#breakfast cup and saucer set

[tinalilith1]

Top Gift Ideas for Tea Lovers to Warm Their Hearts

Take your tea gifting game to the next level with a beautifully designed breakfast cup and saucer set they can use to start their day on a beautiful note.

#breakfast cup and saucer set #breakfast tea #tea lovers #tealeaves

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

To a Tea 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc. 

Part of the Sweet and Spicy AU 

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk. 

18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you. 

Summary:  A demanding customer grows increasingly needy.

Character:  Raymond Smith

The title is a pun, don't @ me.

Please comment and reblog if it’s not too much. I always love getting to chat about these stories and hearing all your ideas! You all are wonderful and loved. 

“He’s here,” Jenna’s warning brings you attention away from siphoning what’s left off the peppermint leaves into the fresh tin. 

You glance over without any other directive. He always waits in that same spot. Even if the table’s empty, he doesn’t sit right away. You give you co-worker a look and smile as you put the lid on the tin and slide it out of the way. 

You wash your hands thoroughly before you grab the cylinder of disinfecting wipes and sweep around the end of the counter. You step out onto the tea room floor as his eyes find you, expecting you. You’ve adjusted to his ritual, almost compelled to it. 

“Hello, Raymond,” you great as you approach the empty table for two where he sits with his back to the wall and his eyes towards the door. 

“Miss,” he greets in his way. 

He’s a bit uptight. Others might say worse but once you learn his quirks, he’s very human. Even if everything else about him is mysterious. 

Sometimes you build stories about him in his head. His glasses, his neatly styled hair, and his combed beard suggest a man with an eye for his appearance. His suits might be better fit to library or a professor’s podium. Not sleek enough for a board room. Then you think he might be a writer of sorts but you’ve never seen him with a laptop or pen and most of the local authors don’t show up without one or the other. 

You take out a wipe and take your time in getting every inch of the table. You back up as he removes his jacket and you back out of his way. He sidles around the and sits, shoulders set as he grips the table and straightens it. 

Whoever he is, he’s very precise. 

“Usual?” You ask with a smile. 

He looks at you and reaches to pinch the arm of his glasses. The first time he came in, you remember you could’ve melted at his gaze. So stony and unyielding, you wondered why he was even there. Now, there is an ease to it. He prefers the familiar and you have become that. 

“Yes, usual,” he agrees. 

You nod and swiftly turn on your heel. You go back behind the counter as Jenna snoops from behind the cookie display. You shake your head at her as you wash your hands a second time. He will certainly note that as well.  

You go to steep his cup of English Breakfast as the other woman nears and watches the steaming water at your side. 

“Don’t know how you do it. He should just have tea at home.” 

“Can’t complain for business,” you shrug. 

“Why bother? All that fuss for a cuppa.” 

“Maybe he likes the ambience?” You suggest. 

“He said the lights give him headaches.” 

“Oh?” 

“Well, he pays his bill. That’s all I ask for,” you add a teaspoon of milk, measuring it out exactly and you move the tab of the bag to hang to the left of the handle. 

“Mm, and he sures asks a lot of you, don’t he?” She crosses her arms. 

“Jenna,” you look towards the till where a customer waits. 

“Ugh, you’re such a bore,” she chides. 

You go back into the tea room and cross to Raymond’s table. You set the cup and saucer before him. 

“Enjoy,” you insist. 

“Cheers,” he hooks his finger into the handle and turns the cup to an exact angle. 

You lean back on your heel and he raises his palm, “do you... have any suggestions?” 

“For?” You wonder. 

“I thought to try something with my tea today. What do you recommend?” 

“Well, were we thinking something savoury or sweet?” You reply breezily, “our cheese scones are delicious, and there is the chives and onion bake. I sneak one every Friday. Erm, there are the white chocolate shortbread on special and I think we’ve sold out of the cherry tarts. Oh, if you’d like a combination, there is the cranberry cheddar scone. I don’t mind it but I hate the crumbles.” 

He considers you thoughtfully and crosses his arms. He mills the decision with his lips clamped. His blues eyes narrow behind his lenses. 

“Do you have plain shortbread?” 

“Of course,” you chime, “two for a pound.” 

“Two will do,” he agrees. 

You hold your smile and once more set off on your mission. He might be stringent, a bit repressed, but you’ve dealt with worse customers. More demanding, sometimes outrightt rude.  

You dip behind the counter and grab a plate. You use the tongs to take two of the shortbread biscuit and place them on a clean plate. You take a napkin with you and once more emerge from behind the displays. 

You approach Raymond as he sips his tea. You put the plate and serviette before him. He thanks you and adjusts his tie, letting his hand drift down his vest. 

“Is that it, sir? Tea alright?” 

“That’s it,” he affirms. 

“Great, you know where I’ll be,” you chirp and spin.  

You stop before you can bring your foot down as he calls your name. He’s only ever said it once. The first time you met. It’s always ‘miss’. 

You turn to face him, “yes?” 

“Your apron strings are uneven...” he says. “Just figured... I’d warn you.” 

You nearly laugh. What an odd thing to worry about. You reach back behind your waist and feels the lengths. Sure enough, you’ve tied them entirely off kilter. You suppose you don’t pay too much attention to that. 

“Thanks for letting me know.” 

He nods and examines one of the cookies. Then his eyes flick up and keep you from another retreat, “I could fix it.” 

“Oh, er, that’s fine,” you wave him off, “not a big deal.” 

“It doesn’t bother you?” He wonders. 

“Not really,” you shrug, “does it bother you?” 

His brows raise slightly and he taps the cookie, shaking off the crumbs as much as he can. He leans forward and nibbles over the plate, making certain not to litter over the edge. He puts the biscuit down and wipes his fingers on the napkin. 

“It does,” he says. 

You won’t laugh at him. It would truly be at his expense, it’s just a very unexpected offer. You put your arms straight, “if you want.” 

You near and turn your back to him. You sense him leaning forward as you stand stalk straight and watch the tea room. The smell of cinnamon and cloves fills the warm space, the shades giving an orangish hue to the din. There are low tables near the center with pillow seats, and the high tables along the walls. You know all the creaks and cracks better than your own home. 

You feel him tug the knot loose and his fingers work agilely to tie a new knot. He lets it hang but just as quickly looses it again. You try not to move as he does it several times before he relents. 

“There, ears and tails match,” he declares. 

You step away and turn to send him a smile, “thanks.” 

He doesn’t say anything, only raises his cup and doffs it in a kind gesture before he sips. You twist away again. You should help Jenna before the rush begins. That’s the only thing about Raymond, he does take up a lot of time. 

#raymond smith #dark raymond smith #dark!raymond smith #raymond smith x reader #the gentlemen #drabble #sweet and spicy #au #series #to a tea

[milknhonies]

Wails of Wedded Bliss

Chapter 2 || Masterlist || Chapter 4

Chapter Summary: After finding his debts you decide to take matters into your own hands...what a terrible decision...

Pairing: Sherlock Homes x wife!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Historical Typical Sexism, Debts, Domestic Abuse, Sexual Abuse, Blackmail.

Word Count: 9k

Author Notes:

★For those of you possibly turning around and saying “£290 is nothing for all of what Sherlock has bought”

...I’ll remind you this is set in 1890 and so since then inflation has risen greatly...

★So for the modern reader I must insist to explain that £290 in England is now worth £30,671...

★And for my American readers that would be $38,948

★And for my Australian readers that would be $58,490

★Basically...Sherlock Holmes is a material gorl 💅

Inspiring Song: "Ghiribizzi" by Paganini

•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•

7:35am Tuesday 6th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

You wobbled onto your feet as Mrs Hudson entered the apartment with a scowl... probably because of something Sherlock said to her in passing the stairs.

The old crow’s frown spirited away when she noticed you were awake and outside of your bedroom.

She smiled warmly in fact and bid you a good morning. You returned the expression as she came and collected the breakfast plates.

Your fingers trailed over the countless of papers on the table and the sleek wood of his violin.

Shuffling through each parchment and a sigh drawled from your lips.

“Mrs Hudson,” you hummed as she passed you, “I request you show me the expenses of the household purse.”

It was a common duty of a wife nowadays to keep track of all home expenses.

She paused and her eyes widened, her mouth flapped open and closed quickly again. Her teeth grimaced and her bony finger wagged, “I am afraid my dear, they are in Mr Holmes bedroom, and as I said yesterday, he can be an incredibly private person.”

His bedroom? Oh yes...he kept it locked. But by god you needed to get to the bottom of this theory you were building in your mind. You were married and a married couple shouldn’t withhold secrets.

“I am his wife, I am the second close thing to the holy trinity in his life now,” you snorted softly as you collected all the papers on the table and made a neat single pile, “I will see the documents and understand his predicament.”

“And which predicament may that be?” the housekeeper inquired as she laid down a fresh virgin cup to pour scolding tea from the hot teapot.

“Enola mentioned something about debts,” You clutched the front of your dressing gown to contain some decorum while you sat back down and gestured to the chair beside you for her to sit in as well, “his foul dismissal of my presence suggests not only disdain of our union but in addition a set of a secrecy and disfavour I will not permit in my marriage.”

You needed to know exactly how much debt he was in. You were willing to part some of your dowry to pay for it if you could. His aggression was surely caused by the stress of these debt...if you could lift them off his shoulders, mayhaps he would be kinder, gentle and respectful.

She passed you the cup and saucer while she took to pouring herself a cup. The elder woman smiled giddily.

You were pleased that there was no judgement of your modesty before her. It was a fine change compared to your strictly grandmother who would berate you if you dared leave your bedroom under dressed.

The elder cradled her cup and lowered it carefully, clearing her throat, “Mrs Holmes...”

You blinked...you believed you had asked her to not call you by your new name, out of friendliness.

“Mrs Hudson?” you queerly answered.

“Before your marriage,” her lip curled inward and her fingers lightly tapped her cup, she looked to the tea and quickly glanced up at you, “The detective entertained himself in some...appalling activities. I think it best not to open those locked pasts for your own sake.”

Appalling activities...in a world of proprietary that could mean anything...you did have your thoughts...you were only surprised that the notorious detective would risk tainting his reputation with some illicit practice.

You swallowed dryly before sipping lightly at the tea. You licked your lips and sighed shaking your head, “Speak plainly Mrs Hudson.”

“Oh please,” She prayed mortifyingly, “I daren’t repeat it.”

It wasn’t difficult to see the pink rising in the pale wrinkled face of Mrs Hudson.

You leant over the table and used small tongs to pick up a sugar cube and clenched your jaw. You wouldn’t play in another game of riddles, especially not with a elder woman with a privacy for embarrassing details. The sugar fell into the cup with a soft plop in the awkward silence, a ticking of the clock caught in your ear.

“Tell me or leave Mrs Hudson,” you pinched the papers on the desk , “I have documents to find and unless your words hold any meaning, do not bore me with unheard gossip.”

Her beady blue eyes under her spectacles fluttered, her lips parted at your stern tone. She inhaled deeply and looked around the room before leaning in closer to you.

She said in a hushed whisper, “My dear girl, your husband is a whore mongering, drug addicted gambler.”

Now that was a surprise to hear fall from her wrinkled lips. You pinched your forehead and rubbed thoughtfully. How would you handle this type of man?

You glanced at her with a small grin.

“Was- Mrs Hudson,” You corrected, tapping the table with your knuckle, “I will not allow such boyish whims into my marriage,” you wagged your finger at her and flashed her a devious smile, “He shall need to divorce me if he wishes to continue such behaviours, it might be harder for me to remarry but I trust not a single woman would last longer than me as his wife.”

A small laugh came out of the woman who gave you a dramatic military salute, she grinned and chortled, “Well, I admire your determination, but however will you enter his chambers? He has the only key.”

Your chest deflated, she was right. How would you? You chewed the inside of your cheek and looked over your shoulder to look at the closed bedroom door on the far side of the wall beside your own.

You slowly pushed up to your feet again and trapesed back to your bedroom, “Mrs Hudson, wherever did you put my hat box?”

The elderly woman put down her cup and swayed inside to follow you, she pointed to above the wardrobe. Standing on your toes you palmed the box down and laid it on your unmade bed.

Mrs Hudson was opening up your wardrobe and peeling through your hanging hooks of dresses and coats.

“My dear, surely you’re not intending to go outside in your frail condition?” she muttered as she trailed a fresh chemise over her arm.

Shaking your head you jerked you chin, “No Mrs Hudson, indoors I will remain.” Your hand clenched your lower belly with a hiss as a nasty cramp prevailed, “I don’t recall entirely but I believe a doctor was here last night, said I have begun my menses for this month.”

“I can see dearest,” Mrs Hudson hummed, pinching at your dressing gown...you had bled through it. A wet crimson patch stained the white cotton. You balked and flushed.

“Best get it off now,” Mrs Hudson winked, pulling it back and off your naked shoulders, “I’ll make you some packing.”

You shuddered and gasped at how forward your housekeeper was presenting. Respectfully speaking, you wondered if Mrs Hudson had been a ladies maid in her earlier years before her own marriage.

You tiptoed to the water basin on the vanity and squeezed the clean cloth inside of it. You cleaned the red and burgundy chunks and stream between your thighs. Your washed your hands back in the water and faced Mrs Hudson sheepishly. She smiled and pulled the chemise over your head.

“Let me roll some packing,” she said, pulling a bandage from the top drawer of the vanity and folded it into a flat palm of thickened fabric.

You shoved it up against your intimate flesh and squeezed your thighs together tightly.

Mrs Hudson then found a sanitary apron in the same drawer and helped tie it behind your back.

“Mrs Hudson you are a fine woman of elegance and saintly kindness,” you exhaled, “Thank you.”

“I remember when I was a freshly married girl,” She clucked happily, “My dear friend was a constant visitor and helped me with these things. Mr Hudson grew very jealous of our time together,” she sighed, “Now, do you require a corset my dear?”

You shook your head and plucked your fingers, “I shan’t accept any visitors, and in my sickly state it would be kinder to leave it be if I should make a mess of my inconvenience.”

If your stomach threw up from the stress of your internal curse, you didn’t want to wash through the delicate fabrics of your whale bone undergarments.

You found a loose blouse and black skirt to pull and button onto your body. You pulled up a pair of stockings.

You sat on the bed as Mrs Hudson buttoned your shoes up with a hook. As the kind older woman did this gradually with her small fingers and greying eyes, you pulled the lid of your hat box away.

You pulled out a long metal stick...

A sharp hat pin.

“There we are, all done and ready for the day!” the housekeeper announced, rising to her feet.

You rose up with her and smiled, “Please Mrs Hudson, might I burden you with making another pot of tea?”

She beamed and nodded.

•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•

08:45am Tuesday 6th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

You were grunting on your knees before Sherlock’s locked door. Your hat pin jammed into the key hole. The tip of your tongue stuck out the corner of your lips as you shuffled the metal and tried to carefully listen to the locking of the inner gears.

Little did anyone know...this little talent you learnt on your own... Breaking into your grandfathers wine cellar was not a overexerting task when you were fifteen. It wasn’t a desire to rebel, rather a desire to educate yourself...you wanted to be seen as intelligent and knew your wines.

It wasn’t too long before you came to hate the bitter taste...and then found your grandfather’s rum drum.

When he found you, he didn’t not strike you and decided the headache you received in the morning was punishment enough for your sinful deed. And for a whole week he made you drink a cup of the stuff every night, to teach you why alcoholism was not befitting for a lady...

You smirked at the memory. Perhaps it was unorthodox. But it was kinder than a lashing or earful from your grandmother.

It was just one of many secrets between the both of you.

The loud click and sliding of the last inner lock made your eyes sparkle. As you twisted the handle the door peeled open with a awful squeak.

“My lord, what a mess!” you gasped.

The room was in a disarray. A smell of mould and death hit your nose. You gagged and felt your belly churn.

There was cigar burns in the rug, papers, news papers and books thrown about. There were plates that were piled up in the corner on a desk and there was a dirt dried mud trails...

The curtains were stained and the dust was unbelievable. When your finger ran along a small stand beside the door your finger came back looking pitch black with the soot.

You sat back and stood up. Piece by piece you picked up all the papers and went to his filing cabinet drawer, it was empty! Of course it was empty, all the contents had been tossed about, decorating the room messily.

You fingered the massive haul of papers and sighed, you would need to organise them all...

Taking them back out to the dining table you started to arrange piles of parchment stacks. Receipts, paid and unpaid, by date and purchases. Your eyes catered to the numbers, you fetched a notebook to tally the expenses and sighed, cupping your mouth every so often at his choices of spending.

You were so caught up in your own thoughts and game of pounds, shillings and pence, you hadn’t heard the return of Mrs Hudson with a fresh pot and tea set.

“Dear me,” she said clicking her tongue and shaking her head, “It looks like you’ve got your work cut out! Now what’s all this?” She asked picking up a receipt off a pile.

Rolling your shoulders back she smiled proudly at the organisation of affairs. You gestured to the individual sheet stacks.

“Ah sings Den, Cocaine Tooth Drops, Black Shag Tobacco, gambling...prostitutes,” you chewed your lip worriedly as you glance back at the small note book you write on with a blunt pencil, “He has wracked up a wicked sum...”

The housekeeper put the receipt back and sat beside you after pouring you another warm tea, this time she added the sugar cube for you and stirred.

“How much?” She whispered looking over the thick almost book like mountains of papers.

Since the new year began...Sherlock had designed quite the irresponsible money expenses and debts...

£5.65 for the Opium Den experience.

£3.25 for the Cocaine drops

£10.41 for the tobacco.

£120.78 for the overall gambling.

£150.33 for his Mayfair Row whores to Madam Adler.

Total: £290.42....

You felt your lips tighten, your belly squeezed. You paled and frailly held the cup to your lips, softly blowing and softly stating, “Perhaps that number I will keep to myself Mrs Hudson,” you pushed a pile close to her and tapped at the top, “Be not alarmed however, he seems to dedicate his rent responsibly to you.”

She chortled and shook her head, “Oh I don’t mind that, I trust him to,” her eyes narrowed at the

Mayfair receipts, “I just never liked the company he brought home.”

Your eyes widened and it was like air had been stolen and kicked from your lungs, “He brought...” you choked, shutting your eyes, “Those...those women back here?”

She grit her teeth and finished her tea, “Yes, they leave like newborn foals with wobbly legs.”

When Mrs Hudson caught your worrisome eyes she gasped and tapped your hand softly, “Forgive me, I needn’t provide details.”

You pursed your lips disapprovingly before conceiting, “As much as it is wounding to hear, it is unavoidable,” you sighed and poured yourself another tea, “As his wife it is best I know everything about my husband and if he is to keep secrets from me,” you shrugged, “However shall I be a decent partner?”

Mrs Hudson put her cup aside demurely and leant closer to you. Still in her hushed tones, ashamed of the secrets she was sharing...but her eyes were full of excitement, perhaps this gossip was something she needed off her conscious.

“I would hear them in the night, screaming...I thought he was killing them,” more colour was flushing back into her face. A rosy hue dusted her nose and cheeks, “I am thankful every time when I would see them leave with smiles on their faces.”

You sat back in your chair abruptly and looked at her curiously, “Screaming and smiles?” You whispered under your breath, “How peculiar.”

It wasn’t possible. Did he hurt those prostitutes like how he had done to you? How did they walk away with smiles? Was it because he paid them? Not even you could think how to muster a smile after experiencing such awful tortures.

“I thought perhaps, he did what he had done onto you my dear...but when I saw the blood and your lack of pleasantry, well, I can confidently say-”

You slapped your cup on the saucers hard enough for a loud clatter, you said tightly, “Mrs Hudson I’d very much prefer to forget yesterdays events, if you don’t mind...please do not refer back to them.”

The mention caused a spike of pain inside you, reminding you where he stuck his hot selfish poker.

The elder woman grew quiet for a moment. She looked off at the window in the distance and then down at her cup.

She nodded and tried to share a soft smile, “Apologies for any offence.”

A stab of guilt panged in your chest, you hadn’t mean to be so rude to her. Your nerves were in a terrible mood. In a moment you would be happy and then the next you would feel worrisome and hungry. Perhaps you might’ve grown to be afflicted by the disease of Hysteria?

Oh Hysteria, what a terrible condition...you dreaded the thought of need to go for a medical massage. One of your female cousins had been to one and her description made it sound both enlightening and frightful. In fact she said it felt like she had died and gone to heaven and returned.

All of which made you scared beyond belief.

“None received,” you pat her hand and brought her palm to your lips, “You are a kind Christian and for that I say god bless you Mrs Hudson.”

She smiled warmly and stole a soft kiss to your cheek, all was forgiven between your temper.

“Oh my dear, I must additionally confess,” she stunningly proclaimed, “Sherlock doesn’t attend church.”

Your brows rose, “What?” You snorted through a laugh, unable to comprehend her truth, “Don’t be ridiculous, what upstanding gentleman doesn’t attend church?”

You giggled and cheerfully wiped a tear away, your sanity returned when her face had remained stone solid. She did not find it funny and you realised finally it was because in fact not a joke...

You glanced over the papers...back to the number on your notebook...ah of course...no god fearing man could sin so easily...waste away fortune so carelessly and spend it on unnecessary frivolous activities.

“I think that might be the answer to your own question. The Doctor Watson wrote his newspaper articles and depicted him London’s hero. He can be truly a godless man. Frankly I believe he’s a sadist.”

You tilted your head at her and drank some of your tea.

You hummed and held a finger to your lip in thought, “Yet you said those women had smiles on their faces when they left?”

Mrs Hudson shook her head curtly and smirked, “Well I think I’d smile too with the amount he probably pays them.”

Laying your elbow on the table with your chin on your head you looked at the brothel papers, “You are right...they are over priced...Mayfair Row...they’re quality...but nonetheless still he pays them far too much.”

Your husband was an exuberant tipper when it wasn’t his money. Mayfair Row...you hadn’t been inside the Dove club where Sherlock spent most the wealth...but you knew the average price of a whore...it took you back to a time...many, many years ago...back when you believed you had a mother that loved you...back when seeing a naked man behave like an animal writhing on-top of her was your normal life. Where you mimicked the actions with your cloth doll that you carried everywhere. You tried to remember the name of that doll....Susie? Harriet? God only remembers now.

They weren’t pleasant memories...the stench of mud, the screaming of women, the yelling if men, the bite of hunger and the itch of lice in your hair and fleas covering your clothes.

You shuddered. Thank god you still did not live with her anymore. It was the only life you knew in those days but suffering is suffering and you amazed you how long you survived in such conditions.

The elderly woman looked into the pot and sighed at the low level of tea.

“I am surprised you know so much about them,” she casually noted, glancing back at you.

You realised how strange you must’ve sounded...you heart began to race. You grimaced, annoyed at yourself for being so relaxed you lost thought of your own words.

“Call it a terrible interest Mrs Hudson,” you licked your bottom lip and lied, “I was a reader of Josephine Butler’s work on her dismantlement of child sex work.”

She nodded slowly, clearly Mrs Hudson had no idea who Mrs Butler was...you felt a twinge of agitation for the uneducated.

You tapped your fingers nervously on your cup again and off handedly asked “Do you know if there are anymore receipts I might find Mrs Hudson?”

“No idea I’m afraid,” Mrs Hudson said as she noticed your cup was finally empty. She collected the tea set items and placed them on the tray. You turned in your seat and looked back at Sherlocks open door, there was still so much mess. You shook your head.

Before the housekeeper left you touched her arm.

“Please fetch me a broom and cloth and clean water.”

She followed your gaze at his room and warmly cupped your face, “Dear, perhaps you should lay in bed for a while, you shouldn’t be working so perilously in this physical state.”

You smiled and held her hand, rising out of the chair. You walked back to his room and called over your shoulder, “I would rather clean my husband’s hovel. No wonder he’s a beast considering he lives like one.”

You could hear Mrs Hudson cackling behind you as she went back down stairs only to return with your requested items after a while.

A clean room might clear his head, calm his woes.

•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•

12:23pm Tuesday 6th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

After hours of sweeping, dusting, mopping, washing and organising Sherlock’s room you tiredly flopped back on his mattress and yawn.

At this rate you considered a small nap was required. Except you knew yourself, you knew if you stopped your progress you’d be discouraged to finish.

There was one last thing to organise after folding and hanging all his clothes. At the foot of Sherlock’s bed was a large chest. It could be easily mistaken for an ottoman. Maybe they’re would be more debt documents or clothing in there.

You crawled down and climbed off his bed to crouch beside the chest. You clicked the latches open and lifted the lid slowly.

Inside were sinister objects...you gasped...too shocked to even close the chest. Rope, shackles, knives, long thin sticks, a riding crop, a whip, a bridle you knew deep down was too small for a horse and meant for a human...smaller boxes with printed words....rectal dilators and hysterical paroxysm vibrating aid. And the illustrations...

There was a book you were reading...you weren’t really thinking, you were just curious of the horrid that might follow within...

Men and women, all nude, illustrations and photos of them performing elaborate sexual deviancy. Your eyes widened and your breath caught in your throat. Between your legs the buzz of arousal enlightened to your belly.

There was a woman who was tied up in ropes in star like patterns being mounted by a man who held a riding crop in his hand. You paled thinking he was beating this poor woman...and as you read the words, it was discovered she enjoyed this...took pleasure in the agony??

It was very confusing for you to read such hypocrisy.

Who would enjoy being hurt like this?

And as you read more and more, the deeper into this strange arousal you sunk into.

There was a illustration on a woman holding her lover’s intimate member in her mouth. And another where the same lover was licking with a long snake like tongue at her clitoris.

Your thighs squeezed tight and you groaned as a cramp rippled through your body down to your knees.

Hearing your name on your housekeepers lips tore you away from the novel. You threw the book back inside the chest and shut it hard. You felt short of breath and grasped the wood of his canopy to stay stable before leaving his chambers.

You told yourself that it was wrong to be looking at such art and imagery of lust. A part of you however desired to peak back inside...curiosity was your master and chastity your mistress. So who would you listen to first?

Your eyes fluttered shut.

You met the elderly woman out in the sitting room where she was dusting at the unlit fireplace mantle... She was moving little trinkets and photos.

Within the centre of the mantle stand was a frame containing your own portrait. You had the image taken at a tintype shop over a year ago. You stood beside Mrs Hudson as you took in the reflection of yourself. You smiled at how brilliant it captured your likeness. You were still confused how it worked, something about sand and light...your grandfather stood aside that day and said he would be sending the image to his son to remind him of you, his daughter...you were embarrassed to say the least but dared not argue with his wisdom.

Well it seems your father didn’t get the photo...or perhaps he send it back. Now Sherlock had it in his ownership.

She smiled at you and ran a hand softly down your back and said, “I just wanted to ask if you liked mutton dear, I hope to cook some this evening for dinner.”

You smiled with relief, you told her, “I am ever grateful for any food you provide my husband and I, thankyou Mrs Holmes.”

The elderly woman eyes widened with joy. She turned on her heel, taking the bucket and cloth with her.

You looked over at the table covered in receipts she had kindly left untouched.

“Mrs Hudson,” You called after her as you stepped hastily over to a side board bureau and began to write up a cheque, “is there any chance you will be attending the bank today?”

Facing you she pat the door handle and exclaimed, “No, however I can stop by if you need me to, I am officially in need to buy some fresh mutton from the butcher.”

You smiled at her cheery attitude. You filled out the numbers and printed the expenses. You tore it away from the book and held it out to her.

“Fantastic...here. Take this.”

The housekeeper stepped closer and raced her eyes over the cheque. Her eyes blew up wide at the price you had written out.

“I don’t quite understand...” she shakily stated.

You sighed and clapped your hands as you went to finally sit down on the lounging chaise. It wasn’t hard to admit you needed the rest with how your head spun. You were dizzy and it was possibly from all the cleaning you had conducted and dust you had inhaled.

“Sherlock needs to be rid of these debts and I need to rid of his temper...my dowry Mrs Hudson I pray brings me peace.”

Yes, you were sure of it. Your very expensive dowry...you were going to pay the debt off and help your husband become less of an animal. Perhaps you might convince him to attend church.

“Mrs Holmes,” your housekeeper stammered, “I would advise you hold onto this...please...you cannot just-”

You cut her off dignifiedly, “Mrs Hudson, this cheque card will enter the bank whether by your hand or mine. And before you have insisted I rest. So please if you care enough for me, you shall hand it in on my behalf.”

Her face was flushed and her eyes shut tight. She shook her head disapprovingly while muttering

“Very well dear girl, I hope you know what you are doing.”

Out Mrs Hudson went, and down you went. Your face pressed into a cushion. With your eyes fluttering shut, you feel back into the darkness and peacefully slept, listening to the wafting sounds of Baker Street flow from Sherlock’s bedroom window.

•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•≫≪•❈•

6:00pm Tuesday 6th May 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

Sherlock still had not returned home from his morning flee. As Mrs Hudson laid out a plate of roast and potatoes with gravy she assured you that Sherlock had a habit of staying out for hours. Whether for a case or his own pleasures and addiction.

On the table in front of you was the paper bank statement, it accounted that the cheque had been entered and applied to the debts.

Now the Sherlock Holmes was a debt free man...

After you finished your dinner, Mrs Hudson kindly helped remove your shoes and change your bedding. You were redressed in a night gown and over your shoulders a warm dressing gown.

You now only wore a sanitary apron to protect yourself from your blood.

All his paid debt receipts were in a folder, you stared at that manilla folder smugly. Your left it on the table as you went to inspect the book shelves on the far wall near the entrance of the home.

You looked at the many novels on the shelves, now some of them being the ones brought over from your grandparents estate. On quick flicking through pages you found most of them being related to science, language and anatomy. Glancing back at Sherlocks open door, you thought about the book in the chest. That was more than just an anatomy book...

You squeezed your side, you were feeling a spike in temperature and a shortness in breath reimagining those images...those words.

It wasn’t the smut novella Fanny Hill, but it stoked fires inside you much like it. You knew it was something you probably shouldn’t have come across, because you shouldn’t have been inside his room, touching his belongings.

You had to. It smelt like something had died.

You prayed this would sort him out. You could only hope that the years ahead would not be so testing.

You had a list of mental rules. You may be his wife and beneath his status, however you would not just stand back and watch him act a fool and fall victim to further ridicule in society. You would not sink in the same boat again. You were excluded from many balls as a teen when some wicked foul mouth girl had revealed the secrecy of your parentage.

Your step mother was only eleven years older than you, so really...there was no possibility of pretending to be her child. Everyone in high society of they knew you, knew what you were. And because they knew you were treated like a unspeakable burden and unwanted pet at parties.

It wasn’t a mystery to you why you started playing the role of a wallflower at only fifteen.

You refused to allow Sherlock to bring you to such shame in society.

The heavy foot steps outside the close door alerted you to an approach made by someone other than Mrs Hudson.

With the loud snap of the handle and click of the lock, in entered a breathless giant. Sherlock.

He tore off his hat and coat and only after hanging the items on the rack by the door did he acknowledge you with a small nod, “Mrs Holmes,” he bid. Under his arm you noticed was a paper wrapped package.

You heard him march through the house towards the middle room and heard him swear under his breath, follows by a repetitive “no no no.”

You heard him frantically skid around the carpets and floor boards of his own room. He was tearing open and slamming drawers and wardrobe doors.

“What the hell have you done! What have you-?”

Storming out of his room, you gasped at how his face reddened and he continued shouting, but thankfully not at you. He raced to the front door and tore it open screaming down the stairwell,

“Where are you woman!? Mrs Hudson! You shrivelled cow!”

You slapped the book in your hands shut, regarding him disdainfully, “Our housekeeper is not to be rewarded by your insults.”

The turn around he made was slow as realisation came to his heated face. The snarl was replaced by a begrudged sneer as he scoffed, pointing his finger sharply back in the direction of the bedrooms, “...You did this destruction?”

“Destruction?” You whispered. What destruction had you done?

As he approached, you unconsciously took a step back and nervously licked your bottom lip. You felt air being pulled from you as he towered above and stabbed you beneath a invasive gaze.

His darkened eyes looked across the light material of your nightwear. His fingers tugged the book out of hands and pushed it back into the shelving where it belonged.

You decided you needed to stand firmer against him, You craned your head back and stared up at him.

“H-hardly...I have organised. Cleaned.” You took another step back and felt the wood of the display cabinet behind you dig into your waist.

“By subject,” you felt his body press up against you, what the hell was he doing? Trying to intimidate you? You were hardly dressed compared to his full clad attire. It scared you. He looked formidable, like he was going to tear you limb from limb, his nostrils flared. Your insides jumped and that buzzing feeling ran through your lower half. God...why did this of all things arouse you?

Your throat felt shaky, “then- then ah numerical dated followed by alphabetically.”

You glance him over and blinked at the red spot on his chest, was it ink? No, ink isn’t so dark....under Sherlock’s jaw was a scratch, a slight discolouration to his skin and under his hair curl on his forehead as another mark.

He leant down and pressed his mouth to your ear, “Do not ever enter my chambers or touch my belongings without my permission again.” It was a mix between a whisper, an disciplining snarl, and a lusty moan.

It left your knees feeling bloodless. Your own eyes shut closed at the hot breath that breathed into your lobe and hair.

As he pulled back, he stood away and for the first few moments you needed to remember how to control your breathing.

He looked over the dining room table and slid the thick folder closer to himself.

“And what is this?” he asked you.

“Your debts,” You swallowed and wiped your palm across your forehead, a trail of sweat drenched your hand, “Paid for.”

He smirked and shook his head, “Mycroft.”

“No,” you bluntly said, smoothing your hands down your dress to rid of the wrinkles that rose up. Seeing how your nipples had hardened beneath your nightgown you pulled the dressing gown tighter around you and crossed your arms protectively over your chest.

You looked at his body hunched over the table and blinked at the white marks over the edges of his dark navy suit jacket. It looked like flour...except flour had a tendency to clump. His nails were also clean of any baking incredibly. But his finger pads on the wooden table left little faint prints...

“You?” he chuckled condescendingly.

You nodded, “Yes.”

His laughter quickly fell away, his head snapped up fully to look at you, his brows knitted together,

“Why?”

His lips settled into a frown.

He put his hands on his hips, a power play...he was trying to show confidence, dominance...perhaps in response to your arms folded over your chest.

It would’ve been good to just tell him the truth, but to explain it to him would be impossible. You chose to simplify the answer...

“Easement on your consciousness?” You offered dryly. It wasn’t a total like, the less stress, the more relaxing and kindness....right?

His mouth twisted into a snarl, “Why you insufferable little-”

“Where did you go today?,” you pondered, cutting him off from finishing his insult, “A school?”

He jerked back slightly, he tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, he took a deep breath and cupped his hands behind his back, “Excuse me?”

Good, he was calmer now.

This time you took to action...you stepped forward and sighed solemnly pinching one of his vest buttons.

“Chalk, on your cuffs. You smell like sweat in a teenage boy rather than a man. You’ve also had a scuffle with someone much shorter than you from the marks on your neck. Your shirt has a speck of what I believe is blood and the button is loosen,” you pinched and ripped it from the shirt and it’s faint loose thread.

“Fret not...” you smirked and pat his chest, “I will mend it should you ask.”

His hands came around and squeezed your forearms, his head moved back a little. He was perplexed...a light upturn in his lips revealed his sudden amusement.

He lifted a hand up and gently touched your face. He was breathing in a controlled state. You felt the intimacy of his closeness without fear of his wrath.

“No...” he drawled, “I was at Scotland yard. A poor deduction...” his thumb ran across your chin, “dear wife.”

You felt your heart pick up as his soft hand touched your face, you tried looking away from his staring eyes. Sherlock’s edged closer to your lips.

“Poor deduction but I am not stupid,” you consoled.

His lips broke into a wider smile revealing his teeth, he chuckled, “...I beg to differ.”

He moved abruptly back and fled to escape to his rooms. You knew his intention perfectly and chased after him, emphasising, “You had almost three hundred pounds in debt Sherlock. I at least know how to wisely spend my money.”

He spun on his heel and snapped at you, pointing harshly at your chest, “oh ho! Playing this game then are we? With your dowry gone, you have nothing left. I’d hardly call paying off my debts which were none of your concern, wise spending.”

You grabbed his finger and announced softer, serious and less aggressive, “Indeed, which is why I implore you to cease all further transactions in regards to your addictions.”

“Do not patronise me wife,” He scoffed and rolled his eyes tried tearing his hand away but your grip on his index finger tightened and the both of your grunted.

You grit your teeth at him, “Do not patronise me husband.”

He sighed and wiggled his finger from out of your hand.

He dusted his hands on his waist coat and huffed. He peered at you with a mischievous gaze.

“My debts...they included my friends...yes? From Mayfair?”

Oh that was cruel indeed. Mentioning those women when you were married to him. You wouldn’t dare let him threaten you over them.

You fought the urge to hit him and stomp your foot. You turned away from him and quickly composed yourself. Hastily you plucked some matches from the small box ontop of the fireplace mantel. You struck a small flame and tossed it into the fire place where you discarded some old newspapers as kindling.

“Yes,” you admitted tightly, “I know about your scandalous behaviours and forbid you from consorting in that demonstration again.”

He pushed passed you and unbuttoned his jacket and vest fully. He draped them over the back of one of the lounges, he pulled up his trousers slightly as he sat down.

He chuckled, “You forbid me?”

You glared at him and shot back up off the floor. You squeezed your eyes tightly as you firmly dictated, “I am the only woman to ever receive you carnally from now on.”

He smirked and spread his legs wide, folding his arms on his chest. He jerked his chin up at you and clicked his tongue, “I don’t believe you know what that means. Believe me little lamb, my fidelity is that last thing you’ll desire...or did you not learn from yesterday?”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head.

“I stand by what I mean Sherlock. You will not commit adultery while married to me,” you snapped. You wanted control, this would not be taken from you if you could help it.

“Or what?” He laughed, he then condescendingly moaned, “You’ll tell my big brother?”

As he went back to his smug chuckling you clenched your fists and stood over him. You weren’t thinking straight. Only a red shade cast in your eyes. You grabbed his collar and tugged him hard, spitting down at him with full anger as you threatened, “...Or I will kill you.”

He stopped laughing but didn’t stop his smug smiling. His hands came up and grabbed yours, prying them from his shirt.

“Barely been forty eight hours of wedded bliss and you desire to murder me. Ha! I now owe John five pounds,” he looked down at your chest which you realised was hanging in a uncompromising position. He could see right down your chest practically to your third rib with your lack of supporting chemise. Sherlock tongued the inside of his cheek and hummed, “My word.”

You gasped with horror and attempted to rip away from his hold, you grunted gruffly, “You are a pig Sherlock Holmes!”

He pulled you forcefully downwards and made your knees buckle. Your chest fell into his and you both hissed at the impact of crushing into each other.

Lewdly his hot wet tongue licked its way from your neck up to your earlobe while his hands pushed your thighs up to straddle over him, his fingers sharply stabbed into your backside under the night gown.

“You have absolutely no clue to what I am little Lamb.”

You tried pushing off him immediately, and felt his arm wrap around your waist and trap you against him.

Your legs so wildly spread and pressed against his trousers made you feel like you were riding on a horse.

Despite the plethora of farm animals you could compare in his and your name, you had both your wrists this caught in his one hand.

“Go on,” he chuckled as you struggled against him, “Tell me how you would do it...,” he taunted,

“How would you kill the great Sherlock Holmes, London’s finest Detective?”

You shrieked as you felt crushed under his baring arm, “I can think of many ways!”

“Well go on,” he smugly waited with raised brows, “Tell me.”

Your eyes rolled and you whined when he dug his nails into your wrists.

“I’ll push you down the stairs!”

He barked with laughter and shook his head, “You cannot be sure the fall would kill me, perhaps I might be paralysed, with many broken bones, but no no, I also don’t think you have the strength to push me around anywhere, look at you right now.”

“Fine!” you yelled, “Ill stab you with a knife!”

“Ah a violent approach, but what of the blood?” He grabbed your hip and moved you to grind your centre down on a lump in his trousers, “Why, even those idiots in Scotland Yard would figure out it was you; blood staining the clothes, carpet and blood beneath your nails, and where would you ever be able to hide the weapon?”

“Sherlock! Let me go or I’ll poison your tea!” you whined terribly.

He bit his lip and shook his head at you, “Oh dear Mrs Holmes, it’s possibly the most common death among an unhappy married couple. Wives are known to favour poison greatly.”

You heaved as you tried to catch your breath. You fell forward a little. Your sweaty forehead touched his.

“Please,” you whined, “let me go. All I want is you to be a civilised man and honour our marriage bed.”

He looked down at your parted lips. He looked back at your chest and shut his eyes.

“You want me to give up my whores Mrs Holmes?”

You gulped and nodded, “Of course.”

When he opened those blue orbs with the brown flecks, he whispered, “I promise to forsake them...if...”

“If?” you stammered and narrowed your eyes.

“Hush!” He reprimanded, “I promise to forsake my whores on Mayfair Row...If I can have my whore of Baker Street.”

Before you and time to reply and question what he even meant, he stood up and tossed you onto the floor. Sherlock crawled over you and pinned your flailing hands above your hand.

“You want to please me, please your husband, Mrs Holmes?” he gasped as his other hand went groping and squeezing around your soft body.

You weakly nodded, your head rested on the floor trying to get back the breath he knocked from you when he pushed you down.

You hissed softly, “Please, you’re hurting me.”

His hands loosened but held you trapped to the floor.

His lips danced over your cheek, “Then you will need to perform like a whore for me.”

A sobbing cry ripped front our chest, unsure of his real intention you quickly jumped to the conclusion of his implications.

You choked and shook your head, “No! I am not going to become a prostitute!”

He cackled at your fearful cry.

“No, this body belongs to me,” he said as he pinched the strings of your night gown and pushed the material away to show off your bare breasts.

His lips wrapped around your right nipples and sucked hard, tickling you with his tongue tip. Tears started to well in your face. You didn’t understand what he was implying to do to you. It tickled and felt so warm.

You were scared. You knew some men of the world were evil. Evil husband’s that pimped out the women they married. You couldn’t imagine being so intimate with another person. You couldn’t imagine succumbing to the agony you received the night before by Sherlock’s hand.

Kicking your feet across the rug and tried pushing your body from under him. He grunted as your nipple left his lips. He pressed the hand hard on your hip and affirmed, “Keep still, little lamb.”

“Sherlock,” you started to beg on a whimper, “Please, stop! You are frightening me, you’re h-hurting me!”

He looked down at you, his hair falling slightly on your head. His smile wavered as he took note of your tears and wobbling lips.

His gaze softened along with his voice, “...be completely honest with me.”

You nodded desperately, “I will, I will!”

“Did you look in the trunk at the foot of my bed?”

The chest full of explicit items and torture devices.

Your eyes squeezed tight and you exhaled, “I did.”

He smirked and let you go completely, standing up and held his hand to assist you too. When you were finally upright, he pinched your exposed nipple. You shrieked.

“I am a man Y/N, I have needs. I expect you to fulfil them earnestly if you desire I abandon my charity to Mayfair.”

You tried pushing his hand back and covering your breasts with the dressing gown. He smirked and shook his head at you, “No, no, let me see them.”

The silence was vile. The crackling of the fire place was the only ambience that showed attendance.

You couldn’t do it. It was wrong to be so exposed beyond the bedroom.

He waited and when you showed no sign of showing him, he sighed and nodded, “Very well, good night Mrs Holmes, I will call upon my friend Irene.”

He walked around you and journeyed to his open bedroom door.

As if all colour drained from your face you feverishly held out a hand and quickly called, “Wait, please! Look!”

You all but chased him into his own bedroom. He snapped his head in your direction. You stood in the centre space between his bed and the door.

He raised a brow and watched almost unimpressed as your trembling fingers shed your dressing gown and pulled the neckline of your night gown open...there he could finally observe your luscious breasts.

“Why Mrs Holmes,” he mused, sitting on his bed and peeling his cravat off his neck, “Your teats are exposed, careful,” he sarcastically warned, “One might mistake you for a slut.” You felt breathless and curled your lips inside.

You couldn’t believe it, you were letting him hurt you in a new way. You were letting him bully you. It wasn’t right and you desperately hated it, but what else was there except to let him defile and destroy your holy vows?

“Is that a sanitary apron on your waist?” he question, pointing at the lump under your gown.

You nodded, “I am still bleeding husband...”

“Do you know what that means?” Sherlock said unbuttoning his shirt.

Your licked your lips, folding your arms behind your back you tried hard to not cover yourself,

“My body is extinguishing my mental illnesses.”

He smirked and rolled his eyes, “Your medical knowledge is dated, but that is not what I implied...I meant that you should come to your knees and perform fellatio.”

Your eyes widened...fellatio was such a naughty word to hear let alone say. It was the type of practise in the book in his chest. Oral sex. Seeing the woman hold her male companions member appeared lewd and distasteful.

You hadn’t thought of ever doing it yourself, it served no purpose in procreation with god.

Flustered and shy, you cupped your hands over your face to think.

Sherlock’s voice was softer this time. He wasn’t mocking you as he explained, “I will not force you to do this Y/N, you do not have to if you do not want to.”

You shook your head and scowled at him from your hands, “But I do! I don’t want you to ever lay with a woman other than me! I am-“ you choked on some on coming tears, “I am your wife Sherlock, please...promise me if I do this you won’t lay with another woman.”

He unbuckled his trousers and sighed, “Then get on your knees,” he pulled out his semi hard rod, “and kiss your husbands cock.”

You looked over your shoulder at his door and then back at him.

Would you do this? Humiliate yourself in promise of keeping his vows loyally to you?

Helplines:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

#dead dove fic #dead dove do not eat #sherlock holmes x female reader #sherlock holmes x poc!reader #sherlock holmes x y/n #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x ofc #sherlock holmes x reader #henry cavill x black reader #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x female reader #Henry Cavill x poc!reader #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes enola holmes #enola sherlock #enola holmes sherlock holmes #chapter 3 #milky fics

[faerunsbest]

"Do you regret marrying me?"

-Rolan

imagine rolan getting married and being who he is he's still very work focused. He gradually increases his own workload without meaning to, falls asleep in his study. His partner always going to try and call him to bed, but just one more thing... just one more minute.

He has an idea so wakes up skips breakfast and hurries to work and when he gets back to his desk, there's a cold cup of tea and breakfast.

When he does make it to bed, he just passes out and when he wakes he hurries out if bed without a thought. And the store is flourishing.

The tower is brilliant but

Something isnt right...

This time, he lays down in bed and realizes his partner is sleeping close the edge with their back to him. He makes a face but assumes it must have been a long day.

When he wakes the bed is empty, he looks across the blankets not sure why it bothers him. Are they always up so early? He gets up and looks around the room, smiling when he sees them brushing their hard in the bathroom. What are they getting ready for?

When he asks, he's surprised to them look him suspiciously before just leaving the room. No good morning, no teasing, nothing. The silence is heavy as they just pass by, leaving for the day.

In his office that day, he sits down and finds himself staring at an empty teacup that had just become part of the decor. The longer he stared at the cup, the more he wondered how long it had sat there untouched.

Guilt formed in his stomach as he picked it up and turned over, looking the dry tea stained rings inside it. They used to come in here every day and take the cup away and bring him something warm.

When was the last time they came in here? He stood, taking the teacup and it's saucer. His reflection glinting in a mirror.

He stared and for a moment, didn't recognize himself. Longer hair, down to his shoulder blades with streaks of grey. Crows feet and dark under his eyes, his chest tightened as he suddenly thought about his spouses bizarre expression this morning.

Later on, when dinner is set at the table for his spouse and siblings, he finds Cal leaving a plate for him at his desk.

When was the last time he was down there? He isn't sure what to do. Suddenly, his world feels like water and desperately trying to hold on. It's just pouring through his fingers.

That night, he made a point of going to bed at a decent hour. His partner had been laying tossed across the bed comfortably. At the sound of the door opening, he watches them roll to the edge and curl up.

They were staying away from him on purpose.

The first urge is to leave them alone and let them have that space. But he misses them and wonders if he can fix whatever he's done, or not done. So he lay in bed, looking at their back.

He's cautious as he reaches out to touch their shoulder.

"Hey"

"...?"

"Where were you today?"

They looked over their shoulder at him, confused. For a moment they just stare at him and he can't read that look. He doesn't know what's going in their like he did before...he doesn't know them.

They lay back down without answering and his heart sank. Rolan couldn't remember falling asleep, though he woke up in a cold sweat damn near screaming when the first night terror in years reared its head.

They shook him til he woke and pressed him to their chest, gripping him tight. Rolan thrashed for a moment before his ear was pressed over their heart. The sound felt like home and it had been so long since he heard it. His strung his arms around their middle and held on as if they might just disappear if he let go.

When he woke up again the bed was empty, he placed his hands over his face and tried not to feel the way it ached. Had they left already?

Beside him, something was set against the nightstand with a soft 'thup'. They set down a glass of water and didn't look at him. The words fell out before he could think about it.

"Are you leaving?"

They looked at him, again unreadable.

"I gotta to work, you'll be fine without me. You always are."

When the door shut behind them, panic set in again and was lost. He didn't go to his office, instead he pulled on a robe and went downstairs. His siblings were chatting, Lia froze when she saw him standing there looking haggard and exhausted.

"What happened?"

"I don't know what to do..."

The day passed again, his love nowhere in the tower until late at night he found them trudging in from the docks and going to sit on a balcony with a lump of cheese bread and wine bottle from somewhere else. They didn't eat here?

Rolan stepped out, finding them looking at him from the corner of their eye.

"You were at the docks?"

"Yea, I work there."

"Why? Is there something you want? I'm sure I can-"

"I don't want your damn money Rolan."

His name was said with bite, when has it sat on them like that? Since when they stop smiling when they looked at him.

"I just..."

"What's this about? You're acting weird as hell the last few days. What's going on?"

They turned in place to look at him with a pointed glare, wiping wipe from the corner of their.

"I just...was worried I..."

That hard stare was cold and heavy and... something he couldn't place.

"Do you regret me?"

They looked at him, frozen. Eyes searching him though they stayed quiet so he asked again.

"Do you regret, marrying me?"

"Why would you ask that?"

His partner suddenly stood, brow set in a deep frown. They huffed and shifted their weight back and forth from one leg to the other. He couldn't tell if it was anger or anxiety or both.

"You seem so angry... I was"

"What the fuck do care!? YOU DONT EVEN LIKE ME ANYMORE ROLAN!"

His eyes went wide and he realized it was hurt that he didn't see before. They moved to push past him, terrified he grabbed their sleeve to stop them before they could run away.

" I love you. Please, please do you still love me?"

They stood there, paused in midstep...letting him hang on to their arm.

"I'm still here aren't I? I'm so stupid that I stay. I don't want to anymore, I don't wanna love you anymore. I could die you wouldn't notice for a week."

Such hateful words cut deep, rolan feels his eyes sting and tries to pull them close but they won't budge.

"Why would you say that?"

"Rolan... what happened? Why are you doing this now?"

" I just, I miss you."

They turned around to look at him furious, angry tears welling up.

"You didn't care when I missed you. I told you all the time and you didn't even hear me, you didn't listen to a man thing and now, and NOW YOU MISS ME!?"

"I'm sorry i-"

This time, they yanked their arm from his grip to face him. He didn't know what part her hurt more, knowing all this bottled up outrage was his fault or that he may not get a chance to fix it.

"You what, Rolan, WHAT."

"You didn't answer...do you still love me?"

He watched them take a deep breath, a refreshed wave of tears spilling down their face.

"YES! YOU ASSHOLE! I STILL FUCKING LOVE YOU! IM SUCH A FUCKING IDIOT EVERY DAMN DAY."

Their hands curled up into fists shaking at their sides as they glared at him,

"I'm so stupid, that I stay. I stay and I used to try every day, try to just ...be near you and you kept pushing me out. Telling me you're busy. And when I tried to kiss you I couldn't becautheres people around and when were alone you're too tired for me because you just work and work until THERES NONE OF YOU LEFT FOR ME!"

Rolan felt a lump forming in his throat while they screamed at him, sobbing and wiping at their face.

" I'm so stupid I stay, I stay hoping for crumbs of you like a fucking rat."

He reached out slowly, putting his hand in theirs, just listening.

"Now, when you look at me, I don't know what to do. I don't know what you want cause I know it's not me."

"I love you."

He was sure what to do or say but all he knows is that he hasn't said it enough, he hasn't shown it. Or felt it or anything. He closes the space between them, pressing a kiss to their forhead.

"I'm sorry I've let this happen... but I love you. And...you still love me? So can I try again?"

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #rolan #bg3 rolan #holy rolan empire #a thought #romance #rolan x tav #tiefling #why am i like this

[intern-seraph]

give me your fire (Day 2/3)

Standing lordly over you, Malleus stares down with pupils blown wide. He pants with an open mouth, fisting both cocks with one trembling hand. “You’ll take both now, won’t you?”

come get ur food malleusfuckers

(Originally posted on Ao3)

DAY 1

DAY 3

cws: just way too much cum, eating breakfast together like dweebs, claws, biting, partial transformation, double vaginal penetration, pain, underprepping, minor possessiveness, size kink, more marathon sex, consensual somnophilia, fem!reader

You wake up slowly, nestling closer to the other person in your bed. He sighs and tightens his embrace. You’d love to spend the next hour in his arms, really, but —

“Malleus,” you whisper, “can you let me go for a sec? I gotta pee.”

His eyes flutter open. The bright green is far less hazy than it was last night. He smiles wearily. “Mm, good morning. How do you feel?”

“A little sore, but okay. Can you please let me go now? I’ll be back ASAP.”

He growls, arms squeezing you tighter. Then he nods and, visibly reluctant, releases you. “Be quick about it.”

“Of course.” Drawing out of his grasp, you leave him with a tender kiss on the forehead. It placates him enough to let you go without any vocal protests, but he pouts all the while. There’s one thing you didn’t consider, however, that makes itself quite known as soon as you stand up. Your eyes go wide as saucers and you yelp as your center of gravity shifts and cum immediately starts slipping down your thighs. You snap your legs together. “Oh shit!”

From the bed, Malleus snickers. You shoot him your most venomous glare, but he only grins as he lounges under the sheets. “Is something the matter?”

“You!”

“Hm? Did I do anything?”

“You and-and your —!”

“Go take care of your business, love,” he says, shushing you. “I want you back in my arms as soon as possible.”

You roll your eyes and shuffle over to the ensuite. Thank god he has one, you don't know what you'd do if you had to go to one of the dorm's communal restrooms. Public humiliation isn't high on your to-do list.

After you finish your business, you wipe yourself down with a washcloth and splash cool water on your face. Feeling far less sticky and far more awake, you peek out into the bedroom. Sitting on top of the bed is a massive tray laden with pastries and fresh fruit. Malleus glances up to meet your eyes. He smiles and beckons for you to join him in bed.

"Breakfast in bed? Pretty decadent," you comment as you slip under the covers.

"It was delivered while you were in the restroom. Eat up, you'll need your energy for the rest of the day." He pauses and stops spreading jam over his toast. "Unless, of course, you wish to stop? Your aid so far is likely more than enough for me to be able to think clearly today. We could always just cuddle. Your body against mine… it helps." As he speaks, his arm winds around you, pulling you snug against his side. You snuggle closer, resting your head on his shoulder. He takes one of the pastries and offers it to you. It’s still warm, crumbling wonderfully in your mouth and leaving you feeling just as light and airy as its crust. Breakfast is spent speaking softly to each other and leaving lingering touches on thighs and arms and waists. He’s wonderfully cool to the touch even after spending so much time skin-to-skin with you. The best side of the pillow, but living and breathing and visibly trying not to kiss you senseless. Part of you wouldn’t mind just staying like this for the rest of the day. The other part, the louder one, only reminds you over and over of the one peak you’ve yet to summit with Malleus.

“I’d like to keep going,” you say, lacing your fingers with his. He’s only just slid back under the covers with you after setting the empty tray aside. His electric green eyes light up, and his other hand comes up to cup your cheek.

“You’ve no idea how happy that makes me.”

“I can guess.”

You throw one leg across his, straddling his slender hips with little effort. Malleus beams up at you. Hands settling on your hips, he licks his lips. “You look delectable. If only I could partake of your sweetness for the rest of my life.”

“That wouldn’t be a very long life.”

“Then I would die a happy man.”

“Cheesy,” you whisper. Your hips roll and you delight in the way his lashes flutter. He’s hard against your thigh, so you take one cock in hand and lower yourself onto him, humming with pleasure. Both of his hands settle on your hips. They squeeze lightly, haltingly, and the tips of his claws brush your skin. You palm over them, squeeze, and he takes the hint, finally digging his claws into your haunches. You lean in, lips brushing the point of his ear. “Go on. I like it.” Punctuating your words with a gentle bite, you arch your back and steady your hands on either side of his thighs.

The coolness of his mouth engulfs your nipple and he teases the fragile skin with his fangs. He grips you solidly and begins a frenzied pace — his coolheadedness had belied the desperation his heat has been building in him all morning — so frantic that it’s all you can do to keep your balance. His hips stutter for only a moment as he spills his load inside you and on both of your bellies. But he’s still hard. And he keeps going, huffing and snarling. You wrap your arms around his neck.

“Malleus, Malleus, Malleus —!”

“Louder,” he growls, mouthing at the curve of your shoulder in the ghost of a bite, “let them know who is making you feel so good, let them know who claims you!”

And oh, if it’s not frightening in the most wonderful of ways. Your voice pitches and peaks as he brings one hand down to rub furiously at your clit. The orgasm building in you crests over you as a wave, drowning you in its wake. He howls as you pulse around him and follows close behind. The stickiness you feel as he pulls away from you is only a momentary concern. You’re shoved down to the sheets. Standing lordly over you, Malleus stares down with pupils blown wide. He pants with an open mouth, fisting both cocks with one trembling hand.

“You’ll take both now, won’t you?”

The prospect is dizzying. Your lips move soundlessly for a moment. “W-will they..? I mean, can they…”

“They will.” It’s somewhere between a reassurance and a demand. “Spread yourself.”

You reach down and part your folds with two fingers. Looking away, you try to hide the shame blossoming on your face. Then he purrs, stroking the soaked rim of your cunt with a loving, gentle touch.

“So lovely, so perfect,” he murmurs. “Look me in the eye, my mate. Yes, that’s a good girl. I want to see your face.”

He nudges the heads of his twin cocks against your cunt, brows furrowed in deep concentration. Meanwhile, you try to steady your breathing and relax your muscles. Even with the potions still coursing through your veins, you know it will hurt if you stay so tense. His fingers move to help spread you further, and now he begins the slow process of entering you. Wholly. Your hand snaps up to your mouth, and you sink your teeth into the flesh of your palm to stifle your shriek. Because it fucking hurts. You’ve never been stretched this much before, and you’re pretty sure that most people who do this kind of shit do size training or something for a while before attempting anything similar. There wasn’t really any time to train, though, so you have to grit your teeth through the pain of being stuffed beyond anything you’ve ever experienced before. He moves slowly, pausing every second to stroke your hair and kiss your face and praise you over and over. It takes some time and lots of measured breathing for the burn to turn from pain to pleasure, and eventually you begin to rock up against him. Together, his cocks are thicker than your forearm at their widest, and it’s a stretch far beyond anything else you’ve experienced before today. Despite your nerves, you glance down. You can barely see it but yes, holy shit, that’s your cunt stretched almost to its limits around this dragon’s two (two! holy shit!) cocks. Vertigo hits you, and you gasp as your head falls back against the sheets.

“Are you alright?” he asks, voice shaking.

“It’s a lot.”

“Too much?”

“I need… I think I need another minute. You’re big.” You shut your eyes and continue your slow, measured breathing. Malleus busies himself with marking up every square inch of skin that’s not already covered in bruises and bitemarks. After some more time collecting yourself, you once again start your slow rocking. “S-sorry, it was just… a lot. Seeing it. Us. You.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. You are incredible. The sight is almost enough to make me reel, as well… such a good mate. I knew you would be perfect, my sweet mate. I knew you could take me.”

The words leave him in a rush, and he finally starts to fuck into you. His breath is ragged, mouth open and panting and nigh drooling onto your naked chest. He gnashes his teeth when you keen, flexes his fingers into the plush of your thighs as you call his name. You slide your hand between your joined bodies to touch yourself, even though the stimulation is almost too much. “Almost” being the operative word here — you’re pretty sure you won’t explode. But you feel pretty close to it.

Then there’s a cool, wet tongue on your cheek, and you’re completely jarred out of your impending orgasm. You stare up at Malleus in mute shock, his face only a breath away from yours. Those hazy green eyes stare right back. “Your tears,” he says, “are like honey. I want them. All of them. I want to keep you. Mine. Mine.”

You realize now that there are dark scales climbing up his porcelain neck, and a long, scaly tail lashes about behind him. The heat must have awakened something primal in him — dragons hoard things, don’t they? Does he think you’re a part of his hoard? Do you even mind that idea?

You could have a future here. With him. He’s offered it before, and as he looks at you now with veritable hearts in his eyes, you know that he spoke true.

“Let me keep you. I want to be with you forever, I want to see you bear our clutch. My grandmother would — shit — would adore you. You could be my queen. Beautiful and terrifying. I would give you everything. Everything.”

It’s probably his hormones talking, but you can’t deny the appeal of a handsome man speaking about how utterly devoted he is to you. You could get used to it. And then he touches your face like you’re made of spun sugar, the gentleness a sharp contrast to his frenzied fucking, and you melt again.

He goes at it like this for a while. Fucks you full of cum until you feel fit to burst — and then he keeps going and going. The first time you black out, it’s while he’s still on top of you. You reach a dizzying climax, then you black out again. Then, you come to lying on your side, back pressed to his clammy chest while he grinds his hips against your ass.

“Are… are you alright? It seems that the stamina tonic is… hah… beginning to wear thin.”

“Did you keep going?” you whisper.

“Yes. Is that alright?”

His words send your mind reeling, and you know you’d be wetter if that were even possible. You grind back against him. “More than alright. Shit, I’m glad I told you yes.”

“If only you could have seen it,” he says as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. He lifts your leg and nudges his knee beneath it. The steady grind of his hips turns into full thrusts. “You looked so peaceful in sleep, even after all that we have done. And your body was so welcoming. They say that the sleeping princess was unnaturally alluring even in her sleep. I think you are the closest I shall ever get to seeing such a thing for myself.” Behind the both of you, his heavy tail thumps a staccato rhythm against the sheets. His breath stutters as he comes and then he rolls you onto your stomach and the world becomes mush again.

You wake up warm and tingling and sore between your legs. Dizzy, you turn to face Malleus. He’s fast asleep beside you, face relaxed and lovely. He breathes more evenly now, and the flush that had spread across his face and chest has lessened. Carefully, so as not to wake him, you lift your hand and brush the backs of your fingers along the line of his jaw. His lashes flutter, and a contented sigh leaves him, but he doesn’t wake. The strong arm draped over your body only pulls you closer. You doze off with your fingers still caressing his face.

Again, you wake up. He’s staring at you, eyes soft with affection. One long finger traces your lips, so you stick out your tongue and lick the pad. Malleus glances down briefly, then meets your eyes again with a soft chuckle.

“Hey stranger,” you mumble.

“Hello.” A pause. “How do you feel?”

“A little sore. Sleepy. Happy. You?”

“Like a new man. I believe that the worst is behind me.” He cups your cheek. When he kisses you, it’s devoid of the desperate hunger you’ve grown used to over the course of the past couple of days. He parts from you with a soft pop. “Thank you. I owe you a debt of gratitude for all that you’ve done for me. Whatever you desire, name it and it is yours.”

You want to tell him that it’s alright, he doesn’t owe you anything. But you swear you can hear a certain furball’s yowling, and you sigh and laugh. “Fancy tuna for Grim, I guess.” Then you become very aware of how sticky you are again. You grimace. “And a bath.”

“May I join you?”

You don’t think much bathing will be done if he joins, but you can’t help your returning grin. “Of course.”

#twst x reader #twst malleus #malleus draconia #malleus x reader #malleyuu #twst fic #twst #twisted wonderland #smut #twst smut #nsft #seraph speaks #my writing #peddling my double dick dude malleus agenda baybee

[baeksqt]

what do I call you? — elisa de almeida

elisa de almeida x fem!reader

(a/n: another short piece from one barista to another ^_^ enjoy my luvvies)

word count: 805

genre: fluff

The mellow, narrow streets of your small northern town were no small feat against the hectic streets of Paris that you now found yourself working in, during the city’s morning rush hour. The light pink cherry blossoms fall to settle on the awning of your aunt’s cafe. Choosing to work here as you continued job hunting in the city, which you weren’t having the most luck in.

You were behind the counter, presenting the freshly baked cakes on the display fridge, the odd scent of vanilla and coffee filled the air. It was midday and the small cafe was now empty, with a few customers either working or idly sipping their beverages.

Cloudy with a cool chill in the air, the quiet breeze was now noticeable as the hanging plants swayed, with the shopkeeper’s bell chiming, notifying someone’s arrival.

You lift your head to see Elisa, the regular you slowly acquainted yourself with over the last few months—as well as your neighbour.

Once you set the last cake stand down, Elisa is already waiting for you at the counter, throwing you her toothy grin.

“Good afternoon, to my favourite barista!” Sending you a salute, she was dressed in her practice gear, the dark blue ensemble fit her well as your eyes raked down her body.

You walked to the other end of the bar, meeting her hazel eyes, matching her smile, your heartbeat skipped for an instant. Feeling your cheeks heat up, you quickly turned to the coffee machine to get set on making her usual order, the standard flat white.

As you steam the milk, trying to get the right amount of foam to build up in your pitcher, you look over your shoulder to see Elisa setting her bag down at one of the booths by the front of the restaurant before meeting you back up at the counter.

“You weren’t here this morning,” you say as you pour the hot milk into the small ceramic. “My aunt asked for you.” Creating a small heart in the coffee, dragging the milk pitcher across slightly.

Elisa lets out a low chuckle and confesses “I woke up surprisingly late, so I wasn’t able to grab breakfast.” You turn back towards Elisa, placing her coffee on a saucer and sliding it towards her. As she reaches for it, her warm hand brushes against yours, and you can't help but notice the crinkles around her eyes as they light up in gratitude. She whispers a small thank you, and you can’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction at having made her day a little bit better.

As you untied the apron from your waist, you slid into the comfortable leather booth and rested your chin in your hand. You swirled the warm peppermint tea around in your cup, taking in the aroma and feeling the steam rise to your face. You looked across to find Elisa watching you with a hint of a smile as she took a sip of her coffee. Her hair fell slightly forming a delicate curl above her eyes. The atmosphere in the cafe was peaceful, and the low chatter of the other patrons provided a soothing background noise.

“What? Is the coffee bad?” With knitted brows, you leaned forward a little, eyes swiftly darting between the coffee cup and the Parisian’s calm expression.

“No, no, the coffee is good, I promise,” she reassured you, drinking up a small spoonful, “I told your aunt to pass on my message to you, but I don’t think she did.” She continued.

You shake your head slightly, trying to retrace if your aunt had said anything about Elisa before she hastily left before lunch. “I don’t think so either,” you murmur to yourself “What was it?” Looking on inquisitively, taking another sip of your tea.

Elisa takes a small breath, her face slowly turning pink. “Well, we should hang out more often, outside of all this,” she gestured to the cafe, “you mentioned that small jazz club around the corner, you haven’t gone without me, right?”

You hummed in response, feeling yourself blush at her sudden shyness, making you feel a little giddy at the unexpected confession.

“I bought two tickets for Sunday, my aunt doesn’t like jazz anyway.” You teased.

“Sunday works!” The player perked up.

Elisa completed her sentence and then cast a glance at the time on her phone. You realized that it was time for her to leave. She took a sip of her coffee, finishing it in one go, and then both of you got up from the cosy booth. It was time to say your goodbyes. As usual, she would wait for you to close the cafe before embarking on the walk home together.

And with that, the shopkeeper's bell chimed, notifying Elisa’s exit.

#elisa de almeida #elisa de almeida x reader #elisa de almeida imagines #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso #baeksqt writes

[hb-writes]

Clara and Tommy Shelby, “Are you okay?” “Why do you ask?” “You’re wearing two different shoes.” If that’s okay?

Tommy retrieved his pocket watch from his waistcoat, not so idly wondering when his sister would make his appearance and whether or not he’d need to make a second journey up the stairs to hurry her along. Frances had prompted her thrice before Tommy stood at the threshold, offering the type of incentivization Frances couldn’t or wouldn’t…a bit of a threat. 

Her brother’s words had gotten her out of the covers, at least, but with only a minute left before the deadline he’d given her, Tommy wondered if the threat of her missing out on tea and breakfast if she didn’t get herself downstairs hadn’t been enough. 

The breakfast table had been set for three—for him and Charlie and Clara, but Clara’s had remained untouched as Tommy and Charlie finished their meals long ago, long enough that Charlie had already been settled in the kitchen with his favorite maids, doing whatever it was the boy did all day while he and Clara were out.

Tommy replaced the pocket watch and readied himself to issue another threat when Clara appeared at the threshold, not even a glance spared to him as she headed straight for her spot at the table. Standing beside the chair, Clara poured herself a cup of tea. She reached out for a triangle of toast as she stirred the liquid, finishing it in a few quick bites.

“Are you ready? Where’s your coat?” she asked as she sipped the tea. 

Tommy’s jacket was still draped over a chair and his overcoat was with his briefcase in the closet by the front door, but Clara already donned her coat pulled over her haphazardly chosen outfit. Tommy looked her up and down as she took a break from her tea, reaching for a strawberry. 

“We’re going to be late,” she added before she downed her tea, the cup and saucer clattering as she set them both back on the table. “You were rushing me about…practically shouting for the whole countryside to hear and you’re not even ready.” 

Tommy might’ve corrected her—he hadn’t done anything close to shouting—but he was too distracted. He wasn’t any longer used to seeing his sister as she was now, her hair left down and her face fresh and free of the products she’d been experimenting with in recent years—powders and rouge and lipstick. Maybe in the mornings before she got ready for the day, he’d catch a glimpse of the girl before him now, but she didn’t walk about the house like that anymore. And she certainly didn’t go to school that way, much too concerned about appearances. 

While Tommy was comforted by it, the return to some sort of familiarity that was no longer his sister’s normal, the absence of her usual effort only served to highlight the exhaustion sowed in Clara’s face and the wan complexion that Tommy couldn’t help but wonder after.

“Are you alright?”

Clara nodded as she reached for another strawberry. “Of course. Why do you ask?”

“Besides the fact that it took an army and the threat of violence to get you out of bed…you’re wearing two different shoes.” 

Clara stopped chewing, swallowing quickly as she glanced down to her feet, down to the shoes that were indeed belonging to two separate pairs. 

“Oops,” she said, a red blush creeping into her cheeks. “I suppose I’d better go and—”

“Take this with you,” Tommy interrupted as she took a step away. Clara glanced down at the book Tommy held out between them, a bit of psychology by Freud that he’d just finished reading. Tommy hadn’t outright told her she couldn’t read it, but he hadn’t been open to discussing the book’s contents with her, dismissing most of her questions on the topic.

“Might as well keep it in your room if you’re only going to sneak down to my office in the middle of the night to read it.”

Clara took the book from his hand, suddenly reminded of similar discussions over the years, reminded of all the time on Watery Lane when she’d been scolded for going through her brother’s personal collection. “How did you—?”

“You left it out on the coffee table,” Tommy offered, though he wouldn’t have needed that as a clue. He knew his sister’s patterns well-enough by now, knew by the interest she’d shown while he was reading it that she’d have a go at it herself once he was through. 

“Right.” Clara nodded, holding the book to her chest. “Well, I’d better go change,” she said, readying herself once again to step away. 

“Clara?”

She turned back to her brother, eyebrows raised in question. 

“I don’t want you losing any more sleep over that book, alright?” 

Clara nodded before she walked away, leaving Tommy to think about all the sleep he’d lost as he sifted through the tome, both from his interest in reading and absorbing the content and from the anguish of his mind trying to sort through what it all meant, anguish he hoped his sister couldn’t relate to. 

Send me a drabble-ish prompt.

#this is not a drabble oops it's 800+ words. #peaky blinders #tommy shelby #clara shelby #little lady blinder #oh the anguish/comfort of reading a psychology book and relating to it #wouldn't wish it on anyone #thanks for the request!

[the-lonelybarricade]

Queen of Thieves - Chapter 5

Summary: A fulfillment of this kinkmeme prompt. Or; A Canon AU where half fae, con-artist Feyre makes an ill placed bet.

Dedicating this chapter to @kcladylotus 💕

Read on AO3 ・Masterlist ・Previous Chapter

-

Feyre watched Rhysand carefully stir his tea.

There was an unnerving precision to the way he moved, like even the dark circles rippling across the steaming surface possessed some hidden meaning she was supposed to uncover. He was staring at her, violet eyes expectant, sensuous mouth smug.

They were sat in the High Lord’s personal study—though study was such a mundane, meager word for the multi-level room complete with two sitting areas, a mammoth desk piled neatly with books and paperwork, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on nearly every wall. Feyre didn’t doubt they were meticulously organized, though the spines close enough to decipher were just a blur of symbols and letters to her.

“Did you sleep well?” He asked.

Morning light filtered through one of the tall windows on the second level, casting gold over his handsome features. She could see the undertones of blue in his hair, and the flecks of silver in his irises, reflecting like mischievous stars. It was ridiculous, Feyre thought. High Lord of the Night Court, and even the sun strived to flatter him.

“I slept fine,” she said. If he wanted her to acknowledge that she’d fallen asleep on him, if that was the reason he looked so pleased with himself as he continued stirring his tea, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “Is there a reason you summoned me here?”

She’d known, of course, that the High Lord’s games with her hadn’t ended at dinner. The bargain pledged her to his service for a full day, so it was no surprise that Nuala and Cerridwen had woken her up at dawn. The High Lord clearly intended to seize every moment he’d been promised. And she supposed she should be relieved she was asked to meet here, in the decidedly unprovocative study, rather than in his bedroom. She’d half expected a request to deliver him breakfast in bed, so this… this was a relief. Even if his smile made her feel as though she’d fallen into a viper den.

“We’re going to work on your daemati abilities,” he said, setting down the spoon. There was no sound, but Feyre watched the polished wooden table between them ripple beneath his touch, like it too was made of liquid. She blinked, and the wood was again rigid. Ordinary.

It was so strange that his words took a moment to settle in. Then she looked up at the High Lord, startled to find that his eyes locked on hers with such intensity that she resisted the urge to shrink back.

Feyre asked warily, “Working on them how?”

“Two things,” he said, holding up his pointer and middle finger. “First, your mental shield is sloppy. You need to work on reinforcing it so that people like me,” he emphasized his words with a sharp caress of talons against the edge of her mind, “can’t barge in whenever they please. Second, you must learn how to protect yourself when venturing into someone else’s mind.”

“Don’t bother,” Feyre said, crossing her arms. “Don’t go into someone’s mind if they have a shield—lesson learned.”

Rhysand raised a brow and shifted back into the sapphire velvet sofa, crossing one leg over the other as he took a long sip of his tea. “You misunderstood,” he said, setting the cup back on the ornate saucer he held aloft. “These are not suggestions, Feyre.”

She tilted her chin at the shift in his voice. It wasn’t sharp. Nor threatening. But there was an edge to it, lethal as the side of a playing card.

“If that’s how you want to spend your time with me, High Lord, then fine. I anticipated I’d be spending more time on my knees.”

“With a sharp mouth like that?” He chuckled. “My fingers are the most I’d risk going near those pretty teeth. But if you want to make this more entertaining, Feyre, we certainly can.”

He set down his cup and saucer, and only the tea rippled this time. Where had the tea even come from? There wasn’t a teapot in sight, though someone as powerful as the High Lord could likely wave his hands and conjure it himself.

Feyre snorted internally. How nice of him to offer her a cup. Maybe it was all part of his game.

“More entertaining for you, maybe.”

He smirked in a way that told her she’d made this infinitely worse for herself. In the back of her mind, some residual human instinct hissed at her to just go along with whatever he wanted to make this as easy and painless as possible. Feyre knew that’s what she should be doing, and yet… and yet she couldn’t resist pushing back against him at every avenue, yanking back on her chain just to see how much give she was allowed.

“I think I could ensure that it’s plenty entertaining for the both of us,” he purred.

In a fluid movement, he rose from the sofa. She couldn’t help noticing how his powerful legs flexed beneath his close-fitting trousers, even as she tensed in preparation for whatever he was about to do.

Rhysand stepped away from their sitting area, striding on graceful feet toward the wrought-iron spiral staircase to the left of the entrance. “You like a bargain, don’t you, Feyre?”

She was grateful that his back was turned so he couldn’t see how her face heated as her gaze dropped to the ink on her arm, visible through her long, pale blue gossamer sleeve. Feyre clenched her fists, refusing the urge to tuck her arm out of sight. She would not be ashamed of what she needed to do to survive.

People like him would never understand. People who lived in houses like this, with staircases in their study that they could perch themselves on oh so smugly, stretching their irritatingly long legs to the floor. Feyre glared at him as his knees spread open in a silent, obscene invitation.

“Let’s make another bet.”

She’d already entered into one fool’s bargain.

“No.”

He offered her a mock pout. “You haven’t even heard the terms.”

“I don’t need to,” she said, gesturing to the whorls of ink on her forearm. “I’ve already learned that you don’t make wagers unless they’re already fixed in your favor.”

“And of those markings on your arm, how many were fixed in yours?”

All but one. All but his.

Feyre wouldn’t dare admit to it, but they were alike in that way. A level playing field wasn’t enough, not when the risk of losing was so high. Losing meant another day without eating, so Feyre found ways to ensure she would always win, even if that meant cheating or lying or stealing. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t fair, or honest. Or good. Not when she knew the people she was playing against would be using their every possible advantage, too.

Especially the High Lord, who was grinning at her like he’d been there to witness every game she’d ever fixed, like he knew her every trick. There was an underlying humor in the way he clicked his tongue.

“I see you don’t appreciate when the tables are turned on you for a change.” He slid his hands into his pocket. “Have it your way, then, Feyre. If you don’t want to influence the terms, then there will be no bargains. Instead, I’ll tell you precisely how this will go, and you’ll have no choice but to play along.” He cocked his head to the side. Feyre straightened as those talons scraped against her mind, and he purred, “We’re going to play a game called real or not real.”

Whatever he wanted to do to her. Those were the terms. She had to clench her teeth to stop herself from outright refusing him. Even if she refused, the bargain would force her to comply anyway. She might as well preserve her pride.

“That’s it,” he murmured, sensing the waver in her defiance as his shadowed claws caressed and stroked the outskirts of her mind. Then, faster than she knew how to defend, his magic lashed out, shattering her shield as if it were little more than glass. His talons gripped her, digging in hard enough to still her breath. “Now the rules are very simple, Feyre. I’m going to ask you a series of simple questions. Each time you answer wrong, you’re going to step closer to me.”

Feyre had never been on the receiving end of someone entering her mind. Was this what it felt like, all those times she had slipped into the minds of drunken males? They had never seemed to notice, but this… this was dominating. Every muscle, every breath, every pump of blood now yielded to Rhysand’s command. And his hands were still in his damn pockets.

She wouldn’t ask what would happen if she answered enough questions incorrectly to make it to the staircase. From the way he’d spread his legs, it seemed he was changing his mind at his refusal to see Feyre on her knees.

Look at you, he crooned. So pretty like this Feyre. You can feel your heart rushing, can’t you? I can practically see it leaping in that beautiful throat of yours. Tell me, is it really beating so thunderously, or is that something I just told you to believe?

She could feel her beating fast. Not only that, she could hear it roaring in her ears. Was that something that Rhysand was making her imagine? It couldn’t be. She pressed a hand to her chest, and her heart rose frantically to meet her touch. Feyre was inclined to believe it would always beat fast so long as Rhysand was in the room.

“Real,” she said.

He grinned. “Very good Feyre. That thunderous mortal heart is hardly my doing. It’s been beating like that since the moment I met you in the alleyway. Skittish little thing, you are.”

“Prick,” she said.

“Prick I may be. But you’ll be thanking me if you ever encounter another daemati who tries to implant this pretty mind with falsities. Now. There’s a golden thread connecting us together. It’s faint, but you can feel it tugging, can’t you?”

As if to illustrate, she felt that same amused tug that had pulled at her in the bathing room the night before. Its force was strong enough, now, to make her breath hitch.

“Real?” Rhys asked. “Or just my mind playing tricks on you?”

Golden thread, her ass. She knew that pull was from one of his talons. “It’s a trick,” she said flatly.

“Wrong.” Acting of its own accord, Feyre’s body sat up and lifted from the sofa. Her movements were stiff, unnatural. A puppet being pulled at the strings as she pivoted towards the staircase and took one large step towards a grinning Rhysand. “We’re connected now, Feyre. Through the magic of our bargain.”

“I’ve made lots of bargains before yours.”

“Yes.” His eyes slid over her tattooed arm. His smile curbed. “But all of those bargains were transactions of coin—quickly fulfilled. You’ve threaded your life to my will for an entire day. That kind of magic is powerful.”

There was an air of admonishment in his voice. As the youngest of three sisters, Feyre could guess when someone was trying to teach her a lesson. She flashed her teeth. “What’s your point?”

“My point, Feyre, is that you have been reckless. Playing with magic that you don’t fully understand. Those headaches you sometimes wake up to. Real or fake?”

The answer was so obvious that she wasn’t going to respond.

He pressed harder, as if he could pry the words into existence.

Real or fake, Feyre?

“Real,” she snarled. “And what does it matter to you?”

“You are going to destroy yourself if you don’t learn how to control it.”

Who? She wanted to scream. Who could have taught me about any of this? I have just been trying my best to survive.

“You have me to teach you. You can sense that I mean you no harm. That my offer is genuine. Real or not real?”

What did he want out of this? What did he stand to gain? Feyre couldn’t understand his games, or his motives, but she knew she wasn’t afraid of him. Not nearly as much as she should be after watching him slaughter his captain without blinking. Last night, she’d felt comfortable enough in his presence to fall asleep in his lap. But was that calm, that sense of rightness, something he’d planted in her mind, the same way she’d convinced the tavern keeper not to raise the price of their rent?

“Not real,” she said.

“Wrong answer.”

She took one long step, then another. Just a few more, and she’d be perched in front of the High Lord.

“And that thrill in your chest, Feyre,” he said, his eyes holding that same dangerous gleam they’d had at the tavern, before he trapped her in this bargain. “That excitement you feel as you contemplate exactly what I might do to you once you’re between my legs. Is that real?”

Feyre knew what he wanted her to say—to confess. But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Even if that meant taking a step closer and damning herself to whatever devious plan he had in mind.

“Not real,” she said, and he laughed.

“I’m beginning to think you’re answering incorrectly on purpose.”

She swallowed, saying nothing as her body yielded another three steps. Her toe hit the bottom stair. Rhysand lounged before her, feet planted on either side of her legs, elbows tucked casually on the step behind him.

Slowly, he pushed up, rising until his face was an inch from her stomach. Feyre tried to stumble backward, but her legs and shoulders locked, leaving her defenseless to the broad hands that curved over and around her thighs.

“And your arousal? I suppose you think that’s my doing as well.”

“It’s all fake,” she insisted. “There’s no truth wound in this magic. You can move my body regardless of what I say.”

“But that scent,” Rhysand purred. He took a deep inhale, eyes fluttering shut. “I can’t fake that, can I, darling?”

Could he? Feyre didn’t know what to believe, which of her senses were capable of betraying her while those talons hooked her mind.

Rhysand exhaled, and the air danced lightly over the section of midriff left exposed from her low-hanging trousers. It was a deceptively soft breath, for the havoc it wreaked inside her, like a tender breeze had slipped past her skin and become a typhoon in her stomach, flipping and tumbling until she wasn’t certain she would be able to stand were it not for his hold on her. Was that the work of a daemati or just the sheer force of his proximity?

His voice was a dark rumble as he mused, “I wonder which will bow to me first. Your body, or your pride.”

“Neither,” she said, flashing her teeth.

An empty threat, considering her attempt to thrash against his magic was little more than a kitten batting at his leg. He grinned like it was immensely satisfying to watch her struggle. She could hear the amusement practically dripping from his every word as he cooed, “What’s your next move then, Feyre?”

Real or not real, real or not real, real or—

It didn’t matter. If she could just break out of his hold. She wouldn’t need to answer him or play this stupid game any longer.

“Go to hell.”

“Come now,” he said with a tut. “For ten thousand marks, it’s a fairly straightforward question to answer, no? Do you think the ache building between those delectable thighs is real or something of my diabolical invention?”

If he touched her, she knew the evidence would be damning. Even so, she snarled, “Not real, you stupid prick.”

He smiled. “Wrong answer, Feyre.”

To further the taunt, he spread his legs wider, and she tried not to study the muscles straining against the fabric of his trousers. Feyre expected this was where she would be dropping to her knees, and she’d been so braced to kneel before him that she nearly yelped when her body jostled forward instead, onto the first step, then the next.

Rhysand leaned back on the stairs, face nothing short of delighted as he watched her step carefully over his body and come to a trembling halt on the same step where he rested his head. Slowly, as if his magic truly needed to brace her entire weight, Feyre lowered to her knees, arms shooting out for balance as her body hovered just over the High Lord’s face.

She could no longer see his expression, but his shameless glee still carried in his voice. “What did you say about spending more time on your knees?”

Cauldron. He was so close she could feel each of the words vibrating in his chest before he spoke them. So close that if he lifted his head a fraction higher, his mouth would brush over the seam of her cunt.

“This is a magnificent view, by the way,” he said. “I wonder, Feyre. If I pulled these garments off, would you be wet for me?”

Feyre took that to be a rhetorical question. With his head practically buried between her thighs, the scent of her dripping arousal had to be smothering. Rhysand placed a hand at the top of her leg, fingers curling inwards. She bit her inner cheek, feeling every muscle in her body tighten in response to his warm touch.

“You’re thinking about what it would be like to feel my tongue on you.”

She shut her eyes, trying not to imagine it. She knew he would take his time, slowly unraveling her sanity with the same methodical calculation he’d used to get her in this position in the first place. But would he come undone, just a little, too? Would his eyes flutter shut at the taste of her—would he moan, like he couldn’t help himself?

Feyre clawed her fingernails into the marble step. “Get out of my head,” she gasped.

You let me into it, he said, craning his neck to run his nose against her inner thigh. Practically invited me with those shields down. Did you want me to listen to all of your filthy thoughts about me? If you’re so curious about the noises I’d make eating you out, I’d be more than happy to demonstrate.

She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. “It’s not real.”

What’s not real? He nuzzled the junction between her hip and leg. The wetness between your thighs? Or maybe the stone beneath your palms?

What? She blinked, her vision blurring for a moment, where she swore the marble rippled beneath her fingertips. Rippled like the tea, and the wooden table, and the ocean far beneath the cliff face. She felt like she was tipping over that edge now, already feeling the air rise to meet her.

“Could it be the sound of my voice? Is that real, Feyre?”

No—no, no. Something was wrong here. Beyond the game, or the soft touches against her thigh. The stone at her knees didn’t ache. The sun streaming from the windows on the level above cast a strip of golden light along her tattooed arm. Its touch wasn’t warm, nor was the marble cold. The only sensation that Feyre could truly feel was the golden heat that spread through her body from Rhysand’s touch, ardent and gentle and—

Not real.

Feyre pushed against the stone, watching it ripple like she was staring at little more than a distorted reflection in a pond. She shook her head in a last, feeble attempt to dislodge the claws digging into her mind. If she pushed hard enough to unlatch one of them, another would take its place on the other side. There were too many of them—he was everywhere.

She was trapped inside her own head.

His laughter was low and soft, and didn’t come at all from the body beneath her. It shook through the walls, reverberated through the stone.

Well done, Feyre. Now how are you going to get out?

If she could move, she would throw herself over the iron railing in the hopes that the fall would jolt herself into her body. But his magic kept her pinned, straddling either side of his face.

You could give in, he suggested, voice a lover’s purr. Rest, and enjoy the remainder of the fantasy.

“It’s not my fantasy,” she snapped.

Isn’t it?

Temper boiling to the surface, Feyre slammed herself against the magic caging her. The recoil sent her teeth ringing, and stars sparked behind her eyes, but she did it again, thinking that if she just knocked against him enough times, she could force him out through brute determination. He may have been influencing the vision, but this was her mind. Her dream to control, to manipulate.

Feyre shut her eyes, thinking of the surface of the unruly ocean she’d spent a lifetime gazing across. A force of nature that could not be wielded or contained, even by a narcissistic High Lord. She imagined that she was that rising tide, building like a wave. Already, she could smell the sea spray and hear the cry of gulls, and she was certain if she opened her eyes, they would no longer be in a High Lord’s study, but on the cliffs of Velaris, where she so often dreamed of diving beneath the surface.

Good, Rhysand murmured.

Her nose curled. She didn’t care about his praise. She only wanted him out.

Feyre let the wave rise, building higher and higher until it was large enough to sweep them away. She took a gasping breath of air, opening her eyes in time to watch the peak curl into white foam, moments before it struck violently against the cliff.

A new claw seized her, this one icy and merciless. She yielded to its grip—so strong that the siege on her mind was forced to relent, his talons unable to keep her in their grasp as she was dragged down, down, down into the bleak depths of the winter sea.

When she next opened her eyes, it was to a wooden panel of a large, four-poster bed. The velvet curtains were pulled shut, keeping out any light or chance of telling the time.

Feyre rolled to her side with a small groan and yanked one of the curtains back. It was dark in the room, too. Someone had pulled the thick curtains over the large bay window, determined not to let an ounce of light disturb her slumber. Feyre shifted her legs over the edge, noting her bare skin peeking out of a nightgown she had no memory of changing into.

Work of the shadow wraiths? Or was it…

Movement caught in her peripheral, and Feyre turned, yelping as a pair of bright violet eyes met hers from the corner of the room.

Rhysand, lips curled in smug satisfaction, uncrossed the ankle he’d slung over his knee on the large armchair. “Good morning, Feyre. Sleep well?”

It could not only be morning.

“Well, we are pushing into the afternoon. But you looked like you were having such a pleasant dream. I wouldn’t dare wake you.”

Feyre turned, searching for the nearest item she could use to wipe that smirk off his face. She settled for a beaded throw pillow, hissing as she lobbed it at his head, “You’re a prick.”

“And you need to work on keeping your shields up when you sleep.” He caught the pillow easily, frowning at the purple beading. “And your aim, while we’re at it.”

It required every ounce of willpower not to flop back into the bed and scream into the leftover pillows. Or better yet, use them to practice her allegedly poor aim. She’d only just woken up, and the thought of enduring his company for the remainder of the bargain made her feel exhausted.

Ten thousand marks, she reminded herself. Her sisters would be able to go to bed in a room that they could comfortably stand up in. Nesta could buy a new book, and perhaps they could even find somewhere with a garden for Elain. For her sisters, she could do this.

“If I’d had nefarious intentions—”

“Nefarious intentions?” Her voice strained in disbelief. “You trapped me! You touched me.”

Rhysand shifted, elongating the shadows over his eyes. “Per our bargain, you’ve agreed I can do whatever I’d like to you, to start. But don’t forget, Feyre. I was in your head the entire time. I know precisely how you felt about what I was doing to you.”

Prick. Prick, prick, prick.

“Your shields are still down,” he added flatly. He lifted effortlessly from the chair, crossing the room with three brutal, elegant steps. Feyre leaned back slightly, wariness skittering across her spine as he drew close enough that she could smell the sea spray of the ocean on him. “And say what you’d like about me, Feyre. But this room is still suffocated in your arousal. That was no manipulation on my part.”

He stood to his full height, eyes still on hers. Feyre tilted her chin, refusing to look away.

At this, Rhysand released a soft, huffing laugh and shook his head. “Let the twins get you something to eat, then meet me in the study. Clearly, we have a lot to go over.”

Rhysand broke eye contact first, but there was no victory to be had in the way her eyes fixated on his back as he strode to the door. Unable to look away and equally unable to hold in her question. “Why bother to teach me anything at all?”

In a few hours, she’d take his money and set off with the resolve to never cross his path again. If he wanted a whore, she didn’t understand why he was wasting his time with… any of this. Unless the High Lord was confident they would be seeing each other again after their bargain was fulfilled.

The glance he offered her over his shoulder did nothing to stifle her growing apprehension. “Because I have plans for you, Feyre Archeron. And not all of them involve my head between your legs.”

Before the weight of that declaration could truly settle over her, Feyre blindly grabbed another pillow and hurled it towards the door. It hit the wood with a soft thud, and never had she felt such recognition in an object as when she watched the silk-encased feathers slide to the floor and slump forward, as though in defeat.

-

Rhys was waiting for her in his study, stirring a cup of tea with a mocking smile. Unlike in her dream, a teapot sat on the carved wooden table, steam still piping from its spout, with a spare cup and saucer already laid out for her.

His eyes gleamed as he watched Feyre turn her head, studying the chairs and bookshelves for any flaw, any indication that this, too, wasn’t real. She couldn’t quite bring herself to look towards the staircase.

“Is something familiar?” He asked with a lifted brow.

Feyre stalked to the nearest bookshelf and ran her fingers along the spines, waiting for the vision to warp and ripple. They remained firm, textured with stamped leather and metal clasps. She still couldn’t read their inscriptions, but even in the dream that hadn’t been unusual.

“Have you really read all of these,” she said, “Or do you just keep them in your study to look pretentious?”

From the lack of dust on the shelves, it was clear that the High Lord took pride in his collection. Though, to his credit, he did not rise to the jab. He merely fought a smile. “Not an avid reader, I take it.” When she said nothing, Rhysand nodded at the book beneath her fingertips. “Why don’t you grab that one. I think you’ll find the topic particularly… stimulating.”

She glared at the golden lettering on the spine, willing the indistinguishable blur of letters to jump out with any indication of the subject matter. It was something indecent if she had to guess, perhaps something within the realm of the erotic novels Nesta enjoyed, and Feyre’s face warmed at being unable to uncover the joke being made at her expense.

If he knew she couldn’t read, the mockery would only increase.

“I know you didn’t bring me here to read,” she said, dropping her hand. She pivoted on her heel, aiming for the sofa across from him, where that cup had been considerately placed for her.

Rhysand lifted the teapot, sparing her a sidelong glance for confirmation, before he poured the tea into her cup. “You’d be surprised how much studying is involved in the mastery of magic.”

“I’m not looking to master anything,” she said flippantly.

He added sugar and milk into her cup without confirming if that was her preference. Something he stole from her head, she wondered, or was he having her watched? She supposed Nuala and Cerridwen likely reported everything they observed back to him.

“Humor me,” he said, lifting the tea towards her.

Those eyes met hers, unnervingly steady. Feyre felt as though she were accepting far more than a cup of tea as she reached forward. Their fingers brushed, warm and lingering like she remembered in her dream. She fought a shiver and forced herself to sit up calmly, ignoring his surveillance as she pressed the hot rim to her lips. Swallowed.

The liquid burned down her throat, but it was preferable to the heat of that violet gaze, staring her down like he expected at any moment she might throw the scalding tea onto him. And maybe he was right to be wary, because she was certainly considering it.

Rhysand leaned back. With a flourishing wave of his hand, the book slid out of its space on the shelf, drifting towards them on a night-kissed wind.

“I didn’t always know how to control it, either. But I had people to help me, and access to resources like this.” The book flipped open, pages blurring as they rapidly turned over, before falling flat on a particular page. It landed in her lap, and she stared. Stared as if those lines of ink were supposed to be meaningful to her.

She looked up. “What do you get from all of this?”

“Just read it, Feyre.”

Her throat tightened. She glanced back down, studying those letters for all of a minute before she slammed the book shut. “I’m more of an experience-based learner myself.”

Rhysand frowned. She’d been hoping, with his tendency to rifle through her mind whenever he pleased, that physical practice would be more than appealing to him. A disconcerting silence settled over them as his eyes drifted considerately from Feyre to the book.

Her spine locked, watching his dawning realization as his pupils widened with clarity. She could not tell if it was horror, or anger, or pity hiding behind his expression, but regardless her stomach tightened into knots.

“You can’t read.”

It wasn’t a question, so Feyre didn’t answer it.

He ran a hand down his face. “I didn’t realize—”

“You think I didn’t exhaust all other options before I became a con-artist?”

Rhysand nodded like he was putting several things together, already recalculating his grand plan. “We’ll start there, then.”

“No.”

“Feyre—”

“No.”

“It’s an essential skill,” he argued.

“And with ten thousand marks, I can hire a tutor.”

Silence. They both knew it was the last thing she’d dedicate that money towards. First, a comfortable place to live. Access to food, plumbing, clean clothes. Reading was a luxury, one that sunk to the bottom of the Bharat sea with her father and the rest of their fortune. After that, it hadn’t felt like much of a priority. And it still didn’t.

She willed the steel adamant of his mental shields into the look she gave him, so that he knew this was an unflinching line in the sand. He could force her, but he would need to use the magic of their bargain to do it.

“I’m trying to help you, Feyre,” he said, softer now.

Help her, so that he could further his own agenda.

I have plans for you, Feyre Archeron.

Feyre briefly considered bartering with him. She could indulge his reading lessons if he agreed to reveal his true motive in teaching her. But if his plans required her ability to read, then maybe it was all the better to refuse, let him fix his interest on someone else. Someone more qualified for his aims.

He weathered her indignant stare for several more heartbeats, neither of them saying anything. Before he sighed.

“Fine,” he relented, shaking his head with open exasperation. “No reading lessons—for now.”

For now. She hated the underlying promise in those words.

“You want to learn through experience, Feyre? Then you’re going to practice raising and lowering your shield until it’s second nature.” He smirked. “Or rather, until you can do it in your sleep.”

Before she could summon a weapon from her arsenal of sharp words, Rhysand uncoiled to his feet and glanced towards a standing clock on the far wall.

“Four more hours of our bargain remain,” he said. “That seems an adequate amount of time to practice. I’ll be back by the end of it.”

“What?”

Rhysand was already striding toward the door, carelessly waving away her question with a simple, commanding, “Begin.”

True to his word, Rhysand left her alone for the remaining four hours. She had nothing more to do than raise and lower her shields as she watched the sky gradually darken beyond the windows on the second floor. It did give her time to explore, and she wandered his study to search every shelf, examining his trinkets like they might contain some invaluable secret about the High Lord. The papers on his desk were just that—undoubtedly containing important information, but none that was discernible to her. She opened his drawers, and the ones that weren’t locked contained nothing of startling interest. Stationary and writing utensils, the odd paperweight, a stamp with the night court insignia.

He likely wouldn’t have left her alone if there was anything truly valuable in the study. Not that she wouldn’t put it past him to be secretly observing her. With a hearty sigh, she settled at his desk, pulled out one of the pieces of blank parchment and a pot of ink, and began to draw as she passively raised and lowered her mental shields.

Feyre’s mind felt like sludge by the time he returned.

“Impressive,” he said, staring over her shoulder.

She’d drawn a series of panels—a sketch of Rhysand on the sofa, smirking in one panel, then frowning in the next, dripping from the teapot she’d ceremoniously dumped over his head.

Feyre hummed. “You got my fantasy all wrong in the dream, so I thought I’d draw you a diagram of what I truly desire.”

“And what you truly desire,” he purred, “Is me?”

“Covered in tea.”

His answering smile was undeterred. “You can have me covered in whatever you’d like, Feyre darling.”

She offered him a long-suffering look, her way of silently telling him that she’d like to indulge in that fantasy at this very moment. It would be so satisfying to wipe that stupid grin off his face with a cup of hot—

A talon scraped down her mental shield, testing its stability, and she threw all of her lingering willpower into reinforcing the black, glittering adamant keeping him out.

“Good,” he said, withdrawing his magic. “Make sure you keep them up before you go to bed tonight, or I might be tempted to crawl back inside that pretty mind and help you live through your other fantasies.”

Feyre scowled at him.

He huffed a laugh, extending his hand to her.

She regarded him carefully. “You’re… you’re taking me home?”

“Yes.”

She still didn’t take his hand. “The twenty-four hours are up?”

“Yes,” he said again, raising his brows at her scrutiny.

“And…” she still couldn’t quite believe it. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” he confirmed.

Twenty-four hours as the High Lord’s plaything, and he hadn’t really done anything to her. There was the dream and his head between her thighs, but even then, he’d only gone far enough to tease, to taunt.

She didn’t understand it. He’d paid ten thousand marks for what?

“Where’s the money?” She asked, not seeing anything on him.

“No heartfelt goodbyes?” When she narrowed her eyes at him, he shrugged. “Where do you think I’ve been the last four hours? After everyone in the tavern overheard our bargain, I didn’t trust sending you back with a bag of coins. I’ve set up an account in your name. The money’s yours now.”

There was no reason to believe he was lying. The magic would force him to pay, one way or another. Tomorrow, she and her sisters would go to the bank and start a new life. For now… for now, she just wanted to get home before the High Lord changed his mind and decided he wanted more from her after all.

She took his hand. His fingers were cool, his grip sturdy. She noticed a scrape of calluses that hadn’t been apparent in her dream, and she wondered if he’d earned them during his years in the Illyrian Mountains.

Without another word, they were swallowed into darkness, and it was instinct to grab him as the world vanished beneath their feet. He pulled her closer, his arms becoming a warm, comforting weight across her back as they tumbled through the fabric of the world.

Then, their feet were again atop solid ground—wet from the nearby docks and the fishermen who’d spent the day carting nets of fresh fish to the restaurants on the other side of the Sidra. Rhysand didn’t move away, and nor did Feyre, gripping to him as she waited for the world to right itself.

He took the opportunity to murmur to her, “If you ever need extra coin, I’d be happy to buy another twenty-four hours with you, any time. Just say the word.”

She snorted. “Still ten thousand marks?”

The winnowing had torn some of her hair from the pins Nuala and Cerridwen had carefully placed. Rhysand reached up to tuck a strand behind her ear as if he couldn’t resist. “Only with the promise that I can do whatever I’d like to you.”

“And will that always exclude sex? Or were you just…” She waved inelegantly to his crotch. “Not in the mood?”

Rhysand chuckled. “I didn’t have sex with you, Feyre, because you entered that bargain convinced you would win. It may come as a surprise, but I enjoy my lovers as willing participants.” He leaned closer, lips brushing the same ear that his fingers had just caressed. His breath sent a shiver down her spine. “Make no mistake, Feyre. The next time you let me take you home, I’ll assume you’re consenting to more than practicing your magic.”

And with that, he smoothly released his grip and stepped back.

“See you soon, Feyre darling,” he said.

Before she could say anything more, he vanished. Feyre glared at the space he departed, sighing as she inwardly conceded that she was far, far over her head with the High Lord. And she had the creeping sense she was already entangled beyond ten thousand marks and a twenty-four-hour bargain.

Nesta was going to kill her.

#Queen of Thieves #feysand #feysand fic #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction #Feyre x Rhysand #Rhysand x Feyre #Feyre x Rhys #Rhys x Feyre

[cake-writes]

A Dutiful Disaster (Part Seven)

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Story Tags/Warnings: Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Lovers, Royalty, Pre-Thor (2011), Smut, Angst, Drama, Slow Burn, Odin’s A+ Parenting, Cis Female Reader (she/her), No Y/N Usage, Second Person POV, POC-inclusive descriptors, Toxic Relationship (lil bit of abuse from both parties - mostly screaming matches with the occasional physical thing but he never like slaps her or anything), Smut, Slut-Shaming, Mommy Issues, Reader has anxiety, 18+

Chapter Warnings: anxiety, reader is super bitchy in this chapter, and so is her letter, oh my gosh you guys they actually talk shit out like MATURE ADULTS

Word Count: 3.8k

Snippet: “I do not wish to be kissed. It’s too great an intimacy for our,” you pause to consider the word, tapping your finger to your chin, “unique situation, wouldn’t you say? We are the furthest thing from lovers.”

“Oh?” Loki sounds amused by your answer – and then he drops his feet back to the floor with purpose, taking advantage of your startled jump to pull you further into his lap where you can feel the hardening length of him against your clothed core. “If not lovers, then what are we?”

“Married,” you gasp, arms clutching around his neck for fear of being dropped – or so you tell yourself.

Master List / Spotify Playlist / Part Six

A/N: And we’re back! This chapter finally ties us in to the prequel one-shot, as well as the argument between Loki and his father in part two. You may need to read them again for a refresher because it’s been a fair few months (in real life) since those were posted. Enjoy :)

You study your husband from above the gold rim of your teacup. It’s suspicious, the certain ease to his demeanour as he discusses today’s breakfast offerings with his servant.

Loki is manipulating you. He must be. It's the only conclusion you can come to.

You haven’t forgotten the nasty things he said about you to his father the day after your wedding. Loki made it crystal clear that he can't stand you, that he finds this sham of a marriage as torturous as you do, to the point that he'd even referred to it as a life sentence – much like your own thoughts on the matter. Yet, it bothers you in a way you can’t quite explain.

What’s worse is that the Allfather thinks you disloyal to the Crown, and you still haven’t been able to figure out why. You’ve been nothing but loyal, the events of last night notwithstanding. It makes you feel uneasy, knowing that the King has tasked Loki with ensuring your loyalty to Asgard, like he actually expects you could ever be a traitor—a proper one, that is.

Even so, you find yourself begrudgingly admiring the way your husband’s dark, glossy hair perfectly accentuates his sharp cheekbones – during which he turns his attention to you. 

“Is that acceptable?” Loki questions, just as you take another sip of chrysanthemum tea—your favourite, and all you can think is that it can't be just a coincidence.

You hate how infuriatingly attractive he is. Even now. Especially now, with his pretty green eyes so focused on you, like he actually cares what you have to say. 

“That would be lovely,” you answer amicably as you set down your teacup, even though you have no idea what you’ve just agreed to. Something about smoked salmon and capers.

Loki seems to accept your answer, and when he engages once more with his servant, you lose yourself in your thoughts. Two ragged, albeit manicured fingernails tap an anxious rhythm against the side of the porcelain cup in its saucer, each fingertip sounding its own melody.

Tink, tink. Tink, tink.

It worries you how easily Loki plays the part the perfect husband. Sitting here in his chambers is unnerving; you’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop, but he seems perfectly content, like he isn’t at all bothered by the contents of your letter. Nor does he seem to hold any opinion of the events that transpired last night. 

For now.

Tink, tink. Tink, tink.

The daylight streaming in through the open windows offers a glimpse of the fine lines near his eyes and the dark circles just beneath. While he always appears as though he’s never been able to get enough sleep, courtesy of his fair skin, you’re starting to think that Loki might have slept about as well as you did last night—in other words, scarcely at all.

Tink, tink. Tink, tink.

You conceal a yawn with your free hand as the servant bows and makes his way to the exit, and then you’re alone with your husband again. That knowledge should set you on edge, but you’re more focused on the rich accoutrements of his sitting room. It’s the first time you’ve been here since that awful argument following the attack; no sign of shattered glass in sight, but then, it has been a week since then.

Tink, tink. Tink, tink.

A vase full of fresh flowers sits upon the entry table. You’d bruised your hip against it that self-same night. How suspicious that the blooms are the colour of plum wine, a deep reddish-purple that makes your heart sing: your colour.

Tink, tink—

You stop tapping the instant you notice him watching you, and snatch up your teacup as if you meant to do so all along. Then you take a larger sip than you intend. The hot tea scalds your tongue, and his lips twitch in silent laughter as you try and fail to pretend it doesn’t.

“What?” you snap irritably.

“How did you sleep?”

“Why act as though you care?”

Visibly amused by your bristly demeanour, Loki retrieves his own tea, his slim fingers pinching the gilded handle with more finesse than you could ever hope to achieve. “I cannot help but wonder, petal, if you haven’t slept a wink. Were you worrying about how this conversation would go?”

You set your teacup down in its saucer with force, the loud clink of fine china resounding through the room. “Considering the events that transpired during our previous one, I’d be a fool not to worry. I expect that you will have me imprisoned the very moment you manage to lull me into a false sense of security.”

He doesn’t bat an eyelash at your vitriol, instead opting to take a sip of his tea. You can scarcely tell what kind of tea it is anymore, what with how he's drowned it in cream and sugar. Some things never change. It’s comforting, in a way.

Your husband savours the too-sweet taste for a moment before he speaks. “I will not have you imprisoned. You have my word.”

You scoff. “I threatened you.”

“Indeed.”

“With a knife.”

“A dagger, actually,” Loki corrects, and when you cut him a withering look, he gives you a shit-eating grin. You hate how stupidly reassuring it is that he’s just as insufferable as ever. Then his expression shifts to something a little more serious, his eyes softening at the corners. “You felt that I posed a threat to your safety, and you acted in self-defence. A sleepless night is punishment enough.”

You don’t buy it. “And my letter?”

“I suspect that you would never have sent it, had your fear not driven you to do so. No one in their right mind would call me—what was it, an animal?—among so many other insults that I cannot even begin to fathom them all, in a letter signed with one’s personal seal. That alone could have landed you in the dungeons, yet you did so with little regard for the consequences.” A puff of laughter escapes him. “You have always had an impulsive streak, darling, but never to that extent.”

He sees right through you. You despise it. “Yes, well—”

“If you truly think me an animal, then I can only imagine that you would indeed feel safer in another part of the palace.” He mentions the request you’d made in your letter so nonchalantly, like the two of you are merely discussing the weather. “Where did you have in mind?”

That does it.

“How—How can you be so calm about all of this?” you sputter. “Forgive me, husband, but I do not trust how willingly you would turn a blind eye to my transgressions!”

The precise manner in how Loki returns his teacup to its saucer betrays him. “Don’t you?”

You glare at him. Something is simmering beneath the surface of his suspiciously mellow exterior, but you can’t quite discern what it is. Not yet.

“If you think that I am calm, darling, then you couldn’t be more wrong—unless, of course, you honestly believe that I have any penchant for forgiveness.” His tone may be cordial, but every single one of his movements is calculated to the nth degree. The tactician.

No, he isn’t calm at all. He’s plotting. You should have known.

“Or is there another reason that you would arm me with more than enough ammunition to have you imprisoned?”

With that single question, the conversation becomes an interrogation. Your palms turn cold and clammy at the knowledge that he very well still could, and when you start to fidget with the white napkin in your lap, the cloth sticks unpleasantly to your skin.

“Is that what you want me to do? Arrest you for a rash, impulsive decision? A crime of passion?”

You can feel your blood pressure rise under his rapid fire, your anxiety and sleep deprivation giving way to anger. “No,” you bite out. 

While part of you feels that a life in the dungeons would be infinitely better than one bound to him, your more reckless side likes to push boundaries – to your own detriment. And Loki knows it as well as you do. His mouth sets in a firm line, his expression unreadable.

“Then you do trust me,” he says, tone neutral. “And that, dear girl, is the worst transgression of all.”

You stare at him, disbelieving, before you let out a loud peal of laughter – like he’s just told the funniest joke you’ve ever heard. It just might be. “I trust you, do I? No, husband,” you spit the word like it’s a curse. “I loathe you. If you have mistaken that for trust, then I pity you.”

If your venomous tirade affects him at all, Loki does well to hide it. A prolonged silence falls over the room as he rests his elbows on the table and laces his fingers before him, no less patient with you than he has been for the rest of the morning. He studies you – studies your reaction – studies every single flaw you try so hard to hide, and he says nothing.

You look away first. You always do, when your temper gets the better of you.

Only then does he finally grace you with a response. “I am amenable to your request. Choose whichever chambers you’d like.”

Your eyes snap back to him in shock, only to watch as he procures a small envelope from beneath his place setting. Your letter.

Casually, he extends it out to you between two slim fingers. “I wish to return this to you as well. I refuse to hold something so incriminating over your head. It is neither fair to you, nor to our marriage.”

You stare at it, then at him, stunned into silence by his magnanimity. The Loki you know would never do such a thing. He’d hold onto it for leverage.

Your husband rolls his eyes, almost like he knows what you’re thinking. “If you do not take it, then I will destroy it in a similar manner to the gift you so graciously decided to bestow upon me, after…” he shifts uncomfortably in his chair, then, “after what I did to you that morning.”

He means his own letter – the one you’d returned to him, torn to shreds after he’d all but thrown you into the entry table. The very same entry table upon which those lovely flowers now rest.

You sit up straighter at the memory. It sets you on edge, and though you’re tempted to cower, instead you overcompensate. “Oh? Go on, then.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“It is incredibly cathartic, you know,” you drawl, delicately picking up a biscuit between your thumb and forefinger to examine its intricate design. The sugar granules glimmer in the light. “To destroy one’s heartfelt letter in a fit of anger. Though I must confess,” you hold your head high, smug as can be, “I did not read what you’d written before doing so.”

That doesn’t seem to faze him either. “You say that as if you expect it to surprise me.”

You scrunch your nose at him in annoyance. “Well? Go on. Or will you not follow through on your promises?”

His promise not to harm you. His promise not to touch you. His promise not to lock you away.

Maintaining eye contact, you use your teeth to break off a piece of the biscuit with a crunch.

Your challenge isn't lost on him. “Very well,” Loki sighs. He swiftly opens the letter to pull out the fine stationery upon which you’d so hastily scrawled all manner of insults, after which he makes a point to show it to you, front and back, to prove its authenticity. “I’ll not have you thinking I’ve stowed it away to use against you later on.”

You bat your eyelashes at him. “I see you’ve turned over a new leaf.”

“Charming,” Loki comments dryly, but you don’t miss the humour in his tone – nor in his eyes as he skims them down the page. “I must say, darling, you have quite the talent for castigation. It would be a waste not to read such a heartfelt letter aloud.” His eyes flick back up to yours, then, and you know for a fact that he’s taunting you. “For posterity. You understand.”

Posterity. There is no doubt in your mind that he knows you only wrote it yesterday. You’d even sealed the envelope with the ink still wet, as evidenced by the dark smudges littering the page.

“Stars above,” you grouse. “Get on with it, then, seeing as you are positively chomping at the bit to humiliate me.”

“Humiliate you? No.” Loki holds your gaze, resolute, and for once, you’re inclined to believe him. “I want you to acknowledge exactly what you’ve said of me before we put all of this to rest.”

Of course he does. Gracelessly, you wave a hand at him as if to say go ahead.

Loki clears his throat before he begins to read your letter verbatim, surprisingly in a manner that befits its serious nature. His voice holds not a single shred of mockery.

“To my dear, despicable husband,” he arches an eyebrow at you, “I fear I cannot stand this any longer. My chambers are in such close proximity to yours that I’d sooner return home than sleep here for another night, knowing that a wolf in sheep’s clothing rests his weary head so near to mine.”

Whether he intends it to be or not, it is humiliating to hear what you’ve written become spoken word. All too soon, you feel your face start to flush.

“I find myself ill with the knowledge that the Einherjar would allow such a predator to prowl these halls while I remain entirely defenceless. Nay, it is hardly reassuring to know that not a single soul shall protect me from the animal who would bring me harm, either in his own chambers or in our marital bed.”

When Loki pauses, you immediately recognise the real reason behind this exercise. Though you’d written the letter to be purposefully harsh in order to invoke a reaction, in the light of day, your spiteful words seem to imply something else.

You haven’t just told him of your fears in a general sense, using your marital bed as an example. You’ve alluded to a significantly more heinous act.

“You will not see me become your prey, thrilling though the chase may be to a brutish man with little regard for others. I refuse to become the spoils of a war you’ve so savagely waged upon me and my body for no other reason than your own entertainment.”

No wonder he’d been so angry with you last night. The implication that he would assault you in such a way is bad enough on its own, but there is another layer.

For centuries, the two of you have harboured a forever unspoken secret. Neither of you have acknowledged it outright, but it’s there. You’ve seen each other at the den – the covert, invitation-only club which caters to the niche sexual preferences that both you and Loki seem to share. Namely those that are, and have always been, less than socially acceptable.

“One cannot expect an animal to behave in any way but his basest nature. As a scholar of grey morals, you have always preferred books to people, but a snake, however erudite, is still a snake.”

There, on multiple occasions, your rooms have been next door to each other—through no fault of your own, though you suspect Loki has done it intentionally. After all, what he’s seen of you through the window in between are things that you’d never tell another soul, and you’re sure he relishes in holding that over your head, if not your letter.

But then, you’ve also seen similar of him. His proclivity for consensual non-consent is just one of the great many things you’ve witnessed, time and time again, and you realise, now, that Loki thinks you’ve used that forbidden knowledge against him. He thinks you’ve used it to hurt him in a way that most others could never.

“No ruffian should ever be permitted to walk freely as you do. Until such a time that you do not, for my continued health and wellbeing I have made arrangements to return to my family’s manor.”

Of course he’s bothered by what you’ve implied – albeit unintentionally. And he has every right to be.

“I will only be persuaded to stay if you grant me a new set of chambers as far from yours as possible, for I have no desire to encounter any manner of beast in the wild.” Loki snorts derisively and drops the letter down onto the table between the two of you. “Disrespectfully yours, your dutiful wife.”

There is no laughter to be elicited, now, nor anger, but something else entirely. Loki hides it well, but the implication has clearly gotten under his skin. You can see it in his eyes, and in his posture, how guarded he is as he looks to you for a response.

Thoroughly humbled, you swallow the lump in your throat and focus upon your lap. “I… I did not mean what you’ve understood my words to mean.” 

When you glance back up at him, you immediately have to look away again in shame when you find him watching you, jaw set, waiting for a proper apology. 

“Of course, that does not matter when they have made such an impact,” you rush to add. “I sincerely apologise for my thoughtlessness. I did not mean to imply that you would do something terrible.”

Silence stretches uncomfortably between the two of you as you begin to pick at the skin around your nails. At the very least, you should have reread your own letter before you sent it. Perhaps then you wouldn’t feel so guilty.

After a prolonged few moments, he asks quietly, “What else could you have possibly meant?”

“I meant to paint a picture of my fears.” You accidentally draw blood from a hangnail, and it stings. “My intent in mentioning our marital bed was to offer an example of one such fear—not that sort of fear, mind, but I fully understand how it could have sounded like an accusation.”

“I see.”

Finally, you muster the courage to look at him again, impassioned because you would never, ever use what you know against him. “You’ve been nothing but a gentleman in that regard, Loki. You respected my wishes on our wedding night. You have asked for my consent during every one of our trysts. Please know that I would never accuse you of anything untoward.”

His eyes search yours for a long time, trying to discern the lie, but there isn’t one. Then he exhales a long, weary sigh and leans back in his chair, the tension visibly lifting from his shoulders. “Norns,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “Yes, I suppose not even you would stoop so low.”

A jab.

You respond with the opposite: a jest. “Ah, but how could you know for certain? What with our—” you clear your throat, nearing ever closer to openly acknowledging the forbidden secret that you both share, “our history?”

It’s the closest either of you have come to doing so. You and Loki have been playing this game for centuries, trying to see who will cave first, but you continue to tiptoe around it.

Just as you predicted, the layered meaning instantly captures his attention. “Our history?” he repeats, as if he doesn't quite believe he's heard you properly, before his lips curl up into that same insufferable grin you so adore. “Oh, do go on, sweet. I’m all ears. What about our history?”

You try to give him a deadpan look, but find it impossible to keep the smile off of your face. “Only that we have never enjoyed each other’s company, you and I. You know that as well as I do.”

It isn't at all the history you’d originally mentioned, and you’re well-aware he recognises that when his voice takes on a note of smooth, persuasive silk. “In what way do you intend for me to take that, darling? Because I suspect that there are many things for a husband and wife to... enjoy.”

His insinuation is absolutely not what you meant, and he knows it, but your heartbeat quickens all the same.

Just in the knick of time, two rapid knocks resound on the door. 

“Enter,” Loki calls out, never taking his eyes off of you. Something about the heat within them, however slight, makes you think he isn’t done with you just yet.

You find yourself silently thanking whoever has chosen to interrupt.

The door opens, and another servant pushes a small gold cart into the room, two shelves stacked high with breakfast delights. The spread is much more elaborate than your typical morning meal, and your mouth waters.

“Now, I believe you said I would find this cathartic?”

You glance back over at your husband, only to watch him deftly pluck your letter up from the table. Before you can get a word in edgewise, however, you watch as your stationery sets aflame in the palm of his hand.

It’s an impossible sort of fire, for it doesn't seem to burn his skin. 

Magic.

You’ve always loved his magic, even now, loathe as you’d ever be to admit that you find Loki’s mastery of it in any way appealing. He wields his seidr like one might a paintbrush, creating masterful works of art from intricate spells and enchantments.

As the flames burn away your spiteful letter, your eyes follow the curling wisps of smoke as it drifts up, up, up towards the intricately-painted ceiling. Instead of the colourful collection of wildflowers you expect to see upon it, however, you find a field of white daffodils in their place.

A symbol of forgiveness.

In that moment, as you stare at the illusion he’s cast, you realise that your husband will forever be an enigma to you. Perhaps he’s changed in the great many years you've known him, or maybe you've never really known him at all.

Then Loki lazily waves his hand, and the illusion dissipates—as do the singed remains of your letter.

He’s manipulating you. He must be. It’s the only conclusion you can come to, but when you meet his eyes once more – when you see the mischief shining within them, and the softness hidden just beneath – you desperately wish that he wasn’t.

Part Eight

And because I’m a clown, here’s my ko-fi / patreon if you’ve got a buck or two to spare so I can buy a new laptop! Otherwise reblogs and keysmashing in my ask box are more than welcome 🤡🤡🤡 Thanks so much for reading!!!

#loki x reader #loki #loki imagine #loki smut #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki laufeyson #loki odinson

[fandomobbsessedb]

Alastor x F!Overlord! Reader pt2.

~ this is just a continuation of the bottom half of the previous fic!!! I absolutely adored writing this and I’m so glad ya’ll are liking it too!!

Warnings: dead kid, swears, vomit, bullemia, drinking, insane harm to the body, could be kinda mind fucking,weed, mentions of partying and Valentino wanting to gangbang but not actually getting none.

MORE EASTER EGGS!!!!

Taglist: @genderlessdude92 @projectdreamwalker @whitewolfsoldat @sirens-and-moonflowers

Enjoy~

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“Good morning dear!”

“Good morning darling! I have your eggs and bacon ready for you!” I called out to my husband, taking the coffee pot off the stove and pouring two small cups, wiping my hands off on my apron and calling the children down.

“James, Mary! Come down and get your breakfast before you have to get going for school!”

“Coming mama!” I heard from the top of the stairs, I always end up having their father have to drive them anyways, I think they’re doing it on purpose at this point.

“Mmmmm! That smells delicious y/n!” My husband compliments as he walked into the kitchen, coming up behind me he wrapped his hands around my waist and gave my cheek a kiss.

“Oh Vox! Let me go I’m going to spill the coffee!” I giggled out trying to pour our glasses. He took the two cups along with their saucers and set them at the table.

“Well you look nice!” I complimented, his pinstrip suit and sharp neck tie making him look quite dapper. He sent me a smile and whipped out this mornings newspaper from the dogs mouth. “Good boy sparky.” He patted him on the head and gave him a treat.

“Momma momma guess what!!!” Mary ran up to me with her little hands behind her blue sailor dress. James took a seat at the table next to his father pretending to be him. All gotten and sophisticated.

“What is it my darling?” I asked bending down at the waist inspecting her hair to see if it was fit for school.

“I buckled my shoes on all by myself!” She bounced up and down on her red little loafers.

“Oh look at that! You have!” I smiled at her cupping her hands in my cheeks and giving her a kiss on the forehead. “I matched you mama!” She said point to my own red pumps adorning my feet. “Yes darling, now why don’t you go sit and get some breakfast.”

She ran up to the table in excitement, not yet able to reach the chair. Vox picked her up and placed her in the chair, patting her head and serving her some bacon from the plate in the middle of the table.

“Now James, you have little league after school, so you better be going right to practice, if I get another call from Mr.Johnson saying you where out in the field with those “friends” of yours again, your going to be in big trouble mister.” I sternly scolded him, sitting down to eat my own breakfast.

“Yes mom” he looked down embarrassed from our discussion last night.

“Oh cmon dear, let him have some fun occasionally, but James you really should listen to your mother.”

“Okay dad.” He perked up a little and went back to eating.

Playing with the string of pearls around my neck, a bad habit I developed when I became stressed, I tried to not bounce my leg but I couldn’t help but feel this ugly weight on my shoulders.

Standing with my coffee cup in my hand and I walked to where Vox keeps his good liquor, we usually save it for special events but… this feeling… I have a feeling my regular dose of Valium wouldn’t help…

Taking the pristine bottle from the cupboard, I got a flash in my eyes

~ “here you are darling, I got this special blend from a connection of mine on earth, I figured we could celebrate the success of our deal in a more fashioned manor,”

“Oh Alastor that’s wonderful, thank you!” I took the bottle gently from his hands, the heavy glass weighing my hands down.

Popping the cork and pouring a small amount into eachother glass, we cheered then completely disregarded the drink… instead going for each other’s mouths. Missing it like a drug.

“Y/n-“

Clawed hands grab onto my shoulders and I feel the weight of this bottle taken from me.

“Is everything alright dear?” Vox asked, feigning concern .

“Oh, yes I’m just fine, all the chores I need to get done today just making me think a lot.” I replied leaning on him for support, as his hands go to my waist and my arms wrap around his neck.

“Oh dear, why don’t you let me take over for the day and you just go to the salon and get your nails done, maybe see if you can get some extra time on the massage part.” He suggests, starting to pull me away from the cabinet and sitting me down.

I try to come up with a comprehensive anwser but~ I just feel so…… sleepy. So tired…..

Feeling a soft, plush ground now supporting me, I still struggle to come up with a scentence, my head falls to my pillow and I start to drift off.

“Just relax dearest… I’ll take care of everything… trust me….” I turn over and look into my husbands eyes, feeling the malicious intent behind them, yet not being able to…. Actually move my body…. I can’t turn away—

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~click•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

“Hey y/n did you see Vox staring at you during class?” My hellion friend asked me, closing my bottom locker with her tail.

“What? No he wasn’t.” I respond trying to hide my smile behind my books.

“Did you have a brain tumor for breakfast? Of course he was.” Helga said, not even bothering to make eye contact with me as she applied more of her lipstick, then closed her locker. “Cmon, Heathers waiting for us in the cafeteria.” She said taking my arm and pulling me along.

“Y/n there you are, I need you to forge a hot but horny love note from Valentino to Marta Doonstick.” She said, flipping her hair over her horns, picking up her pencil and paper and handing it to me.

“Shit Heather I don’t have anything against Marta…” I cringed, this high school drama bullshit is so not fetch.

“You don’t have anything for her either, cmon, it’ll gets Vox’s attention too.” She smirked looking over to Hattie. “Hattie bend over, y/n needs something to write on.”

With an exasperated sigh she turned around, mindful to keep the bottom of her skirt held down, as she let me use her back to forge this note. In the most cursive stylish writing I could manage, I wrote out a whole letter to Marta, from Valentino asking her to come to his party this weekend.

Helga slowly made her way to Marta’s lunch spot, as we watched with intent, I quick glanced over to where Vox and Valentino where sitting. Seeing him chuckle made me smile, as I dazed off about him however I failed to notice his eyes shift to me. When I came to I realized we were in the bathroom, Hazel puking her guts up, and Heather and Hattie fixing their makeup in the mirror.

“Y/n did you hear what I asked you?” Heather whipped around the look at me.

“Um… sorry what?” I squinted at her before looking to her lipstick. I blinked and suddenly I’m in a completely different room, a boudoir with a giant vanity set up, I’m sat in front of the mirror with the same shade of lipstick in my hand, and my top lip done, only… it’s sneered over my cheek.

“Y/n deer, we have to go or we’ll be late for Carmillas meeting.” I looked over to the right of me, my surrounding sight no longer being blurry but clear as the morning sky. A man in a red coat with furry ears and a cane stood there fixing his coat in the mirror.

“Sorry I just… zoned out. I nicked some weed off of Angel earlier and I am, whew, I am out of it.” I responded, taking the handkerchief he offered me from his hand and wiping my cheek off. Handing it back to him our hands crossed and he came up behind me, placing his hands on my shoulders, I could see his hands… I could feel myself sitting in the stool, seeing the perfume bottles on my desk… yet I couldn’t feel anything.

“Y/n…..y/n………. Y/N!!” I suddenly DID feel the hands on my shoulders shaking me out of it. Heather was still in the mirror, Hazel was in the stall and Hattie was shaking me.

“Huh?” I replied wearily.

“C’mon Hazel let’s take another look at today’s lunch.” Heather smirked and stormed out of the bathroom.

~~~~~

“Hi Velvette, this is today’s lunchtime poll.” Heather said to the pink haired girl, all she could do was click away at her bag phone before rolling her eyes to look at us.

“The exterminators come down unexpectedly, saying their going to kill off all of hell in the next 48 hours, the same day King Lucifer comes to you and gives you 58 million dollars, what do you plan to do?” She asked giving Velvet the handful of copies she printed for her to hand out.

With a forced smile she goes “I would throw and end of the world fashion show, only inviting Hell’s most sovereign overlords and big shots-“

“AND THEN PAY EVERYONE FOR A HELL WIDE GANGBANG” Valentino cuts her off, throwing his hands in the air excitedly. Making a disgusted face Velvet turns away with the papers and walks out going to post them around the school.

I looked over at Vox, hoping he would see it as an indication to answer and not me totally saying he should use the money to whisk me away and go to make our point.

He met my eyes then took a deep breath sitting up a bit more. “Well I for one would want to maybe… find a pretty girl-“ shifting his eyes back to me, “then rent a boat and, row out to the middle of the sea, get some liquor and just, have at it.” He said putting his hands under his chin and tilting to look at me.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“If I was this girl would you keep me safe from the aliens?”

“As long as I could, trust me… with your safety.” His eyes started to become swirly and, my stomach starts to be all twisted… It’s getting like, really hard to… to breath. I feel a weight hold up my hips as I close my eyes and pass out.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\click\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

“Oh hello, did Vox show you around the house yet?” I wrapped around his side, seeing his colleagues in our living room for our dinner party. Perm and Jam brought a nice wine and I had just come back from setting it down in the kitchen.

“So shall we head upstairs?” I asked only for my waist to be pulled back down,

“I’ve got it dear why don’t you go finish making dinner?” He asked adjusting his tie and lighting one of my homemade candles.

“Oh are you sure? it’s really no trouble it’s a slow cooking, the ossobuco won’t be done for another 3 hours.” I double check with him.

“Yes of course go get us some wine or something.”

“But…”

“Trust me dear…. Trust me…. With the tour.” He said holding my face tight and forcing me to look directly into his eyes… from which I can’t look away.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::click:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

A ballroom, large and golden and grand awaits me when I get to the palace, my dark blue shimmering dress catching the attention of an elegantly dressed man with a yellow and red suit adorning the space below his rectangular head. We danced through the night yet when midnight struck I suddenly remembered my goal, to come and meet the prince.

*clang* *clang* *clang*

“Oh no… oh dear.” I sat away from the gentleman and stared horrifically at the clock.

“What is it?” My gentleman asked trying to reach for my gloved hand again.

“Oh, I have to go, I have yet to meet the Prince..” I trail off.

clang* *clang* *clang*

“No you can’t leave yet.” He begs trying to follow me.

“Oh no please, I must leave.” I rebound and started to leave… I couldn’t let the Prince see me in rags.

“STOP HER”

I bump into a guard and when I went to apologize I turned to his face and there he was again…

————————click————————

“Alright partner, what are we looking at?” I question putting on some sterile gloves and going to lift the sheet of the stabbed victim when I got pushed away but my asshole of a partner.

“Don’t worry y/n let me handle this.” He said taking the sheet off the body and starting the inspection.

“Ugh, yeah no, last stab case you thought I’d read the neighbor, and Mrs.Santos was an innocent old lady.” I scoffed and shoved him aside only to get elbowed in the ribs. Turning to slap him I looked into his eyes.

“Just trust me….” He spoke lowly, his mouth bleeding just a smidge……..

Why is my stomach queesy-

><><><><><><><><>click<><><><><><><><><

“Get up you peice of shit,” throwing a glass of water on my husband he shoots up wiping his screen off the look at me.

“Who’s Venice?” I yell ready to refill my glass.

“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND??” He yells back now fully awake, I came storming back into the bedroom. “I don’t even know who Venice is!!! What the fuck does that even mean!!? Venice?? That’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard in my fucking life!!”

“WHOS VENCIE?” I yell again throwing another glass at him.

“Oh, baby…. Baby baby, me and Val we, we’ve been investing in, in Italy.”

“Oh, you were investing in Italy?”

“Yeah baby, yeah.” He says shimmy up the bed to where I am at the foot of it still with a glass of water.

“You know what, you, your a big fucking liar!!” I throw the glass back at him and storm away.

“FUCK YOOOOU!!!” he yells, throwing himself around the bed. Having a tantrum like our toddler.

|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-click-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|-|

He leaned in to kiss me with his eyes closed. But I just kinda stood there looking at him.

Quickly sitting his hips back up he looks at me with hearts for eyes on his screen.

“Wow” he laughs out awkwardly.

“You can go now.” I smile at him, my hair bouncing off my shoulders.

“I thought I might stay over tonight.” He smirks.

“Why?” I asked titling my head.

“Cause we’re girlfriend boyfriend.” He shrugs with that smile still on his face.

“To do what?” I ask again still not understanding.

After a pause he shakes his head.

“I’m actually not sure.”

“I don’t want you here.”

“Is it Box?”

“Box is just a really good friend, and this is my dream house, this is y/n’s dream house, this isn’t Vox’s dream house, right?”

“Ah haw haw haw~ right as always”

“Besides its girls night.” I turn to look at the other y/n’s setting up, I see astrophysicist y/n turning on the radio to stream our music when this, earily old love song comes on. I’m meant to turn back to Vox but staring at the radio….. I’m stuck….

“Cmon y/n the presidents here” Hotel owner y/n says going back to brushing bar keeper y/n’s hair.

“She’s right, I am, you’re welcome.” She smiles at me before going back to the hair brushing. I blink out of it and look at my surroundings. I’m standing alone in a dark room… well sitting more like… actually…. I’m tied to a chair. A hanging light turns on and Vox comes into the room.

“Oh Vox there you are, are we in Y/n land anymore?”

“Finally awake y/n.”

“Yeah? I’m so confused where are we?” I ask still smiling at him.

“I want you to tell me where your BOYFRIEND stashes his vault.” He asks swinging a knife around, pulling my hair and nicking my throat.

“OW, what the hell Vox?” I yell at him still struggling against my chair. He pushes my chair down and as I hit the floor, the table to the side of us knocks something over…. It’s my radio!! From y/nland!! It clicks on and as it buzzes through stations my chest starts to feel heavy… wait, where did Vox go? I turn my head to look around for him only to not see him anywhere, sitting up I pick up the radio to try and turn it off.

“Oh hey! How did my ropes come undone?” I ask the air looking around my wrists, not even seeing a red mark. It stopped making noises and just went to static, I saw flashing from the outside of my eyes and turned to look out the window seeing the world flash from a city in the night to …. in between tv stations?

A door to my right creeks open and my curiosity gets the better of me, I leave the radio and make my way to the door, opening it I feel a magnetic pull and fall thro-

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{click}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

“Welcome back we’re here today making a gourmet venison dish, my assistant chef y/n has so graciously prepared all our ingredients.”

I look out to the wall Vox is talking to, I was no longer in my disco outfit, I was in a chef uniform? Looking down my hands were just cutting the vegetables next to me without me even thinking. Vox was preparing the food but I was dazed out… looking past the wall…

“OW!” I yelped, shifting my gaze to my hands when I noticed my hands had been cut…. Multiple times, blinking a bit I realized there were no vegetables…..

••••••••••••••••••click•••••••••••••••••••

“How long has she been in distress?”

“About 22 minutes doctor.”

“Don’t you worry y/n, we’re gonna fix you all up.”

I had blinked again and suddenly I’m being rushed around in a hospital bed, the bright lights flashing above me imparting my vision a bit, but I could still make out two figures, one with big pigtails and one with… a rectangular head…. The only thing really standing out to me was that… I still had my chef clothes on…

——-

I’m wheeled into an operating room where they start to wrap up my hands and….. other stab wounds….

“She’s started on some saline doctor.” I hear a British voice state.

“Good good, let’s get these cleaned out.”

I turn my head over to see a radio in a patients room and suddenly my head goes fuzzy again, I close my eyes trying to drown out the noise, but it starts to grow… and grow… in my head, it feels like my brain is vibrating… I need to get out of here, I… I can’t….

“AHHHHHHH!!!” I sit up, starting to rip the operating sheets that where laying on me off, and running out of the room to the outside of the hospital…. And nobody followed me?

I could feel the stab wounds folding in on my body, like an empty hole all over my insides. I ran, and kept running, not even realizing the scenery changing all around me, all I had was one though, I’m getting the fuck away from here.

Looking behind me I noticed I was quite far from the hospital now, so far I couldn’t even see-

“Ow! What the hell y/n?!” Hazel yelled at me, I had bumped into her on her way out of the cafeteria, her chocolate milk carton spilling out all over her outfit.

“Oh what the fuck.” I yelled to nobody in particular, I looked around seeing I was back at Westbork high school.

“Y/n are you feeling okay? The party you and Heather went to must’ve been a rager. You’ve been off all day.” Hattie comforted, putting my hair up with her scruncci.

“Uhm, I gotta go guys.” I said backing away and trying to run out the door when Heather made eye contact with me.

“YOU! You’re a dead girl walking Y/N!!” She screamed and started chasing me. I booked it towards the door, and tried not to look back but Velvet and Valentino where chasing me too now.

“Y/N darling let’s talk, just stay here at school!” Velvet yelled at me reaching her arm out to try and grab me. I could see the door… it’s right there, so close!

I burst through the door trying to gather my bearings. I reached up to wipe my forehead but my hand was all wet.

I was dripping with water and sitting on my bed,

“Y/n? Baby, are you okay?”

I heard from the other room.

“Oh HELL NO.” I screeched and stood up to try and get out through the balcony in our room. Juuuuuust to trip over something… squishy and hard?

“Hey Mamaaaaaa! You tripped on my baby doll!” Mary scolded me. Sitting up I was now lying face down on our living room floor, Sparky licking at my face… the liquor cabinet open and all the bottles smashed. Sitting up with my hands shaking harder than a washing machine with too many clothes in it, I reached for my baby.

“Mary… sweetie, where’s daddy?” I asked her, scared for the answer but needing to know.

“He’s at James’s game remember?” She said holding onto my chest tight and playing with one of my pin curls.

“He’s there right now?” I inquired holding her head close to my chest. I don’t know what the fuck is going on but I know my babies need me to be there for them. “No he just left a few minutes ago, he said he was going to stop at his office to grab his camera before going to the game. Mrs.Gabole is gonna be here in a few minutes to babysit me.” She responded bouncing up and down in my lap, excited for the sweet elderly neighbor to come and hang out with her.

“Not today baby.” I replied picking her up and scooping Sparky under the other arm, I hurried out to the garage grabbing my purse with my car keys in them.

“Awwww why not?” She whines petting sparky while I buckled her up.

“I’ll tell you later, okay?” I kissed her head and shut the door, jumping into the drivers seat and thinking of the quickest way to get to the baseball field.

In my panic I didn’t even realize how fast I was going through all the stop signs and officers blowing their whistles at me.

“Mommy slow down your scaring me!!” Mary shouted from the back. Snapping out of it I took my foot off the gas and turned to console her.

“I’m sorry baby mama’s just worried for Jam-“

“MOMMY” was the last thing I heard before we were rammed by a large produce truck.

There was smoke clouding my vision, I could feel the blood dripping front my forehead, I couldn’t hear Mary anymore…. But when I turned around she wasn’t in her seat… she was stuck in the back window

Stepping out I saw the damage to my car. I walked over to a field near the intersection and laid down. I feel like I’m in this weird dream, all I can hear is ringing… faint voices of officers and the guy I hit and pedestrians… static…. I could see my vision start to go blurry again, grasping the ground beneath me I tried to stay on this plane… I’m done… I don’t wanna do this anymore….. I want my kids….. I want my bed….. I want…. Alastor……

Closing my eyes I succumbed to the feeling just so that I wouldn’t have to fight it anymore, but when I opened my eyes… I had that. I had a blaring headache, as the feeling came back to my body it felt like I was stuck in a lightning storm and my whole body was electrocuted. But out of all the faces stood above me, painted with worry, there was only one I could pick up on…. His pointy ears and sharp smile standing out amongst the rest.

“Hello deer! How are you feeling?” He questioned, his smile never faltering.

Sitting up I looked around, I was back in the hotel, Husk holding a glass of water for me, Angel dust comforting fat nuggets and the grey one calming the princess.

“You were asleep for a loooong time y/n.” Husk said non-cholantly. “Are you okay?” He got closer to me. Taking a deep breath and not feeling like my chest was duct taped closed, I took another panicked look around…

“……….WHAT THE FUCK”

[]•[]•[]•[]•[]•[]•[]•[]•[]•[]•[]•[]•[]•[]•[]•[]•[]•[]

AN: HEEHEEHEEHEEHEE I LOVED WRITING THIS I HOPE YA’LL LIKE IT TO

MWAHAHAHAHAHGAA IVE LEFT YOU ON A CLIFFHANGER NOW YOU’LL HAVE TO COME BACK FOR PART THREE 😘 SEE YOU THEN!!!

If you can pick up on any of the Easter eggs, (places y/n was, objects, storyline) within this chapter or the last one, leave a comment and you can get a sneak peek for chapter 3 ;)

#headcannons #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel vox #creepycore #idk man #viva las vegas #ahhhhh #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel oneshots #part 3?

[shyvioletcat]

Set Up - Part 5

A/N: Sorry to disappoint but there’s no content warning for this one. Just some mild nudity and dumbass-ery from our favourite idiots.

~ Set Up Masterlist ~

~~~~~

Knocking woke Aelin up from her surprisingly heavy sleep. When she indulged in alcoholic beverages she usually had a fitful sleep with all that flowing through her system. She probably had the man next to her to thank for how out of it she had been. Rowan was still asleep, handsome features softened, still gloriously naked after their fun from the night before. His strong arm was a pleasant weight over the middle of her waist. It was hard not to get lost in moments like this, not to imagine what it might be like to wake up like this everyday. They were foolish fancies, Aelin would be gone in a matter of hours and their time together would once again come to an end. But it wouldn’t hurt to linger for just a few more moments. Aelin felt her own smile as she sunk further into Rowan’s embrace before a thudding disturbed her contentment.

Right, there was someone knocking on the door. 

Aelin darted out of bed, the sudden jostling waking Rowan up. She was looking for something to put on so she didn’t answer the door as naked as he was, when he groaned, the movement of him rubbing his face catching her attention. If his frown was anything to go by he was not happy about being awake. 

“What time is it?” He grumbled, voice low and rough enough that Aelin’s skin threatened to pebble. 

“Um…” Another knock righted Aelin’s thoughts when they lingered too long on what she might be able to do if she went back to bed. “That should actually be my room service wake up. I’m meeting my parents for breakfast and I knew insistent coffee would be the only way to get me up. So, it’s seven thirty.”

Rowan just groaned and rolled over, face first into his pillow. 

Aelin laughed softly, grabbing the hotel robe she had discarded on the floor at some point yesterday. She was rushing for the suite door when she tripped on something and picked it up without really registering what it was. Leaving the delivery person waiting was poor form and Aelin didn’t want to be that kind of guest. 

When the knocking came again, this time sounding somewhat impatient, Aelin called out. “I’m coming!”

A few steps later she was swinging the door open and freezing in surprise. Her coffee was there, shiny white mug and saucer and all, but it was her cousin at the door. 

“Aedion… what?” Aelin said, letting go of the door to tug her robe around a little tighter. 

“Your parents asked me to breakfast too and I told them I’d pick you up,” Aedion explained, delicately taking a sip of the coffee he held, nose scrunching as he did. “That’s gross.”

Aedion didn’t wait for an invitation, he just waltzed right in. Aelin didn’t know what to do, she wanted to haul Aedion out by the collar but there were two problems. One, she was nearly naked and two, she was nowhere near strong enough to execute the move effectively. 

“Aelin.” That one utterance was full of confusion. “Why are there pants on your fan?”

Her eyes darted up to the ceiling fan, and Aedion was right. Rowan’s jeans from the night before hanging there. Gods, she must have really thrown them last night. 

“Ah…” it was hard to figure out exactly what to say. 

“Hey, Aelin, have you seen my—’’

Aedion gasped, turning towards the sound. “Rowan!?”

It happened so quickly Aelin almost missed it. Rowan had appeared in the bedroom doorway, butt naked and undoubtedly looking for his clothes. He had yelped, covered himself, sworn viciously and slammed the bedroom door. 

From the look of shock on his face, Aelin was surprised that Aedion was still holding the coffee cup. He just kept staring at the painted wood, like it would give him answers to whatever questions were piling up in his head. She couldn’t bear it, Aelin looked down to inspect the item she’d picked up after tripping on it for something else to focus on. It was Rowan’s underwear. Those she shoved in her pocket as if hiding them would incriminate her less. 

Eventually, although it might have just been a few seconds that seemed to drag on forever, her cousin turned away from the door. “What did I just see? Well, I know what I just saw, but why did I see that here?”

Aelin just shrugged, not knowing how to play this. There was a reason they’d kept their arrangement quiet, and unless she could figure out a way to shut Aedion up it would only be a matter of minutes before the rest of their friend group knew too.

“You lucky bitch,” Aedion hissed. “That’s an image I might not be able to get out of my head for a while.”

“Don’t be gross,” Aelin shot back. 

“Me? Me?” He put a hand to his chest. “You’re the one with a naked man in your bedroom and you accuse me of being gross?”

Aelin marched over to him, claiming her coffee. “You’re an idiot.”

“How long has this been a thing?” Aedion demanded. “I’ll leave the question about the pants on the fan because in retrospect I don’t want to know.”

“Just go.” A pointed finger led a clear path to the door. “And don’t tell a soul or I’ll hate you forever.”

Aedion glared at her, but he didn’t fight her request. “I’m looking forward to our alone time on the way to breakfast.”

With that, he left, leaving Aelin in a very quiet room. She should go see how Rowan was doing and to see if he hadn’t died from embarrassment already. Taking a bracing sip of her sweet coffee Aelin went to the bedroom and even gave him the courtesy of knocking. A groan was her answer and Aelin winced as she opened the door. Rowan was face down on the bed, the pillow surely suffocating him with how little she could see of his face. 

“Rowan, it’s not that bad,” Aelin tried to reassure him. “Only Aedion knows. That’s one person who—’’

“Two.” The word was so muffled she barely caught it. 

“Two what?”

Rowan rolled over. “Two people know. Last night at the bar Lorcan had a little chat with me and to let me know that he’d figured it out.”

“How?” Aelin was worried now. 

“Something about how I’m less pissy when you’re in town,” Rowan gestured listlessly at the ceiling.

Aelin snorted. “Well, good sex will do that to a person.”

There was a ghost of a smile on Rowan’s lips. “He’s not a gossip, he won’t say anything.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Aelin patted Rowan’s sheet covered calf. He must have covered himself with the bedding for security or maybe he was concerned Aedion might come in demanding answers or even a duel. “Come on, I’ll talk to Aedion and it will be fine. I’ve got enough blackmail material that I can keep him silent. No one else will know.”

Some emotion flittered over Rowan’s face. It kind of looked like defeat. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’m going to shower, care to join me?” Aelin offered, trying to offer some levity to the situation. And she wanted to wipe that expression off his face. 

“Nah, I should go,” Rowan said with a shake of his head. “Aedion killed the mood.”

He was right, there was a tension between them now, almost awkward. Being caught in a compromising situation was probably to blame. But this morning they would say goodbye until one of them could manage another trip. Aelin would have liked to have spent a little more time with him, doing what they did best. Unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be.

“Until next time, then?” Aelin said, standing from the bed as Rowan sat up. “These are also yours.”

She dropped his underwear on the bed making Rowan let out a breathy chuckle. Before he could ask, Aelin explained. 

“I tripped on them, I’m not one to keep a memento though.” 

“I suppose not,” Rowan’s voice was full of mirth, at least she had accomplished one of her goals for the morning. 

“Aedion is waiting for me so I really am going to jump in that shower,” Aelin explained when a small silence drew out between them.

Rowan went to his knees, Aelin watching his every moment like she wanted to linger in every second she had left in his presence. His words from last night came back to her as Rowan cupped her face, a thumb running along her cheek. 

I’ll miss you. 

Then he kissed her, and she felt the truth of those words in the caress of his lips. It was strange sharing such a soft moment with him, this kiss wasn’t meant to ignite the passion between them and lure her into bed. This kiss was… this kiss was for the hell of it, it seemed. Aelin’s hands went slack at her side, unsure of what they should do. In other circumstances they'd be twined in his hair, urging him closer, taking more. But this felt like it was for her, a gift of a kiss just because he wanted to. 

Aelin’s heart was pounding in her chest when he pulled back, an unsteady rhythm that echoed in her ears. Rowan just smiled at her, his final sweet gesture was tucking her hair behind her ear. 

“Until next time.”

Fleeing might have been an apt description for what Aelin did next. She managed a smile and a nod, recovering some of her bravado and dropped her robe just before she reached the bathroom door. Rowan’s laugh skittered across her skin and things began to feel normal again.

By the time Aelin finished in the shower Rowan was gone, all traces of him, including the tie that had ended up in the bedsheets after last night. Luckily, Aelin had packed just about everything yesterday before going out the bar, so all she had to do was throw in the last of her dirty clothes and her toiletries and she was good to go. She left her damp hair to air dry, twisting it in the hopes it would give it some shape. There was no point in putting any effort into her hair today. There was because Aedion was waiting for her and he’d start getting pissed if she made him wait unnecessarily. There was also the fact she’d be flying out later and any efforts made now would be ruined. 

She did one last check over her suite for anything she might have missed and came up empty handed. The only thing left was her mug of coffee that had long since gone cold. She narrowed her eyes at it, blaming it for the whole disaster that this morning had become. Now it was time to face the music that came in the physical manifestation of her pushy cousin. 

He was waiting for her in the lobby, staying in his seat while Aelin checked out and had the concierge mind her bags while she was out. She’d meet Dorian here later and they’d get a taxi to the airport together. It made her wonder what he had been doing with his down time, and maybe she should have invited him on her outings. Although, if Aelin knew anything about Dorian, he easily would have found his own fun.

Aedion was up and meeting Aelin on the way to the front doors. His lips were tight, like that was keeping his words in. 

“Before we go any further you have to promise me you won’t say a word to anyone, okay?” Aelin said, more than ready to beg and bribe if it came down to it. 

“Fine,” he promised tersely. 

“We driving, or?” Aelin asked once they were out on the street.

“I’m not stupid enough to drive in the city through morning peak hour. We’re walking,” Aedion replied tersely.

“Why are you pissy?” Aelin jogged a few steps to catch up with her cousin. 

“Come on, Aelin. I’m pissed because you didn’t tell me,” Aedion said with a shake of his head. “You had Rowan, in your bedroom naked, it’s pretty obvious what was going on. And you never said a word. Here I was thinking we shared things, that we were besties. Looks like I found a relationship just in time.”

“I didn’t—’’Aelin was about to start defending herself when something clicked and she pulled on Aedion’s elbow to halt him. “You want to talk about relationship secrets? A relationship. Who?”

There was a flash of guilt across his face. “In my defence I was going to tell like right now, except there was a big diversion.”

Aelin fixed him with a grimace. “Are you making a dick joke right now?” 

“I wasn’t, but I guess I am now,” Aedion shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets as his smile taunted her.

“I’m still waiting for my answer.” She refused to move until he answered her, breakfast be damned. 

Her cousin sighed. “Me and Lys—“

“You and Lysandra?” Aelin nearly yelled. “How long? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I could ask you the exact same thing.” Aedion sighed as Aelin fixed him with a look. “Fine, a few months. I was waiting to tell you in person. We’ve kept it quiet because we actually wanted you to be the first person to know.”

“Oh,” Aelin said. “That’s actually really sweet.”

“Yeah, it is,” Aedion agreed. “And I’m rewarded with betrayal. He was my gods-damned hall pass and you didn’t tell me.”

“He’s your hall pass?” Aelin’s voice was incredulous, and something bitter twisted her gut. “He can’t be your hall pass because he—’’

She actually didn’t know how she was going to finish that sentence.

“Because he’s what, Aelin?” Aedion said with enough smugness that had Aelin’s eyes narrowing. “That idea got you feeling a little tense? I would even sound a little jealous.”

“Shut your face,” Aelin snapped, and then she was walking away as fast as she could. Aedion followed after her and she threw her next insult over her shoulder. “I am not jealous and you are a liar.”

It took seconds for Aedion to catch up, his low chuckle grating on her nerves. That laughter was all too easy to read, he thought she was a hypocrite. She was not at all impressed at what he was insinuating, what he might be alluding to. What she and Rowan had was between them and part of the reason they kept their arrangement to themselves was because they didn’t want input from others. It would just complicate things, the only thing that mattered was what they wanted it to be. They had fun, what else mattered?

The cafe they were meeting her parents at came into view and maybe it was petty, but Aelin made sure the door slammed in her cousin's face. She didn’t look back to see his reaction but the heavy and irritated footfalls behind her told her enough. A secret smile tilted the corner of her mouth up. The small victory brought her immense amounts of joy.

Aelin’s parents had already claimed a table in the back courtyard at a small four seat table. They looked pleased to see her, glancing up from their menus and smiling. Aelin went to take the seat next to her mother and then at the last second Aedion swooped in, yanking the chair to the side. If her reaction time had been any slower she would have fallen on her ass. 

“Something’s brewing,” Rhoe said, already picking up on the tension between the bickering cousins. 

“I just hope it doesn’t ruin breakfast,” Evalin added. 

“Oh, Aedion knows plenty about ruining things,” Aelin’s tone was casual, conversational. Like was one of Aedion’s most known faults. 

He just scoffed. “Well, lying seems to come naturally for some.”

“You little—’’

Evalin’s stern voice cut through the ensuing argument. “Hey. Cut it out.” Taken back to their teenage years the cousin’s had enough sense to look contrite. “This is our last family meal for gods know how long and I won’t let this little squabble ruin it. Got that?”

There were murmurs of yes Mum and yes Aunty and then they went back to their menus. They couldn’t let go just yet though, especially not Aelin. Antagonism wouldn’t be the smart course of action, but with that smug and arrogant look on her cousin’s face she couldn’t help it. Aelin shot a scathing look over her menu at him, and Aedion kicked the leg of her chair, she was about to reach for the sachets of sugar when they were pulled out of her reach. 

“Out with it. Now,” Evalin fixed them both with a stare that told them they might not be eating until someone confessed. 

The wooden sugar cup landed on the table with a thud, like a starter gun going off. It would be a race to see who could come out with the least amount of scolding. To save herself and the semblance of privacy that was quickly slipping her fingers, Aelin threw her cousin to the wolves. 

“Aedion has a girlfriend!” 

There was an audible gasp of outrage from beside her. 

Not to be outdone, Aedion had his own shot to fire. “Aelin had a naked man in her room this morning.”

Aelin clutched her menu to her chest as his betrayal stung. “Aedion!”

“Well, that’s something,” Rhoe said, looking a little stunned. Evalin on the other hand appeared more than pleased.

“You said you wouldn’t say anything,” Aelin shot at her cousin. 

“I don’t think I ever said that,” Aedion said, crossing his arms. “Oh, wait. Maybe that make me a liar.”

“I think you both have some explaining to do,” Evalin waved a hand at them. “I am very interested in these developments.”

Aelin gave Aedion a look that said he should most definitely go first, it would buy her some time to figure out what exactly she should tell her parents. She knew her mother at least had been harbouring hopes for her and Rowan. And to find out that he was the naked man in her room would be something she’d be all too pleased to hear about. Maybe Aelin could get away with not specifying who the naked man was if she worded it very carefully and avoided specifics. 

“Lysandra and I have been dating for a couple of months,” Aedion said. “We thought it would be nice to tell everyone when my dear cousin was here so she could hear it in person. We’re considerate like that. We wouldn’t keep something like that secret for I don’t know… How long can you keep a secret like that from your most beloved family?”

Evalin’s eyes darted between the two of them. “That’s wonderful to hear Aedion and I expect more details, but why do I feel like that last little dig has something to do with the, uh, man in Aelin’s room?”

“I’m going to murder you,” Aelin hissed. “Slowly.”

Aedion just grinned like that was a compliment. “Go on, Aelin. Tell us about your boyfriend.” 

“He is not my boyfriend,” Aelin immediately defended. “He’s just a friend.”

“What kind of friend is the question,” Aedion mused. “A buddy we could even say.”

Rhoe was shaking his head, with a mutter of, “Good gods.”

“Who is it?” Evalin asked, focusing her attention entirely on Aelin now. “Is this why you’ve been so sharp lately? And why have you ignored our efforts with Rowan?”

Aelin very literally hid behind her menu. The person she always found the hardest to lie to was her mother, and if direct eye contact was made, she might just figure it out. 

“I think my private life should stay private,” Aelin said to the table.

“You can’t out me so spectacularly and not suffer the consequences,” Aedion whispered to her. “I might just mention the pants on the fan too, while I’m at it.”

“Don’t hold out on me now, Fireheart,” Evalin pleaded. 

Aelin’s eyes shot to Aedion and she could tell that he was about to spill every grizzly detail if she didn’t fess up.

“Fine, it’s Rowan,” Aelin said, snapping her menu flat onto the table. “And before you go and get too excited, he is not my boyfriend and we are not dating. So save any grand ideas for the one in the actual relationship.”

There was a long pause where Evalin just looked and her daughter, turquoise eyes reading into the words that Aelin hadn’t said. It was hard to hide things from Evalin’s discerning gaze and Aelin hoped that she couldn’t read the confusion that had been steadily rising since this morning. All composure was hanging by a thread, but Evalin only held her gaze a short moment longer before she looked away.

“Okay then,” was her simple answer, along with a shrug, as she went back to deciding over the menu. 

And then breakfast went on as if nothing had happened. Aedion freely handed over the details of his relationship now that the bickering had cleared up. Having had it out, all that Aelin felt now was happiness over the recent developments in Aedion’s life. She had watched her cousin and her friend flirt for years and it was wonderful to see that their efforts had paid off. They would be good together, and Aelin was sure she’d spend hours on the phone getting more details from Lysandra. She was nothing but happy for them, and more than relieved when everyone dropped the topic of Rowan and her. But the more she heard about the blossoming relationship the more Aelin’s mood sank, the more it left her feeling oddly hollow. It made no sense.

By the time Aelin was walking back to her hotel she still couldn’t figure out why she felt so disappointed. 

~~~~~

Rowan didn’t know what to do with himself. After getting a quick breakfast from the hotel cafe he'd gone home with the disaster that was this morning still fresh in his mind. It haunted him just as much, even after he was showered and dressed. Aedion had been in the lobby but Rowan managed to avoid him while he was distracted on his phone. Hopefully he was not telling everyone what he’d discovered. One of the reasons Rowan could manage what was between him and Aelin was that no one knowing made it easier. There wasn’t any pressure from outside forces to be more than what they were, or people reading into things that weren’t there. Keeping it secret left no room for judgemental quips like he’d heard from Lorcan last night.  

It seemed that their time was up. Rowan was more than a little disappointed. 

He had no plans for today and he was feeling restless enough that sitting at home would drive him mad. Rowan decided he’d go see his parents, maybe mow the tiny front and back garden of their neat townhouse. It would give him something constructive to do and more importantly distract from the unease that had settled in his chest. This time Aelin’s leaving was doing something to him. All those times before he hadn’t liked it, but it was bearable. This time though…

He was going to miss her. Yes, he would miss the sex, but more importantly it was Aelin he would long for. This time he didn’t want her to go—not at all. If they had been given a different outcome for this morning he might have told her. That in itself was enough to make him uneasy. But it was hard to ignore the myriad of feelings that were becoming more prominent and distracting. Aelin would have laughed it off, made some joke about him not being able to survive without him, but instead they were left in a weird kind of limbo. 

Rowan drove to the outskirts of the city to where his parents lived. Their place was quaint, a nice little semi-detached townhouse on the corner block with a tidy garden both his parents doted over. It was disappointing to see that their lawns were fine, if Rowan were to mow them any lower he’d cut down to the dirt. His plan was unravelling quicker than he could think of a recovery. Being here he might as well go inside, they’d probably noticed his car by now anyway. Delaying any longer would just lead to more questions. 

Parking his car in the driveway, Rowan didn’t bother to knock before he went inside. Although this wasn’t the house he’d grown up in, it still felt like home. They’d moved from Doranelle to Orynth just before Rowan had started high school, but even from house to house over the years his parents had kept the same furniture and knick knacks. It was comforting to know some things never changed. 

“Mam? Dad?” Rowan called as he toed off his shoes at the door. 

“Kitchen!” His mother called from within. 

Family photos lined the walls of the hallway and Rowan’s eyes caught on the one like they had been trained to do. It was a photo of him and Aelin on that fateful graduation day, their blue robes shining in the sun. Aelin looked stunning, her hair makeup perfect, her hair effortlessly styled, a euphoric smile on her face. He had remembered how the sight of her that day had made his heart flip in his chest. In retrospect, that might have been the beginning of the end for him. 

Iris Whitethorn stood at the kitchen bench, her grey streaked auburn hair pulled back in a neat bun to keep it out of her face as rolled out some dough on the floured surface. She glanced up at Rowan, a too-knowing look in her eyes and a self-satisfied smile on her face.

“How are you, Rowan?” She asked, lifting a circular cutter and playfully pointing it at him. 

“Fine,” he replied a little tersely, suddenly feeling like he was walking into a trap. “How are the scones?”

He’d recognised her technique now and had to wait for an answer while she cut out a few portions. 

“My scones will be fantastic,” she said.

“Oh, son,” Rowan’s father had come in from the backyard, sliding the glass door closed behind him. “What brings you here?”

“I came to do your lawns, but,” Rowan said, shrugging instead on finishing the sentence needlessly. 

“Yeah, one of the local kids was after some pocket money,” Evander explained. “We said yes but then had to go over it again anyway to touch it up. A journey wasted for you.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Iris brought the scraps of dough together and rolled it out again. “Evalin just called me.”

Rowan froze, praying to whatever gods that were listening that they had just tried to formulate another set up. 

“How did your pants get on the fan?”

All semblance of hope was shattered in that one question. 

There was a choking sound and the clunk of glass hitting the counter as Evander lowered his drink. “Who’s fan?”

Rowan didn’t want to answer but his mother was all too eager. “Aelin Galathynius’ hotel room fan apparently.”

“Isn’t that the girl you’ve been trying to set him up with?” Evander asked. 

“Apparently the effort was unnecessary,” Iris said in a way that could only be described as triumphant.

Rowan’s cheeks heated and he rubbed the back of his neck. Not only had he been discovered but now he would have to clarify. “We’re not dating.”

The scones were momentarily abandoned, Iris lent her hands on the counter to look at her son without distractions. “I see. Well, one way to fix that is to tell her you’re in love with her.”

“I’m not,” the words came out so fast that Rowan's mouth tripped over them. “I’m not in love with her.”

Iris sighed. “You were always such a terrible liar, so don’t lie to me son.”

The kitchen went silent as those words hung in the air. Iris went back to cutting her scones and Evander decided to make himself busy somewhere else in the house. It left Rowan to think, to contemplate what his mother accused him of. 

“You two did a mighty fine job of hiding it the night we went out for dinner,” his mother said as she brushed milk over the circles she had lined up on a baking tray. “We had no idea you two were… doing what you were doing when we quite blatantly tried to set you up. But there was a reason we did that. Evalin and I hadn’t seen each other in years when we ran into each other in the city, and then we got talking and it was a completely serendipitous moment when we discovered that you would both be back in town.” Iris stopped to put her scones in the oven. “The two of you always got on like a house on fire, and you always get this look on your face when you talk about her. And yes, when we concocted our little scheme we assumed you were just friends. I always got the feeling that there could be something more.”

“Mam, that’s ridiculous,” Rowan said, that denial tasting bitter. 

“Is it though?” When he nodded, she raised an eyebrow at him. “Then why are you miserable right now?”

This time any words contrary to his mother’s accusations never made it out of his mouth. He was miserable because he was gutted. The fact that he would miss Aelin had well and truly settled in him, and he didn’t want her to leave. Not being able to have her near him was enough to turn his mood sour. Rowan didn’t want that, he wanted to wake up next to her more often than not, he wanted to make her laugh, he wanted to be the one that she chose. Each time Rowan saw Aelin it felt like when the sun came out from behind a cloud. It filled him with warmth and joy, and then left him cold and lonely when she was gone. 

He’d been running from it for too long. It was easy to make excuses and to accept whatever Aelin gave him. What he had compartmentalised, consoled and blinded himself with the fact that Aelin didn’t feel the same. Convinced himself that it was clear that she felt nothing more for him than friendship. Then again… if Rowan had been hiding these feelings there might be a chance that Aelin was as well. 

“I have to—’’ Rowan didn’t know how to explain it. “I’ll miss out on the scones but I just have to go.”

“You go get her, boy.” Iris said, beaming at him. “I’ll save you some.”

On his rush to the door, Rowan called out a hasty goodbye to his father and then got into the car so fast he nearly jammed his leg in the door. He drove home, it would be easier to reach wherever Aelin was at his place, or maybe he could even convince her to come see him. Either way, the drive back to the city gave him time to think and for his determination to set. Barely out of the car he had dialled Aelin’s number and had his phone to his ear. He hadn’t got her flight details from her, but he was pretty sure she’d mentioned that her flight was leaving in the evening. It was barely past noon so, there would be time. He would drive to wherever she was, he would find her and tell her how he felt, consequences be damned. He wouldn’t lie to himself or her any more. Aelin was more than worth the risk. 

When the phone rang out to her voicemail he swore and dialled again. When her lovely voice informed him to text instead Rowan took her advice. 

>> Aelin, where are you? Can I see you before you go?

Minutes passed and there was no answer. It was long enough that he was about to send another when a text finally came through. 

<< Hey. Already through security. Guess I’ll see you for the next round. 

Rowan read the words and his chest deflated. All the courage he’d garnered was gone in seconds. He’s run out of time—he’d missed his chance. His brow furrowed as he read it again. Rowan thought that Aelin had told him that her flight wasn’t until the evening, he must have got the times wrong. It could be months before he got the chance to see her again and tell her how he felt. He pushed off his car, resigned to return to his apartment alone. 

It wasn’t until he was enclosed in that apartment that he let the disappointment set in. He contemplated a rush to the airport, a big grand gesture that would sweep Aelin off her feet, before he literally did that himself. Rowan could see it so clearly, he knew every word he would say to her. What he was more unsure of was Aelin’s reaction. Doubt started to creep in, and he became more unsure if she would feel the same. So Rowan reconciled with himself that this was a sign to cool his heels, and until he could be sure of Aelin’s love he would hold back on the grand gestures. He’d waited this long for her, Rowan could wait a little longer. 

~~~~~

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#set up #rowaelin fanfiction

[homomenhommes]

Rice pudding for breakfast? It’s a big yes from me. Inspired by the Swedish dish risgrynsgröt, this fragrant rice pudding is spiced with cinnamon and topped with sweet vanilla citrus for a delicious start to the week.

RECIPE

INGREDIENTS

30g salted butter, plus extra 40g, sliced, to serve

1 cup (200g) arborio rice

4 cups (1L) milk

1 tbs caster sugar

1 tsp ground cinnamon

VANILLA CITRUS

2 oranges, juiced, plus 1 extra, peeled, sliced into rounds

1/2 cup (125ml) pure maple syrup

1 vanilla bean, split, seeds scraped

1 cinnamon stick

1 ruby grapefruit, peeled, sliced into rounds

2 mandarins, peeled, sliced into rounds

METHOD

1.For the vanilla citrus, place juice, syrup, vanilla seeds and pod, cinnamon stick and 2 cups (500ml) water in a medium saucepan over high heat. Bring to the boil, stirring occasionally, then boil for 10-12 minutes until reduced to 2 cups (500ml). Remove pan from heat and add grapefruit, mandarin and extra orange slices. Place a piece of baking paper directly on the surface of the citrus in pan, then carefully rest a small upturned bowl or saucer on top to keep the citrus submerged in the syrup. Set aside at room temperature to macerate while the rice pudding cooks.

2.Place butter, 1 tsp fine salt and 1 1/2 cups (375ml) water in a large saucepan over high heat. Bring to the boil, stirring occasionally. Stir in rice and bring back to the boil, stirring constantly to prevent rice from sticking to base of pan. Once boiling, reduce heat to medium-low and cover.

3.Simmer gently, untouched, for 10 minutes or until almost all water has been absorbed. Stir in milk and increase heat to high. Bring to the boil, stirring occasionally. Once boiling, reduce heat to medium-low and cover. Simmer gently, stirring every 10 minutes, for 30 minutes or until almost all milk has been absorbed and rice is tender. Remove pan from heat and stand, covered, for 5 minutes.

4.Meanwhile, place sugar and cinnamon in a small bowl. Stir well to combine.

5.Spoon rice pudding into serving bowls, liberally sprinkle with cinnamon sugar and lightly press a piece of butter at centre of each. Spoon vanilla citrus on top and serve remaining citrus alongside.

[mytheoristavenue]

OP Usopp x Sick!Reader - What would you say?

Summary: Usopp, wondering why he hadn't seen you all day, finds you very ill in the girls' quarters. After taking you to the sickbay to see Chopper, he refuses to leaver your side.

Warnings: A lot of fluff, a bit of angst, sick comfort.

You groaned, brows knit and chest heaving as you rolled over to face the door of the girls' bedroom. Pulling the covers over your shoulder and against your face, you couldn't help but huff. Why was it so goddamned hot in here? Loosening the tuck of your blanket, you were immediately stung by freezing air, opting to just suffer under the heat of your quilt, than the agonizing needles of the air. What the hell was going on?

Elsewhere, Usopp sat at the dining table eating breakfast with a few other crew members, who lounged as they usually did on a sunny Sunday morning. "Hey, Robin," he asked, breaking the tranquil quiet that seemed to blanket the entire ship. She looked up from the novel she was reading, glancing up at him, and using the break of focus as an excuse to take a sip of tea. "Have you seen (Y/N) today? She never sleeps this late." He wondered, noting that they hadn't docked in weeks, and that they weren't even close to land, so she couldn't have gone on an errand without him knowing.

"I'm not sure she feels well today." Robin answer with a kind smile. "She was still asleep when I got up, and when I offered to bring her anything she declined." Usopp thought on her answer for a moment before she continued. "I touched her forehead and she seemed warmer than usual, so I asked Sanji to brew her some tea that might help a fever come down."

"That's really sweet of you," the sniper remarked, silently worried over his friend's well being. As if on cue, the chef walked over to the table, setting down and small tray holding a cup of steaming tea, and a jammed biscuit on a saucer.

"Here it is now, thank you Sanji," the ravenette nodded to the blonde appreciatively.

"Hey, wait," Usopp interjected as Sanji began to exit the kitchen, tray in hand. "I'll take it to her. I was gonna go check on her anyways." The chef quirked a brow at his friend's sudden willingness to help, but ultimately passed the it over.

"Just make sure she drinks that tea, I hand picked all the herbs myself and I don't want my time going to waste." Sanji advised, turning back to what he was doing before the request. "And you better not drop that, either."

Usopp simply rolled his eyes at his uptightness, descending the hall toward the sleeping quarters. When he arrived at the door of the girls' room, the carefully held the tray in one hand and knocked with the other, wanting to make sure no one else was there. When he got no response, he cautiously twisted the knob and opened the door to reveal you in the first bunk he found, curled up in a pitiful little ball.

"(Y/N), you okay?" he asked inching towards you timidly. "I brought you something from Sanji." You failed to respond, simply panting from under your blanket. Setting the tray down on another bunk, he slowly made his way to your bedside, laying the back of his hand on your forehead. "Shit, you are hot." he remarked, a bit surprised that what Robin had said earlier was true.

"'M fine...go away." you finally mumbled, rolling away from him to face the wall. Usopp sat beside you on the bed, his hand once again against your head, to gauge just how bad your fever was.

"Maybe you should go see Chopper." he suggested, brows knit with concern. "You seem pretty sick." You growled in annoyance, forcing yourself to sit up, and eventually dragging yourself out of bed, standing on the terribly cold floor. He watched you as you walked over to your dresser, picking out your clothes for the day with a worried expression. "I think you should lay back down,"

"I've got too much to do today to just lay in bed all day. I told you I'm...I'm fi...ne..." With that, you instantly hit the floor, fainting in the middle of the room. Usopp bolted up to catch you, but was unfortunately not able to get to you in time.

"(Y/N)! Are you okay? Please wake up!" he panicked, shaking you gently as he cradled you in his lap. When you came to seconds later, you looking up at him, confused and delirious.

"Usopp...what are you doing in here, this is the girls' room..." His face paled as he struggled to find an answer, befuddled that you'd forgotten that he was even there.

"I've gotta get you to Chopper, he'll know what to do." he concluded, trying his best to calm himself down, before scooping you up into his arms and carrying you out of them room. On the way to the sick bay, he noticed you fading in and out of consciousness, your head occasionally slumping to fall limp off the side of his forearm. Once he reached the doctor's office, he immediately burst into the room.

"There's something wrong with (Y/N)!" he shouted to the small doctor, who instructed him to lay you down in one of the beds that lined the west wall.

-----

Some time later, your eyes fluttered open to see that your surroundings were different from how you'd left them. Almost instantly, you were hit with an absolutely splitting headache, surely a side effect of the pressure in your sinuses, and the time unconscious certainly couldn't have helped.

"Oh, (Y/N), I'm so glad you're awake." a shrill voice voice called, accompanied by cloven footsteps making their way over. "You really had me worried." You rolled over to find the Straw Hats' doctor strolling to your bedside, a clipboard in hand.

"Chopper...?" you verbally noted, deducing that if he was here, you must be in the infirmary. "How'd I get here?" you asked, sitting up a bit and looking around.

"Please don't try to get up," he advised, gently pushing you back down. "Usopp said you fainted in your room, and he carried you here." You blushed a bit at the thought, more embarrassed than anything else. You probably looked like such a mess. "Don't worry, though, you haven't been out very long."

"How long exactly?" you wondered, tilting your head a bit, only to correct it, finding that the action made your migraine worsen.

"Almost four hours."

"Four hours?!" you panicked, jumping out of bed, looking all around for your shoes, only to remember you probably hadn't worn any to begin with.

"Please calm down!" Chopper stressed, running to the door to try and block you from it, and pressing his hooves to your shins, in an effort to force you back into bed with his little brute strength. "You're still sick, you shouldn't be out of bed!" Just as you reached the door, you were able to step over him and the corners of your vision began to darken. The last thing you felt was the doctor tugging backward on your left leg, before both buckled under your weight.

Luckily for you, Usopp opened the door just in time for you to slump forward into his arms. He thanked his lucky stars he was able to catch you this time, now maybe he wouldn't feel so bad for the last. Your eyes had hardly even shut before they fluttered open again, gazing up hazily at the sniper for the second time today. "Usoppppp," Chopper whined. "Tell her to stay in bed, she won't listen to me!"

The man's eyes softened exponentially when they shifted back to your sleepy face and he sighed with a kind smile. "You really should rest," he said lightly, helping you back over to your bed and getting you laid down. The small reindeer huffed with crossed arms as he followed the two of you, taking his chart into his hooves again.

"You might as well get comfortable," he pouted, still upset at your lack of care for his professional opinion. "I'm gonna have to keep you overnight, possibly longer."

This perked your interest and you snapped your head to him as he began to read off your chart. "Wait, all night? Why, it's just a little fever, right?" your fretted. "Right?"

"I'm afraid it's not that simple." he sighed, flipping through the pages on his clip board. "(Y/N), have you ever eaten a Devil Fruit before?"

Your eyes widened at the question. Of course you hadn't, you were just a normal person! You didn't have any powers! "No, I think I'd know if I had, Chopper." you rolled your eyes. "What could possibly make you think that?"

"I didn't understand it at first, but your symptoms all align with sea water poisoning, but that could only be the case if you were a Devil Fruit user." He explained, offering for you to look at some of his notes. "Is it possible that you have been in contact with and sea water lately?"

"No, but it wouldn't matter if I had," you answered flatly. "I'm not a Devil Fruit user." Chopper sighed with frustration, rubbing his head and walking away to sit down and review his notes.

"I'm sorry, maybe I made a mistake, I haven't been feeling very good either." he confessed with little energy.

Usopp sat and thought for a moment, looking around for a clue as to what could help solve the mystery. He eventually took to looking you up and down. Maybe you'd been bitten by something and they'd just glossed over it? That's when he noticed how swollen your feet looked. He curiously stood up and studied your soles, which didn't go unnoticed. "Hey, what are you looking at my feet for, you creep?!" you shrieked, pulling your legs up to hug them and hiding your feet.

He simply tilted his head in confusion. "What are those on the bottom of your feet?" He asked causing you to blush with embarrassment. This caught Chopper's attention, who wandered over to see what the fuss was about.

"What's wrong with my feet, huh?" you defended, still hiding them and refusing when the doctor asked to see. After a bit more prodding, you hesitantly, and humiliatingly let the two study your soles for any potential clues.

"They're almost like the pads on cats' paws," Usopp remarked, poking one, causing you to squirm.

"You've had these all your life?" Chopper asked, finally ending his observation and walking to your bedside.

"I wasn't born with them, no, but I've had them since I was little," you answered, still pouting over the whole ordeal. "They just kind of showed up one day. You mean you guys don't have them?"

That's when the pieces fell together for the reindeer. "That's why your steps don't make noise when you walk!" he exclaimed, finally solving the puzzle. "You must have eaten the Shh Shh fruit as a child! It grants the power of stealth, but you've never needed to use it, so you never knew you had it!"

"But I don't ever remember eating a special fruit?" you asked, puzzled by this new revelation.

"Some fruits can look really mundane, or even disguise themselves!" he explain, retrieving a large book and setting it onto your lap, open to a very specific page. "And look! It says here that it was last seen on the island you grew up on!"

You were having a hard time wrapping your head around what he was telling you. You had powers and you never even knew? That seems a little far fetched. "That still doesn't explain why I feel so bad." You reminded him. Chopper thought for a moment before his eyes widened and locked onto the necklace you were wearing.

"When did you find that stone?" he asked, pointing to the pendent.

"Last time we docked, why?" you cocked a brow, holding it close to your chest, afraid he might confiscate it.

"But when did you start wearing it around your neck?" he pressed.

"I just put it on the chord last night, and then I wore it to bed. Again, why?" You were beginning to get irritated with his interrogation. "Chopper, just tell me what's going on."

"That's a seastone." he said so matter of factly. "It has to be. It has the same effect as sea water on Devil Fruit users. That explains why I've been feeling so tired since you came in. You have to take it off."

You hesitated, having grown attached to rock, unwilling to just throw it away, it was special to you. With a bit more persuasion, you reluctantly took it off, dropping it into Usopp's waiting hand, who then pocketed it to keep it from falling into unexpecting possession.

Instant you felt a weight lift off your shoulders. The entire room felt lighter, and your throat ached a bit less. "Now that that's out of the way, we can get you better!" The doctor chirped, already feeling much better himself.

-----

Nearly an hour had passed since your diagnosis with seastone poisoning, and you were still in bed, only this time with a tray of delicious food, curtesy of Sanji, who'd forgiven you for wasting his time by not drinking his tea. Usopp had also left for a bit to take the rock to his workshop, thinking that the shavings from of it might make for a useful bullet for his Kabuto. Chopper had taken this time to fashion a regiment of treatment for your sickness, which consisted of rest, fluids, hearty foods, and a special cocktail of medicines which he made himself. He also recommended you still stay with him until you were better so he could monitor you.

Now that you were fed and hydrated, and had had the first dose of your medicine, all that was left was to rest. A part of you was nervous about spending the night alone in the sick bay. You had gotten so used to sleeping with others in the room through bunking with the girls that you had forgotten what true silence sounded like.

Chopper had long since retired to his sleeping area, a small closet conjoined to the infirmary, and you laid wide awake, staring at the wooden ceiling, wondering when you'd finally fall asleep. A small creak startled you and you shot up to find the door slowly creeping ajar, before you began to make out a long nosed figure peaking in. "You can come in, Usopp."

He accepted your offer, quietly shutting the door behind him, as if he could disturb any other other patients. Tip-toeing, he made his way over to you and sat down at the foot of your bed. "How do you feel?" he asked softly glancing over to you.

"Better." you answered blandly. A beat of silence passed between the two of you before you spoke up again. "I just wanted to say...thank you for bringing me here. You probably saved my life."

Blood rushed to his face as he smiled, a part of him wanting to boisterously accept your thanks, shrugging it off as what any hero would do, but for whatever reason, it didn't feel right in this case. "You're welcome, I was pretty worried about you, ya know?" You nodded in response. This felt so awkward, Usopp could hardly stand it. "Well, it's getting late and you're probably tired so-"

"I can't sleep." You corrected him, looking more passed him than at him. You were incredibly tired, but your anxieties wouldn't allow you and rest.

"Oh," he stiffened at your sudden melancholy, before softening with pity. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I just don't want to be alone." you muttered somberly, pulling your blanket higher over your legs.

"Well," he cleared his throat, looking to the ceiling with a slight blush. "M-Maybe I can sleep with you tonight?" His eyes widened when he realized his poor choice of words and he immediately back tracked. "N-Not like with you, with you, of course! Like in the next bed, I mean. Or in the farthest one if that's what you want, or not at all or-"

"Would you please?" The tenderness and desperation in your voice was almost enough to startle him. "Please, I just won't want to be alone."

His gaze softened as he cast it over you. "S-sure." He confirmed, standing to set himself up in the adjacent bed. As he sat down, untying his hair and kicking out of his shoes, you took a second to take him in. You rarely got to see him in anything casual, let alone pajamas. His hair was wild and free, yet well maintained, forming a spherical mass of coils that spilled from a shallow widow's peak. He lacked any of his common accessories, only dressed in a baggy tan t-shirt and sweatpants. He looked so comfortable as he massaged his fingers into his scalp, releasing some of the residual tension from his ponytail.

Without noticing your admiration, he easily slid beneath the quilt on his bed, snuggling down onto his side, facing you with a kind smile. "Goodnight, (Y/N)." he cooed, letting his eyes fall heavy.

"Usopp?" you whispered guiltily. He had just tried to go to sleep and you were already waking him. He popped one eye open with a snicker, only to have his expression fall into frozen shock when he found you, scooted as far away as you could, holding your blanket up, inviting him into your bed.

"Y-You want me to..." he stammered, failing to find appropriate words for the situation. He didn't want to admit to having the wrong idea.

"Can you could sleep with me?" you asked timidly, unknowingly batting your lashes. "It's just that...my bunk is a little smaller than this so the bed feels so big."

"I could take up some space. I-If that'll help you, I mean." he answered, already sitting up. Before long, he was in your bed, laying on his back, stiff as a board. You wanted so badly to lay your head against his chest. Maybe this was a bad idea after all. "Are you sure this is okay? 't's a little cramped." he admitted with a nervous laugh. Your cheeks burned from embarrassment with the possibility that you were making him uncoverable.

"I'm sorry, I just want to be close to you." you confessed, the urge to cry welling up in your chest, though you suppressed it.

"Really...?" he asked, in awe that someone like you wanted to be near someone like him so badly. You nodded bashfully, before rolling over, already too humiliated to deal with his need for validation. A moment later, you gasped, feeling his strong arms encase you in a loving cage, pressing your back to his chest. "Is this okay?"

You nodded again, feeling your heart swell in your chest. "That feels really nice, actually." you sighed, shimmying your shoulders to be even closer to him. "If I told you I liked you right now, would you leave?"

"No," he confirmed, nuzzling his forehead against the back of your scalp. "If I told you that I think you're the most dazzling woman I've ever met, would you still want me here?"

"I would," you answered, bringing your hands to cover your face, as it was glowing far too bright for your own good. "If you said that, would you mean it?"

"Every word. I wish I could tell you that you're the most inspirational person in my life, that just looking at you're pretty smile makes me want to be the best man I can be." he confessed, his finger tips gently tracing up your arm to find your hand and interlacing with yours. "But I'm worried you'll think I'm a creep."

"I wouldn't think that." you mumbled, pecking a kiss onto the back of his hand. "Would you think I was a creep if I told you that I've wanted to kiss you since the day we met?"

"No," Usopp grinned form behind you, gently breaking away from you to pull you back to face him. "Would you think I was a creep if I told you I wanted to kiss you right now?" You breathlessly shook your head, looking into his eyes as both his hands came up to cup your cheeks, sweetly connecting his lips to yours. Though the contact was short lived, the meaning behind it spoke volumes. He held you like this for a moment, his thumbs just caressing your cheeks lovingly.

"If I told you I loved you, what would you say?" you finally asked, entirely entranced in him.

"I'd tell you it's about time."

#straw hat usopp #usopp x reader #one piece #one piece usopp #op usopp #one piece x reader

[greycaelum]

Second request scenario!

Number 42 ( /^ ▽ ^ )/

Would be extremely fluff and feeling toasted bread is number one my favorite breakfast in bed (≧▽≦)

- Lexi 💜

[ Gentle Affection Collections ]

Jujutsu Kaisen: Gojo Satoru X Reader

[Gentle Affection Collections]

Request 42 [ List is here ]

—breakfast in bed

Notes & Warning: domestic fluff, slow mornings, taking clothes, stolen kisses & bitings, Word Count: ±800

"Sorry about the sudden disappearance, school started this week and my cousin went home thus the long celebration kept the whole family busy. Anyways, I hope you like this piece, coz I know how nice it is to start the day with a hearty breakfast to energize you." —Grey,

Steam

Satoru stirred in his sleep, long arms reaching over the other side of the bed like second nature, searching to feel your warm body, full and soft against his touch, but nothing of such greeted him. He groans and pulls off his eye mask, blinking back the drowsiness to see your bed made and pillows in their place.

"Baby," Satoru hoarsely called out in his deep lazy bedroom voice.

Pulling off the covers he grab his boxers and slid them on. Roaming his eyes to search for his shirt, just the same time as the door opened and heavy steps tread in the room. Satoru perked up and snickered, biting his lower lip at your animated figure. With his oversized shirt hang loosely over your body almost like a dress that you don't need to wear shorts.

"Morning" you greeted with a tray of steaming breakfast in your hand. Setting it down on the table you skip to Satoru's direction and flung yourself into his waiting arms.

"Hmmm, mornin' pretty. Why'd you leave the bed?" Satoru rasped, catching your sweet weight. Lanky arms grab your butt to hoist you up his lean waist.

Satoru buried his face into your hair, inhaling your scent that sent his nerves at ease. Subconsciously you wrap your legs around him and giggle, feeling the tip of his nose nuzzling your neck and hugging your waist tighter. 

"5 more minutes, just..." Satoru urged you. "...stay still."

A loud gurgling growl in the quiet room interrupted the sweet moment with the silly awkward silence. Heat surged through your cheeks, bashfully hiding your face into the juncture of Satoru's shoulders.

"I'm hungry, let's eat." A little whine can be heard in your small voice as you pepper the tip of Satoru ears down to the ridge of his neck with kitten kisses.

With amusement in his sigh Satoru help you down, landing your ass on the soft mattress of the bed's edge and then sauntered to the coffee table where the breakfast is placed. He took the tray and delivered it in front of you on the bed.

The tray laid filled with sumptuous meal. A bowl of sliced fruits, kiwi strawberries, blueberries and bananas. A plate of eggs, hotdogs, ham and bacon. Saucers of chocolate, mapple and butter and six loaves of toasted slice bread. With the steam of coffee couldn't be more perfect.

"I used the coffee beans you got me," you took a generous sip on the Blue Mountain coffee, the smooth with a hint of floral tone seep through your taste buds.

Satoru's nose wrinkled at the idea of drinking bitter coffee for caffeine in such early morning. He never like bitter things.

With the bread knife he generously spread the chocolate syrup on his toast. The dark sweet drip down his wrist and he quickly lick it off and took a huge bite, savoring the breakfast you took effort to prepare.

"I'd give everything to start the day like this," he hummed as he makes your toast with a sunny side up egg toped with bacon and ham, just the way you like it.

"Just seconds ago you're whining I left you." You rolled your eyes but opened your mouth when he fed you the toast.

Satoru grinned at your smile when you asked for more of the toast he made, making sure you bite a large chonk, your cheeks puffed like an adorable chipmunk with a peanut.

Sipping his cup of coffee, the strange absence of bitterness brought the smile on Satoru's face even brighter.

He leans over and press a wet kiss on your cheek and a few more playfully smearing your face with his messy and coffee flavored smacks making you squirm in protest with your lips pursed and huff.

"Satoru!"

"Thanks for the breakfast."

You pouted, feeling your sticky cheeks but move to lean over, grabbing the back of Satoru's neck to press your sweet lips against his. You gently swipe over the lower plump of his lips, savoring the sweet aftertaste of his chocolate toast and pulled away with a proud smirk on your lips.

"Thanks for the... kiss?" You smirked and went back to your egg ham & bacon toast.

Satoru chuckled, running his hand over his grinning face, unable to hide the blooming smile before biting the toast you're offering to him when he's already so much full with all the fluttering butterflies swarming in his stomach early 6 in the morning.

With your legs crossed and the steam of the warm breakfast between you and Satoru, the knowing smiles plastered on your peaceful and happy faces tells this day is gonna be a good day.

—GreyCaelum

PLAGIARISM IS A CRIME

Check out the Masterlist for more

All rights and credits of the Jujutsu Kaisen character(s) mentioned image(s) and song(s) used belongs to their respective owner(s)

General Series Taglist: @ice-icebaby @aeanya @gumidreams

#[gentle affection collections] #gojo satoru imagines #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #gojo x y/n #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jjk gojo fluff #jjk gojo x reader #greycaelum #jujutsu kaisen imagines #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #jkk gojo fluff #gojo x reader fluff #satoru gojo x reader #married gojo fluff #gojo satoru fanfic

[fancyfeathers]

Society of Protection (Yandere Bungo Stray Dogs x reader x original characters) (normalized yandere au)

Chapter Two,

Broken and Bandaged

Prologue and oc intro

Chapter one

Before parting Gaston gave you his address, his apartment was about two blocks away. So in the morning you got showered and dressed but skipped breakfast as to get something with Gaston. You made your way into the busy streets of Yokohama, the crowd buzzing around you. The walk to to Gaston’s apartment building was quick but it took you to the edge of one of the finer areas in town. You now stood in front of the apartment building Gaston lives in, and looking at it you were able to process that the building is off in itself, something you would find in a country like Austria or France, fine architecture, and engravings like an angel made them. The building took your breath away, but you gathered yourself and made your way inside. Gaston lives on the top floor, one of the penthouse like apartments here, there being 5 others, the building may not be long but it was big and that was for sure.

Gaston lived in the second apartment on the fifth floor, 502 was the door number. You knocked and you suddenly heard the sputtering of footsteps and paper and a few off notes hit on the piano. Then you heard a startled voice behind the door. “One moment!”

Yes that was Gaston, you thought, laughing to yourself. The door swung open after a moment and you see a very flushed Gaston. He was not wearing a fine suit like the night prior but a white button up shirt, blue vest, black slacks, and brown leather loader. His hair is ruffled up and glasses pushed up into his messy hair. “Sorry about that, just… unpacking, yes that’s right. Please come in, I can make some tea before we go.”

He steps aside for you to step in and you might have guessed it but now you know. Gaston Leroux is rich. The room looked like a mix between a ballroom, with a piano in the center of the room and nice hardwood flooring beneath your feet, and a library with the twenty five foot tall book cases covering ever wall, the book cases were a bit empty at the moment with boxes scattered across the room in stack and full of books and other nicknacks. He closes the door behind you and walked over to the piano that had a tea set on top of it. “I’m so sorry about the mess, my maid and I were unpacking last night after I got back home and just got distracted. I had to leave most of my collection back in Paris to I’m afraid I don’t have much to share.” 

“It’s fine…” You were star stuck as you look around at the beautiful room around you. Gaston doesn’t notice your wonder as he poured the hot tea from the pot into two cups. Your mind wonders where Gaston works to be able to afford a place like this. “How the hell did you afford this, I thought you worked as a composer?”

He chuckled as he walked over to you and handed you a fine metal tea cup and saucer to you. “I do, I do, I work as a composer for the Paris Opera House, a rather respectable job for someone like us. But this building is actually owned and designed by a good friend of mine, Victor Hugo. He lives three doors down actually.”

“Your friend designed this building?!” You were in shock and nearly dropped your teacup. How impressive was Gaston? Did he have an ability as a cherry on top? He nodded and guided you over to the couch, a fine velvet couch. “You’re more impressive than I thought.”

“Why thank you, it took me a lot to get were I am today. I just followed my dreams.” He says before taking a sip of the tea and when he sets it down on his saucer it doesn’t even make the smallest clink. “It’s black tea, with a bit of milk. Sorry I couldn’t prepare what you liked, my maid had this prepared before she left for groceries.”

“It’s fine, the tea is… nice.” Something about his words stuck a cord within you. Following dreams, something you always wanted to do but your status in life held you back. His expression changed and he said his tea cup down as he looks at you with a questioning eye.

“Are you alright, (Name)? Food for thought?” His voice was gentle, kind, compassionate. Something about it hit you just right… like a warm blanket, and you cracked.

“I just wish I could follow mine… my dreams that is. You know how hard it is, I just want you have a peaceful life.” You set your tea cup down as the words came out and your words and voice trembled. Gaston set his tea cup down and took your hands and squeezes them. His expression is kind but almost stern in a way.

“You can, you can, you just cannot let them get to you, (Name). They may run this society we call life but they do not own us .” His words are passionate and almost filling for lack of a better word. Then without a thought, you lunge forward and hug him, still shaken up, but Gaston is warm and you can smell the scent of peppermint, like the ones old woman would have. It’s comforting. Startled, but he still hugs back, giving a gentle squeeze. He held you for a moment before releasing and resting his hands on your shoulders and giving another squeeze. “How about we go to breakfast like we promised?”

“That sounds wonderful, Gaston.”

—————————

You left his apartment, if you can call it that, and made your way to one of your favorite cafes, Cafe Uzumaki, it was under a detective agency you think. Gaston held the door open for you as you stepped inside and he followed. Gaston hummed and tucked his hands in his pockets as he took it all in. “I like this place, reminds me of home.”

“Paris? I’ve always wanted to go.” You commented as you lead him to a booth along the wall with stained glass windows. He sat down across from you and  gazed out the window a small smile on his face. You followed his gaze and you saw that he was gazing at a bed of flowers. “City of love they say, not so sure of that anymore.”

“Love, jealousy, hatred, burst out around us in harrowing cries. It is we who should be able to have control over those emotions for they are ours, ours to feel, ours to live, and ours to give.” His voice sounds distance almost as if he’s speaking from a million miles away. “The city didn’t earn that name for nothing, it just needs… to find itself again.”

At that time the waitress came up to your table, she was a dainty looking woman, a dress similar to that or a European maid, and her hair done up in a tight bun. “Good to see you again (Name), it’s been awhile, the usual I’m guessing?”

“Yes, the usual.” 

She glanced over at Gaston whose gaze is still fixated on on the flowers outside. “For your friend?”

“The same.” You answered. She nodded and ran off behind the counter to give the barista the order. You watched the barista make your drinks and prepare your sweet treat for breakfast, both you and Gaston looking in opposite directions. Suddenly you feel his fingers intertwine with yours across the table. You quickly glance over at him and his face turns to you and he mouths.

“Just play along. Please.”

At that moment the cafe door swung open and stepping in we’re two men, a blond with a notebook and a brunette with bandages wrapped around his arms and neck. You recognized them as members of the Armed Detective Agency, not celebrities but recognizable in this neighborhood and it seems Gaston recognized them as well. They sat down at the bar, near the barista who was preparing your order, it see,ed like they weren’t paying you attention but then you saw the brunette’s head turning and-

“Mon ange, do you remember that trip to Perros-Guirec? To visit my father’s grave?” Gaston turned to you, clearly noticing the slight movement from the man at the counter. Gaston’s words ran in your mind, play along. You have done this before with your other friends while out, what’s another time? You had to respond and quickly.

“Y-yes, yes!” You snapped yourself out of your thoughts and looked at Gaston with a fake look in your eyes, a pretend love. “Two years ago, during the summer, right?”

Gaston hummed in response and side eyes the man as he slowly glanced over his shoulder at the two of you. Gaston’s eyes quickly looked back at you and nodded with a loving smile. “Yes, we went to that one pâtisserie, that had the best macarons, the messy ones.”

You forced a laugh and nodded. “Yes, I remember, you bit into one and strawberry filling went everywhere, all over your shirt and face!”

“And you had to spend hours getting it out of my hair!”

“We’ll it’s not my fault you’re so-“

“Now you two are just exaggerating, you two can relax, it’s not like I bite.” A voice interrupts the two of you, the bandaged brunette. He spun around on his stool to face the two of you. He wore a clear smirk on his face that sent chills down your spines. “I know for a fact that you have never been to France because for the last four years you have been working at that same flower shop on the corner, five days a week for every week since you started, you wouldn’t of had the time to travel to France, let alone to Perros-Guirec.”

Gaston’s smile fell and he was about to say something before the blond piped in. “That’s enough, Dazai, leave them alone. It’s too early for this anyway.”

The brunette, Dazai sighed and turned around in his chair and started talking to the blond man, you were to dazed to listen in, but Gaston wasn’t, he kept an ear on them as your drinks and snacks came. The table was silent as you two ate and drank.

You glanced down at your watch  as you finished up and saw you were running a tad behind schedule, you looked over at Gaston, who was still sipping his drink. “Gaston, I have to go, my shift starts in half an hour, I’ll just pay-“

“No need, I can handle it, go ahead (Name). I’ll see you around.” Gaston gestured his head to the door and you quickly got up and ran off to make it to work on time. Gaston meanwhile just sat there, finishing his drink. The blond from the detective agency had left at this point, leaving only him and Dazai together. Gaston stood up from his seat, leaving his empty cup behind along with payment, much more than what was needed but it wasn’t a big deal to him, and went up to the counter and sat next to Dazai. The two sat in silence for a long moment before Gaston spoke up. “I may not know exactly what game you are playing, but I know who you are, Osamu Dazai.”

Dazai raised an eyebrow to Gaston who sat next to him but never looked at him. “That’s something considering I have no idea who you ar-“

“Gaston Leroux. Not that you’ll find anything you want to know about me.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because I know how to keep my secrets hidden which is much more than you can say. One hundred and thirty eight counts of conspiracy to murder, three hundred and twelve counts of extortion, and six hundred and twenty five counts of assorted fraud. To say the least, I do my research. The board is set and the game is on.”

“And so it is, and so it is.”

#yandere bungo stray dogs x reader #yandere bungou stray dogs #yandere bsd #original character x reader #bungou stray dogs oc #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader #yandere dazai #yandere chuuya #yandere mark twain #yandere mori ougai #yandere Fukuzawa #Yandere Edgar Allan Poe #Yandere John Steinbeck

[thenovelartist]

The Coffee Conundrum - Honkai: Star Rail fanfiction

None of my DanStelle fanfictions were coming together for 2 weeks, but I get inspired to write this in 2 days flat. Go figure.

I love all the mentions against Himeko's coffee, and after Welt mentioned he'd never recover from it, this plot bunny took off. Enjoy!

Pom-pom held much pride for being among one of the first trailblazers to board the Astral Express. Although, Pom-pom did not care to recall the embarrassing story of what actually happened, instead focusing on the achievement instead. However, there was a drawback to being one of the first trailblazers aboard.

Namely, there was no one to warn an unsuspecting Pom-pom about the dark brew known as “Himeko’s Morning Coffee.”

“Come have a seat. I brewed you some coffee.”

At the time, Pom-pom was flattered by the woman’s invitation for drinks and breakfast. “Pom-pom is ever so thankful for the consideration.”

The scent was incredibly strong, but it still smelled nice. The few times that Pom-pom had indulged in coffee, it was always satisfactory. Surely this time would be no different. If anything, it should be amazing, considering all the time Himeko had put into brewing the drink this morning.

However, nothing could have prepared Pom-Pom for the thick, bitter sludge that was ingested that day. One little sip, and Pom-pom saw stars. And not the ones rolling past outside.

“Do you like it?” Himeko asked.

Pom-pom wasn’t sure how long it took for the haze to clear and to come back down reality after being sent into the outer limits of space, but the little conductor had half a mind to give Himeko a scolding for the disgusting drink.

But upon seeing the worried expression of Pom-pom’s treasured companion, the person who kindly allowed Pom-pom to stay after stowing away, that decision had to be rethought.

Calmly as possible, Pom-pom replaced the cup Astral Express Motor Oil on the saucer while sweat threatened to start running down Pom-pom’s ears. “It is not to Pom-pom’s taste.”

~~~

Welt was certain that it would take a lot of time before he stopped feeing gravely indebted to Himeko. Allowing a stranger like him to board her star train as a permanent resident and co-worker was beyond gracious and bold. He had to admit that he greatly admired those qualities in her.

“Welt, would you like to join me for coffee? I’d love to get to know my new trailblazer better.”

As if he would decline. “I would love to join you.”

“Wonderful.”

So, he took a seat at the table in the parlor, watching the stars roll by as they traveled to their next destination, wherever that may be. Besides the conductor, he and Himeko were the only ones left on the train at the moment, Welt’s companion having chosen to stay on the last planet instead of agree to partake in Himeko’s risky lifestyle. But Welt had no where else to go, and he saw value in the choice presented before him. Hence, he’d agreed.

“Here we are.” Himeko rolled up a cart of coffee and snacks, grinning proudly as she did.

Welt couldn’t help but smile as he looked over the impressive array of treats on the cart. “That’s quite a spread.”

She shrugged dismissively as she started transferring things to the table. “It’s been a while since I’ve had someone agree to travel with me. So I might have gotten a little carried away.”

“Well, I’m honored.”

Her grin was bright as she took a seat and started pouring two cups of coffee.

And that’s when the smell hit him. It was quite potent, which was the only indication he had that this woman enjoyed her coffee stronger than most. However, there was nothing wrong with that; everyone had their own tastes.

“Hope you enjoy,” Himeko said with a smile.

“I thank you.”

He should not have. Because dear Aeons above.

After downing far too large a sip of the… er, strong coffee, he set his cup down with a shaking hand.

“How is it?” she asked.

Looking at this lovely young lady before him, hopeful and happy to share a drink with her new companion, Welt knew there was only one thing he could do.

“It is…” He coughed, trying to keep his voice even and expression calm as he lied about the frankly atrocious drink before him. “A stronger blend than I am used to.”

Himeko’s expression fell slightly, more out of concern than disappointment. “Would you like some sugar or cream?”

Normally, the answer would be no as he preferred his coffee black. However, in this case, an exception would be made. “Some cream, please.”

He tried to limit the added dairy, attempting—and failing—to find the balance of not adding so much as to insult but just enough to make the rest of the cup palpable. It would be a miracle if his scorched taste buds would ever recover from this. By the time he finished, he decided that would be the first and last cup of Himeko coffee he would ever accept. His stomach literally could not handle another cup.

Ever.

It was after that day he realized there were many things he admired about Himeko. Including her incredible ability to make deadly cups of coffee capable of incapacitating a man.

No wonder she wasn’t worried about strangers on board her train.

~~~

Dan Heng had been warned about Himeko’s coffee very early on by Welt. Having lived his life thus far with very limited luxuries sans the occasional cup of tea, he had never had coffee. However, the smell always hung heavy in the air each morning, just enough for Dan Heng to grow curious.

“Do you enjoy coffee, Dan Heng?” Himeko inquired, elegantly holding her teacup just off the table before her. “Or are you a fan of tea?”

He looked over at the red-head woman. “Although it is a rare occasion that I drink tea, that would be my answer. I have never had coffee before,” he mentioned.

“Oh! Then would you like to join me for a cup?”

Dan Heng mulled over her question for a moment before accepting. After all, this was the woman who had graciously accepted him on her star train as a bodyguard with almost no questions asked. To turn down her kind invitation would be an insult Dan Heng did not wish to give.

He sat down across from her as Himeko pulled another cup off a tray then she filled it with a thick, black liquid.

The scent was even stronger when set right before him, and as he stared at the steam wafting up from the cup, he began to have second thoughts. However, he was not one to waste food, particularly food he had already accepted. Hence, he raised the cup to his lips.

Before he could even take a sip, he had to pause. That was… extremely pungent. And with a smell like that, the taste was certain to be just as strong. He took a second to steel his resolve before finally taking a sip.

Wow. That… that could kill a man.

“What do you think?” Himeko inquired.

Dan Heng did not usually mince words, but out of respect for the favor this woman had shown him, he would make an exception this once. “I cannot say this would be my preferred drink.”

Her expression fell. “I suppose not everyone has a taste for coffee. Would you prefer tea instead?”

Although his stomach was already clenching in protest, he shook his head. “It’s fine. I don’t like to let food go to waste.”

“As admirable as that is, you don’t have to force yourself to drink it,” she kindly assured.

Oh, but he would. Himeko had graciously given him this potent poison for him. Least he could do was accept her generosity. Besides, if he couldn’t handle this, who knows if he could handle foods on other planets. “It’s fine.”

Two-thirds of a cup later, he had to admit defeat or he feared he would soon find himself back on his home world, reincarnated. “Thank you for the generosity.”

“You’re welcome. But next time, you don’t have to force yourself to drink it. I’ll make you tea.”

His stomach flinched at the mention of more drinks. Beyond that, another part of him feared her tea considering how potently she brewed her coffee. However, he didn’t want to sound rude or ungrateful at the moment. So he simply answered, “That… might be preferable.”

After dismissing himself, he headed to the archives, where he collapsed into a chair

And could not move.

Suddenly, his previous thought of her coffee being poison might not have been that far off.

Some time later—Dan Heng wasn’t certain how long; he felt like his life was flashing before his eyes—Welt made an appearance in the archives. “Forgive the intrusion, but I heard you joined Himeko for coffee.”

Much to his embarrassment, Dan Heng could barely move to greet the man. It took all he had to pick his head up and meet Welt’s gaze. “Against your prior warning, yes, I did. I regret not taking it more seriously.”

Welt hummed in sympathy. “How are you fairing?”

“Not as well as I’d anticipated.”

He gave a chuckle of pity. “Would you like something for your stomach?”

Dan Heng shook his head, but the motion only worsened the queasy feeling in his stomach. “I don’t believe I can stomach anything at the moment. Though I appreciate the concern.”

“Just some stomach medicine. I had to use it after my first bout with Himeko’s coffee.”

Dan Heng quirked a brow. “And it helped?”

“Took the edge off, yes. The rest I had to sleep off.”

He could manage that. “I’ll take you up on that.”

“Then I’ll be right back.”

True to his word, Welt returned within a minute bearing a little pill and a glass of water that Dan Heng gladly accepted.

“Give it about ten minutes to fully kick in,” he said. “But it will help settle the queasiness.”

Dan Heng simply nodded his appreciation.

“But I should warn you about what happens after.”

At that ominous words, Dan Heng quirked a brow at the older man.

Welt gave him a pitying smile. “Sorry if this sounds… graphic, but you should be warned about the possibility of an… unpleasant bathroom break in your future.”

… Dan Heng did not like the sound of that.

~~~

March 7th had a lot to learn after agreeing to stay on the Astral Express. And considering just how many rules there were, sometimes there were pieces of information that went in one ear and out the other. Hey, it wasn’t like she was trying to forget about it! It was just a lot of information that she was bound to mix some up at some point, right? So you couldn’t blame her for mistaking Mr. Yang’s warning about Himeko’s coffee for a simple caution.

“March,” Himeko called out. “Would you like to join me for coffee?”

It had been four days since March had joined the Astral Express crew. She’d learned generally where things were on her new home but still had much to get a grasp on. So sitting down to chat with the only other female on the train seemed like a great way to relax. “Sure! I’d love to!”

However, the smell of the coffee, one that only got stronger as March got closer, suddenly had her doubting her relaxation assumption.

“Here.” Himeko set a delicate cup down in front of March. “Are you a cream and sugar person?”

“I… don’t really know,” she answered truthfully, a tinge of sadness and fear welling up in her gut as she looked over the spread of things before her.

“Well, why don’t you try it first, then add some to your liking. If you mess up, I can make another cup for you.”

Himeko was really kind that way. It made March feel welcome and included. But she also didn’t want to be that much of a burden. They had just melted her from ice, after all, and there was still an odd stain on the parlor carpet from it that Pom-pom complained about when March wasn’t in the room.

Not like it was her fault! She knew that. It was just… still made her feel a little guilty.

“Thanks!” Doing her best to shove her worries aside for now, March gladly took the cup of coffee and raised it to her lips

And proceeded to gag.

Good grief, the smell of it!

“Something wrong?” Himeko asked.

“No, no,” March awkwardly said, trying once again to raise the cup to her lips

Only to almost drop it as she gagged again.

Across the room, she thought she caught Dan Heng turning away, a fist to his mouth.

Was he laughing at her? She was dying from the stank of the forbidden sludge, her eyes and mouth watering in protest, and he was laughing at her? The nerve!

“Er…” She picked herself back up to look at Himeko, who wore an unreadable expression. With an awkward smile, March set the cup back down on the little plate—what was that thing called again? “I… think I wasn’t a coffee fan. Sorry.”

Himeko giggled, waving her hand in dismissal. “It’s okay. And now you know a little more about yourself.”

This woman was so sweet.

But her coffee was decisively ruining the moment, so March excused herself and walked off back to her room.

No, she went to the bathroom. She needed a moment to pull herself together after almost throwing up her non-existent breakfast.

~~~

Stelle had been warned very early on by a very adamant March to avoid Himeko’s coffee like the Anti-matter Legion. In fact, if it were between facing the Anti-matter Legion and Himeko’s coffee, chose the Legion.

Which was enough to appropriately worry Stelle.

But then Pom-pom made the comment that Dan Heng regularly tested his resolve against Himeko’s coffee, and a competitive streak a mile wide flared within her. Because if Dan Heng could do it, then Stelle could, too, right?

So when Himeko invited her to coffee, she agreed.

Across the table from Stelle, March, who sat holding a glass of some milk and sugar concoction, shot her an “are you crazy?” glare whenever Himeko wasn’t looking.

It wasn’t like Stelle didn’t understand where March was coming from. As she watched Himeko pour the surprisingly thick, extremely dark liquid out of the pot into the cup that sat before Stelle, she realized just why March had given her that warning. And the smell…

Aeons, she’d dug through trash cans that smelled sweeter.

“Hope you enjoy.”

… Was it too late to back out?

Sadly, one glance at the happy red-head woman shot enough guilt through Stelle that she forced a smile as she picked up the cup and raised it to her lips.

The moment it hit her tongue, she almost recoiled. Wow, that was…

It was…

She was pretty sure Clara could use it for robot oil.

“Is it okay?”

Wide-eyed, Stelle looked up at Himeko. Behind the worried woman was March, who smugly sipped her drink with the most “I told you so” look Stelle had ever seen in her life.

“Er, it’s… fine?”

“Fine?” Himeko repeated, slightly confused.

“Y-yeah,” she lied, slowly setting the cup back on the saucer. “It’s just… I just remembered I left a mess in the archives, and Dan Heng is going to have a fit if I don’t clean it up.”

“Surely it can wait until you’ve finished your coffee,” Himeko said.

“Well… you see…” Stelle slipped out of her seat, already stepping away from the table. “He already told me multiple times, and so I better… go. ThanksForTheCoffee.”

And with that, she skedaddled out of there faster than when the Silvermane Guards were on her tail.

She threw open the door to the archives and bolted inside.

“Stelle?”

Oops.

She turned around to see a very confused Dan Heng there.

Sheepishly, she shot him a grin before remembering Pom-poms words. “You,” she began, pointing her finger at him. “Have all my respect.”

Apparently, he could get more confused, his brow somehow quirking up even higher.

“How do you not die from drinking Himeko’s coffee?”

At that, his expression relaxed, turning almost amused. “The Aeon’s mercy, apparently.”

Yeah, she could believe that.

~~~

From as early as Himeko could remember, the coffee had always been a staple of her household, so it wasn’t a surprise she’d be introduced to it at a young age. And when she had found the broken Astral Express, abandoned in a heap on her home world, coffee had been her constant companion, giving her the energy to keep moving forward in the repairs.

Hence, when she finished the repairs and left her home world to begin her journey among the stars, it was coffee that kept her grounded, that gave her a little taste of home wherever she went. So when she started bringing other trailblazers aboard, she was excited to introduce them to her favorite drink, slightly hoping they would return the favor of introducing her to something they held dear.  

However, something soon became evident. Her coffee was not to anyone else’s liking.

Ever.

She’d had some sneaking suspicions at the beginning, but it really didn’t take long for her to get the hint.

Pom-pom had been easy to read. Her poor conductor, watching the sweat start to form across that adorable little face was almost painful to watch. That one she felt guilty for, but she had to admire Pom-pom’s ability to handle that little encounter with some grace.

Then came Welt. Bless his heart, he tried. Aeons, did he try. And he almost succeeded in duping her in his ability to handle it. But it wasn’t until she caught the poor man passed out, red faced on the couch in the parlor did she realize the truth. He looked dreadful, and the little bottle of stomach medication that was on the side table next to him proved that her coffee wasn’t sitting well with him.

She made sure to tell him afterwards to be honest with her next time while also thanking him for trying to be a gentleman. Sheepishly, he promised to do so. It was the start of the open pathway of communication built between them that she so greatly appreciated and had yet to find with any other member.

Next came Dan Heng. By now, she’d had seen enough reactions to know that her coffee was generally considered too strong for almost everyone, so it was probably a little sadistic on her part to introduce Dan Heng to coffee this way. But she couldn’t help it. And like Welt, Dan Heng sat there stone-faced while he drank as much of it as possible. He’d actually impressed her at the time. He had gumption, she’d give him that. It might have been mean to say, but it ultimately made her feel reassured that this man of iron will was the Astral Express’ body guard.

Furthermore, it highly amused her that he dared to continue testing his resolve against it. She once tried to make it even stronger to see if he could manage it. He’d caught it right away and glared at her for a half a day after that. She accepted every well-deserved glare with a too-proud smile.

March had made it almost impossible to keep a straight face. She hadn’t even been able to take a sip, the smell alone causing her to dry-heave like a cat choking on a hairball. Poor girl had gone white as a sheet as she’d made her escape. Himeko would have felt worse for breaking into a giggle fit if Dan Heng hadn’t been there smiling as well.

Afterwards, Himeko made sure to brew a much weaker version for March, doctoring it up with milk, sugar, and chocolate before offering an apology as well as assuring March that her reaction had been adorable. It was clear March didn’t know how to take Himeko’s teasing, her reaction somewhere between mad and embarrassed. Thankfully, the new, much more acceptable drink had successfully smoothed everything over.

Stelle handled it decently well, her expression simply blank after taking a sip. But Himeko had caught the way Stelle’s nose twitched at the cup set before her, and her frozen state afterwards had only proven that she’d not been expecting what she’d just drank. For a moment, Himeko wondered if Stelle would also attempt to drink the coffee out of politeness, but then the girl had set it down, running off with her metaphorical tail between her legs.

Apparently, not even Stellarons could handle Himeko’s coffee.

So yes, Himeko knew what her brew was capable of. And she used it to her advantage. After all, as much fun as it would be to be able to share a slice of her home with her companions, she was able to find just as much enjoyment out of tormenting them with it. 

#honkai star rail #honkai fanfic #honkai himeko #astral express family #humor #3k of Himeko purposefully tormenting people with her coffee #enjoy