”
“Dean only cares about my son as he needs an heir. There is no love in him. I-I wanted to share this with him. Dean, he should’ve been here with me, experience every step but he refuses to even give me that. My first pregnancy should’ve been something special but now, it only makes me sad.”
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“How’s the baby?” Dean asks, awaiting your report as usual.
“Still alive. Benny got the ultrasound if you want to see them. If you want to know about the gender, ask your friend too,” you quip, walking toward the walk-in-wardrobe to get your favorite pajamas, you ignore Dean follows you. “Unlike other people he was there.”
“I had a meeting, Y/N,” arguing Dean watches you gather more clothes, frowning as you didn’t jump on him to tell him every single detail about your appointment. 
Usually, you would excitedly tell him about the baby, forcing him to look at the ultrasound picture and demand his attention. Today, you barely said two words, not even tried to talk to him. 
“A meeting, sex with one of your girls – I don’t care Dean. I’m tired of this, of you. To give you the space you need, I’ll go and have lunch with Charlie. Don’t wait for me–“ you chuckle, humorlessly. “Ah, yeah I forgot. You wouldn’t care if I never return.” walking out of the room, leaving a speechless Dean behind, you slam the door shut, making him flinch. 
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“Benny, my wife is gone; just like all of her belongings, we need to find her! She’s pregnant with my child.”
“You only care about the baby, huh? Do you even know it’s a boy, Dean?” Benny sneers, placing the ultrasound picture into Dean’s hand. “Y/N is not gone, she simply moved into the guestroom next to John’s room. I helped her while you were out, doing god knows.”
“Wait – she moved into the guestroom? Why?”
“Seriously, Dean? You promised to be there, at least to get to know about the gender, and yet, you didn’t come to the practice. I think Y/N gave up trying,” huffing Dean watches you step out of the guestroom, ignoring he glares at you.
“Y/N, you can’t just move out of our bedroom!” muttering the words Dean watches you walk past him.
“Oh, you meant me. I thought I’m only a vessel, a breeder to carry your heir,” whipping your head toward Dean you give him a cold glare. Your heart races and you can feel fresh tears well-up to your eyes, but you need to get this out before you can return to your room and cry some more. 
“I’m talking to you, Y/N. What if you go into labor and I’m not close by?” Dean mutters.
“I think it’s for the best you keep on ignoring me and give your whores all of your attention,” brushing past Dean you slap his hand away when he tries to touch you. 
“Y/N!”
“Don’t Winchester-“ you growl. “I fulfilled my duty and got pregnant. Now you can stick your dick into any pussy and stay the fuck away from me and don’t worry about my labor. I will, just like anything else since I got pregnant, handle this on my own. If I should need help at any point of my pregnancy, Sam and John offered to be there for me.”
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Now …
“Dean messed up epically, huh?” John carefully tries when you get up to walk toward the nursery next to the guestroom. “What are you going to do?“
"Nothing, John. Just like the first four months of my pregnancy, I will try to do what’s best for my son,“ John’s eyes light up when you tell him he’s going to have a grandson. “Today I’ll focus on finishing the nursery. Benny and Sam helped me with the wallpaper and cradle. I must check on the bears I painted and will make a list of what I will need.”
“I can help,“ offering you a cracked smile John holds out his hand. “I got you into this shitshow, let me at least try to make things easier for you, doll.”
“You could check on the shelves and cradle,” you sniff. “I just wish I had a man like you or Sam by my side. I see the way Sam cares about his wife and children. I know Dean is a little closed-off, like you but he’s kind to everyone he likes. Must be me.”
“Oh, Y/N,” slinging one arm around your shoulders John leads you out of your chosen bedroom. “You still got people caring about you. Sammy and I will be there and help you.”
“I know…”
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“You’re talented,” looking at the bears you painted John smiles. “Mommy bear and baby bear,” he hums, admiring your painting. “Where’s the dad?”
“I’m a single parent, John. Why should I paint a daddy bear if he gives a shit on me and his son?” Dean stands in the doorframe, watching his father help you fix one of the shelves, swallowing thickly. “You know, every single woman at my doctor’s practice looks so happy, they glow and I just-“
“I get it, Y/N. You wanted your pregnancy to be special,” nodding you look at the bears. “You could draw an Uncle Sammy and Granddad John bear.”
“I’ll think about it, John,” with a small smile on your lips you watch John place the plushies onto one of the shelves. “You know, he didn’t even care about my morning sickness or cravings. I had this image in my mind. Dean the devoted soon-to-be dad helping me during my pregnancy. I know he doesn’t love me, I’m not delusional. But a bit more attention would’ve been nice.”
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Two months later…
Used to being on your own you walk into your doctor’s practice. This time you don’t look at all the happy couples wishing it were you and Dean. Over the last weeks, you made up your mind.
Only as you don’t get to leave Dean doesn’t mean you must bear his behavior. So, you decided to keep your distance and only ask John, Sam, or Benny for help with the nursery.
You no longer tell Dean about your check-ups or try to include him in your pregnancy. 
“Morning, Mrs. Winchester,” you flinch when the nurse calls your name. “How are you feeling today? Will the baby daddy be here today too?”
“No,” you breathe out. “Let’s be honest, Sally.” giving the young nurse a sad smile, you point toward the other pairs. “I know you are only trying to be friendly but anytime you are asking about my non-present husband it stings. Why don’t you treat me like a single parent? Cause that’s what I am.”
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“How’s the baby?” Dean asks again, following you toward the nursery. “Listen, I know you try to punish me but not telling me about our baby breaks one of my rules.”
“The baby is still alive. He grows fast and the ultrasound picture lies on your desk. If you have more questions, call my gynecologist or,” turning around you give Dean a cold look, “you could move your ass to the practice next time but I get it – you were busy.”
“I got the right to know about my son,” growling the words Dean steps closer but this time, he doesn’t intimidate you with his size. “Tell me everything.”
“Weight and size are average. His heartbeat is strong, and he sucked his thumb today,” you scoff at Dean’s sudden interest. “You would know more about your child if you actually cared. He started to be more active, I can feel our little boy kick me harder but so far, only John felt our baby kick.”
Walking away you enter your room, slamming the door shut behind you, locking it to take a deep breath.
“He’s my son too! You can’t shut me out!” Dean yells from the hallway.
“Sperm donator, you son of a bitch,” you growl. “If it were up to me, I’d file for divorce.”
“YOU WON’T!” he mutters. “I will not allow you to leave me.”
“I got that, but you should know that our marriage is over to me. If you dare to get close to me ever again, you’ll lose your hands or cock. Go and fuck one of your sluts.”
“I should-“ frustrated Dean kicks your door. “You’re still my wife, Y/N. I expect you to respect me and our bond.”
“Fuck that,” feeling exhausted you lie on your bed, gently running one hand over your belly. “He’ll not ruin your life, baby boy. I promise to protect you from your asshole father.”
“I heard that.”
“I don’t fucking care,” you cry. “Now leave me alone. You got the information you need. Don’t worry, your heir is still healthy. Even though, you didn’t help me at all…”
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Two months, two weeks, and five days later…
“Looks good,” John hums, glancing at the ultrasound picture. “How are you, doll? Do you need anything?”
“No, I’m fine,” looking at your wedding band you try to swallow the lump in your throat. “Is there a way to protect my child from Dean? Can you add something to the prenup? Please.”
“I will not allow Dean to hurt your son, Y/N. I don’t think Dean would ever lay a finger on him-“
“That’s not what I meant. Being around Dean is unhealthy for me. What will he do to our child? How shall I explain to my baby boy that his father hates me? That I’m only a breeder to him, a body he could use to get a child.”
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“Are you fucking my father?” ludicrously you look at Dean when he storms into your room, your solace. “That’s the reason you moved out of our bedroom – huh? You spread your legs for John Winchester.”
“What the fuck, Dean?” you sniff, reluctantly leaving the bed. “Over the last week I barely left my room as I didn’t feel well, and you accuse me of such a thing? I don’t have the time to fuck anyone. Unlike you, I had to take care of anything-“ whimpering you feel a piercing pain ripple through your womb. “Oh, god-“
“Y/N?” paling Dean watches you crouch down in front of your bed, crying out in pain. “What’s wrong? Y/N, talk to me, sweetheart.”
“Go and get your father or Sam,” you pant, while you try to remember everything the midwife taught you. “I think the baby wants to get out.”
“No, it’s too early,” panicked Dean rushes to your side to help you sit on the bed. “I’ll call an ambulance, Y/N.”
“O-okay-“ you scream, feeling another painful contraction approach. “No, no. My water just broke.” tears run down your cheeks when John and Sam stumble into the room. They heard your screams and try to help.
“Fuck, doll,” John mumbles, kneeling in front of you to calm you. “Sammy, call an ambulance and tell Benny to get Y/N’s bags. I’ll stay here to help her.”
“I already called an ambulance. Stop acting as if that’s your son,” Dean growls, glaring at his father.
“Do you want to help the mother of your child or fight with me right now, son? I think you showed how much you are interested in your child. Now shut the fuck up and help me here,” John would like to give his son a piece of mind but right now, he must take care of you.
“John,” grasping for your father-in-law’s hand, “promise me he won’t be there. I don’t want Dean inside the room while I give birth.”
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"That’s my wife and child in there! Lemme inside,” Dean growls, fighting against one of the security guards. “Let me pass.”
“DEAN,” John’s voice booms through the hallway. “Your wife is in there. She’s in pain, scared, and tries to give birth to your baby. Stop acting like an idiot. You had it coming.”
“You didn’t care about your child or wife for over eight months. Did you honestly believe she wants you in there?” Sam huffs, squeezing Jess’s hand. “I was with Jess the whole time. I heard the heartbeat, saw my baby, felt it kick. I can’t believe you didn’t want to experience any of it.“
“I-I never wanted to marry Y/N. It was an arranged bond,” Dean sniffs, hearing you cry out in pain.
“This doesn’t change she’s your wife and that she needed you. Even more important, your son needed you. I believe babies bond with their parents in the womb. You could’ve talked to him, played music, or feel him kick.”
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“Look at you baby boy,” cooing your son you feel your heart swell. Even if Dean is not going to show any affection toward your child, you’ll give the little boy all your love. “You’re so beautiful.”
“Can I finally see him too?” Dean mutters, sneaking into your room. “How could you let my father, Sam, and Jess see my son first?”
“I didn’t think you will find the time to visit me and your baby. If you would excuse me now, I want to concentrate on Robert Maximilian Winchester.”
“What?” gaping at you Dean feels his stomach churn. “You named him Robert? But-but we agreed to name him Dean jr. How could you not only keep me away while giving birth but also deciding on a name without me? That’s cruel.” Dean sniffs, looking at your son in your arms.
“Cruel–?” you take a deep breath, try to ignore the burning rage running through your veins. “Do you know what cruel means, Winchester? Cruel means that your husband, the man you love with all your heart ignores you completely. Cruel means that he never shows affection or at least cares about you during pregnancy.”
“I’m his father!”
“Sperm donator,” you retort. “We are only a breeder and a sperm donator. You are not a father, and never will be. You’ll not hurt my baby boy and push him away as you did with me. You can lay claim on him when he turns 18, until then I’ll give him all the love he deserves.”
“He’s my baby boy too,” sniffling Dean looks at your child, tearing up. “Let me at least hold him. Please.”
“Not today,” adamant you defend your son, not giving in. It’s your turn to be selfish and not to show any compassion. Dean can cry as much as he wants to.
Today, you’ll be the cruel one – even if it kills you.
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“She doesn’t let me hold my son,” outside of your room Dean starts to cry. “I wasn’t allowed to hold my baby boy. How can she be so cruel?”
“I say it again – you had it coming,” John shrugs, ignoring he feels sorry for his son. “Y/N never was cruel. All she wanted was a bit of affection. Why couldn’t you give her that?”
“I just didn’t feel like pretending. But I care about our baby and want to hold him.”
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Dean doesn’t leave your side. He sits next to your bed, still looking at his son.
“Please let me hold him, Y/N.”
“Five minutes,” you whisper, not looking at Dean. “You can hold him for five minutes and after that, you can pretend we do not exist until you need your heir.”
“It’s not like that,” with trembling fingers Dean takes Robert Maximillian out of your hands. “He’s so beautiful and tiny.”
“It’s a baby, what did you expect,” turning around to not watch Dean with your son you close your eyes. “Tell me when you are done playing daddy, Dean.”
“Why are you so cold. This isn’t you, Y/N.”
“That’s what happens to a loving person when she gives up. If you don’t like me the way I am now, you can always ask your dad to let me out of this marriage...”
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“Look this is your room, baby boy,” cooing your baby you walk around the room. “There is a teddy bear, and over there is a cute duck. Maybe you’ll like the cat Sammy bought for you?”
“He doesn’t like cats,” Dean grumbles, walking into the nursery. “I bet he’s allergic like me.” hopefully looking at you Dean holds out his hands. “Come on, lemme hold him for a while.”
“I will leave you to your son, Dean. If you are done pretending you are a father, holler and I’ll take care of Robert,” carefully placing your son into Dean’s arms you ignore he tries to talk to you. 
“Y/N, we should talk about a few things.”
“Don’t hurt yourself, Dean. I’m stuck in this marriage, but this doesn’t mean I let you walk all over me ever again. I am a single parent, and this will not change…”
>> Part 2
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502 notes · View notes
obsessive-ego · 3 years
Text
Jack it to a jacket nsft
Masterbation, voyeurism, you know how I am
Musical beetlejuice x fem reader (reader has a vagina but uses they them pronouns)
Beetlejuice forgets his jacket and you use it while he's gone
Beetlejuice had announced to you he had to spend a few days in the netherworld for bio exorcist meeting or something, you really didnt get it, it's not like he actually had a job, all you knew is that he's been complaining about it since day one. That he had to leave the world of the living for a bit.
The day finally came for him to head out for his little business trip, you could tell the ghoul was less then thrilled to go, slight purple streaks graced his hair, you knew he wasnt too keen on being in the netherworld, the demon had such a fascination with the living, an adoration for living with you, going back to the netherworld, even for a few days was like heading back to work after a long period off, soul sucking.
"Alright Sugar" he starts adjusting his tie, his jacket resting on the arm of the couch "I'll be gone for a few days, try not to miss me too much~"
You give the ghoul a soft smile "itll be quieter for sure"  you try to joke
"Yeah..." he trails off, his playful teasing voice dropping along with his grin.
"I know this is gonna suck, but the sooner you get it started the sooner it's over with" you try to cheer him up giving the demon a light punch in the arm.
Beetlejuice's hue was now completely purple, you frown at the sight.
"You know doll, I'm being awfully selfish here, but, how bout ya give me a little sugar before I go?~"
You flinch at the suggestion, you wouldnt say you were shocked at this request, but you were.
"You're stalling"
"Come on babes, humor me, I gotta fill out paper work and deal with my mother, could REALLY use a pick me up~" he nudges you gently and gives a wink, hoping it'll soften you up, it does.
"Fine" you huff out, you grab the demon by the suspenders, yanking him to you level giving him a quick peck.
"No tongue on the first date?~" he snickers, as pink patches pop up in his mossy beard.
"...have a good trip" you utter trying to hide your embarrassment
"Oh doll I will, thinking about your soft lips~" the demon's voice drops to that low growl that never failed to make you warm in your lower areas
"Beetlejuice! Beetlejuice! Bee-"
You could NEVER make it to 3, the ghoul was always quick to slap a hand to your mouth, pulling you into a side hug.
"Trying to kick me out so soon sugar? So mean~" he chuckles, the ghoul pulls his hand from your mouth and you sigh.
Beetlejuice pauses holding you in this awkward side hug for a few minutes
"Bee?"
"I know" he grumbles, he begrudgingly pulls away
The ghoul makes his way to the empty wall and draws his entrance.
Knock
Knock
Knock
Your living room wall opens up to the netherworld, it was always a rare sight to you, a little anxiety inducing, you freeze for a moment, but as the demon steps into the world of the dead you shout
"Wait!"
Beetlejuice turns to you
"You forgot something"
The demon's eyes light up and in a flash he was infront of you, his hands cup your face as he slams his lips into yours, you jolt in surprise, as the ghoul pulls away he purrs "almost forgot my second goodbye kiss, thanks doll" and just like that he was gone, the netherworld was out of sight and you were alone.
"Your jacket" you whisper still alittle dizzy from his kiss.
...
The jacket he left behind spent a few hours folded neatly on the couch as you go about your alone time. Everytime beetlejuice was away you always took the opportunity to get some chores done, you liked the demon yeah, but he always got under foot, or he would be creepy while you tried to get things done. There were times where you were just doing the laundry, and the demon would just stare at you, no words, he just sat atop the dryer watching you like a hawk as you loaded the washer, it made your skin crawl and your stomach turn to have that much attention put on you, hell, you'd rather him be lewd and annoying then that.
As creepy as he was, that was just who he was, and you loved him, his awful charms, his terrible jokes, and his over all handsome, to you, look, wormed it's way into your heart and refused to let go.
Every kiss, every grope, every pet name he gave you dug you deeper into your affection. Though you were too terrified to confront him about your feelings, he was a literal demon, could he even share these feelings, let alone would he like you the same way, all in all you didnt want to ruin what the two of you had, friends, good friends.
You missed him, you really did, so what was the harm in wearing his coat, just around the house, and maybe smelling it every now and again, that wasnt too weird right? And it would be fine if you were to fall asleep wearing it right? There was no harm in it, but if beetlejuice was to pop in unexpectedly and if he say you wearing it casually youd never hear the end of it, and yet you never took it off.
It's been a few days since beetlejuice left for the netherworld, you were relaxing on your bed looking at memes trying to ignore how much you missed a certain undead bastard, hell you were wearing the jacket he left behind and stealing a small sniff here and there, beetlejuice never really gives you a time frame as to when he'd be back whenever he goes to the netherworld.
'Time moves differently when you're dead, and boy does it move, but it slows down when I'm with you babes' you shiver and try to swallow the lump in your throat that memory caused, the undead bastard was such a flirt.
You grew a tad lonely without your favorite dead guy, yes you used to live alone before beetlejuice barged his way into your home, but you have gotten used to him, you miss him when he's not with you, especially his no concept of personal space, how the ghoul's hands always found a home on your body, your hips, your waist, your shoulders.
You feel a familiar pulse between your legs, you try and ignore it, though your mind was reeling with old memories of beej touching you, you werent even scrolling through your phone anymore, just staring at the screen, thinking of the demon's strong callused hands running up and down your thighs.
"You win" you grumble sliding off your bed and crouching next to it, you pull out a little tool box. Opening the little box and revealing an average sized bright green vibrator brandishing a nice bulbous tip. You push the button on the toy's base and it buzzes to life, you smile, glad to see the barriers were still alive, it was too late for you to run out and get replacements.
You shimmy out of your pajama pants and panties before you hop back up on the bed. You remove the jacket giving it a deep inhale of its scent before placing it down next to you.
...
Your living room walls silently open up, letting in a thick fog of green reavling your demon friend, the ghoul knew it was late, late enough that his sweet little y/n should be dead asleep, as your living room rearranges itself back to normal the ghoul floats to your bedroom, excited to come snuggle up to your soft warm body after what felt like an eternity with dealing with his mother and newly deads with no sense of humor.
"Ah!"
The ghoul freezes at the sound, standing in front of your closed bedroom door, you could be? He presses an ear to the door, the faint sound of buzzing and muffled moans could be herd.
In a flash Beetlejuice's hair and moss on his face turns electric pink.
"A welcome home present? For me? Oh dolly~" he whispers before snapping his fingers and camouflaging himself. Beetlejuice fazed through the door and froze at the sight of you, yes he has seen you touch yourself before, but this?
There you were Laying on your bed, propped up by pillows, shirt pulled up exposing your breasts, bottom half completely bare, pumping the vibrator he got you (as an apology for messing with your old one) in and out of your leaking pussy, with your face buried in his jacket, muffling your whining.
The ghoul could have blown his load from the sight alone, yes he knew you liked him, and yes he knows you want him, but this? This was dirty, this was naughty, smelling his clothes and jerking off? You were just as horny as him, not really, no one is, but he'll take this.
"And here I thought only I had a scent fetish" he chuckles making his way to the end of the bed, plopping down to get a good view of your soaked vigina, he was fixated on the speed you pumped the toy in and out of you. Beetlejuice fumbled with his fly, pulling out his semi, the ghoul licks the palm of his hand, coding it is a nice layer of saliva before wrapping it around his cock. Beetlejuice starts off slowly, but it isnt long until his pace matches yours, imagining the toy between your legs was him, god slash satan he envied that peice of silicon.
"Beetlejuice" you whine bucking your hips up to meet the vibrator as it slid back in, you take another deep inhale of the jacket's scent and whine, beetlejuice groans in response.
"Such a dirty little thing, fuck- I expected to come home and see ya sleeping it in, ah- but this? Oh babes, I would have left it behind months ago to, oh god- to see you like this" the ghoul babbled, he really didnt want to finish before you, he wanted to enjoy this show for as long as possible.
You were absolutely lost in your little activity, using you non dominant hand to hold the demon's jacket to your nose, the scent drove you wild, you could imagine beetlejuice driving his cock into you over and over again, the idea of him fully dressed fucking you while you were completely naked made you tremble.
“Oh my god Bee, fuck, yes, please, fucking oh my god I want you to…Beetlejuice fuck…” you babble as you begin to pick up pace with the vibrator.
The ghoul drools at the show you oh so kindly are giving him, hearing you moan out his name, oh how he loved that sound, it wasnt the first time beetlejuice herd you moan out his name during your 'alone time' but it still made his toes curl as though it was.
Beetlejuice growls through his teeth, he was almost there, seeing you use his jacket in such a way was better than he ever could’ve imagined, yes he dreamed of you using his things for sexual satisfaction, he just thought he'd never see it.
Beetlejuice found that trying to keep the pace with you was growing too hard, he needed to finish, he needed you to finish. He didn’t want to cum before you, he needed to see you cum while using his jacket, he needed the image of you using his things to cum to be carved into his brain.
Thankfully, Beej is good at edging, this wasnt his first day being a peeping Tom, and it wont be the last, it wasnt easy, but he could do it, watching you whine and buck your hips because of him, sure made it a challenge though.
You were almost there, you stop pumping the toy, only for a second, to crank the vibrations to the higher setting, your hips jolt up as you press the jacket against your face muffling your screams, with the intensity up you were ready for the home stretch, you begin to move the toy again, in and out, imagining it was the ghoul you oh so loved. You could just imagine beetlejuice pressing you into the mattress with every thrust, all the dirty things he'd be saying to you, praising you for how well you take his fat cock, growling, biting, you couldn't take it anymore, you felt like you were gonna explode. God you wanted that smug bastard so badly, you loved him so much, you moved the hand holding the jacket against you face and brought it to your vagina, as one hand pumped the vibrator the other played with your clit. You groan through your teeth at the added simulation, if only you could see the demon infront of you.
Beetlejuice sat before you, jaw dropped, tongue hanging, drool dripping down his chin, panting. His cock was throbbing, leaking pre cum, he was ready to burst, honestly he surprised he hasn't yet, watching his y/n go to town on their pussy. Beetlejuice watched ad you hips bounced, and your toes curled, he could finally get a good look at your face, you were tearing up.
"Feels good doesnt babes? Wait till you get the real deal~"
"LAWRENCE!"  You shout as your hips buck upwards, just then, something new happened, you squirted, thought you didnt notice, you were too busy, head lulled back, panting, and using the soft buzzing of the vibrator to ride out your orgasm.
But beetlejuice on the other hand saw, he saw you squirt when you called him, when you called him by his first name, a name you rarely used. The demon blew his load shortly after your little finale, an image that will always be treasured by him. Beetlejuice wipes the cum off his hand on his pant leg, and slides his now soft cock back into his pants. He watches you lay there for a moment before you gingerly sit up, reaching forward to turn off the vibrator and remove it from you, you flinch doing so, still tender. You give out a yawn and toss the toy on the floor mumble how you'll deal with it in the morning, adjusting your shirt to cover hour chest you slide under the covers, in minutes you were asleep, holding his jacket oh so tightly.
Beetlejuice envied the garment, and as much as the ghoul wanted to slide in next you now, he couldnt, you were naked from the waist down. But you did leave him a tasty snack, so he couldnt be mad at you. Beetlejuice snatches up the freshly used vibrator, still warm from your touch, and vanishes
"Good night y/n" his voice purrs in your ears,
"...Lawrence..."
188 notes · View notes
nsheetee · 4 years
Text
My Hoodie
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Pairing: Haechan x Reader Genre: lots of fluff!!! Length: 2.2k Details: one slightly suggestive kiss, female reader Summary: Knowing that you like to steal his clothes, Haechan plants little notes for you to discover in his hoodies and sweats. He doesn’t know what to do with himself when you return the favor.
a/n: happy birthday to fullsun!!! thank you for making our days brighter and bringing so much love to everyone around you ♡
☀︎━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ☀︎
“Donghyuck…” You sing, waltzing into his room. He’s sitting at his desk chair, facing his computer monitor with a pair of headphones on, making you pout at the back of his head for his lack of attention towards you. Dropping your things onto his bed, you sneak up behind him and slide your hands down his shoulder.
“You scared me.” He jumps the second your hands touch him, momentarily taking his focus off of the game before you hear the rising shouts of his team members through his headphones to focus. “I thought you were Johnny.” He settles into your touch after you connect your hands over his chest, not caring that his friends on the other side of the headset could hear him talking.
“.... Does Johnny touch you like this a lot?” You ask, teasing your boyfriend.
“Yeah, you jealous?” He taunts back, making you roll your eyes and set your chin down on top of his head to watch him play. When his player dies and the round ends, Donghyuck sighs in defeat and throws his headset onto the desk.
“I just lost. Come console me.” He dramatically cries, opening his arms and throwing his head back with closed eyes. You giggle as you turn his desk chair and slide onto his lap, getting comfy as he wraps his arms around you. He has a black hoodie on to keep him warm, but gym shorts and white socks on his lower half that makes you snort at his comfy get up. You press a kiss to his lips, and Donghyuck traps you when you try to move away. “Console me harder!”
“Okay, but I want something in return.” You bargain.
“That’s not how this works but okay, continue.” Donghyuck blinks and nods at the same time, his thin-rimmed glasses reflecting off of the light that shines from the corner of the room.
“I want your hoodie.” You tug at the drawstrings of the mentioned article of clothing, curling your lips between your teeth.
“Go pick one out of my closet.” Donghyuck nods over to the other side of the room while squeezing your waist.
“But I want this one.” You tug at the drawstrings harder, now pouting. You’d probably never tell Donghyuck how much you love wearing his clothes. Even after over a year of dating and stealing many of his hoodies, shirts, and sweats, you’d never admit how nice it feels to wear something of his right after he has been wearing it. Even if it may seem gross to some people, you like smelling Donghyuck’s natural scent around you when you’re running late night errands, or eating out, or just being lazy on Sunday mornings.
“Fine, but I think I deserve a big kiss for this.” Donghyuck groans, standing both of you up and taking his hoodie off. His undershirt lifts up slightly and you poke at his exposed belly, making him flinch and hide his tummy while you laugh. He helps you pull the fabric over your head and down your frame, leaning in and pouting his lips comically after your head pops out.
You grant his wish, landing your lips square on his own and surprising him with the amount of fervor you kiss him with. He moans in satisfaction, allowing you to slip your tongue in between his lips just for a moment; your fingers tangle into his hair and tug gently to bring him closer. He’s left wanting more when you pull away with an innocent smile, as if you hadn’t just stuck your tongue into his mouth, and watches you bounce to his bed.
“Brat.” He calls after you, but leaves you alone as you settle down under his covers. The room turns silent once again, only the sounds of Donghyuck’s keyboard tapping and his comments to his team members filling the room.
You’re not a fool; you know that you won’t be able to pull your boyfriend away from his video games until he and his teammates are satisfied for the night. So you get comfy, plug your phone into your charger, and hug Donghyuck’s pillow as you mindlessly surf through whatever social media app you click first.
It’s not until you shift around on the bed that you feel a piece of paper in the pocket of Donghyuck’s hoodie. You’re only trying to pull down the hoodie over your thighs, but the feeling of the paper surprises you. You take it out of the pocket, blinking in surprise when you recognize your name at the top of the paper in Donghyuck’s handwriting.
“Y/N, you’re a little brat for stealing all of my hoodies and leaving me cold all the time… but you’re my little brat.”
You laugh at the message, looking towards Donghyuck’s chair to see if he noticed you giggling to yourself, but he remains entranced by his video game. You neatly fold the message and tuck it into your bag, a dumb smile lingering on your lips as you get comfortable again. Your head feels lighter with happiness and your chest almost hurts from how much your heart is beating. It truly is the littlest things with Donghyuck that make your head swirl out of pure love for him.
☀︎☀︎☀︎
“Rock, paper, scissors. Loser has to make dinner.” Donghyuck mumbles sleepily into your hair, his arms wrapped around your waist and his legs wrapped around your hips telling you that he has no plans of losing this game. Despite it being almost midnight, you and Donghyuck have only just woken up; his rehearsal ran late and he decided to crash at your place. Now, you have a tired and hungry boyfriend clinging to you, and you almost feel bad for playing scissors against his paper.
“You hate me, don’t you?” Donghyuck sniffs, digging his head further into your hair and letting out fake sobs.
“Keep this up and I’ll have to say yes to that.” Your empty threat makes Donghyuck quit his acting and sit up straight, giving you a playful glare before shimmying off the bed and leaving the room. You lay in your position for a while longer, a blissful and unaware smile on your face as you hear your boyfriend move around the kitchen. You decide to go help him before he burns something just to spite you, sitting up and looking around the room for something to wear to keep you warm.
Spotting Donghyuck’s sweats, you dart towards them and wiggle them on, shortening the length of the leg and putting your hands in the pockets to fix them, too. Much to your surprise, you feel a piece of paper in one of the pockets. Taking it out, you turn the folded secret in between your fingers, wondering if this is like the last message Donghyuck left you in his hoodie a few days ago. Curiosity beckons you to unfold the message, and a part of you expects it to be some random drawing Donghyuck made earlier today or maybe a to-do list he forgot to throw away.
However, your name is printed in his handwriting at the top, just like in the last note:
“Y/N, you know it’s weird to wear my pants, right? None of the hyungs’ girlfriends wear theirs! I know that you love my clothes, and I know you won’t ever say it out loud. So, my closet is your closet, babe.”
Despite the playful nature of this note, your heart strings are tugged and pulled by his words. There is something so innocent and all-encompassing about that one phrase: “what’s mine is yours.”
You haven’t said those three words to Donghyuck yet: “I love you.” You’ve been dating for so long and have gone over so many speed bumps in your relationship that you haven’t had the need to say “I love you” to each other, you both just…. know it already. Through actions, through what you do for each other to make your relationship work, through sticking up for one another, you know you love each other. However, now more than ever, you feel like telling Donghyuck you love him. Your actions have spoken for themselves, and now it’s time to make them audible.
You’re sure Donghyuck didn’t mean to get this deep with his note, but his sentiment shows you a part of him that he’ll never vocalize out loud. Donghyuck shows his love by sharing, whether it’s sharing his affection, his touch, his clothes, his food— he shares what’s his with those he loves. To take it a further step and say that what he owns is yours, too, makes you feel all soft and warm for the boy that is surely messing up your kitchen in the other room.
You leave his new note next to the other one you found, sitting them side by side on your desk before heading out and joining your love. You can think about Donghyuck’s unspoken and subconscious love language later. Now, it’s time to savor it in person.
☀︎☀︎☀︎
“Donghyuck-ah! You better get your butt on this dance floor before I drag you over here.” Donghyuck hears Johnny call him from across the room, the rate of dropping his things and taking off his jacket quickens at the threat from the lovable (but not always gentle) giant.
Donghyuck starts taking his phone and wallet out of his pants’ pockets to drop them down onto his backpack. In the midst of all the hurry, he sees a white paper fly out along with his phone and land peacefully on the wood floor. Donghyuck blinks at it, wondering if maybe you hadn’t seen his little note that he left in these pants a few days ago.
He picks up the piece of paper and immediately notices that this is not his own note, the heart drawn on the outside of the folded paper hinting that maybe this is a note from you. Donghyuck unfolds it, forgetting about everything his members are doing behind him, his wonder getting the better of him.
“Donghyuck, I hope you don’t really mind me stealing your clothes, I’ll be doing it for a long time~ Have a good practice, I’ll always be cheering for you.”
Donghyuck needs to go to practice. He needs to focus on the choreography he’s supposed to learn today, but he can only stare at the note silently, his hurry from before no longer present. He feels softer holding the piece of paper in his hands; he wants to fold it back up and keep it with him forever.
He started leaving notes for you in his clothes just to tease you about the fact that he knew you love wearing his things, but now he wonders if his notes had the same effect on you as your note did on him. Donghyuck takes a deep breath, an internal battle for what his next actions should be begins in his head, and then he turns to the rest of the room.
“I’m sorry.” He bows politely, regret in his voice but eagerness on his face. “I have to make a call.” The choreographers and the rest of his members look puzzled, but don’t stop Donghyuck from walking out of the dance studio with his phone. In the hallway, Donghyuck leans the back of his head against the wall and dials up your number on his phone with muscle memory. It only rings once before you answer.
“Donghyuck? Aren’t you supposed to be at practice? What’s wrong?”
“I love you.”
The words pour out of Donghyuck’s lips like he has never uttered a word in his whole life, until now. Saying the words out loud feels like putting in the last puzzle piece. He says the three short words with conviction— with adoration. All of his feelings seem like they’re pouring out of him, as if he had an unstable dam built up around his heart and those three words were the earthquake that shattered its foundation. Donghyuck’s chest tightens, his heart feels like a boa constrictor is squeezing all of the love out of it for you in this one moment.
“I love you, too.” He hears you say and the dumbest smile on his face forms, making him let out an airy laugh.
“I’m sorry I did this over the phone, but I saw your note,” Donghyuck looks down at the words you wrote to him, clutched in between his slender fingers, “I couldn’t stop myself.”
“I know the feeling. Leaving notes in your clothes for me was too cute, you couldn’t be the only one doing it.” Donghyuck loves how warm your voice sounds when you talk to him, he considers skipping practice to go to your place and kiss the life out of you.
“I want to see you. Now.” He says instead, his feet itching to leave the dance studio and run to the nearest bus stop.
“No way, you need to work. You can see me tonight, and then you can tell me those words in person, too.” Donghyuck is impatient, like a child waking up at 5am on Christmas morning knowing they shouldn’t wake up their parents but still wanting their presents. He turns his shoulders, his forehead now leaning against the wall as he hides from the rest of the empty hallway.
“Okay, but you better be ready for the best cuddles of your life.”
“Oh, no. Maybe you should come now, I don’t think I can wait.” You both laugh. Donghyuck feels light-headed with tenderness for you.
“I love you.” He says again, a smile playing on his lips.
“I love you, too. Now, go work hard. I’ll be cheering for you.” The last thing Donghyuck hears is the smile in your voice and the kiss you send him through the phone before the call ends. He has to take a deep breath, not moving from his position against the wall. Donghyuck is not sure how he’ll be able to focus for the next three hours, but he drags his feet back into the room and begins practice with you on his mind and in his heart, and your note folded back up and tucked safely into his pocket.
5K notes · View notes
teacupcollector · 2 years
Text
The Undead Kind Of Love - Part 4
Marvel Masterlist Series Masterlist
Summary: When Y/N’s art project lands her in Romania she is met with very peculiar circumstances. Such as a weird old man speaking mythical nonsense, murders of both people and animals, an oncoming threat to her life, as well as her mysterious yet very hot next door neighbor with a weird obsession with beetroot juice.
Warnings: An almost assault on the reader
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You made it a point to avoid your roommate as much as possible. You wait until they go out before leaving your room. Sometimes you feel like they would stand in front of your door for hours on end. You barely slept. 
You felt to paranoid that they would burst into your room for whatever reason but they haven’t yet. It was the third day of hiding from your roommate and they maybe left an hour or so ago. With your days of hiding you have actually started working on your project. You kept an eye on the news and noticed that more and more people have been going missing. You step into the living room and look around. No one is there so you decide to head to the kitchen. You notice that the majority of the food was still there. No one has touched it so that is weird. You decide to make yourself a small grilled cheese. You try and make it as quietly as you can. Despite the apartment being empty you still feel that you have eyes on you. You flip the sandwich and run it along the pan when you hear a knock coming from the front door. You tense up and slowly approach the door. You look through the peep hole to see James. You gasp and quickly open the door. “H-Hi James!” You exclaim. It was nice seeing a “friendly” face after all that has been going down. 
“Uh Hi...” He says slowly. His voice sounds raspy. As if he hasn’t used it in days. “Is ever-” You both begin at the same time. “What?” You ask and James shivers slightly. “Has everything been alright?” He asks. You were slightly shocked. He was never one to ask about your well being, let alone ask about you at all. “Yeah... Everything is alright... Kind of...” You say quietly and James nods. “What about you?” You ask. “How have you been?” You say leaning against the slightly opened door. “Fine... It’s been fine.” He says and you nod. This is the most you have ever interacted with him before. You wanted to draw it out as much as you can before you have to hide away from the world again. “Well Wh-” “Have you been using the flowers I gave you?” He asks swiftly. “What? Oh! Yes I have! The tea is really good!” You say as your face begins to heat up. You forgot that he actually got you flowers. It made your heart flutter just thinking about it.  He nods. “Okay...” He shuffles back and forth on his feet before he sniffs the air. “Is something burning?” He asks and you gasp. “No! My grilled cheese!” You say rushing to the kitchen. “Please come in! I will be right back!” If your back wasn’t turned you would see James looking around the frame of door before stepping inside hesitantly. He stays by the door with the door still open. He doesn’t want to invade your space or make you uncomfortable. You look behind you and see that he is standing at the door. “Uh You can come and sit at the counter if you’d like. No need to be a stranger. We are on first name bases after all.” You say as you take a knife from the drawer and begin scraping at the charred piece of bread in hopes of saving the food.
“So uh... What made you want to check on me?” You ask. James shuffles for a moment before responding. “You are the only person I interact with... And I uh...” You don’t interrupt as you wait for him to finish his statement. “I look forward to your visits...” He says mumbling. You feel your face flush red. “I look forward to our visits as well! I was actually debating on going to the market and getting more plums for you!” You say with a smile. He is looking down as his face is also slightly red.  “Thank you (Y/N)...” He says and he begins to look around the room. You take a bite of your grilled cheese and grimace. “So is there anything you would like me to make?” You ask as you scrape the sandwich into the trash. James is silent for a moment before saying. “Those Polish cookies?” You nod and smile. “Would you like to make them with me?” James nods slightly. “Is it okay if we don’t do it today?” James says rubbing his gloved hands together. “Yeah don’t worry about it.” You say with a smile. “I need to get ingredients from the market. Is there a day that is good for you?” “I... I’ll let you know...” He says quietly and you nod. “Is it okay if I use the bathroom?” He asks and you look at him confused. ‘Isn’t he just next door?’ As if he read your mind he says. “I was going to leave after coming here...” He says and you nod. “Oh... Okay...” You say and begin to make a list of ingredients. After a few minutes you  he comes out with his hand over his mouth and nose. “Everything okay?” You ask and he nods. “I am very sensitive to smells... I guess your perfume is very over powering...” You nod. “Oh sorry...” you say as you finish the list. “I got the list! So Just let me know!” You says  ‘This guy is kind of creeping me out...’ You think to yourself. “Actually... Don’t worry about it. I’m just going to head out.” He says heading toward the door. “Oh okay. Have a good James!” You say with a nervous smile. He leaves after you say that gently shutting the door behind him. It had been a few hours since James left and you decided  to continue cooking some things before it all went bad. After you put everything in containers you decided that it would be best to take a shower. you grab your toiletries and head to the bathroom. As you do this you hear the apartment door open. You were sure you locked it so you just assumed it was your roommate. You undress and get into the shower. You were confused on what James was talking about. Did it smell over powering? Your perfume and things were kept in your room since the incident with your roommate so you don’t know what it could possibly be. You sniff a bit and notice nothing but that may have been because the steam from the shower. As you continue you hear shuffling coming from your roommates room. It started to get unnerving so you ended your shower quickly. You wrapped a towel around yourself as you put your toiletries into a bag that you brought in with you. You open the door a poke your head out looking down the hall to see your roommates door open. You shiver slightly as you turn the other way and head to your room when you bump into something. More like someone. You gasp and look up to see a man with dark hair and brown eyes. He had dark stubble along his face and jaw. His skin is tan and his face has some scarring. “Who are you!” You scream backing away. He follows you as you are backing away from him. “I’m a friend... And you look delicious...” He says as he reaches for you. You let out another scream as he reaches for you again. You make a bee line for the kitchen and maybe grab a knife. You felt a hand clamp down on your shoulder only to be ripped away as a scream is torn from the mans lips. You grab a knife and turn around to see him cradling his hand. 
“Brock! Leave her alone!” You hear your roommate yell. “But Candi-” “Hush Brock... We’re leaving!” The man Brock looks you up and down again before shaking his hand and leaving. Your roommate looks over at you before leaving. You burst into tears as soon as the door shuts and drop the knife. You make your way to your room. You put on some underwear and a t-shirt before slamming, locking, and barricading your bedroom door closed. You rush over and make sure your window is closed and locked. Your breath is shaky as you climb into bed and hide under the covers in hopes that maybe you could sleep it off but you doubt it. You try and think about what happened. How did he get inside the apartment. You can only assume your roommate let him in. ‘What was it he called them?’ You think to yourself. ‘Candice? They have never gone by that before...’ You try and take deep breaths hoping that the tears would stop but all you could do was sob. You were alone in a foreign. A person you thought was your friend turns out to be very sketchy and possibly dangerous. The only person you can think of going to is James, but now you can’t be sure he is just as creepy. ‘He isn’t weird... He wouldn’t hurt me... Would he?’ Suddenly you hear a knock at the front door. You let out a light screech. “(Y/N)? (Y/N)? It’s James.” You tense up. ‘Should I let him in?’ You decide to ignore him and burrow under the covers and that is the last thing you remember.
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katyasrussianaccent · 3 years
Text
somebody else (corpse x reader)
So I got the prompt "Why cant it be me" from @stylistiquements writing prompt! This is just angst lmao, I dont usually write angst but hopefully its okay. Based on Somebody Else by The 1975
TW: Alcohol and unresolved angst
There’s too many people at this party for Corpse’s liking. When Loey had invited him, his first thought was to say no. But, it’s her birthday, and while he’s out of his comfort zone, he’s trying at least.
The music playing isn’t to his taste; some pop singer that’s wailing about heartbreak. His fingers are wrapped around a glass that he hasn’t even drank out of yet, the ice that was once in it is just liquid now. It’s more a prop than anything - if he already has a drink, no-one will ask if he wants one.
The crowd in front of him disperses as the song changes to something else; a more upbeat pop number. His eyes immediately zero in on the couple opposite him, their limbs tangled together on the couch. So it was true. You had found someone else.
His fingers grip the glass harder, and he downs the drink, his throat burning as the liquid goes down, but it’s nothing compared to the white hot anger he’s feeling in his stomach. He watches as you laugh; it was his favourite thing about you - your laugh. You’d laugh at something like it was the funniest thing you’d ever heard; all full bodied with your teeth showing. He remembers when you used to laugh at him.
Deciding to put a stop to his masochistic tendencies, Corpse goes to get another drink, making it more alcohol than anything else. He stands there for just a second, the lyrics of the song ringing more true than he realised.
Our love has grown cold, you’re intertwining your soul with somebody else
It wasn’t meant to be like this, not really. It should’ve been him sitting by your side, his hand on your upper thigh. Are you wearing the perfume he bought you? He remembers when he gave you it; you threw your arms around his neck and for the first time in his life, he felt safe. Sitting back down, he drinks as he continues to watch. He doesn’t know why he can’t draw his eyes away from the scene in front of him; guess he’s always been a glutton for punishment.
I don’t want your body, but I’m picturing your body with somebody else
The petty part inside him says he got there first. He saw you first; anything you do with somebody else - you did with him first. He wonders if you’ve went grocery shopping together yet.
“Corpse, you can’t just get sweets. You need to get some fruit,” you had scolded, your face the picture of a disapproving mother.
His diet was terrible now; the days of home cooked meals had went out the door when you did. Some days he forgot to eat at all, not consciously; he just worked a lot and there wasn’t anyone there to actively check up on him.
He continues to drink, each glass containing more alcohol than the last. He doesn’t get drunk but there’s a warmth to his cheeks and the edges of his vision are blurred slightly. You stand up to dance, there’s a slight sway as you walk to the middle of the floor and Corpse can tell you’re wasted. You’re a cute drunk luckily, and he looks away as you pull the guy close to whisper in his ear before pressing a kiss to his cheek. The guy is good looking; all tanned with perfect hair. You loved his hair; your fingers would run through it while you watched a movie. You couldn’t do that with Mr Perfect’s hair; it’s too short.
Jealousy and bitterness go hand in hand with Corpse, and while he hates feeling like this, the alcohol in his system wins out. You’re dancing with the guy and Corpse smiles to himself as you flail your arms without a care. The guy pulls you in close by the hips and he watches as your face drops a little, your movements no longer free but restricted.
It pisses him off and he clenches his jaw as he watches on. You don’t dance like that; you’re a self-admitted awful dancer, but it’s incredibly endearing to him. It makes you happy to throw your limbs about, and it makes him sad to watch you shuffle awkwardly to the music. You go off to get a drink, and he can’t stop himself from following you.
He hangs back for a second, his brain trying to work out whether this is a smart idea or not. It isn’t and he knows that, but he just needs to talk to you. Just because.
“Straws are over there,” he says from behind you, causing you to jump slightly. Your eyes widen at the sight of him.
“Thanks,” you reply, grabbing one and sticking it in the glass. “You look well.”
“So do you,” he says. And you do, you look amazing, but you always did, even first thing in the morning with your hair sticking out, he thought you were beautiful.
“I see you’re wearing colour,” you joke, pointing to the grey t-shirt he has on. You’re nervous, he can tell by the death grip you have on your glass, the whites of your knuckle showing.
“Yeah, I tried to break the black up,” he replies. It’s silent as you take each other in and he wants nothing more than to take you in his arms and hold you close to him.
Your mouth opens for a second, before closing again. “You’re wearing the…” you trail off and he nods, his fingers automatically reaching to touch the necklace you had bought him for his birthday.
“I never take it off,” he replies and your eyes meet his. Your lips are pulled into a tight smile as you look down, and his fingers twitch, he wants you to look at him, he wants to tilt your head up so he can see you. He stops himself as you look back up, a familiar scent hitting his nostrils. “You’re wearing the perfume I got you.”
There’s surprise on your face, and something else that Corpse can’t register. Is it embarrassment?
"Yeah,” you whisper. “I should probably get back.” You go to leave, and his hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist. You look down at the contact, and his mind screams at him to let go, but your skin is warm under his touch, and it’s been so long, too long since he’s felt you. You don’t pull away, and his fingers press a little against your skin.
“Why can’t it be me?” Corpse asks, and you stiffen at the question, your face no longer soft. You yank away from him, your cheeks flushed with anger.
“Because you broke up with me,” you hiss at him, your tone full of venom. “Or did you forget that?”
“I didn’t forget,” he replies. “I made a mistake, I - “
“Over text message, Corpse, fucking text message,” you say, raising your voice, causing the people around you to glance over their shoulders at you.
“I know - “
“No. You don’t know. I love; loved you, and you took the cowardly way out. That’s why it isn’t you,” you reply. Your eyes are filled with tears, and he sniffs a little at the sight, his own eyes beginning to burn. You blink and a single tear falls down your cheek. You wipe it away, smearing your mascara a little. He reaches out to your cheek, wiping the black smudge away. You close your eyes, and he hears the slight shaky breath you exhale before opening your eyes, your face unreadable as his hand hovers over your skin. His hand stays there, it’s like it’s stuck, like his brain doesn’t want it to move and break the moment.
There’s a moment between you as you both look at each other. He takes in every detail of your face, memorising it for safekeeping. He thinks you’re doing the same, your eyes meeting his. The room is filled with people, but he doesn’t hear anything but white noise as he looks at you. He will only ever see you. Your hand reaches out to meet his, your face is almost confused as your finger tips touch his but before you can touch him properly, your name is shouted from the other room and the spell is broken.
There’s a sad smile on your face as you put your hand down and you walk away, leaving him to stand there. You don’t look back at him as you turn the corner and disappear out of sight.
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visenyavires · 3 years
Text
Bleed Not For Death, But For Love
Chapter 3: Devotion, You Shall Have
Warning: Blood and sorta NSFW scene ahead!!!
I stare at myself in my vanity (like I had the time to) trying to figure out what to wear, how to do my hair, and honestly, how to compose myself. She called me “My Darling” in the letter she just left for me, rather than by my name. Maybe it was a new pet name? I honestly couldn’t tell, but I am freaking out on the inside about it. Did she pick up on my subtle hint of admiration I gave her in the Hall of Ablution? My mind is absolutely racing as I snap out of my dissociation trance and put on a plain, black, full-length dress, and pull my hair half up. I throw on some black heels that I bought in Italy as well and check to make sure I look presentable in the mirror. I pull a few wisps of hair down to frame my face elegantly and leave my chambers. It's about a 3-minute walk from my room to hers, but 2 if I speed walk. I walk quickly but also try to avoid being out of breath by the time I reach her chambers. “Draga Mea…,” her voice echoes in my mind as well as the image of her bathing in the thick, ruby liquid. I can’t stop thinking about it, I’m actually beginning to obsess over it.
I reach her chamber door and the smell of ambrosia and hand-rolled cigarettes reaches my nose. I take a deep breath in and savor the atmosphere it creates before I raise my hand to knock.
“Come in, dear,” I hear her coax from behind the door embossed with a large, golden house sigil. I open the door to see her standing at the balcony, a wine glass in one hand and a freshly lit cigarette in the other. She’s wearing a long, black gown very similar to the one she normally wears with red roses for her brooch that matches her scarlet lips. She is still wearing her iconic sun hat with the wide brim and her pearl necklace with her house sigil as the pendant. She takes a long drag from her cigarette and exhales slowly before turning and walking to the left to reveal a glass of red wine sitting on a small table, untouched as well as two chairs, one larger than the other.
“Have a seat,” she commands, but not harshly. I do as I’m told and she hands me the glass of wine. I make eye contact with her as she sits in the larger chair opposite me and she takes another drag from her cigarette before speaking.
“Do you know why I summoned you here tonight, Y/N?” She asked with that slight commanding tongue. She lets her hand with her cigarette hang loosely. I stifle a shudder, hoping I didn’t mess anything up.
“No, my Lady, I’m afraid I don’t,” I say as I look down at the wine glass I’m holding in my lap.
“As the Grand Chambermaid, there are some things you need to know,” she begins.
“First, you need to know that I have extremely high expectations, which is why no one here chose to step up to the position you have claimed. Second, you need to understand that these expectations are strict. There is very little room to change the order and manner I desire them to be done. Given that you had no time to prepare for today, yet you still exceeded those expectations, I want to reward you with some of my finest red blend.” She said, her tone softening only a little bit.
“I also wanted to make you aware that as my Grand Chambermaid, your orders come straight from me and no one else.” Her tone had a hint of darkness in it and made me wonder what happened at her meeting today.
“Even Mother Miranda?” I ask, hoping I didn’t step out of line. She takes a second to pause, clearly trying to make up her mind on if this is something she really wants to go through with.
“You are an outsider of the village, you do not need to take orders from her. I am the one paying your salary, so you are mine and mine alone,” she declares possessively.
“Yes my Lady, I shall only take orders from you,” I nod, keeping eye contact.
“That’s a good girl,” she purrs and leans back in her seat and crosses her legs, relaxing. I exhale silently, but heavily. She’s playing with me, I can feel it. I was so sure I was in trouble for a moment. I bring the wine glass to my nose and sniff the aged liquid before I take a sip. It’s possibly the best wine I’ve ever tasted. Her eyes are glued to me as I lower my glass and smile.
“This is divine, my Lady. I’ve never had anything quite like it.” I say, trying not to be too ecstatic about it.
“That’s because it’s my own blend,” she says, her chin tilting up and her eyes staying locked on me. She’s proud, and I’m impressed.
“There’s no blood in that specific blend. That is the kind I sell to mortals. My personal favorite is my Sanguis Virginis. It’s not for human consumption,” she states with a serious tone. I take another sip and sit back in my own chair, trying to mimic her body language.
“I didn’t know you ran a wine business, my Lady,” I say, indicating that I would like to hear more. She has kept her eyes on me the entire time, watching my every move. She ignores my invitation to talk more about it, she seems to have other plans.
“The other reason I summoned you here tonight is that I have a long-standing tradition with my willing Grand Chambermaids,” she says huskily. My breath catches as she draws one last drag from her cigarette before she leans forward to put it out. She takes a sip of her “wine” and relaxes in her seat again.
“You spoke earlier about devotion and loyalty. I want to know how far you’re willing to go,” she states with a hint of challenge in her tone. Now she’s testing me. She’s making it very obvious that she knows what I desire. I could only come up with one answer, and for once, my anxiety didn’t stop me from speaking.
“How far do you want me to go?” I asked, rather bravely. To this, she grins somewhat wickedly. Her golden eyes turn glassy and I suddenly realize… she’s hungry.
I stand and set my glass of wine down, my heart racing. I know she can sense it. She uncrosses her legs, sits at the edge of her chair, and reaches her gloved hand out for me to take. I slip her glove off to reveal an elegant hand with sharp, scarlet red nails. She turns her palm upward to grab my hand and pulls me between her legs up to the edge of the seat, her skirt is the only thing that separates me from her skin. I stand only a few inches taller than her seated form and her mouth is perfectly aligned with the middle of my neck. My heart pounds, her eyes fixate on my pulse point. Our faces are mere inches apart and she looks up slowly to meet my infatuated stare. I see thick desire meshed with hunger in her eyes, and I know she sees how much I want this.
She rests her gloved hand on the small of my back and watches herself caress my neck with her nails before returning her gaze up to mine. I get chills all over my body.
“Devotion, you shall have,” I say huskily. She grins and lets out a vocal sigh of pleasure, almost a laugh. I close my eyes as she takes a sharp nail and slices into my neck ever so slightly. I manage to suppress a wince as the sting takes over my skin. I gasp with pleasure as I feel her tongue lick up the pooling blood from the fresh cut. I hear a soft moan come from her throat as she presses her lips to my neck and she pulls me closer by the small of my back so that I’m leaning slightly backward. Her free hand slides over my shoulder blades and grabs the base of my neck to keep me still and close. She separates her lips from my skin only for a moment to speak in a deep, raspy tone.
“Devotion, I shall take, Draga Mea,” she says seductively and sinks her teeth into the open cut she created. I gasp at the sensation, which excites her and she pulls me closer so that I am now flush against her body. She’s leaning forward into me while pulling me close, her strong arms hold me effortlessly in a position where I am slightly reclined and practically sitting on her thigh. My body curves perfectly around her breasts and I can feel her throat pulsing against my chest as she drinks. She lets out a deep moan of pure pleasure like she hasn’t experienced this sensation in a long time. She holds me impossibly close and I feel a rush of euphoria, enough that I feel one hand run through her raven curls, the other hand slide to the back of her neck, and my leg that's furthest from the chair lifts to wrap around her waist. This only excites her more and she tightens her grip and sinks her teeth deeper. I let out an involuntary moan combined with a sigh and tilt my head back, in my own world of bliss. I realize this was all I’ve ever truly wanted, and I finally have it.
……….
A few moments later, my head begins to feel light and as if she could sense it, she slows down and reluctantly separates her lips from my neck as if it pains her. She lets out a gasp like she forgot to breathe the entire time and I know she’s dying to go back in for more. But instead, she looks down at me and tilts her head to the side ever so slightly, and gives me a divine, scarlet grin.
“My, my, Draga Mea, you are the best I’ve tasted in ages. You are pure încântare,” she purrs with a touch of adoration as she sits me up to blot her mouth with her handkerchief. I meet her gaze and smile lightly, happy that I was able to please her. She notices I’m light-headed and effortlessly lifts me with one arm under my knees and the other around my back. With her long strides, it’s a matter of seconds before we reach her bed, the biggest one I’ve ever seen. She sets me down gently and lights a candle beside me. She closes the doors and heavy curtains to the balcony to block out the sun that’s about to rise and removes her hat and jewelry. She then lays next to me with a handkerchief and blots the open wound on my neck dry as she hums an unfamiliar tune. I close my eyes and succumb to sleep, that tune fading more and more with each passing second.
……….
I wake up a few hours later tucked into my own bed, my hair taken down and brushed, my shoes neatly placed by my bed, but I’m still in my gown from the night prior. I know I have several hours left to sleep before I have to be up for work but I can’t stop thinking about what happened. I touch my neck to feel the marks she left behind and I smile widely. It wasn’t a dream.
Tomorrow, I am to meet her at dusk once more to help with her daily soak. Her daughters also requested my presence at midnight, what exactly for remains unknown. The last time I saw them was when I first arrived, so I wonder what scheme they’ve spent the whole night cooking up. But I won’t lie to myself, the impending conversation I’m to have with Lady Dimitrescu in a few hours is one I’m extremely nervous but excited to have. If I wasn’t infatuated before, I certainly am now, and now I can show it a little more openly.
I roll over in bed and see something sitting on the table in front of the fireplace. I have come to adore the mysteriously delivered items she leaves for me. I sit up but immediately get dizzy. There is a fresh glass of water sitting on my nightstand. Alcina Dimitrescu… I would’ve never taken her for the type to care for you after intimacy. I drink almost the whole glass and then try to stand. I’m able to walk to the table to reach the bottle of wine she had opened just for me. Beside it was yet another note written in perfect cursive.
“Draga Mea,
Here’s some wine to fill that glass you love so much. It pained me that you didn’t get to finish your treat. Rest while you can, I’ll see you at dusk in the Hall of Ablution.
Întotdeauna a ta,
- Alcina”
“Always yours” signed with just “Alcina.” Her signature was informal. She’s beginning to get comfortable with me. I’m shocked and extremely flattered. I know that Grand Chambermaids are supposed to be close with their Ladies, but she had no hesitation or fear. She simply was and I adore her for that. I wonder what she has planned in the Hall of Ablution and what all will be said.
I uncork the wine and inhale deeply, all the memories flooding back to me. I smile with pure contentment, close the bottle, and walk back to bed. The only reason I’m able to fall back to sleep is because I know it will help the time pass faster before I can see her again in a few hours. I play the tune she hummed to me over in my head until I drift into a dreamless sleep, only to be startled awake by distant, mischievous giggling, and it seems to be getting closer…
To be continued...
***** STAY TUNED FOR CHAPTER 4, THEIR RELATIONSHIP IS ONLY BEGINNING >:) COMMENT BELOW IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO MY TAG LIST*****
Next: Chapter 4: Dangerous Game
Previous: Chapter 2: My First Day
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