#now latee though is more in the realm of possibility

[miaroseindreamland]

Reaction to MOM'S DAY

Hyung Line

Maknae Line

HAN JISUNG

You arrive home after a long day's work, eagerly anticipating a relaxing family evening. Due to your husband's unpredictable schedule, dinner together is a rare treat. As you step through the door, your husband greets you from the couch.

"Sorry I'm late, honey," you say, shrugging off your jacket.

"Good evening to you too. How was your day?" he asks, approaching you with a smile.

"Pretty good. And yours? How was our little troublemaker?" you reply, leaning in for his welcoming kiss.

"She kept me on my toes, that's for sure. She's in her room. Dinner is almost ready."

"Ready? Babe, did you cook for us?" you ask, pleasantly surprised.

"Do you honestly think I'd let you cook tonight? And..." He gives you a box of your favorite gummies and chocolates.

"Hmm?" you murmur, momentarily puzzled. "Oh my, is something special today?" you ponder, trying to recall the significance of the date. "It's not our anniversary, it's not my birthday... or yours... or Eunae's..."

"Y/n, it's Mother's Day today."

"Ohhhhhh, I completely forgot!" you chuckle.

"I'm not sure how that's possible, but it seems my memory serves me better than yours." He said.

"That's precisely why I married you," you tease, returning his kiss.

"Was that the only reason?" He asked

"Well, among other perks. But perhaps I'll show them later," You tease back, playfully tickling you as you laugh. "Stoooop, Sungiieeee," you protest.

"Alright, but be prepared for round two later," he warns with a grin, before heading to the kitchen. "If the kitchen explodes, I promise to call for backup."

"Don't even joke about it," you warn, though a smile lingers on your lips as you happily make your way to your daughter's room.

"Mommy!" your adorable daughter greets you, proudly displaying the paper she's been drawing and painting on.

"Oh, sweetheart!" you exclaim, scooping her up without noticing her glitter-coated hands. "So much glitter, Eunae."

"Daddy got it for me," she explains. You hug her tightly before setting her back down at her little table, where she continues her artistic endeavors. "Happy Mother's Day!" she announces, proudly showing you her drawing of three figures. "Eunae... Daddy and Mommy!" she declares, pointing out each character.

"It's beautiful, Eunae! Mommy loves it so much!" you say, kissing her cheek and hugging her tightly. "Oh, my little quokka, I love you to the moon and back!"

"I love you, Mommy," she replies, returning your embrace, leaving you now adorned with glitter.

"Did you have fun today?" you inquire, reaching for a tissue to wipe her hands clean.

"We got food, and paintings, and clothes, and glitter!" she recounts excitedly.

"Did you enjoy shopping with Dad?" You nod, smiling at the thought.

"Uncle Minho was there, and I saw Haneul and Hanwool Oppa!"

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, she did. Tell Mommy what happened." Jisung appears in the doorway, prompting Eunae to cast her eyes downward. "Some girls asked for an autograph, and she spoke up."

"What did you say?" you ask, glancing at your husband as Eunae pouts.

"The girls were nice and asked if she was happy to have a handsome father," he explains. "She clarified that Minho was not her father."

"Eunae, you hurt Dad's feelings!" you laugh, pulling her into a hug. "Dad is very handsome, sweetie."

"But Uncle Minho is even more handsome," she states matter-of-factly, causing Jisung to gasp dramatically.

"You see? You see? Imagine Minho's reaction to that. Now I'm not sure if our little quokka deserves ice cream for dinner," he says, earning a glare from Eunae and a laugh from you. "See? She's got your personality!" he adds, chuckling.

Suddenly, a burning aroma comes from the kitchen.

"Honey, the food!" You both rush to the kitchen, leaving a puzzled Eunae behind in her glittery realm.

FELIX

"Come in," you call out as a knock sounds on your dressing room door. Your face lights up as you see your husband holding your one-year-old baby boy in the carrier.

"Lixie!" you exclaim, rushing to hug your husband. "How was I? Did you catch the show?"

"I saw every moment. You're the best actress I've ever seen," your husband replies, his gaze shifting to your baby MinJoon, who squeals with joy at the sight of his mother.

"Really?" you ask, your husband planting a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"Absolutely. You were incredible," he reassures you, as you chuckle and admire your baby's attire. 'Mama's prince.'

"Felix? It's adorable! He looks so cute."

"My sisters picked out the outfit," he explains. "But I dressed him," he adds proudly, handing you a bag from a luxury brand.

"What's this?" You asked.

"For your performance and because it's Mother's Day today, my love."

You smile and open the bag, finding the bag you've been eyeing for ages.

"How did you know?" You smiled.

"Your mom mentioned it to me. And do you think I don't pay attention to your interests?" he teases, as you laugh and give him a quick peck on the lips.

"You spoil me, Yongbok," you say, noticing him nodding towards your bag. "thank you love."

"Open it," he urges. Curious, you do as he says, discovering a smaller gift. You take it out and see a ring and a matching necklace. The necklace features a heart pendant with MinJoon's birth year engraved on it.

"Felix..." Tears fill your eyes as he intertwines his fingers with yours, showing you the ring inscribed with your initials, F and M, on the inside.

"Do you like it?" He asked while drying your tears.

"I'm speechless," you admit. "It's stunning. Oh! Now I feel guilty. I only got you a PC game and cologne for Father's Day."

"Y/n, this isn't a competition, silly," he says playfully. "I adored it. And I want to show my gratitude for everything you've done for our family since day one."

"You're too good to me," you say, pulling him into a tight hug. But your tender moment is interrupted by the sound of your baby's laughter as he plays with the teddy bears.

"Someone's in a good mood today," you tease, scooping up your little one.

"He had a great nap, didn't you, MinJoon?" your husband says as your son threw himself in his father arms, which makes you pout.

"MinJoon!" you call out, your husband chuckling and teasingly sticking his tongue out at you. "Hey! It's Mother's Day! Who's the one that feeds you?" you playfully ask your son, who just stares at you while tugging at Felix's black shirt.

"Dad treated him to some fruit today, Mommy," Felix says, as you chuckle, watching your baby happily.

"You know... I couldn't be happier, my love," you say, resting your head on his shoulder.

"Me neither. I love you," he says, leaning in for a kiss when your son's little hand unexpectedly makes contact with your cheek.

"Ouch!" you exclaim, while Felix chuckles mischievously.

SEUNGMIN

"Love? Seungmin?" you called out as you stepped into your home. Silence met you, something unusual for this time of day. Entering the living room, your heart swelled at the sight of your 1-year-old girl sleeping peacefully on the couch with your husband. He opened his eyes at the sound of your voice and gasped. "Oh, Y/N!" His voice was a mix of surprise and delight. Startling the little girl, she looked around before you sighed and scooped her up to prevent her from crying.

"It's okay, sweetheart. Did Dad wake you up?" you cooed, soothing her gently.

"Where were you?" Seungmin asked, concern evident in his voice.

"I got called into work, but today is Mother's Day, and I wanted to spend it with my little girl," you explained, pressing a kiss to the baby's cheek.

"Oh, damn! It's today?"

"You forgot," you stated, and he nodded sheepishly. "It's alright, love. I just want to be with my family. How about we take a walk in the park?"

"Anything you want. Today is all about you," he replied, rising from the couch as you headed to the bedroom to change your daughter's clothes. As you opened the door, your eyes widened in surprise. Inside, a large cardboard sign greeted you, reading 'Happy Mother's Day', accompanied by your favorite cake, a gift, flowers, and chocolates laid out on the bed.

"You really don't give your husband enough credit," Seungmin remarked from behind you, causing you to turn around in astonishment.

"Did you do all this?" you asked, to which he nodded, a smile playing on his lips as he lifted the baby into his arms and made his way towards the bed.

"My favorite chocolates!" you exclaimed as you unwrapped your gift, revealing a beautiful necklace with a heart pendant engraved with your daughter's initial. "Oh honey, it's beautiful." You looked back at him with tears in your eyes.

"Why are you crying, silly?" Seungmin chuckled softly as he approached, gently placing the baby girl in her bed next to the master bed. He then walked over to you, wrapping his arms around you as you hugged him tightly.

"Thank you... and I love you," you murmured softly, tears still glistening in your eyes. "I don't know what I'd do without you," you confessed, your voice filled with gratitude.

"And you won't have to find out because I'm here to stay. You leave, and I'll come after you," he joked lightly, prompting a small giggle from you as you pulled back from the hug.

"I'm torn between feeling loved and feeling threatened," you joked back, wiping away a stray tear.

"Oh babe, it's all love," he assured, planting a soft kiss on your cheek. "And I know you wouldn't let me live without you."

"You're absolutely right," you replied, turning your attention back to the necklace.

"Y/n... I know I'm not always around as much as I'd like to be, but..." He paused, his gaze intense as he searched your eyes. "I truly love you. Never forget that. You and our daughter are everything to me."

"Seungmin, I know. I know. You don't need to tell-"

"But I want to. I want to tell you more because you deserve to hear it. Hell, Y/n, you deserve so much more. You deserve to be loved, and I want to show you that every single day."

"You already do, silly. I feel like the luckiest woman alive," you declared, leaning in for another kiss, only to be interrupted by your daughter's excited babbling.

"She agrees with you," Seungmin laughed, his eyes filled with love. "Thank you." You hugged him once again, feeling overwhelmed with love and appreciation for the man standing before you.

JEONGIN

You were grateful to have finished cleaning the house before your family returned home. As you were nearly done, you heard the door opening and your husband entered with your 5-year-old son. He burst in, yelling, "Mama!"

You turned around to see him holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers. Setting aside your cleaning, you walked over to him, smiling as you crouched down to his level.

"Thank you, baby boy. What's the occasion?" you asked with a smile.

"It's Mother's Day, Mama!" he exclaimed, making you chuckle.

"Come here, give me a hug," you opened your arms to him, and he leaped into them eagerly.

"Careful!" your husband, Jeongin, warned with a chuckle. "Kiwoon, go get Mom's present." The little boy dashed off to his room, and you looked up at your husband, who was beaming.

"Full of surprises, aren't we?" you teased, placing your hands around his waist as he chuckled.

"You deserve so much more, y/n," he said, leaning in to kiss you before glancing behind you.

"Mama, I made these for you!" your son exclaimed as he returned, holding two drawings.

"My little Picasso!" you cheekily said and picked up the drawings. "Is this me?" you asked, pointing to the birds drawn around you.

"Because you're a princess and princesses can talk to animals," he explained, making your heart swell with love.

"Ohhh, you think I can talk to animals?"

"That's what you're taking from that?" Jeongin laughed. "Your son is calling you a princess."

"Am I not?" you teased, glaring playfully at your husband.

"You are, Mama!" your son quickly answered, and you hugged him tightly.

"Thank you, baby boy. You're my prince!" you kissed his cheek in an exaggeratedly affectionate manner.

"Now, let Dad talk to Mom," Jeongin requested, and your son nodded, seemingly relieved to escape your loving onslaught. "You're not just a princess, you're my queen."

"Even for you, that's cheesy," you chuckled, as he shakes the shiver run down his spine. "It took all you had to say that." You joked.

"You have no idea, but I do love you, and that's why I have a present for you," Jeongin said, picking up his phone and opening his email. "Take a look."

You read the email and saw it was a plane ticket. "Babe? This is for my parents' hometown?" you asked, confused. "And it's for next week? Jeongin, are you serious?"

"I am serious. I wouldn't joke about this. I can see how down you've been lately. You try to hide it, but I know you," he explained, his gaze soft and earnest. Your lips started to tremble as you looked at the plane ticket. "And I'll be there with you. Me, Kiwoon, and you will visit your parents for two weeks." You jumped into his arms as he laughed. "You didn't expect that, did you?" he asked as you shook your head while tears streamed down your face. He held you close, repeating "I love you" over and over as you finally broke the hug and took a deep breath.

"I love you so much. You treat me like a queen."

"You deserve everything and more," Jeongin kissed your nose, wiping away your tears with his thumb tenderly. "You are my love, babe."

"You're going to make me cry again," you whined, and he laughed again, pulling you into his embrace.

"I'm the happiest man in the world, Y/N, and I want to make you the happiest woman in the world," he whispered as his hand danced across your back.

"I already am, babe," you whispered back as you both kissed, before Kiwoon appeared in the living room again, confused by your tear-stained face.

"Mom is okay! Just happy tears," you reassured him.

"Dad is crying too." He pointed it out.

"Happy tears, buddy," Jeongin said, picking up his son in his arms. "Let's call Granny and Gran to tell them the good news."

END! What you guys think? Cute?

Happy mother's day to all moms! <3

#skz #kpop #straykids #stray kids #skz reactions #straykids reactions #fluffy #skz jeongin #jeongin #yang jeongin #skz han #han #han jisung #stray kids in #stray kids han #stray kids felix #felix lee #lee felix #skz seungmin #kim seungmin #seungmin #skz felix

[letoasai]

Will work for food ~ part 2

Part 1 - Master list

Tim was anxious which wasn’t an emotion he often put into use. Even on a bad day he was calculating, overly prepared, and usually ran on caffeine. He was a young genius and a hell of a detective, but nerves probably didn’t care about his resume or personality quirks. 

He rubbed his thumb against the folded piece of paper kept hidden in his pocket. He’d examined it in the batcave but it held no clues of note. It was just a normal sheet of paper, and the ink could have been a pen from any local corner store. No DNA. No fingerprints. All the same, he kept it out of sight in public. 

Tim had been antsy about summoning Phantom, mostly because he felt like he was disrespectfully late. When he’d first laid eyes on the living form of the Ghost King, he’d felt a familiar ache. Neglect. He didn’t know if the king had neglected himself, or if the blame lay at someone else's feet, but he just couldn’t stand it. 

He’d offered food and company in an instant, the words popping out of his mouth before he could think them through. Despite that, he didn’t regret the offer. He could have done without the teasing from his siblings and teammates, but he didn’t regret the offer once. 

His only remorse was with the clean up efforts. The Infinite creature, Vortex, had left quite the destruction in his wake. Even with many extended members of the League assisting with clean up, it took ages. Search and rescues were active and humanitarian groups had arrived to offer aid but some things couldn’t be done in a weekend. 

The bats returning to Gotham didn’t offer much in the way of a break either. A Scarecrow outbreak with his fear toxin. Three different gangs in the middle of a turf war. A weapons smuggling ring being uncovered… It was one thing after another for a minute. 

When all was said and done it had been nearly two months before Tim had the opportunity to keep his promise. He was in his civvies, standing at the mouth of an alleyway across from a little italian place that looked cheap but was actually the best tasting, most authentic italian place in all of Gotham. Little hole in the wall places often were the best. 

The problem now was his ability to overthink things. Would he summon the king in a glow of green that would light up the street like a beacon? Would he arrive in his ghostly form, crown hovering above his hooded head? 

Phantom looked human enough but was he? Did he come from Earth originally? There were plenty of aliens that looked human. It would be rude to assume… 

What name did he use? Did he need to go full title? Why didn’t he ask more questions when he had the chance?

“King Phantom.” Tim muttered, deciding to just go for it. He still clutched the paper sigil out of sight. “Uh, Ghost King Phantom. King of the Infinite Realm. Um… Or was it High King…” 

“Just Phantom is fine.” 

Tim tensed, all of his hair standing on end at the voice directly behind him in the alley. He hadn’t made a sound but he needed to actively work to exhale and turn around to face his guest. There had been zero indication of his arrival, and he was thankfully, in his living form. 

He was in jeans and an over sized hoodie. Tim could just barely make out a faded NASA written in the front. That was a point in the direction of him possibly being a human from Earth. He wore shoes this time, beat up looking kicks that had seen better days. His hood was also drawn over his head, likely to hide his bony appearance. Tim did spy the tail of his braid over his shoulder though, his hair black to further prove he was in his living form. 

“You…scared the hell out of me.” Tim said, smiling after another hard exhale. “I am sorry it took so long, your Highness.” 

“Phantom.” He corrected, looking around the street and taking it all in. Tim could clock him making note of the turns down the street and the buildings with fire escapes even with his hood up. People just had certain body language when casing an area. “I figured it would be a while, if you summoned me at all. I was not going to hold you to a whim, Red Robin.” 

“I said i would…” Tim muttered. “Uh, it’s Tim, out of uniform. If you don’t mind.” 

“Tim.” He repeated. That softness to his voice remained, and honestly, Tim liked the cadence of it. He liked it as much as he was sure he never wanted to hear Phantom raise his voice. “I understand.” He hesitated only a beat. “You can call me Danny. Phantom is probably a silly thing to call someone in a city like this.” 

“Not if it’s your name.” 

“Danny is okay.” He said, and for whatever reason, Tim noticed now how he kept his hands in his pockets, likely to hide them too. Frail, skeletal looking hands would just frighten some people. “Food? For a favor?” 

“No favor involved. I invited you out.” Tim said. “I mean, maybe we can chat about stuff but you aren’t obligated to answer or anything.” 

Phantom…Danny nodded, shuffling for a moment and looking around again. The height of the buildings seemed to be a mild interest of his. “Where are we eating?” 

“Well, if you like Italian, we’re walking across the street.” He thought pasta and breads would be both filling and flavorful. It would also be something easily packed up for Danny to take with him. 

“I’ll eat anything.” Danny informed him. “I have no preferences after all this time.” He hesitated. “Or maybe i need to rediscover them, but anything will be fine.” 

“Let’s… let’s go then.” Tim said, walking with Danny at his side. He’d made a reservation which wasn’t strictly necessary at such a small place but it gave him the option of reserving a corner table to offer them a little more privacy. 

They walked in, the hostess greeting them with a smile before leading them to their table and leaving them with bread, water, and menus. There were a few other full tables but it wasn’t packed the way it would be in the evening. 

Danny kept his hood up, but it was Gotham and no one questioned the decision. They just left him in peace to not start a conflict with someone who wasn’t causing any trouble. He also kept his hands out of sight until the hostess had left. He sipped the water once and broke off only a little piece of the bread. He buttered it and ate on it while flipping open the menu. 

Tim didn’t know if he was reading the English or Italian parts of the menu but it didn’t matter. Being fluent in reading an Earth language was another check mark for this being his place of origin. 

“Can i…” Tim hummed, keeping in mind that he was speaking with royalty and act a little less like Bruce interrogating a suspect. “Can i ask a couple questions?” 

Danny looked up at him, Tim only barely able to make out some of his features passed the unnatural shadows his hood provided. “Sure.” 

Tim smiled, not even bothering with the menu since he knew what he was getting. “You’re the King of a realm, but was Earth your place of origin?” 

“Yes, but not this Earth.” 

Dimensions! Tim filed that away for later. “You can travel to any of them?” 

“Within reason. Yes. I’m old, but not that old yet. Only eight or nine decades.” He tore another small piece of bread to eat. Tim assumed he was pacing himself. “They call me a baby Ancient still.” 

“That’s cool…” Tim muttered. “Are there many other Earths?” 

“The answer to that would never satisfy you.” Danny said softly. “Trust me. I am the Ancient of Space and i’m hardly satisfied with it.” 

There was a new fact for Tim to latch on. “What’s the-” He stopped when the waitress appeared. Both of them ordered, and Tim was certain he’d end up ordering more halfway through the meal so Danny could take more home with him.  

When the menus were taken and the waitress left again, Tim continued. “What’s the difference between being an Ancient of Space and being the Ghost King.” 

“When i died, or half died, it was my fate to one day become the Ancient of Space. I am that regardless. I won the title of Ghost King.” 

Tim dragged a hand down his face. “That’s…. Endlessly fascinating. I have so many questions.” He didn’t even know how to touch ‘half died’ yet. 

Danny hummed once and fiddled with the end of his braid. “Do i get to ask questions too?” 

“Of course.” 

Danny leaned forward, sipping at his water again. “This Earth has super heroes. That’s interesting. Mine didn’t. How long have you been a hero?” 

Tim nodded, figuring that would be the direction the questions would have wandered towards. They were far enough away from everyone in the restaurant that he didn’t worry about being heard. The music playing in the background also helped a great deal. 

“Hero might be a debate depending on who you ask. In Gotham we’re considered vigilanties. I first suited up at thirteen but it was really more like fourteen after a great deal of training.” 

Danny was quiet for a moment. “And how old are you now? I have trouble telling ages these days…” 

“Eighteen.” Tim said. 

“Young.” Danny muttered. “I was young too. Fourteen when i became the bridge. Sixteen before i really understood what it meant.” 

“The bridge?” 

“Balance. The living and the dead.” 

Tim huffed softly. “You wear a lot of hats, don’t you?”  

Danny made a quiet noise, and it took Tim a beat longer than normal to realize he was laughing. “I do, i wish i didn’t most of the time. It’s fine though.” 

“Just fine?” Tim asked after a beat. He knew a little about expectations and high standards that could weigh you down–both his own standards and other peoples. 

Danny nodded, one of his hands resting on the other. “I’ve seen things. Good things. Bad things. Things that will never happen. Things that have. It’s better i have certain powers because i have no desire to use them.” 

Aah. Tim understood that. “People who want too much power are dangerous.” 

“Exactly.” 

“The power of ruling an entire realm…” 

“Exactly.” 

Tim heaved a sigh. “Damn.” Maybe he should ask something less intense. “Did you enjoy the food we gave you last time? It was just some fast food but there was some worry it wasn’t good enough.” 

“It was great.” Danny said and he sounded sincere. “Nostalgic. It took me a few days to eat all of it. I know the Infinite Realm’s reputation, and it is a warranted reputation, but i’m… hard to offend. Little things are just little things.” 

“I’ll put them at ease then.” 

Danny was quiet for a moment, the silence not an oppressive one. “What is the difference between a hero and a vigilante?” 

“How people perceive us, i guess. Superman will always be seen as a hero. Wholesome and valiant and all that. Things in Gotham are altogether… shadier. Being a vigilante isn’t exactly legal and while we have our boundaries, we break the law all the time.” Tim said. They covered their own tracks well but it was fortunate that no one looked too closely at their activities. 

It didn’t bother Tim when he knew his reasons were still good. 

Danny made a thoughtful kind of noise. “I’m willing to bet Superman’s business isn’t purely legal either. This seems like a nice Earth though, despite whatever troubles you have.” 

“Some hero work is sanctioned by the government so it’s a fine line. Any of it could be argued.” Tim explained, and that was something Danny seemed to find fascinating. 

They paused their conversation again when the waitress appeared with their food, and Tim put in a second order for them to take when they left. The eyes Tim could feel on him told him that Danny already knew what they were for. 

He could hear Danny softly inhale and exhale as he looked at the plate in front of him that came accompanied with salad. He likely wouldn’t be able to eat even a fraction of it but the way he looked at it…. made Tim realize that he could see Danny’s face more clearly. The shadows that obscured his face from his hood had receded. He was still gaunt, but he eyed the food with so much joy. 

The first bite of –non fast food– food nearly seemed to overwhelm him in a good way. 

“You know,” Tim swung hard to change subjects. “We can do a bit of a food tour every time i summon you for lunch. Pizza. Chinese. Barbeque. There’s a great taco truck. We could get something homemade.” 

“You cook?” 

“Haa. No.” Tim said seriously. “But Al… my grandpa is an amazing cook and he seemed to think trading food for world saving services was very sensible but he was appalled that we offered you cheap fries and burgers. He’d honestly love to cook for you.” 

Danny smiled, this shy little look that shouldn’t have fit someone with the title of Ghost King but it sure fit Danny. “That could be nice. Decent home cooked meals are kind of mythological to me.” 

Tim nodded once, and knew better than to ask directly. “I didn’t have a very cuddly upbringing either. There was a lot of take-out involved.” 

“Your food ever come back to life and try to eat you instead?” Danny asked and Tim just stared. 

“I can’t…tell if that’s a real question or if you’re messing with me.” 

Danny smiled and was that a hint of fangs? “Dead serious.” 

Time groaned. “No, no you are a king. You are not making puns.” 

“Thinking i’m too mature for puns is a grave mistake.” Danny said without hesitation. 

“Noo.” Tim groaned, lips upturned into a smile. His brothers could never know about this. Dick would start a pun off and Jason’s morbid sense of humor about his own death…. Ugh, it would be bad. 

It did bring up the interesting question of Danny’s age. He said he’d been alive for decades but how did he mature. Was he still a teenager? Did he age slowly? Asking not only sounded like a bad idea, but Raven and Zatanna had both made sure he knew it was a question to not ask. 

They chatted, they ate, or well, Tim ate. Danny ate a bite every few minutes and looked thrilled about it but he was slowing down. Tim was looking forward to Danny being able to eat more with every visit. 

He flagged down the waitress, gesturing for a box and got a thumbs up in return. 

“You can take it with you.” Tim said when Danny was giving him a look. “It might be a couple days before i can call you again and this way you’ll have enough to eat every day.” 

“I can’t deny that.” Danny said. “You don’t have to keep summoning me.”

“I promised you lunches.” Tim said firmly. “And you said it yourself, you should eat more and spend more time in a living realm. You may as well take advantage of being summoned for food.” 

“Hm…” Danny played with the end of his braid again. “You do make a compelling argument. It’s nice to talk to someone without it being preceded by a brawl.” 

Tim stared, “What?” 

Danny just looked amused. “I’ll explain to you etiquette in the Infinite Realm sometime.” 

“Yeah?” 

The waitress returned with boxes for Danny to pack up his meal and the empty dishes were whisked away to make more room on the table while they waited for their to-go orders. 

They were almost startled when a second waitress reappeared with a few little dishes before they could begin speaking again. Everything was set in the middle of the table, presumably for them to share. There was a piece of white peach tart, a bowl of strawberry gelato, and a slice of frozen chocolate chip meringata. 

“Um…” Tim blinked. “We didn’t-”

The waitress chuckled. “It was ordered for you by another patron. Please enjoy.” She set down another set of utensils for them and walked away. 

Danny made a small sound in his throat. “Well i was full but how could i say no to a couple more bites…” 

“Wait.” Tim said, gaze subtly shifting around the room. Maybe he was trained to be paranoid, but it usually served him well. What he found almost instantly had his eye twitching. 

Not even halfway across the room sat a poorly disgusted Dick wearing large sunglasses, a fedora, and the world's least convincing mustache. When he saw Tim looking and grinned and raised his own wine glass. 

“I gotta kill my brother…” 

Danny sputtered out a laugh, so genuinely amused that Tim could definitely see his fangs as he laughed.

“That would make him my problem.” Danny pointed out, reaching for a spoon to try the gelato first. 

“I’m not seeing your point.” Tim said, delighted by Danny’s teasing. It was a rookie mistake to think one of his siblings wouldn’t find out about this. An absolute blunder that he hadn’t noticed Dick walking in after them at all. He’d never live it down. 

“Guess i’ll have to be more careful next time.” He added. 

Danny hummed again and seemed to have a fondness for the cold dessert. “I could always invite you to my realm sometime.” 

“Cool.” Tim said instantly. Ha, let them try to follow him then…

#dp x dc #dc x dp crossover #danny phantom #tim drake #dead tired #cameo appearance by Dick Grayson #This is a date

[satoruhour]

i need jealous racer geto hes js so whudurieiw and the way u write about himm🤭🤭

LUVRGIRL

a/n: eeuuughh idk whether to like this or not but enjoy nonetheless !!! not so much of racing but the sentiment is there lol. previous part (lloromannic) here / @screampied @kizoken @t4kio @redskyvenus @mysugu @suguruplsr @slttygeto ✶

wc: 6.3k

warnings: racer!geto, soft dom!geto, fem!reader, sprinkle of fluff, pet names, praise, ldr, phone sex, masturbation (both f and m), fantasising, daisuke is being annoying again!!!!, sorta jealousy plot point, brief dry humping, oral (f! receiving) / cunnilingus, clit stimulation, fingering, unprotected p -> v sex, breeding / creampie kink, implied multiple rounds, n*sfw under the cut

the next six months were torture, indefinitely. it was an endless heap of assignments, of deadlines, of long-distance calls with your love that you both were so close to booking flights of your own. university was brutal, too. on top of tuition fees and getting the materials for your classes, it was heart-wrenching to even look at the prices of the flights from your country to japan, so you bit down your pride and subjected yourself to settling for the long-distance arrangement.

“hey, baby,” geto mumbles sleepily and your frown deepens upon forgetting that tuesdays was where he slept early. you still had to call, though, but you realise it too late when he answers with that groggy, raspy voice of his. there’s some ruffling behind the call, no doubt the sounds of his bedsheets as he gets himself comfortable while you huddle at the small nook of your room that’s next to the window.

from here you can see the sun setting, a totally different story in japan where you can hear geto yawn and down a glass of water next to his bed.

“shit . . sorry su, i forgot—”

he scrambles to reassure you, awake and sat up, “no! no— no, it’s okay . .” you wince when you hear him yawn yet again, but this time he sounds a little more in the realm of consciousness. you’re unaware of the smile forming on his face just from hearing your voice, fidgety fingers squeezing and releasing the duvet over him, “what are you up to, my love?”

you hum into the phone and you’ve never wanted to backpack across the seven seas to see someone so bad before. now on month nine, your excitement’s become even more prominent at wanting to end the semester as soon as possible, willing your lips not to mutter out the arrangement you’ve been planning with his group of friends.

“just needed a break from studying for finals. i’m dying,” you lament over the line and your heart flutters at his chuckle, something you miss against your ears and skin immensely, “just wish you were here . .”

“yeah?” and you have to squeeze your eyes shut and rub your thighs together at the soft, rough yeah he mumbles out. you can imagine it too: sitting against his headboard half-naked while the duvet pools around his waist area. he’s sitting there like plaster sculpted by Monti while his hair flows around him. you almost squeal and your boyfriend only catches just the start of it.

“what? what was that?” he asks and your hand is clasped so hard over your mouth like a captor’s got your hostage, but you only let out a breath.

“n-nothing,” you laugh, picking yourself up from the nook and getting yourself comfortable in bed. it’s been a long day of studying, anyway, and your next exam isn’t until five days later. you could afford some downtime, right?

“but,” you sigh, turning on your side and sneakily slipping a hand into your pants, “my day’s boring. it’s all studyin’. why don’t you tell me what you did today, instead?” you can hear your parents already preparing dinner outside, but you press on and try to drain out the intrusive noises of cutlery and porcelain and the incessant calls of your mom to your dad for some help on the stove. 

“alright,” he drags the word out and laughs again, getting comfortable in his bed just like you do, but your end goals are entirely different, “but it is pretty boring as well. it was maintenance day today.”

“oh!” you remember him briefly mentioning that the other day — since halloween was approaching, there was bound to be more patrolling policemen around the streets and underground, so races had to be put on hold for the meantime. there was still other more secluded areas to race, but geto didn’t want to risk his Mazda being taken away nor for a stain to appear on his clean academic record.

“changing the crankshaft? i know the old one was giving you loads of trouble,” you mumble, feeling your cunt pulse and throb from the breathing you can hear over the line, “among . . other things.”

“yeah, my baby’s so smart for remembering, huh?” he praises, continuing to go on about his day. while it was merely taking-care-of-his-car day, it was still way more eventful than yours. he had went on a solo day out to your beloved café to relish in the good times, he had hung out with gojo for a while and drank some beer atop the mountain they frequented, even went out for some arcade fun.

“unfortunately—” geto’s low voice spurs you on. you’ve been lazily rubbing at your pussy, just humming into the phone while you only descend more and more into pleasure, “it’s taken a hole out of my allowance, i guess. my dad’s more generous with the parts that he gives me but at the same time i feel like he knows what i’m doing underground.”

he laughs and you fake a giggle, but your breaths are starting to get heavier with each sentence he utters, mind filling with flashbacks of how many ways he’s bent you over to fuck you, drunk on the phantom-like winds upon your ear that sound like he’s whispering all those filthy things to you. “and . . just missin’ my girl.”

“how’ve you been, baby?” he asks with a low voice, like he knows what you’re doing and the term of possession only has you sucking in a breath, fingers slip inside you after possibly a decade of teasing and you find it hard to answer. “darling?”

“y-yeah, ’m still here,” you pant out, afraid of being caught, but your voice quivers enough just for geto to catch on to what you were up to. he didn’t fault you, though (he never blames his girl), but there is a small smirk that forms on his face. he purposely lowers his voice even more, if it was possible, mirroring and mimicking your breathy tone when talking to him.

but with one hand that goes down to his pelvis, he doesn’t have to mimic you at all, hand palming languidly at his bulge. in the dead of the night, there wasn’t much need to keep his voice down in order to hear the pretty moans falling from your mouth; he does anyway.

it’s too shitty of a reception especially with your nokia’s, so he hears the artificial, metallic-like voice coming from his phone, but your sounds are just too lovely, transcending the robotic-ness of a phone call. and it’s like you’re actually there, smiling mischievously at him while stroking his cock and teasing him the way he liked to be teased.

“s-sugu?” you mumble, mind heading into the extremes and confident now that he’s just weirded out and silent, but it’s anything but that.

“yes, baby?” he hums, smiling to himself when he hears rustling over the phone and he can imagine you lifting your hips to remove your panties, tossing it somewhere across the room. “wanna tell me what you’re doin’?” 

you suck in a breath — so he knows — but suguru always knows everything so you’re whining into the receiver, pleasantly surprised when he replies with a deep groan that only makes you clench around nothing.

“that’s right . .” he drawls and you hear a soft thud over the line, and now you’re the one quieting your movements just to hear your boyfriend, the faint shlick shlick sounds of his hand along his cock. geto gasps when he squeezes his tip just like how you do it, pre-cum starting to leak. “need you h-here, doll . .”

you mewl softly and start the hand on your clit again, abandoning the tight hold around your phone just so you can use the other to slip your fingers into your warm cunt. it doesn’t even compare to the thickness and length of geto’s dick, but you have to work with what you have. with head turned toward the speaker, your boyfriend has gone non-verbal, too, moaning like a slut into the receiver.

“suguru, i’m— please . .” you whine softly, hips bucking into your hands, “doesn’t feel as g— good.”

geto coos inwardly at your needy voice, mouth falling open at his rock hard cock. it’s so hard that it hurts, left to merely fuck his fleshlight whenever he could and use his hand on other days. he missed your sweet fucking pussy so, so much, just picturing your beautiful arched back that lifts off the sheets and your shaking thighs. he imagines your perfect pout on your face as you finger yourself, unsatisfied, obviously, begging him with tugs to his hands and his eyes flutter close.

“i know, baby, and ’m sorry,” he mumbles, taking the nokia from his ear to put it right up to his relentless pumping and you swallow, the slick, wet sounds more clear now. “but you hear what ya do t’me, don’t you?”

“mhm . .” you trail off, thinking of his fat cock impaling you instead, and you follow his actions to a T, bringing it right to your sopping cunt and geto has to scrunch his already shut eyes just to wish that his hand was your pussy. your hand is getting tired, he’s sure, but you finger yourself so prettily his hand easily speeds up, giving his shaft periodic squeezes.

“so wet, suguu . .” you drag out his name, already feeling your high approach soon, but you want the both of you to cum together. “i miss you stretchin’ me out . .” a hiss from suguru, “i miss your cum spilling out of me.”

that has geto choking out a whine, “f—fuck, sweetheart, don’t say that. i do miss g-giving you all of my cum—”

the filthiness of everything contributes to all your senses, parents omitted from memory, your finals at the back of your mind and only focusing on the envelope that resides on your bedside table containing a plane ticket. in one week you’d be able to see him again — a sweet treat given to you by gojo and nanami with their combined expenses.

you didn’t even know how you could thank them and while nanami waves you off for any payback, gojo did say you could treat him to anything in that café. it was difficult not to be excited, a louder whine drawn from your throat again and he laughs breathlessly, voice down low and distraught.

“any particular reason w-why my girl’s so needy lately—?”

geto basically chokes out his question while you shake your head until you remember that he can’t see you, answering with a broken “no”.

you resist the urge to spill on the exact reason — your mind spiralling from the anticipation of meeting him, the many, many lewd memories you’ve made over six months, his just-woken-up voice — because he’d never let you live it down.

“c-close, suguru—” your thighs are squeezed tight around your tired hand, sensitive from the immense overstimulation, “’m g’nna cum soon—!”

“me too, my love,” geto’s eyes are back open, trained on his cock and watching the sheer neediness shown in his weeping tip and bucking hips. he needs this, he needs you, and once you’re submitting your final paper, he’s sure to look at flights right to your doorstep.

“i’m c—” you’re whining out, body totally turned over and lying on your stomach as you chase your high, fuelled by the deep guttural groans of your boyfriend. your lips and mind are only filled with suguru, suguru, suguru, not even caring that your sheets are soaked and your fingers are cramping.

“baby, baby, baaaby . . s—shit—” geto reaches his release first, mind filled with replenished memories of your tight pussy hugging his cock, spurts of white spilling all over himself with a loud groan and you’re left to listen out for the desperate sounds of your boyfriend miles away, lengthening his climax as he continues to pump himself. “cum all over your fingers, doll . .”

suguru coaxes in that sweet voice of his, mumbling deep into the phone only for you. “doing so, so good, aren’t ya?” the quietness on his end, the slow lazy stroking of his hand again, and you’re cumming all over your fingers, eyes blown wide from the orgasm that he talks you through while you ride it out on your mediocre fingers. your mouth is stained with endless profanities and moans mixed with geto’s name, muffled by the bedsheets you’re so harshly biting into to prevent any loud, unbecoming sounds.

“that good?” he asks with a laugh, yawning yet again and you feel guilty again—

“i’m sorry, s—”

“no. don’t, doll, don’t apologise,” suguru brushes his thumb over his thigh, partially wiping off the cum and partially hoping he can relax the furrow of your brow like he always does. “you’re frowning and your shoulders are up, probably, relax . .”

you sigh, another thing that geto values a lot and has taught to you; deep breaths and untensing all parts of your body.

“good girl, was that good?”

“the phone sex or the deep breaths?”

geto grins. god, he missed you so fucking much — “both.”

“both was very good, thank you very much,” you giggle, not paying much mind to the way you remove your fingers from your cunt, turning over to the bedside table to take some tissues, “although the sex was a little better.”

“aw, no wins for the intense, groundbreaking, spirit-calming deep breaths?”

you shake your head (you’ve got to stop doing that), “ehh . . it was alright.”

geto’s reluctant sleepiness grants you a few more minutes together, his words starting to slur more and more the longer you were on the line, but you can’t say you don’t enjoy it. with fatigue came the words laced with unhindered affection, murmuring softly about hoping to see you soon, to feel you, to kiss you, and you expressed the same sentiment back to him.

the other switches the output to speaker, wanting to take in the messily taken profile pic he set your contact with. a blurred, blinding smile with his face squished against yours; a little below the two of you, berry and cherry clutched within your palms, doing the same. “can my girl do her best for her finals?”

“i can’t promise the best, but i’ll try . . okay?”

geto hums, a soft smile on his face. he’s cleaned up by now, new sweatpants on and duvet pulled right to his neck while he stares at your face, the pixels of the nokia never diluting your beauty.

“attagirl. have a good dinner, lovergirl.”

that knocks some breath out of you, and you grin like a schoolgirl.

“have a goodnight’s sleep, loverboy.”

you bounce on your heels impatiently when the plane finally lands, waiting for the throngs of people on the flight to leave through the bridge, but it’s taking ages, speed walking once you’re out. you wanted to be the first at the luggage conveyor belt, you needed to be the first passenger of your flight to be out of the arrival doors.

without the rush of the people and the striking colours of your boyfriend’s friends’ hair colours, it wasn’t too difficult to run up to them for a big hug.

“(y/n)~!” gojo drags out your name, waving you over excitedly and bringing the both of you into a group hug. nanami is adamant on being the ever broody racer, but you catch the ghost of a smile when he wraps a careful arm around your shoulders.

“how was the flight, (y/n)?” the blonde’s firm but concerned voice cuts through the chaos of the white-haired man.

“don’t ask lame questions like thaaaat, nanami! you’ll just bore me—” and a resounding smack! is then heard, and gojo’s clutching the back of his head in pain, the other taking the opportunity to lead you away from gojo’s antics and offering to help with your luggages. without words, nanami already feels your nervousness, patting your back in solidarity.

“hey— hey! oi!”

gojo slams the door to his car. “okay, we’ve painstakingly tried to hold suguru back whenever he was about to book flights—” gojo mentions in the car on the ride there, taking way too quick turns for your liking with your luggage going to town in the trunk. its thumps against the roof and sides always seem to interrupt the conversation with the white-haired man, but he seemed too much in a hurry to care. “think it was almost eight separate times!”

“thank you— ah!” you almost lurch forward at the amber light, but gojo decided at the last minute that he was just going to run it — braking then speeding it up all over again.

“you know, for a racer, you’re a terrible civilian driver . .” you groan once you reach the mouth of the familiar car park that you frequented in your six months in japan, but now that gojo’s easily manoeuvres the car to a slow, the adrenaline of the fast drive changes into something of dread, of a dizzying feeling.

what if suguru didn’t want to see you anymore? what if he already booked himself a flight and was nowhere to be found? what if he’s cheat—

your hands are clammy, not even present to how gojo calls out from you from the driver’s seat. cautiously, he’s putting a hand on your shoulder (because god forbid gojo touched anything of suguru’s, both Mazda and girlfriend), and shaking you out of your daze.

you catch glimpses of his sentences: “all  . . talks about . . trust . . no girl has . .” but you stop his rambling with frantic slaps to his shoulder. you know you shouldn’t be jumping to conclusions but it’s hard not to when the scene is clear as day. suguru is never one to cheat — from the six months you’ve known him, from the many calls and check-ins the two of you do over the line.

defying time zones, fighting fatigue . . for this?

but you know better to list your lover as the instigator, especially from how this other girl was just hovering all over his Mazda, sticking her ass out and trailing her hand all over his finishing. that was one thing — but geto isn’t making any move to shove her off, only looking at her through hooded lids that could definitely drive anyone off. she wasn’t affected, though.

you’re not listening to gojo even when you step out of the car, already used to the curious eyes that rake over you and your figure — curiosity turns into recognition and then shock when they see how your boyfriend acts, but before you can actually make your way toward them, another man sidles up to you.

oh my god, it’s daisuke. you sigh loudly, knowing how gojo had dealt with him before and how much of an asshole he is, but all he does is look you up and down, not giving one fuck to how the subject of his embarrassment was sitting right in the driver’s seat.

“hey, babygirl.” you want to vomit from that one greeting alone, but you try not to pay him much mind. “what’s a pretty lady like you doin’ out here?”

“don’t your sorry ass have a girlfriend?” daisuke doesn’t even begin to digest the insult, and you think that he’s a masochist with how much he sets himself up for getting insulted, but then the girl’s eyes meet yours — she’s in his pictures, she’s in his wallet, you’ve seen her when this loser beside you blatantly brags about his girl. you’d feel sorry for her but it seems she’s as stupid as him.

they’re exactly that — realising you just walked yourself into one big jealousy scheme planned by the biggest jokers of the underground racing scene, your suspicions are confirmed when his eyes are also locked on his girlfriend with your boyfriend of all people, making sure she sees that he’s all up in your space. she’s doing the same, but when she actually tries to touch him is when geto finally does something, and the jealous burn in your heart quells a bit.

geto’s too smart to be mingling around with her, you hope, when you hear him mutter something to her and you smile to yourself when she cowers under his stare and words.

“you touch my fuckin’ car one more time and i’m sure to drive both you and your loser boyfriend, out of here forever. you can take your clown asses to another parking lot and race there and then i won’t have to see your faces any more,” his hold around his wrist isn’t harsh, but it is firm, and he prevents her from leaving until she gets his message, “plus i have a girl i’m obsessed with. take your lame jealous charade somewhere else and maybe go to couples’ therapy. you two clearly need it.”

and when she looks at you again — you think it’s how your identity settles in her mind — she yelps and finally runs away at the daggers you give, not even sparing a glance to daisuke who’s carefully scooching closer to you. but just as he tries to wrap his arm around your waist, your eyes catch suguru’s.

his eyes soften for just a moment; it was just like the café. his palms turn sweaty and he feels like he could collapse — but now you’re looking just a little different. he wasn’t sure if it was because of your hair or the tiredness from exams, but you’re still as stunning as the day he led you out of the parking lot.

geto cannot resist giving you a big grin, but it quickly fades when his gaze falls on daisuke beside you and a scowl appears. and while your body’s already distancing yourself from the man’s crusty ass lips, you feel a throb go right down to your core when the same annoyed glower forms across his features: eyebrows pulled taut, long strides, muscles bulging in the wifebeater he’s got on.

six months away from your man has clearly done things to you.

with one smooth swoop, geto has you pulled flush against him, not even looking as he uses his free hand to grab at daisuke’s neckline before he leans in to kiss you. it’s admittedly a little embarrassing, cause your body reacts so readily to him, tits pressed against his chest while your fingers tangle themselves in his long hair. he tastes like cigarettes and cherries like always and you moan softly into his mouth when his hands wander right down to your ass to give it a squeeze.

“satoru’s not very good at hiding secrets, unfortunately,” geto spills and you pout, surprise ruined by the loud mouth of his friend, but before he gives you his undivided attention, he tugs daisuke closer, roughly. “but that don’t mean i ain’t happy to see ya, baby.”

geto laughs at your flustered state, until his expression darkens again — “you have a lot of nerve touching my girl.”

“I—i didn’t! she was basically begging for me to touch her.”

“don’t you—”

“p-plus! my girl was all up over you too, so i thought i’d give her a little lovin’—”

geto almost smashes his jaw in. either way, he lands a clean punch to his face that has daisuke writhing on the floor, clutching his mouth in pain but that doesn’t deter daisuke one bit who sits up . . and then is immediately beaten down again with a boot to his chest. your boyfriend leans down and looks him straight in the eye.

“i’m cancelling my race just so i can make my girl scream my name loud enough for you, because you could never fuck her or anyone that good with your shit dick game,” geto scoffs, “and forget girls, you can’t even win enough races to rise up the ranks. you’ve embarrassed yourself enough, don’t you think?”

suguru doesn’t bother waiting for an answer, only ushering you toward his Mazda parked in the familiar corner, easily shooting a text to gojo to cancel the race as he mentioned just so he could . .

with windows down, you relish again in the tokyo night air, the hand that you miss so much on your thigh, the alluring voice he’s speaking to you in, the beauty of geto suguru. everything looked the same since you left, from the photos he’s put up on the dashboard, the berry keychain hanging from the rear view mirror, the outer orange coating of his car.

“i—”

“i’m sorry, my love,” suguru leaps forward to apologise, stopping the car abruptly. you’ve already reached your destination but, it seems he wants to say something first.

“why are you apologising?”

he frowns, bringing his hand to cradle your cheek. easily, you’re leaning into the touch, closing your eyes. “for ruining the surprise, for that stupid fight with daisuke, for letting my emotions take over.”

you mirror him, features also deepening in somberness. “you didn’t do anything — if anything, you were a victim of his girlfriend too. but . . seeing her be all over you, made me think the worst after not seeing you for six months.”

geto’s eyes soften yet again (he simply can’t help it around you), using both hands to hold you, now, and you float into his arms like a feather, like he’s in command. you let him guide you into the driver’s seat, faces so close and just hoping to touch after so many months apart.

“i . . i love you,” he swallows, brushing the hair from your face. you find that he’s shaking and breathing so heavily you’d think he was hyperventilating, but he gathers courage on a deep breath and continues, “i have since you left. right after, i went home to cry.”

“oh . .” your lip juts out, eyebrows downturned and eyes filling just a little, “oh, sugu . .”

“i just have always wanted to say it, i guess,” he chuckles, sniffling to hide his true emotions, “i just didn’t know whether i should say it over the phone where it would sound cheap; b-but, you don’t have to say it back, of course—”

you smile through tears, pressing a peck to his forehead in gratitude, “it wouldn’t sound like it to me, but i appreciate you waiting until i returned,” geto relishes in your lips upon his skin again, and he doesn’t think he could survive another day, another minute, another second without you, “i have, too, but i’m not sure when. it definitely includes the time you set alarms to wake me up for exams, though.”

he laughs freely at the memory now, of alarms interrupting his dinners and his parents asking “another call?”, but they let him do whatever, happy to hear their boy joking and laughing over the call with his mystery partner. you giggle, using your thumbs to wipe away the tears that did fall, letting the interior fluorescent light of the Mazda illuminate the features you love so much, all belonging to the man you pined over from many miles away.

“i love you too, suguru — stumbling into that random car park was the best thing i’ve ever done.”

“well, it might’ve not turned out as well if some other group had gotten to you first,” his thumb plays with your bottom lip and brings you to him, “’m just glad i got to ya in time . .”

“yeah? what if you didn’t at all?”

“then i would’ve made sure i’d find you in any way that i can, even if i had to beat up a thousand daisukes.”

that makes you giggle at little, a sliver of eye contact shared with your lover before he engulfs you in a rough kiss and your moan reaches the heavens, body so sensitive from being away from his touch that you jolt when he wraps an arm around your waist. 

“relax, baby,” geto chuckles, speaking against your lips, “take it slow.”

“but i don’t wanna . .” you whine softly, clinging to him in surprise when he pulls a lever next to his seat and the backrest falls all the way down.

“ah!” you grin, “new mod?”

suguru barks out in laughter, “ya caught me. i got it modified yesterday.”

“so you could do dirty things like this?”

he rolls his eyes with a blinding smile, just so, so happy he’s got you back in his arms again, “exactly that.”

the other willingly shows you just what the modification can take, both hands spread out on your ass and pulling you onto his crotch. your core already feels the half-hard bulge under him, using your hips to grind down even more along him. everything feels like too much, after so long away from him that you already feel your high approaching from simply grinding your clit against him and he teases.

“you g’nna cum, already?” he grins slyly, suddenly moving his hips to meet yours that has a broken mewl leaving your throat.

“b—been too long away from you . .” you admit a little sheepishly, using his shirt as an anchor while you continue to grind your cunt into his front, only your panties and his trousers separating the contact of skin. but with how your body jerks in pleasure, you’d think there was nothing between the both of you. “i need you, quick.”

geto says nothing but help you with small pants, the backlighting from the headlines accentuating your figure so nicely that he grunts out your name in between swears, soon stuttering your syllables once he feels you still on his lap with arched back and throbbing cunt. he can feel you, feel you squeezing around him even when he wasn’t in you.

“guess your fingers were pretty crap, h-huh?” massaging your sides, you hum in disapproval at his cheeky smirk, hoping to change that when he lets you do whatever: you pull him up by his shirt and open the door to his car, pushing at him to get out. you don’t day anything and he already knows what you want when you spread your legs, biting his lip at the wet patch on the pretty set you decided to don.

and even with witnessing this sight over and over, you’re never used to the way geto worships you, reveres you, when he kneels down on straight gravel. he doesn’t care if his pants are littered with small specks of dust and dirt, whether he knees start to hurt, but he only has his eyes set on your alluring cunt, finger delicate when he pulls your panties to the side but just brutal when his mouth meets your clit.

“su— s-shit—!” is all you can manage, hearing the other breathe through his nose once his mouth latches on your pussy. it’s something that he hasn’t tasted since long ago, and he’d be damned to let you go again, so he takes the opportunity to savour your arousal, switching between flicking and sucking on your clit like a starved man.

“she tastes so fuckin’ good hmmff—” his eyes meet yours and he feels you squeeze around nothing, making a show of letting you watch how his tongue circles your bud, down to your hole and up again, slurping up your juices sloppily. “i hope this pussy’s missed me as much as i missed her, yeah?”

“y-yeah . .” you moan out softly, legs moving apart more to get more of him, pelvis humping against his face so much that he has to hold it down with a hand. your pre is dripping all over his leather seats and onto the floor, but he makes sure not to spill any more from the way he scoops it up and prods at your entrance. 

“let your pussy do the talkin’, baby,” he mumbles drunkenly, pushing in a finger past your walls and the stretch is already so much better than your own. your jaw hangs open in ecstasy, body already bucking and craving for more when he pushes his thicker finger all the way in and it’s no problem for geto to slip the other in, “she’s sucking me in so well, can she do this to my cock too? hm?”

wordlessly, you’re nodding, catching a whisper of good girl before he’s back on your sopping pussy, sucking up and swallowing all of your arousal that it’s downright filthy, the noises echoing throughout the space. geto doesn’t waste any time pumping his digits, moving them in tandem with his tongue.

“s—suguru . .” you whine, struggling to keep your eyes open from the sheer pleasure, and you’re met with the vision that you can never get enough of — your racer boyfriend’s tongue out, hooded lids and soaked chin — and he grants you a little more of euphoria, groaning loudly into your pussy. with each minute, he’s only getting harder, unbelievably so, so your fantasy cut short when he removes his fingers and mouth with a pop! and laughs at your needy whine.

“you’ve been away too long, come,” geto stands to give you a kiss first, letting you taste yourself, “i need to be in you, darlin’.” 

and so when he first slips in, it feels like heaven on earth, his leaking tip nudging past your folds and right into your warm cunt that he whines so loudly, long hair falling all about his face and body. you’re not different, nails digging in his skin at the stretch that you’ve missed, cock so much longer and thicker than your fingers.

“t-this is better than any fleshlight, fuuckk . .” he mutters to himself, one hand holding your ankle up and the other holding your bent knee. he’s hoping the modification he made to his car wouldn’t give up on him, because he knows he won’t be able to hold back once you’ve adjusted. but when you start moving earlier than he expects, he doesn’t give you the chance, slamming right up to the hilt until you’re shivering and clenching around him.

“g—god, r-right there, sugu—” you preen, nothing but incoherent and repeated sentences mumbled by you over and over, “feels s’full . .”

“y-yeah? tha’ it?” you don’t need the shitty light of the abandoned parking lot to make you look beautiful, you’re doing it all on your own when your body arches towards him and your legs shiver in his hold, catching glimpses of just how wet you were — juices smeared along your inner thighs, a clear sheen of it along his length, all thanks to the lighting. “so sloppy, huh . . listen to ’er.”

geto emphasises his thrust, in, out, and in, out, just for you to hear your dripping pussy dragging along his shaft, one of the things of yours that makes him go insane. 

“all because of you,” you babble mindlessly, fingers expressing your need for him and he listens like he always does, body hovering over yours just to kiss you and because of that he’s thrusting all the more deeper into you as you break the kiss with a loud moan. geto laughs against your lips, hips making quick work to make sure he stays in his new angle, and he’s rewarded with your lewd pleas for him.

he’s ramming into you so perfectly, mushroom tip just barely brushing against your cervix each time that it has your mouth permanently open in pure pleasure.

“well . . you’re the only doll to get me hard and needy like this . .” he chuckles again, kissing down your neck to make sure you get blue and black into your skin, “and i fuckin’ love her for it.”

with a shaky hand you pull on his ruined ponytail, “s-say it again.”

“i love you,” suguru almost whispers, afraid of breaking the silence.

“again . .”

“i love you, sweetheart,” that makes you bend into his hold, undoubtedly.

“again, suguru—”

his hips are relentless, still moving even through his pussydrunk confessions, “i love you— i-i love you, i love you. so, goddamn, much— s-shiiit . .”

“m-me too, su . . i love you— i—” your arms trap him, circling around his neck and making sure he stays close to you and he pushes on your knees more, fat cock fucking into you in a more open mating press, knowing you’re close by how your toes curl and your stomach contracts, by how your pussy flutters around his mouth and soft needy sighs turn into wanton moans. he’s got you mapped out, memorised, all from his devotion to you.

“i know, baby, you’re close, y—yeah?”

he feels you nod, thighs starting to burn from the position but while your pussy keeps sucking him in, he’s sure to continue to slam into you, making sure all four walls of the parking lot hear the obscene sounds of his balls slapping against your ass.

“c’mon, cum with me, princess,” he murmurs, lightheaded with the tightness and warmth of your pussy. it’s a wonder he hasn’t cummed already, sneaking one hand in between your bodies to rub at your clit. your moans are rendered inaudible, only managing pathetic squeaks before you’re tipped over the edge and you’re whimpering so loudly into his car, cum dripping down and out your cunt and right to your ass.

your pussy flutters with geto’s continued thrusts, prompting him to reach his release right after with a deep groan, hips stuttering in your sensitive pussy until he’s spilling his load, white and hot. it’s just so, so goddamn much, stuffing your hole full of his cum that it has no choice to spill and dribble out when he removes his cock, the sight just so mesmerising to him.

“p—please,” your energy is far from used up, turning your body over just so you can present your ass to him. face squished into the driver’s seat, you use both hands to spread your cum-filled pussy, just asking for more and geto only smiles with a certain lilt in his voice. “need more, suguru . .”

“that’s my lovergirl.”

#asks #anon #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #geto x reader #geto smut #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru #geto x you #geto x y/n #geto suguru smut #suguru smut #suguru x reader #suguru geto smut #suguru geto x reader #getou suguru x reader #getou smut #getou suguru smut #jjk geto x reader #jjk geto smut #jujutsu kaisen geto #jujutsu kaisen smut

[rboooks]

DC X DP fic: Legal Compensation

Bruce Wayne doesn't know what sick monster would think it is funny to ruin Jason's grave, but when an alert arrives at the cave, he's flying towards the cemetery intending to find out.

And teach them some respect.

Of course, he knows Jason's not in there- not after his son returned with more hate and rage than a person- but it was still his last resting place.

He barely acknowledges Tim and Damian pulling up beside the Batmobile, each on their own bike while Dick, Steph, and Cass fly above him. They all got the alert. None of them are happy.

When they arrive, it's to see a teenager happily whistling as he shovels away layers of dirt. The stranger is in a white and black hoodie, a neon green ghost crossing from the front to the back, and his white hair with glowing green eyes lets them know it's not a human.

Or if it is, then not an average human. Meta, based on how he picks up way more dirt than he should be able to lift with his glowing green shovel.

They also see Jason get there first, his eyes glowing in Pit Rage and .points a gun to the back of the teenager's head. Bruce opens his mouth to shout, Damian manages to throw a ninja star, but they are far too late.

Jason pulls the trigger. A large bang is heard across the cemetery. The teenager drops into the deep hole he is making.

The family can only watch as the Pit Rage disappears from Jason's mind, and horror creeps onto his face as he realizes what he has done. It's too late now, though. The child is dead.

Bruce feels sick to his stomach- and then The teenager stands up, his head reforming in terrible familiar green liquid. The family forms a protective circle around a frozen Jason as the teenager turns around to look at them with Lazarus' green eyes and smiles.

Smiles at Jason with far too bright eyes. "I found you! I didn't realize you already left your grave, but that makes things easier. Jason Peter Todd, yes?"

"Who are you?" Bruce demands, stepping before his second oldest.

The white hair boy's smile becomes wider- if that's possible. "I'm Phantom. I'm working on behalf of the Ghost King."

Damian hisses, "What does the most powerful being in the multiverse want with Todd?"

"Baby Bat?" Dick asks without really asking.

"The Ghost King is the ruler of the Infinite Realms. The place where grandfather harvests the Lazarus Pit."

That's not good.

The teenager laughs. "The very same. He wants me to offer Legal Compensation to Mr. Todd."

"Legal Compensation? For what?" Tim asks this time.

"The glitch. See, Mr.Todd wasn't supposed to die- he was supposed to break the door and crawl to safety while the bomb jammed. At the same time, the Master of Time was preoccupied with another dimension saving the lives of six very important people to the Ghost King from a junk food explosion. Because of that, he was not there to control time correctly, creating a glitch in this universe's time flow. It speeded up certain areas, in your case, the location of the bomb's jam, making it explode earlier than it should have. He corrected it by bringing you back, but you were in a grave by that point. The Master of Time realized the grave injustice this was, so he sent me as legal Compensation."

That.... was a lot.

"How are you legal compensation?" Jason growls.

"Well, those people were just as important to me as the Ghost King. Since you lost your life due to the incident, I will give you my natural life here as a human for you to use." The teenager's form shifts after an ample bright light, and suddenly they are looking at a perfectly black hair blue eye average looking human who smiles happily at them. "Ta-da! So what do you want me to do first, Master Todd?"

"No." Jason hisses, looking angrier than he's ever looked before. Bruce can't say he doesn't feel the same way. "No, the Master of Time does not get to kill me. Go oopsie-daisy and then send me a fucking slave as an apology!"

"Not a slave- more of a- ugh Bulter!" The teenager argues, trying to crawl out of the hole and falling down, into a heap as he oversteps. "Wow, being a full human is going to get some getting use to."

"No!" Jason yells, turns around, and walks away.

"Wait! Wait! Master Todd, wait for me!" The teenager calls desperately, but Jason disappears into the shadows of Gotham without a backward glance. The boy slides into the mudd, voice muffled as he screams.

Steph takes pity on him offering her hand to help him out of the hole. "What's your name, by the way?"

"Phantom." The teenager says with a grateful smile taking the hand and climbing out. He gives the rest of the family an awkward smile "Danny Phantom"

Bruce ends up with another son by the following day. Jason ends up with a restless wanna-be butler who follows him everywhere, trying to serve him. The fact he cure his Pit Madness didn't seem to even register with him.

Jason wants Danny to leave him alone and quit the "I must spend the rest of my human life providing for your every whim". It's getting creepy.

#dc x dp crossover #Legal Compensation #Part 1 #Clockwork stepping in for Danny messed up other timelines #The glitch that brought Jason todd was that #Danny is now a full human meant to serve Jason as a sorry #Or is he????

[asdfghjklmals]

SEALED & DELIVERED✩༶‧˚

GENRE + T/W: sfw, angst. hurt and NO comfort. WORD COUNT: 4.5k words. TAGS: satoru gojo x fem!oc. established couple. adoptedkiddo! megumi x fem guardian!oc.

SYNOPSIS: after satoru gets sealed in the prison realm, megumi realizes that he has to be the one to tell oc gojo girlfriend the bad news—includes child megumi flashback story. AUTHOR'S NOTE: the awkward moment where this doesn't end with fluff... this fic just focuses on satoru getting sealed and megumi's relationship with oc gojo girlfriend. sorry about the ending. i was starting to word vomit and run out of ideas. there will definitely be a continuation about the 19 days satoru was sealed away though. REMINDER: if you want to imagine yourself in oc gojo girlfriend's character descriptions, please do!

intro

"sweetheart, we need to talk."

you looked up from your pile of paperwork while satoru sat down in the chair in front of you. he planted his elbows on your glass desk and leaned over, a troubled look on his handsome face. you could tell from behind his black blindfold that something was really bothering him.

"what did i do, gojo-sensei? am i in trouble?" you teased.

the white haired sorcerer dramatically clutched at his chest, "you know i love it when you call me that. don't distract me."

"yes, i know babe." you giggled, "what's wrong? what's going on in that big, beautiful head of yours?"

satoru pouted at you, he was going to say 'my head isn't big!' like he always did, but he decided to save that bickering for later.

"with sukuna's vessel showing up... i just don't have a good feeling about all the things going on." satoru explained, "so... i want to create some contingency plans if anything were to happen to me."

you frowned at the statement 'if anything were to happen to me'. you didn't even want to think of a possibility of anything happening to the love of your life.

"—and why would anything to happen to my man?"

satoru leaned back into the leather chair and crossed his legs, ignoring your question. "you have to promise me that you'll tell megumi about his father. the zen'nin clan will make megumi the head if i'm deemed mentally incapacitated or if i die. some deal his dad had with naobito, i guess.”

you shut your eyes and slammed your silver pen on top of the stack of paperwork you were filling out, "fine... i promise, but none of that is going to happ—"

"i'm not finished, sweetheart." satoru interrupted, "i need you to get yuta back to japan as soon as possible."

yuta was currently training in africa with miguel. satoru always mentioned how strong yuta was becoming after each visit and how the next generation of jujutsu sorcerers could rival himself. you and satoru depended on yuta quite a bit nowadays. (read ‘the cursed child: yuta okkotsu’ here)

you glared at your blue eyed lover sitting across from you, "anything else, mr. gojo?"

"can you promise to wait for me to come home if anything happens?" satoru asked with earnesty. it almost sounded like he was begging you.

present time: oc gojo girlfriend’s office

“you’re going to be late if you want to meet everyone at shibuya station on time.” you patted satoru on the chest, pushing him away from you.

“—just one more kiss.” he begged.

satoru was so needy tonight. you thought to yourself, 'what was up with him?'

you kissed him again, but he refused to let go of your body. he held you tightly. you furrowed your eyebrows at him.

“what’s wrong?” you asked, “you have that look on your face.”

“i just have a bad feeling about tonight.” he mumbled to himself. you wished you could read what was going on in that crazy mind of his.

your heart dropped, frowning at his eery statement. “promise me you’ll be careful?”

“i’m always careful.” satoru stated confidently.

now that someone he loved was waiting for him to come home, he always took into consideration his safety so that he could make it back to you unscathed. he knew you would never forgive him if anything happened to him and if he left you alone. he promised to protect you. (read ‘the honored one’ here)

you held out your pinky as satoru intertwined his with yours. instead of kissing his thumb to seal the deal, he leaned over to kiss you again fervently, muffling whatever you were about to say.

you groaned once his lips left yours, whispering breathlessly, “do you really have to go?”

“i’m the strongest… so yeah.” he sighed, “remember, if anything happens to me, you have take care of my students.”

“can you not say stuff like that?” you hit his chest as he continued to hold you. “why are you talking like you aren’t going to be coming back home to me?”

“i’m just saying, babe.” satoru sighed again as he booped you on your nose, “you have to be strong for me.”

but what if you didn’t want to be strong? what if you selfishly didn’t want satoru to go to shibuya? what if something happens to him and he doesn’t come home to you? what if he leaves you all alone?

satoru finally let go of you as you stood in the middle of your office at jujutsu high. you shook your head to steer away your selfish thoughts.

“i love you, satoru,” you called out to him before he turned to leave your office, “remember your promise.”

he gave you his signature grin before sneaking back over to you to give you one last kiss. “i know. i’ll remember. i love you, (y/n). remember your promises too.”

"yuta is on his way home..." you reported, "and i'll tell megumi about his father."

satoru frowned at you, "you're forgetting something else."

"—and yes, i'll wait for you to come home." you stated confidently.

for better or for worse, right? it’s been 10 years that you and satoru have been together. you were pretty sure you were a patient person. you could wait for him forever if that’s what it took.

"that's my girl." satoru smirked at you before leaving your office, clasping his hands to teleport to shibuya.

***************************

october 31st. shibuya. 8:31pm. satoru gojo arrives.

“good night, satoru gojo. let us meet again in the new world.” kenjaku said smugly. he had just sealed the world’s strongest sorcerer, adamant that nothing would get in his way now.

satoru scoffed at the ridiculous sight in front of him, “yeah, maybe it’s good night for me, but you need to wake up, suguru. how are you gonna let yourself get used like that?”

kenjaku felt resistance in the body that he took over. hands that belonged to the body of suguru geto attempted to grab his throat.

he laughed in amusement, “well, this is the first time that has happened.”

he suppressed that very resistance with his cursed energy again.

satoru watched and reluctantly listened as kenjaku and mahito had a conversation discussing souls and techniques. he was getting impatient.

“can you just get this over with?” satoru grumbled, “you two aren’t the most pleasing things to look at. i definitely didn't want you two being the last thing i see before getting taken by my own will.”

kenjaku laughed at the sorcerer who was on his knees, arms shackled behind his back, unable to do anything to free himself from the hold of the prison realm. he looked so weak.

“i think i’m enjoying this view, but you’re right. i can’t risk anything happening, so goodnight.” he took one last look at satoru and smirked.

“close gate.”

“we can’t use the prison realm anymore right?” mahito asked curiously.

kenjaku nodded his head, “right. unless the person who's trapped takes their own life inside the prison realm, we can only use it on one occupant at a time.”

inside the prison realm, satoru kissed his the back of his teeth, annoyed but somewhat impressed by this cursed object. “looks like time doesn’t pass here.”

he sat on top of a pile of skeleton heads, repeatedly flicking his blindfold off of his forehead, “damn it. i really messed up this time… (y/n)’s gonna kill me after i promised her i’d be careful.” satoru muttered with a grim smile.

“it��ll be okay. i have faith in everyone...”

***************************

“satoru gojo has been sealed.” nanami announced grimly.

megumi looked at the 7:3 sorcerer in disbelief. “sealed? what do you mean sealed?”

“change of plans,” nanami said as he started walking towards shibuya station, “we need to meet up with itadori. if the sealing is true, it’s over for us. we don’t stand a chance without gojo.”

megumi felt as if his world was spiraling. how could his all-knowing, crazy strong sensei get sealed? did (y/n)-sensei know about gojo-sensei’s sealing? no, (y/n)-sensei couldn’t have known. (y/n)-sensei was probably with shoko at the relief area since you two could heal injured sorcerers.

megumi knew that the school didn’t like to use you offensively because of the damage you could inflict on the city with your cursed technique. no one wanted to fill out that damages report. instead, you were their trump card, their last resort. gojo-sensei was usually the go-to special grade sorcerer if the school ever needed something to be taken care of swiftly.

“i have to tell (y/n)-sensei.” megumi mumbled out loud.

nanami pursed his lips, “if you tell her, there’s no telling what she’ll do. if she finds out that gojo was sealed, she might flood all of shibuya.”

“but she deserves to know.”

megumi took out his cell phone. his fingers were trembling as he sifted through his contacts to find your name. his heart was racing at the thought of having to tell you bad news. he hated disappointing you and he definitely didn't want to worry you. but if it had anything to do with gojo-sensei, you had to know.

this moment reminded him of the time he called you from the principal’s office when he got in trouble for fighting at school.

flashback

'i am so grounded,' 7 year old megumi fushiguro thought to himself, '(y/n) is going to take away my new books for sure. maybe i should call gojo-sensei instead.'

you were the maternal figure in megumi’s life since you and gojo-sensei had taken him and tsumiki in. gojo-sensei let you make all the important decisions regarding the kids. you were the one that always had to have the disciplinary conversations with the two fushiguros. gojo-sensei didn’t like to play the bad guy, he was the type to sneak treats to him and tsumiki after you scolded them.

“well, megumi. are you going to call (y/n) or satoru?” the vice principal of the school, mrs. akita asked him.

megumi sighed, “i guess i’ll call (y/n)…”

he knew that if he called gojo-sensei, the blindfolded idiot would just tell you what happened anyways and he would still end up having to tell you what he did himself. so he might as well spare himself the hard conversation later.

he grabbed the phone from mrs. akita’s desk and took a deep breath before dialing your phone number. his heart was racing. he knew he was going to disappoint you, and he hated that feeling.

you picked up the phone, your bright laughter gave megumi the shivers, “hello?”

“uh—(y/n)?”

your tone immediately became serious, “megumi, are you okay?”

"uh, yeah. i'm okay. i got in trouble at school today." he admitted. he closed his eyes, waiting for you to start lecturing him.

he could hear that you were walking with someone. you were probably on a mission.

"what?! megumi... what happened?" you asked, concern in your tone.

"i, uh, got in a fight. mrs. akita said that i'm getting suspended for two days." he made eye contact with the vice principal in front of him as she sat with her arms folded. this was not megumi's first rodeo.

"megumi... we had this conversation about fighting at school..." you sighed.

yes, you were disappointed, but megumi was your baby. how could you stay mad at the cute little 7 year old boy with the same green eyes as you?

"i know, i'm sorry, (y/n)."

"i'm sorry, megumi. i can't come pick you up today because i'm on a mission. satoru will be there soon, okay?" you felt guilty. you knew the last person he wanted to see was satoru after getting suspended. satoru would never let him live it down.

"okay. i'll wait for gojo-sens—wait, can you send nanami to pick me up instead?"

you laughed at his question, "nanami is actually on a mission with me right now.. sorry kiddo. i'll see you at home later, okay?"

megumi grumbled, "okay..."

megumi hung up the phone and turned around to sit back in the office chair. mrs. akita was filling out the paperwork on his suspension.

***************************

once you hung up the phone, you sighed and turned to nanami. "sorry, nanami. megumi got in trouble at school today."

the 7:3 sorcerer stopped walking and turned to you, your troubled face concerned him, "do you need to call gojo?"

"yeah, he needs to pick up megumi from school. he got suspended for fighting." you groaned.

"being a mother must be hard." nanami teased as he patted your back in reassurance.

you laughed, "having a boy is hard. tsumiki is an angel. god forbid my future children have megumi's temperament."

"you better hope your future child isn't satoru's mini-me." nanami teased.

you grinned at him and joked lightly, "who says i'm having more kids with satoru? he already gave me two to take care of."

you and nanami knew that satoru would pout all day if he heard that joke. you giggled before dialing satoru's phone number as you both took a quick break on a park bench.

"hey babe, you okay? do i need to come help?" satoru asked as he picked up your phone call on the first ring. he never let you go to voicemail in your 2 years of dating.

"no, satoru. we're fine. but i need you to pick megumi up from school. he got suspended today."

"you don't say?" satoru laughed out loud in amusement, "alright, i'll go grab the kiddo."

"i'll be home later. and don't you dare reward him with something sweet on the way home."

satoru was appalled that you would even think he was going to pick up megumi and grab ice cream on the way back. however, you already knew he was thinking about it.

"so feisty." satoru chuckled, "we'll see you at home later then, sweetheart."

***************************

satoru teleported into the front office of the elementary school. mrs. akita opened the door to her office and brought the white haired sorcerer into the room while megumi waited outside. satoru sat down on the leather seat as mrs. akita sighed.

"satoru, megumi has been getting into a lot of fights lately. is everything okay at home?"

"(y/n) and i have been talking to him about not fighting at school..." satoru started, "but he always has a good reason for fighting, so we couldn't exactly reprimand him. what happened today anyways?"

"megumi got in a scuffle with a group of bullies. there are a couple troublemaker cliques in his grade and he beat up three of them." mrs. akita reported back to him, rubbing her temples. "they have extensive injuries, satoru."

satoru started laughing, impressed that megumi took on three school bullies by himself.

"—satoru, this is serious. their parents want him expelled."

"did megumi win?" satoru asked curiously, ignoring mrs. akita's last statement.

mrs. akita glared at him in annoyance, "clearly he won if the parents are wanting him expelled, satoru."

"then that's all that matters to me. that's my kid we're talking about here. end of discussion, akita." satoru said, standing up from his chair and waving off the conversation. “megumi will take the two-day suspension and we'll pay the fines. tell the other kids' parents we're sorry, yada yada yada.”

mrs. akita rolled her eyes, "you're lucky principal kinomoto and i love you and (y/n). no other school would put up with this behavior, satoru."

satoru winked at the vice principal and opened the door to look at megumi. he had a couple of scratches on his face, a bandaid on his cheek and left knee. megumi looked like he was going to burst into tears with the way he was frowning as pouting.

"alrighty, kiddo. let's head back to jujutsu high."

satoru gave megumi a piggy back ride while the child shoved his sniffling face into the back of satoru's uniform. satoru teleported back to jujutsu high as they walked through the school corridors together. he knew that he would have to have a conversation with megumi before you got back from your mission.

"you know you're going to have to tell (y/n) what happened, right?"

megumi glared at his guardian, "i don't want to." and in a matter of seconds, megumi started to burst into tears.

"you cryin', megumi? didn't you win the fight?" satoru asked.

megumi wiped his tears with his forearm, hiccuping, "y-yes."

"then why are you cryin'?"

"i'm scared to see (y/n)." he sheepishly admitted.

satoru started laughing. megumi could feel his laugh vibrating through his back as satoru carried him. he clutched his arms tighter around satoru's shoulders.

the sorcerer grinned, "you and me both, kiddo."

"...is she going to be mad at me? what if she doesn’t love me anymore?" megumi asked satoru full of worry. he knew that satoru knew you better than anyone else in this world.

satoru thought out loud, "hmmm, she'll probably be a little disappointed. but—she’ll always love you and she cares for you a ton. at the end of the day, you’re her baby."

megumi's eyes continued to water as his grip on satoru's uniform tightened. the closer they got to the dining hall, the more nervous the child got.

"looks like you're in luck, kiddo. (y/n) isn't back from her mission yet." satoru sighed in relief, "let's go see shoko and get you all healed up."

***************************

"oh my..." shoko gasped, "what happened to you, megumi?!"

megumi looked at satoru and then back at the ground. he was too embarrassed to tell shoko what had happened at school.

"he just got in a little tussle at school." satoru told his bestfriend, waving it off.

shoko started laughing, "sounds like you when you were younger, gojo."

"yeah, but i wouldn't have gotten beat up." satoru grinned at the doctor, "i was untouchable."

the brunette rolled her eyes at him, "you're so full of yourself."

satoru scoffed and put megumi down on the exam table. "can you just make sure he's okay before my girlfriend sees his scratches and yells at me?"

shoko nodded. she healed up megumi's minor cuts and bruises so that it looked like nothing ever happened.

***************************

you and nanami were walking through the school's courtyard after your mission today. the mission ended up running later than usual.

"sorry that mission took so long," nanami mumbled. “i know you were worried about megumi.”

"it's okay, nanami. satoru’s with him." you high-fived him, "good job tonight."

as you continued the walk through the courtyard, you saw satoru leaning against the entrance to the school building with his arms folded. he cleared his throat.

"your jealously is showing, satoru." you grinned at your boyfriend.

"me?" satoru called out to you, baffled, pointing at nanami, "jealous of him?"

satoru laughed as nanami rolled his eyes at him. "megumi has been waiting for you, babe."

"what?" you asked in disbelief, "it's past his bedtime. it's almost 10pm. satoru, you're supposed to make sure the kids go to bed on time."

"he wouldn't go back to the apartment, he won't go to sleep without talking to you." satoru grinned thinking about megumi’s tenacity.

satoru walked with you back to the dining hall, holding your bag in one hand and your hand in the other.

"i'll wait in the hallway. go talk to megumi." satoru said as he blew you kiss. you caught his air kiss and threw it on the floor, making him laugh out loud. your feisty personality was one of his favorite things about you.

you entered the dining hall. megumi looked up at you with sad eyes. you sat down in front of the child.

"hey, megumi." you greetled him softly, he was quiet and a little awkward. it looked like you were going to have to break the ice. you started the conversation with the 7 year old, "so, wanna tell me what happened at school today?"

"the kids i beat up were talking about you and gojo-sensei." megumi muttered. he folded his arms, angry at the thought of those bullies and what they had said about the two guardians he cared so much about.

"well... what were they saying about us that made you so upset you had to go and beat them up?"

megumi quietly told you what happened, "they kept saying that you and gojo-sensei weren't mine and tsumiki's real parents and that we don’t look like you two. it made tsumiki cry."

your heart shattered. kids were so mean nowadays. you admit that megumi and tsumiki's situation was unique, yes, but the fact that kids bullied each other about their parents was cruel. you never wanted the kids to feel bad about their situation.

you scoffed, "how can i be mad at the fact that you were defending mine and satoru’s honor?" you ruffled megumi's hair, "why were you so scared to tell me that?"

"because i keep getting in trouble for fighting." megumi frowned, disappointed in himself.

"megumi, i want you to be able to tell me anything. i don't want you to keep things bottled up."

"—but what if you don't love me anymore after i tell you the bad things?" megumi asked quietly.

you were shocked that a 7 year old could have such thoughts. how could he think that you wouldn’t love him anymore? megumi and tsumiki were the center of your world since satoru swiped them off the streets and brought them home to you. (read 'learn to love' here)

you asked megumi a question, "how many times a day do i tell you and tsumiki that i love you two?"

"you tell us every morning before we go to school and before we go to bed. and sometimes randomly throughout the day." megumi smiled at the mental reminder.

"—just because you get into fights at school doesn't mean that i'll love you any less. if anything, i worry about you getting hurt." you lectured him, "now, if you grow up to be a horrible curse user, we might have a problem."

"does that mean you're not mad at me?" megumi asked quietly.

"i am a little disappointed," you sighed, "—but i don't love you any less."

you reached out to him for a hug. the boy jumped into your arms. you squeezed him tightly, rocking him back and forth. "now tell me... did satoru buy you ice cream after school?"

megumi froze, his eyes widened. him and gojo-sensei were caught red-handed.

"uh huh... got it." you laughed. you were going to have a word with satoru later tonight.

end flashback

the dial tone was echoing through megumi's ears as he waited for you to pick up. he felt a lump in his throat, his heart was racing, just like back then when he was 7 years old, but this took the cake for the hardest conversation he's ever had to have with you. he would rather tell you that he broke the glass coffee table in the living room trying to summon max elephant a hundred times over again.

"megumi, are you okay?" you answered, "do you need me to—"

"i'm fine, (y/n). it's gojo-sensei."

your felt sick to your stomach. it was in that moment that you knew something had happened to satoru.

"what happened to him?"

"he was sealed." megumi said grimly.

you furrowed your eyebrows, not understanding what megumi was saying, "what do you mean sealed?"

"i—i don't know all the specifics." megumi stuttered through the receiver, "—but i'm going to find out. i'll save gojo-sensei, (y/n). i promise you. so don’t worry and… don’t be mad at him."

"megumi, wait..." you said, voice barely coming out as a whisper. you heard the younger sorcerer disconnect from the other line.

you felt a lump in your throat as you fought back tears. you had to be strong for the students... and for satoru. you felt this immense pain and anger in your chest. if satoru was sealed, that meant he was still alive. there was a sliver of hope that you would see him again. satoru had to be okay... right?

"(y/n)!" shoko yelled out your name, "you're going to flood all my medical supplies!"

you snapped out of your thoughts and looked around the area. water was starting to flood the ground, surrounding the both of your feet.

"what did megumi say to upset you that much?!" shoko asked, "i haven't seen you do that since high school!"

"satoru was sealed, shoko. and i don't know what that means!" you yelled in frustration, throwing your ice shards against the concrete wall.

the street lamps started to flicker as ice started to form around the streets, fire hydrants started to explode due to high water pressure, water started to fill the streets of shibuya. your cursed energy was starting to become uncontrollable.

you wondered how megumi was feeling at this moment and how horrible he must have felt telling you that satoru was sealed. it couldn't have been easy for him, nor could it be easy for the rest of the jujutsu sorcerers and satoru’s students knowing that the strongest was sealed away. the team morale was probably destroyed.

shoko distracted you out of your thoughts again, "you should go to shibuya. the students need you. you're second in command if anything happens to gojo."

you looked at shoko with determination in your eyes, she nodded at you as you made your way out the door to head straight for shibuya station.

the students needed you right now more than ever since satoru was gone. they needed the support from you, the support that you always gave to them no matter what the situation was. you were their go-to person for comfort. whether they got a bad grade on their mission, if they lost a spar, or when they needed an ear to listen to them, you were there.

you thought back to the conversation that you and satoru had. promise number one would have to wait. promise number two was on a flight back to japan and would be landing in a couple hours. promise number three...

'don't worry, satoru.' you thought to yourself, 'i'll wait for you to come home. i don't care how long it takes. we'll find a way to get you back.'

little did you know, the nineteen days that satoru gojo was sealed away was the most excruciating pain you've ever experienced in your life, not even an injury from a curse could compare.

it was as if something was missing from your life and you never wanted to experience the pain of losing someone so important to you ever again.

© 2024 ASDFGHJKLMALS — ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. PLEASE DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORK.

DIVIDERS PROVIDED BY @/ANLIAN-AISHANG

#jjk x oc #jjk angst #gojo x oc #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen angst #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x oc #gojo satoru #gojo fanfic #megumi fushiguro #megumi fushiguro angst #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #gojo satoru angst #gojo angst #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #jjk x you #satoru gojo angst #gojo satoru x oc #jjk imagines #satoru gojo imagines #gojo imagines #satoru gojo fanfic #megumi fushiguro fanfic #gojo satoru imagines

[apollo1three]

Hello! can I plz request the obey me bros with their children, you can choose if u want them to be their daughter, son or multiple. i just really wanna see them as like dads, like a scenario maybe when they learn to walk or say their first word you dnt have to if you don't want to! and if it's too much can i have just Beel Mammon or Lucifer :3

AHH MY FIRST REQUEST!!! I’m sorry for taking so long! I haven’t checked my dusty musty crusty a$$ inbox in a while ;-; also nonnie u don’t understand how much I love domestic, sappy, fluffy af stuff like this <3<3

Ofc I’ll do all of em, but I’ll do them in parts so you don’t have to wait for me to finish all seven ^^

------

An unimaginable type of love (Lucifer x f!reader)

The demon brothers with their babies (1/7)

Demons are not born, he once told you; they manifest – either as a product of great sin or demonic energy. Demons do not feel the need to procreate, they cannot- they do not get pregnant, and they certainly do not give birth.  

So how is it that the Morningstar finds himself staring down into sparkling crimson eyes, reminiscent of the deep shade of his, with a softness akin to yours? How is it that he cradles a squirming bundle made from the love between him and his human wife?

With a life only ever dedicated to servitude, Lucifer would’ve never dreamt of creating a family of his own. Never in his time in the celestial realm would he have imagined small, fragile little arms, reaching out for him to hold them in his. Never could he have imagined the possibility of a being regarding him in the sentiment with which he had once regarded Him.

He eyes your sleeping form, snuggled into the comfort of the large bed, and he’s overcome with a fondness that words could not explain the level of. To be loved unconditionally by you, and to be given the most precious gift of all. What had he done to deserve such a thing? - something that was once an unfathomable idea - did he deserve it?

He cradles his daughter in his arms, stroking her little face, and the giggle she lets out is so precious, so much like you, and has him nuzzling his nose into her puffed up little cheeks. You had once light-heartedly complained to him about carrying her in your stomach for nine months, only to have her come out identical to him. Though he'd never admit it, your husband was proud of the notion (at the time, you swore you could see puffed up feathers behind his form), but it was irrefutable how the child carried herself with a poise that was undeniably like yours: a mischievous, yet endearing glint in her eyes that surely meant trouble in the foreseeable future. Lucifer didn’t mind, though.

He mutters, “my darling, what are you doing up so late at night?”, to which his only response is a squeal and few kicks of tiny feet. He tuts back, playfully. “So noisy, my love. Won’t you let your mother sleep?”

There’s a slight breeze from the open balcony, and he gets up from his side of the bed with your daughter rocking gently in his grasp. “Let’s go outside for a bit, come now.”

The way he carries her is careful, protective, and much more assured than the way he had first carried her after her birth. He wasn’t used to dealing with humans, let alone any living thing, in their infancy. Angels and demons did not have an infantile period, and it shook him inwardly the first time he held her, so small and breakable. You, a fully grown human woman, were fragile enough as is – but a human infant? It took some stern reassurance that the child he considered so small and breakable was his just as much as she was yours for his paranoia to waver.

‘She’s ours, Lu.’

(Fatherhood. Such a human experience, and he had only you to thank for it.)

Ushering to the Devildom fireflies, she blows raspberries that makes him want to litter his daughter in even more kisses. So he does, far more unreserved than if it were in front of you (while he loved you and trusted you with his heart and soul, showcasing such unabashed doting was still awkward for new to him). So disgustingly affectionate; the past him would’ve laughed at the notion of such outwards display of emotion directed towards anyone or anything – a hit to his pride, to the very thing he embodied. But to the him right now, such a thought never even crossed his mind.

“Do you see that, my love? Aren’t they pretty?”, he smiles softly, tenderly, eyes creasing at the corners. He pokes at her mouth, now endlessly razzing. “Alright, who taught you to do that? Was it Uncle Mammon? Belphie?"

To the him right now, his pride was in the form of his beautiful wife, and his darling little girl.

“Daddy will always protect you two, I swear on it.”

Absentmindedly stroking her head, a thousand thoughts run through his head. He contemplates heading back inside as the wind picks up, worried you might be getting cold. You’ve been all over the baby since she arrived (and even before then, too), insisting that her crib be placed in the both of your bedroom (much to Asmodeus’s chagrin, adamant that your old room would make the most beautiful human-realm-esque nursery) – while your motherliness was extremely attractive (or rather, all of you), and despite your daughter being an unusually well-behaved little thing, you deserved some quality rest.

He heads back, moving to lower her into her pink-embellished, Avatar of Lust™, crib, but freezes.

“Da..da!”

His movements are miniscule, microscopic, as he looks down at the cooing and giggling tot.

“Say- say that again, darling.”

“Dada!”

Time seems to slow, and he’s overcome with so much fondness, so much love.

“Haha! That’s right, here’s Dada..!” He practically throws her up into the air, accompanied by more squeaky giggles, and if anyone asks: no- his eyes don’t water (it’s merely the brightness of the Devildom moon).

Amidst childish laughter, she says it once more.

He lets out a shaky laugh of disbelief. His eyebrows are furrowed, and there's an uncharacteristically toothy grin on his face. Slowly, trembling hands (a fault of the temperature, obviously, despite him once mentioning the immunity of demons to things as 'trivial' as the weather) press his daughter's small body to his chest.

His daughter. His. His daughter. His wife. His brothers. His family.

It was then that he realised, although perhaps he had always known, that the love he felt for you and the life the two of you had created was different from His love. It was unconditional. The sort of love that allowed him to understand Lilith, the sort of love that he would gladly die for, kill for, be destroyed for. The sort of love that was once unattainable, unimaginable, was now closer than ever.

Lucifer wanted to share this moment with you.

“M-MC!”

#obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer x reader #lucifer x reader #obey me #obey me x reader #om lucifer #obey me scenarios #obey me fluff #obey me angst #obey me shall we date #mammon obey me #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #obey me belphegor #obey me hcs #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines

[mochatsin]

When MC is a Writer

You’ve written several books back in the human realm, some posted online while others were published. You have some works unfinished but since you were taken to Devildom, you had to put them on hold. Eventually the brothers find out about your hobby.

Hi I had this idea while I was reading light novels. Certain brothers would have certain themes in whatever is being written to fit them, but feel free to imagine what kind of story your MC would write. Thanks for reading!

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

Lucifer

Lucifer was out on a stroll on RAD when he spotted you with Simeon having lunch together, looking deep in discussion. He does notice that you both have been spending a lot of time together and a part of him is curious as to why that is. You’re either talking with Simeon during lunch breaks or meeting up with him after school. He’s not jealous, Lucifer is more intrigued as to what must be so important that you come home late after your visits with the angel. 

You were both in his study when he finally asked you about it. You were late for dinner yesterday after coming home late from purgatory hall, Lucifer wouldn’t want you to start ditching your duties if it’s your turn to make dinner for the week. You explain to him that you’re not trying to avoid your chores at all, there’s just something that you needed Simeon’s help with. Now what could possibly Simeon do that Lucifer couldn’t? He probes a bit more until you spill the truth. 

You tell Lucifer that you and Simeon are meeting up together because you’re trying to tie the loopholes in this story that you were writing, and Simeon has given you great advice as a fellow writer. Now Lucifer is intrigued, enough to the point he put down his fountain pen and paused in his work. That can wait until tomorrow, he wants to hear all about your writing. He won’t pressure you into talking if you don’t want to tell him yet, but he promises not to make fun of whatever you make. 

You both enjoy a glass of demonus while you tell Lucifer the premise of your story, giving him enough background and detail for him to understand the part that you’re having trouble writing. Surprisingly, Lucifer is also quite a big help as he asks you thought provoking questions and offers suggestions that you can try to implement into your works. Given that he’s read several pieces of literature for the years he’s been alive, he has a lot of insight on what you can do to pace your story better. 

There’s a small smile on his face as he notices how your eyes shine every time you figure out a way for you to write the next parts, and he sits there in his spot sipping on his drink while you talk about what you can do for future updates. It’s impressive just listening to you untangle such an intricate story as if you’re just placing pieces of a puzzle together. To him, your mind is beautiful. 

Some time later, you found Lucifer by the living room with your book in his hand. He said that even though you explained the story, he still wanted to see how it really goes and appreciate your work. You asked if there’s anything you can do to thank him the other day for helping you, and all Lucifer asked  is that he’s the first to know once you update.

Mammon

Mammon is lounging in your room while he’s checking his stocks and latest lottery results (he lost) when you start asking him questions about gambling. He interpreted this as you finally having an interest in his gambling habits so he began talking about the mechanics. Roulette tables, machines, you name it and he’ll explain it with great detail. It would make the brothers wonder why Mammon can’t even remember to do all his chores when he can recall all of these with ease. 

You also ask about how people normally scheme and cheat in casinos. At first he thought you were accusing him even though he often does that in game nights at the House of Lamentation (Levi caught him), but then he realizes it’s just pure curiosity so he explains how he’s heard some people pull it off. It’s a high risk kind of stunt and since he doesn’t want to be banned from the casino then he doesn’t resort to those methods. 

Mammon then starts questioning why you’re asking these. It’s not like you were going to gamble right? He silently hoped you weren’t in debt to the point you’re resorting to gambling but no that’s not the case. You tell him that you’re trying to write a scene and it takes place in a casino, and since Mammon spends a lot of his time in those places then his experience makes him the best person to ask. He was definitely turning red at that last part. 

Mammon goes back to his room and since you talked about your writing, he searches for it online to check out your works. He didn’t know you were such a big shot in the reading community so he wants to see what your stuff was about. It started as reading the summary, to reading the introduction, and now he’s updated. They were all right, you’re good. 

Mammon starts reading more often, though it’s mostly limited to the things you’ve written before. Satan has been trying to get him to read his personal recommendations but if it’s something written by you then he’s not hesitating to pick it up. Lucifer is personally thanking you for giving Mammon something that helped temporarily forget his gambling habits and dumb schemes.

If you have any more questions about gambling or anything, Mammon is always happy to tell you everything he knows. Heck, he even offered to bring you over to the casino to let you have some personal experience of whatever that is you’re writing but the brothers warned you against that idea if you want to come back home with Grimm still in your pockets.

Levi

Lately Levi has been reading a lot of Light Novels. Usually he’d be updating himself with manga he’s read to check for any new updates but he decided to pick on light novels that one of his favorite manga’s are based on. He claims that despite the manga and anime adaptations, there’s still a whole world of lore that there’s yet to discover so he wants to pick up on those, and he eventually came to appreciate these sorts of books. 

He was going through some recommendations and read through some of them, but one series definitely caught his attention and he spent an entire night trying to catch up to the latest update. He went to the breakfast table with heavy bags in his eyes and a big pout on his face so you ask him what’s wrong. 

He tells you that he found an interesting book series that has all his favorite tropes, but the author went on a sudden hiatus so there weren't any new updates as of recently. Biggest problem is that the chapter was left on a cliffhanger. You let him ramble on with the story until you realized that was one of your works. You were debating if you should admit it or not but maybe it’s best you do. 

You explained that you were actually the author and the work was on pause because of the exchange program. You wrote it in the human realm but because you were taken to Devildom, you couldn’t find the time to continue writing. Levi wasn’t sure if he should believe you were actually the author because no way can this happen to him twice, first it was TSL now it’s this one. 

He asked you several questions about the series like another TSL trivia quiz. His question went from easy basic knowledge to something oddly specific, but since you wrote it then you answered everything perfectly. Levi has that sparkle in his eyes that he usually has when he looks at his idols, except this time it’s with you. 

Levi refuses to hear any major spoiler from you so that his reactions are genuine by the time you update. You’re instantly one of his favorite writers and he won't hesitate to hype up your work on any forum platform. He can talk about how much he loves your writing to the point that you’re motivated to go back to finishing the next chapters. Maybe you could let Levi take a peek to be the first person to read once you’re done.

Satan

It’s always a nice leisure time to just sit in a room with Satan, both of you doing your own thing while discussing books you’ve both read recently. Often though you both do that in his room but since his recent rampage left everything a bigger mess than it already was to begin with, your book discussions were held in your room for the time being until his place gets cleaned up. Barbatos is not going to be happy about it.

You can see how he’s dying to discuss the latest book he’s read so the moment you say he can go first, he’s talking almost to a Levi level kind of excitement. Satan tells you how he recently found a series he’s invested in. The story and pacing are so good that he was hooked on it immediately, recalling all his favorite lines and scenes from it. He talks about the work in high regards and how he hopes the author comes back soon with some updates. 

You don’t know if you should be surprised that Satan has already come across your works considering that most of his days are dedicated to reading. You haven’t told him about this part of your life since he’s read so many good books, you fear it may not be up to match with other great writers so you kept it a secret from him. It's nice to see that Satan is praising your works, unaware that you were the author.  

You left your laptop on one day and Satan didn’t intend to look but accidentally did. He thought it was a homework essay for one of your classes, but he was surprised to see your drafts of the next chapters. Satan wanted to assume you were those fanfic writers that Levi has been talking about, but he does see that it was all aligned to the latest update. Realizing how much  he just talked about your work in front of you made him red from embarrassment, but he’s proud more than anything else. 

He comes clean that he knows your secret while apologizing for taking a peek, but he’s quite ecstatic to be associated with someone as talented as you are. It’s one thing to be a fan of books, it’s another to be writing a good one. If you need a beta reader, he’s always ready to lend his services. He’s a quick reader and he can lend useful advice or proper criticisms. At least he can be useful to you and it’s a bonus to be the first out of everyone to read about it.

Other than being a huge bookworm, Satan is the most knowledgeable among the brothers so if you’re struggling with writing something you don’t know too much about then he’ll help fill in the gaps of your knowledge. If it’s something he’s not familiar with then expect to wake up the next day finding out that Satan spent the night researching it for you so he could answer any question you have. He’d love to help you out in whatever way he can. 

Asmo

Asmo has been whining to the house of purgatory for any ideas because he needs to make some new content for his account because he wants to keep his followers entertained. He’s always doing makeup and skin care reviews because it’s what he does best (and also because he’s sponsored to do so), so Asmo is thinking of what’s something new he can do this time. It’s good to do something new from time to time to shock his fanbase.

Simeon suggests that Asmo should go read a book. At first the demon thought he was being condescending, but given that it’s a suggestion from Simeon then it’s definitely a genuine one. Asmo wanted to turn down the idea, though Simeon adds that he should read books up his alley. Perhaps a romance book should suit his tastes? They’re not too complicated to read and can be entertaining if written well. Being an Avatar of Lust, romance does sound intriguing and Simeon has the perfect book to recommend.

Asmo shocks everyone at the House of Lamentation when he comes home reading a book. It has a pretty cover and talks a tale of lovers, plus it was easy for him to digest since the book isn’t as thick and heavy like the ones that Satan normally likes to read. He seems overjoyed by the book that Simeon suggested to him and it must take a lot for a story to captivate Asmo that he almost forgets his nightly skin care routine.

He’s laying on your lap, swinging his feet with glee as he talks to you about this book he’s been fussing over. The story progressed so nicely between the two lovebirds, and each obstacle is so entertaining that Asmo can’t help but go through the next pages to see what happened. Does it strain the relationship? Do they break up? How will it go from here on then? It’s all too good! One of the best romance books he’s read so far. 

The more he talked about the twists and the plot, the more you realized that he was talking about your book that you published before you even got to Devildom. You ask Asmo how he got his hands on that book since it’s from the human realm, and he tells you that Simeon suggested it. You sighed, of course it was Simeon. He was the only one who knew you wrote books because you told him, though you didn’t expect that he’d suggest it to Asmo of all people.

Eventually you come clean to Asmo that you were the author, and it took a bit of explaining until he would believe you. You showed him your old drafts of when you worked, maybe some pictures of that time when you were storyboarding the book so you could convince him. He’s shocked to see this precious human has quite the talent of writing romance novels, he almost believed that your works were written by cupid himself! His new promotional video is him raving about your books, talking about how his heart skipped a beat and whatnot. The sales spiked that day.

Beel

Beel came home from practice one afternoon and due to the intensive workout, he’s definitely starving for something. He bought some Black Puddle Jelly from Madam Scream’s before he went home because he thought about sharing them with you. Food always tastes better when it’s with you. He would’ve brought Belphie with him, though his twin is still in detention for pulling a prank on Lucifer during class earlier.

He looks for you but before he goes to your room, he spots you by the kitchen instead trying to cook up something. As far as Beel knows, it’s Levi who would be on dinner duties for tonight so he’s wondering what you’re doing in there. The aroma of what you were making is what drew Beel to you, and he asks what you were up to when you spot him behind you, mouth already watering. 

You tell Beel that you’re trying to cook some recipe you found online while making use of the ingredients here in Devildom. It’s the first time you went out to buy every ingredient on your own to experiment, and Beel immediately points out to you which ones would probably be safe to eat and what would be dangerous to add in the dish because some ingredients won’t react well with each other. Even though Beel can most likely eat anything, he wouldn’t want you to accidentally poison yourself. 

Beel watches you type down some notes on your phone and asks if that was for the recipe, though you tell him that you’re writing details. You’re attempting to cook with foreign ingredients because you’re trying to immerse yourself with a character you’re writing in your story. A character that’s trying to discover some new recipes with things they’ve never seen before.

You’re thankful for Beel’s advice about the ingredients earlier, it helped you gain some more insight and inspiration on what to do for the next chapters. You’re already imagining the culinary endeavors your character will go through while you’re chopping the mandrakes you got. The demon is happy to help and all Beel asks is that you feed him whatever you’re making when you’re done, since he likes your cooking after all. He sits by the island counter, chewing on the Black Puddle Pudding while he listens to you discuss your book with him. 

Beel eventually walks up to you one day and admits that he tried to read your works. Your culinary adventure storyline is fantastic, but when it starts to describe all the delicious food that the character makes, Beel’s hunger starts to spike that he almost ate the page. There’s just something about the way you discuss the food that makes it sound so appetizing to him, he almost wants to recreate it with you. When you offer to read it with him while he eats some snacks, he has this happy smile on his face as he nods. 

Belphie

Belphie just got back from RAD, stretching his limbs a bit and yawning as he opens the door. He just came back from detention for pulling pranks, and all he wants to do is to just fall asleep right now. He wanted to invite Beel for a nap but his twin is still in practice so he’s not available. You were the next person he had in mind, so he went out searching for you around the house.

He finds you by the planetarium, and he was ready to invite you to sleep but he sees that your focus has been going back and forth between your notes and the stars in the sky. Since Devildom always has an endless night time, you’re able to study the constellations as freely as you want. There’s no need for you to wait for the sun to set like you had to back in the human realm. There are books about Devildom stars scattered around you, ones you’ve borrowed from the library or from Satan’s collection so you can study them better.

He sits down next to you, resting his head over your shoulder and asking if you’re trying to memorize the constellations. You explain that you’re trying to get inspiration and notes for something you’re writing, a short fairy tale that’s dedicated to the stars this time. You’ve written fairy tales before you got here, and you want to make something inspired from Devildom stars. The constellations they have here are way different from what you normally see in the human realm, so you’re sure that the stories behind them are different as well. 

A fairy tale about stars? Written by one of the people he cares about the most? Belphie is definitely interested in hearing more about it. He doesn’t try to tease you or anything about the fact you’re writing stories, he’s even willing to offer to help you by telling you everything he knows about the stars and the stories behind each constellation that he can remember at the top of his head in hopes that may spark more inspirations. Satan may know a lot of things, but Belphie is passionate about stars and you can feel it from the way he talks. 

Belphie is incredibly drowsy the next day since he spent the night talking about your writing and helping you with it. He can’t help it when it’s about stars, and Belphie loves the way your eyes light up whenever you get an idea that you can put in. To him, it almost shines like the stars you’re writing about. He may have a vague idea of your story based on yesterday’s conversation, but he’s excited to read the final outcome. He’s seen glimpses of your works when you showed him your notes, it would definitely be worth the wait.

You invited him back to the planetarium because you want to show him your draft underneath all the stars. Even when he’s tired, he shows up and lays next to you to rest with all these pillows. The only favor he asked was that you read the fairytale for him while he rests, he promises he’ll try not to fall asleep. You read the story to him, occasionally checking if he’s still awake or not. Whenever you stopped, he would squeeze your hand and despite having his eyes closed, he would tell you to continue with such a groggy voice. He manages to at least hear the rest of it before falling asleep with a smile on his face.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios

[beneathstarryskies]

Word count: 1,194

Summary: Grimmjow has been living with your for a while, and you have him feeling ✨some type of way.✨

Warnings: fem!reader, penetration, smut, grimmjow is basically a warning in himself (i love the murder kitten with my whole heart but he is a problem), cock warming, a lil fluffy

A/N: Based off of this post by the lovely @your-local-hollow-lover

Like almost everything between you and Grimmjow, it started as an argument. He’d been more moody and rude than usual lately, which you didn’t even think was possible. He sat on your sofa, where he’d been sleeping since Urahara declared he couldn’t stay at the shop anymore, with his legs sprawled open while staring disinterestedly at the television. You’d tried all day to get him off his ass to help you do chores, after all, if he was going to stay in the human realm he needed to learn how to do human things. He just refused to even look at you. His jaw was set tight and his lips were pulled into a scowl. 

“So are you just gonna fucking sit there and let me do all of the chores?” you’d asked, stomping your foot like a child mid-tantrum as you stood in front of the television. It was annoying, but Grimmjow begrudgingly thought it was cute too. He loves it when you bite back. 

“Yeah, I fucking am! Humans are good for one thing, and that’s to serve me!” 

“You’re such an asshole sometimes,” you growl. As you took off from the living room, he’d assumed that was the end of it, but then you came out of your bedroom fully dressed and carrying your purse. 

“Where the hell are you going?” he asked. 

“Out!” you said without looking at him. 

Before you can make it to the door he’s on you. He grabs your arm firmly, but with a surprising awareness of his strength to not hurt you. 

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, woman,” he growls as he tries to pull you closer. 

“Let go of me, Grimmjow!” you try to yank your arm away. You almost managed to get out of his grip until he yanks on your arm and then pushes you against the wall. 

“Don’t walk away from me,” he snarls, pinning you against the wall. Your scent fills his nostrils and he has to hold back a grunt. At that moment the source of why he’s been so irritable today reveals itself with a rush of blood straight to his cock. 

“Oh my god, are you seriously hard right now?” You asked. 

“What did you fucking expect? You’ve been traipsing around the house all day in those stupid little shorts and wearing that…that…DAMN SCENT!” 

You know he means your perfume. He’d mentioned it once before, trying to find the source of the sweet smell but being too embarrassed to ask. Although it’d been a couple of days since you put any on, so you didn’t think he’d still be able to smell it on you. Apparently, you miscalculated. You also miscalculated why he’d pretended to hate it when you first explained the whole concept of perfume to him. 

In the heat of the moment, you leaned in to kiss him. It was sloppy and wet. You wondered if this was the first time he’d kissed, but he didn’t give you time to ask before he was pressing his bulge against you. 

That’s how you ended up in this predicament.

He’s purring loudly against your neck as you sit on his cock. His hands are firmly on your hips. He hadn’t helped you work your way down his thick shaft, but he wasn’t pushing you away either. Not by a long shot. The warmth of your snug walls around him felt fucking amazing, but he wouldn’t admit that. 

Even though he’s holding onto your body like his life depends on it and you can feel the purrs vibrating against his chest that’s flush with yours, he feels ashamed of liking this. He’s so weak and even feels a little disgusted with himself for savoring the feeling of some human’s cunt around his cock. But you weren’t just any human, not really. That disgusts him too. The fact that he looks forward to you coming home from work, and how he enjoys all of your dumb arguments. The way he can’t help taking in your scent every time you’re close to him. He fucking hates it. 

“Grimmjow, I need to move,” you whine, but his grip on you forces you to keep still. 

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he pants. “Don’t even try it.” 

“You’re the one that pulled me on your lap,” you argue. 

Your hands are trembling as you brace your hands on his shoulders. He has you filled to the brim. His balls are flush against your ass, but he refuses to move. Even though he’s quivering and purring and his cock is aching inside of you, he forces himself to stay still. 

“You’re just making us both crazy,” you try to reason with him as your pussy clenches around his cock. 

“I don’t care!” 

He wants to outlast his own instincts. His mind is filled with images of slamming into you over and over; of holding you down and making you scream his name. But no. He stubbornly stays in place, torturing you both in hopes he’ll go soft or finally find the strength to push you away instead of keeping you caged against him. 

He moves to adjust his position and inadvertently ends up lightly thrusting. He lets out a soft growl as he does it again, this time harder. Your arousal drips down his shaft and balls as a surge of excitement courses through your loins at the idea that he’s finally going to give in, but he stubbornly goes still again. 

“Grimmjow, it’s okay to want this,” you whisper and run your hands through his hair. “But it’s also okay not to. We can stop.” 

“I don’t want to fucking stop,” he admits. “But I can’t give in either. This is stupid.” 

“You’re impossible,” you groan. 

He knows you’re right. He’s the one who kissed you first. He’s the one who pulled you onto his lap so you could grind against his cock, but now that it’s down to it he’s being too prideful to give in to the intense need that’s been growing inside him for as long as he’s known you. It all added up: every time you argued, every time you sat beside him on the couch to watch a movie and fell asleep so he put a blanket over you while pretending the next morning he didn’t, all the times you offered him some semblance of understanding when nobody else would’ve tried. It left little marks on his heart that he thought long dead. 

You give up on trying to make him move. Instead you just wrap your arms around him, letting him nuzzle and purr against you. One of your hands run through his hair gently. You want him to know you’ll still be here when he’s ready. 

After what feels like an eternity, his grip loosens on your hips. Slowly, and ever so carefully, you begin rocking your hips. Your body screams out for you to go faster, to take what you want like he likely would if the roles were reversed, but you don’t. You keep him enveloped in your embrace. 

“Do you want me to stop?” you ask gently. 

“Fuck…No,” he grits. 

#🌟written in the stars #grimmjow x reader #grimmjow jaegerjaquez #grimmjow jaegerjaquez x reader #grimmjow bleach x reader #espada x reader #bleach #espada #bleach grimmjow

[estelofrivendell]

The Lucky One (Legolas x Female Reader)

summary: legolas reflects on living his life with a human.

word count: 1016

a/n: not sure how i thought of this. it's not long (not that anything i'm writing lately is long) and i always wanted to write more for legolas. i miss writing for lotr, even though i'm now focused on other things.

The sun shone brightly as it rose, birds were singing and chickens called, signaling the beginning of the morning. Legolas was a night owl but grew to appreciate the mornings because it meant waking up beside you, a reminder of the peace and quiet you now had. Moments such as these made him appreciate the little things in life more than he thought was already possible.

Once upon a time, the mere thought of being intimate with a human scared the living daylights out of him. Now, he cannot imagine being with anyone else other than you. A woman and an elf was initially unheard of, and before your union, there were no such examples. They were so different yet so alike Legolas appreciated humans.

He loved all your flaws, both physical and personality, because they were a part of you. Humans were not infallible, including you, but they would not be who they are without them, and Legolas cannot say elves were always noble and faultless since the dawn of history. The good things about you outweighed the bad things about you and he would be damned to leave behind what he had with you just because you were not of his kind.

You stood there at the doorway, rubbing your eyes, hair untidy and your overall state unkempt, and he loved that. He loved that cheeky grin of yours even more; it was the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.

“Good morning, sunshine.” Legolas brought in the food he cooked, with the ingredients he obtained while you were still asleep. He knew it was your favourite, even if he did not like much of your food tastes. “Slept well?”

“I did.” You reached out for the comb on the wooden desk. “I do not remember what I dreamt of, not that I ever do, but I slept well, yes.”

It amazed him that men could dream and did yet not remember them. Legolas remembers all his dreams vividly and it meant something, little or large. In the occasional morning that you remembered what you dreamt of the night before, it was all about things that were not possible. He also found it intriguing that a subset of dreams, nightmares, could be so overwhelming to the point it woke you up. Multiple times this has happened, and you tell him it was always about the war.

“I dreamt of the woods,” he said. “Not of Mirkwood, I know that all too well. But it was not like any of the woods we saw on our journey either. I think we are meant to be there sooner or later, whatever it has to offer us.”

“Well, whatever woods you want us to travel to, I do not want it to have anything similar to those frighteningly humongous spiders your realm has. Or any orcs possibly hiding and waiting to kill anyone and anything on site. I want to live, Legolas, and not like a reckless fool.”

Legolas smiled. “There is nothing to worry about. Those spiders are only in Mirkwood, I can assure you that. I have lived many years and possess a great deal of knowledge on what to expect when facing the unknown.”

You frowned. “Right, but I never forgot you were a thousand years old. How can I? Nevertheless, reading numbers of books and hearing it from your fellow elves and friends, well, Aragorn only, is nothing like actually being there yourself.”

“As I just said, there is nothing to worry about. I will always protect you, always, with or without danger.”

“We humans are known for being brave and courageous, whatever elves believe courage means, and yet you are less hesitant to face the unknown.”

“Are we? I do not think so. I think that is the specialty of humans. What you believe is the unknown is not entirely unknown to elves. Remember, my dear, before Rivendell, I have never ventured farther than the outskirts of Mirkwood. The thought of leaving my beloved home terrified me. You, on the other hand, are like a moth to the flame. I remember thinking how could anyone be so sure in helping a little hobbit you do not know destroy the One Ring, when the odds are slim?”

“It was the right thing to do. I thought elves were insistent on their morals.”

“We are. But the conditions of acting on it depends. Most of us are not as brave as you. That is what I admire about you.”

“And I admire your wit, and everything about you, actually. I always said I was lucky to love you.”

“No. I am the lucky one.”

You sighed. “This again?”

These conversations went nowhere and were all about you two fighting over who loved each other more, who was more lucky, and who was undeserving. Arguing with you was not far from arguing with a wall, but he would still choose you over anyone else. That is what he thinks love and commitment are all about, staying by the side of who you care about the most, despite their issues, flaws and struggles. Because in the end, it will all be worth it.

The end. Those two words scared Legolas the most. Elves have no end, but men do, and there will come a time where you will grow old and leave the world, and leave him alone as he remains young and beautiful, but become wiser and weary. Instead of glooming over the future and events that have yet to happen, he would rather cherish the present and show his love and appreciation for you. He made a commitment to you, and when the time comes, he will watch over you and care for you, because that is what he vowed to do. For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health. He thought these were such beautiful vows for humans.

Legolas loved you and he always showed you that since he first knew what it meant to love a human and will continue to do so until your very last breath.

#lord of the rings imagine #lotr imagine #legolas x reader #legolas imagine

[five-and-dimes]

Sloom

AO3

In many ways, Dream feels inferior to the rest of his family. Which means he struggles when Hob asks to meet them.

Well this took a million years longer to finish than I expected and as usual I struggled with the ending but we gotta call it done at some point, lads, so here we are.

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

Dream tries not to think about it too much, because it makes something in his heart ache when he does.

How he was made wrong.

He doesn't understand it- he was born the same way as his siblings, and yet somehow he is the only one… lacking. Everyone else understands humanity, everyone else understands themselves, everyone else doesn't struggle to connect, to speak, to share, to exist in a way that doesn't hurt.

Even Desire, whom he despises so much for all the games they play to torment him…

But then, Desire is only so cruel to him. Maybe that, too, is his fault.

He had thought it was enough to do his job well - to protect the dreamers and his realm and all the power it contains. He can withstand being a bad sibling, a bad friend, a bad husband, father, lover, person (he can withstand it, he can) as long as he is good at his job. He doesn't play games, he doesn't let himself get distracted, he fulfills his purpose, he is good at his job, and that is enough. It has to be.

(And then he fails at that, too.)

(He had made himself good for one thing. Now he is good for nothing.)

He walks with Death, and his elder sister lovingly twists the knife. She reminds him of all the ways he got it wrong, got all of it wrong, and he wonders if she would have bothered to come if he had called at Fawny Rig.

(He wonders if she would have come if one of their other siblings had been captured.)

(He wonders if they all aid each other when he's not looking.)

(He doesn't look.)

She tells him to visit Hob Gadling and it feels like an execution. He feels like he’s bleeding, like he’s being sentenced to a slow death, like all of his wounds are on display for anyone to dig their fingers into.

He feels like he deserves it.

And so he drags his feet, first to the hollowed out husk of the White Horse, and then following a bright line to someplace new, someplace glowing with life and possibility and when he crosses the threshold he feels like a weed. He is too dark for this place, too cold, and when he sees Hob he expects to be kicked out like a stray dog.

Hob smiles at him. Smiles, and Dream feels a little less cold.

“You’re late.”

No condemnation. No cruelty. No accusation or malice or brutality.

Dream is breathless with it.

“It seems I owe you an apology. I’ve always heard it impolite to keep one’s friends waiting.”

Somehow, Hob’s smile brightens. When Dream sits across from him, he feels, for the first time since 1916- no, since long, long before then- that he is welcome and wanted.

When he came here Dream had braced himself for punishment. Instead, they sit and talk long into the evening. Soft and hesitant, Dream gives Hob his name, and Hob glows like he’s been given the answers to the universe. Bright and enthusiastic, Hob speaks of all he has done in the past century, and Dream listens and lets himself sink comfortably into the warmth of companionship.

Eventually, Dream knows he must return to his responsibilities. It aches to think of leaving this soothing place, but he feels as though a balm has been spread on his wounds. Still hurting and aching, but less so than before.

Before he stands to depart, Hob places a hesitant hand on his wrist.

“Feel free to drop by before 2089, yeah? Anytime.”

There is a long pause while Dream considers that. Despite how kind he had been, it feels inconceivable that Hob would want to see Dream more than he has to. But he cannot deny the way his chest clenches with hope at the idea of feeling this warmth again so soon.

Perhaps it is selfish.

But Dream agrees.

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

The first time it comes up is on their third meeting in as many weeks.

They are sitting together on a comfortably worn couch in Hob’s flat above the New Inn, next to each other but still with a respectable distance between them. Dream is trying very, very hard not to misstep in his friendship with Hob. And a part of that, he understands, means sharing the information Hob has asked for for so long.

It is a deeply uncomfortable experience for Dream. A part of him (the part that is still, in some way, shivering deep in the Burgess basement) cries that his secrecy is all that has protected him. That Hob, in his human greed and longing, will turn into Roderick the moment he realizes what Dream is, what he could get from him, what he could take from him.

(That same part of him, curled up the cold glass orb of his heart, cries that it’s better to just give it to him.)

And yet, in all that Dream tells him, Hob never turns cruel. He explains his function, his creation and rule over dreams and nightmares, and Hob’s eyes alight with wonder. He describes his realm, his subjects and landscapes and the Sea of Dreams, and Hob leans forward like an excited child.

And, when he stiltedly explains the nature of the Endless, Hob laughs fondly.

“You know, that actually explains so much.”

Dream tilted his head in confusion, “How do you mean?”

Hob waved his hand vaguely, leaning back in his seat, “Well, all your cute little quirks,” Dream resolutely ignores the warmth in his face from being called cute, “how formally you speak, and all the human things that seem to go over your head. Of course human social niceties aren’t natural to you, not only are you not human, you’re as old as the universe.”

Frowning, Dream looks down at his hands in his lap. He thinks, as he often does, of Death. Of her easy mingling with humans, her casual conversation, the way people smile at her. He thinks of his own shy smile and how all it does is make people walk away faster.

He doesn’t think being Endless explains anything about him, actually.

(It occurs to him, suddenly, that maybe it is not that he wishes to be unmade. He simply wishes he had been made right.)

(Or, perhaps, never made at all.)

“Hey.”

A warm hand covers his, and he looks up to find Hob leaning into his space, shooting him a small smile despite the concern in his eyes, “I’m not criticizing. It’s endearing,” he laces their fingers together, soft and gentle, “I like your quirks.”

That word again. Dream swallows, feels the words build at the base of his throat, they are flaws, they are faults, do not be fooled, do not show me mercy I do not deserve.

But before he gets a chance to explain, to warn him, Hob leans in closer, “I like you.”

The kiss is hesitant, he can taste the anxiety on Hob’s lips, the way he clutches his hand a little harder as though bracing to be pushed away. Dream does not have the strength to push him away. It takes every ounce of effort he has just to keep his tears from falling as he melts against Hob, pressing closer and drinking in Hob’s sigh of relief.

Dream stays long into the night, until Hob drifts to sleep in the circle of his arms. He never corrects Hob’s assumption on his nature, the words still stuck in his throat. Choking him.

But not enough to open his mouth.

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

"So," Hob drawled, putting his arm around Dream's shoulders in a way that was clearly trying to be casual and not succeeding even a little, "When do I get to meet your family?"

Several months have passed (several months of opportunities to tell the truth, to be honest, to crack his ribs open and show Hob everything wrong with him-) and their relationship has grown like a blooming flower. Dream feels warm with Hob, and Hob smiles easily whenever he visits.

Dream does not want it to end.

He hums in consideration, even as his entire body tenses against his will. He has told Hob about his family, though not extensively. He has told him their names, and the order of their birth, but not the intricacies of his relationships with them.

(He has not, even once, mentioned his parents. Hob hasn’t asked.)

(One of the first nightmares he ever crafted was that of a child crying for a parent who refuses to turn around.)

Beside him, Hob shifts a little uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck as he rambles, “I know it’s one of those silly human things, the whole ‘meet the fam’ part of a relationship, but well, y’know me, always curious about your life.”

Hob does that fairly frequently, explaining “human mysteries” or sometimes laughing fondly as he guides his “silly Endless” through whatever social mishap he’s found himself in. Always explaining away Dream’s stumbles with his inhumanity.

And now, he wants to meet his family, and Dream’s chest tightens at the thought of Hob expecting to meet more cold and aloof entities who don’t know where to put their hands and instead being met with Endless who are so much better.

“I… understand,” His speech is as faltering as the rest of him. “If you would like. To meet one of them. I can arrange a meeting.”

Pulling him closer against his side, Hob’s eyes brighten with excitement, even as he checks, “Are you sure?”

Dream nods, barely feeling the kiss on his cheek as he thinks of each of his siblings in relation to Hob.

Delirium and Hob would likely find each other a delight (an irony which does not escape him), both so vivid and full of life, always looking at things in new ways. They are both so bright, so colorful in their own ways. So jarring next to Dream's darkness.

(He pictures Delirium questioning why someone as nice as Hob is with her mean older brother.)

(He pictures Hob realizing he doesn't have an answer.)

He does not think he could bring himself to call Destruction, if he would even answer, but he thinks he and Hob would make fine friends- both turning away from the violence of their pasts, searching instead for ways to grow and nurture.

(Dream had to be punished into changing. Had to be tortured in order to grow.)

(He thinks he grew like a weed. Or perhaps an infection. Just because he is more does not mean he is good.)

If he's honest with himself, he thinks Hob and Desire would get along as well. Hob would probably be good for his sibling in a similar way that he was for Dream, able to understand the soft parts that Desire hides, and them able to share in the joys that life has to offer in a way Dream struggles to, so accustomed to denying his own wants.

(Desire hurt him. Desire hurt him.)

(He has been told that he is worse.)

Thinking about it, he thinks Despair would like Hob. He had the unique ability to truly appreciate despair and understand its value, and Despair had an appreciation for life that Hob could relate to.

(What does it say about him, he wonders, that Despair wants to live more than Dream does?)

Destiny would almost certainly decline any offer to meet, and Dream doesn’t know that he and Hob would be friends, per say, but…

(He imagines Destiny standing before the immortal, forgoing any small talk and telling Hob bluntly that he is destined for things far greater than his broken little brother.)

But, in the end, he knows there was always one person Dream wanted Hob to meet, even if it makes him lose him. So he steels himself and forces the words out.

"Hob, would you like to meet my elder sister, the one who gave you your immortality?"

“Death?” Hob goes a little wide eyed, “Is that- I mean, I can meet her without, y’know…” he makes a crude slashing motion across his throat.

“Of course,” Dream answers steadily, “She can be present among mortals without bestowing her gift upon them. She will not take you. Unless. You ask.”

“No, no, not planning that anytime soon,” Hob is quick to reassure, “Or ever, really,” he tacks on with a smirk and a wink.

Nodding, Dream allows himself to reach out and take Hob’s hand. He will miss this warmth. “I will speak with her, then. And arrange a meeting.”

Hob’s grin is wide and bright, and Dream can feel it as Hob presses a kiss to the sharp edge of his cheek bone, “Excellent! This will be fun, Love! I’ll pick up some of that wine that you liked enough to actually drink- or, would you rather we meet in the Dreaming?”

Dream only barely manages to suppress a cringe, but even so he bows his head, as if he could somehow hide within his own curled spine.

“I would. Prefer to let you meet on your own.”

Hob's smile falters, "What? Why?"

Because I do not want you to see us side by side. Because I do not want to make my lacking more obvious than it already will be. Because I won't survive seeing the moment your eyes turn cold. Because I'm scared.

"I merely wish you to get to know each other without my influence."

He can see so clearly in his mind’s eye, Hob glancing back and forth between the two siblings, one so charming and kind and good, and the other… lesser. Lacking. Dream does not wish to be present for that realization.

Recovering his grin, Hob laughed lightly, "Ballsy of you. Most folks I know wouldn't have the guts to leave their siblings and their partners alone together," he leans forward to play with Dream's hair teasingly, "What if we exchange secrets, eh?"

I'm a liar, I lied to you, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-

“That is within your right.”

Hob laughs, startled, and pulls Dream flush against his side, “What a fair ruler you are,” he says jokingly, “Well, I can’t wait. It’ll be endlessly fun,” he winks, trying to get a rise out of Dream.

Dream smiles back. But it’s a little weaker than usual.

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

Dream stares at the ankh for a long time before he picks it up. A childish part of him wants to leave the gallery and feed Hob lies and excuses. Death is very busy, she could not make the time, I called and she didn’t answer, she didn’t answer, it has happened before-

But. What would that accomplish besides delaying the inevitable?

He cradles the ankh in his hands, “Death. I stand in my gallery and I hold your sigil.”

“Dream!” He can hear the smile in Death’s voice, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I wish to discuss. A personal matter. Would you care to join me?”

Death steps beside him almost before he can finish speaking, "Of course! What can I do for you?"

She's so casual and easygoing, but a part of Dream can't help but search for any lingering anger or resentment from their last talk. He wonders if she's forgiven him.

(He wonders if he's worth forgiving.)

Straightening, he explains flatly, "Hob Gadling wishes to meet you," he pauses before adding, "In a nonprofessional manner."

Snorting, Death replied, "Well, I could have guessed that," she grinned, "But you're finally letting me meet your little project?"

"He has become. Far more than a project."

"I know, I'm teasing, silly," she shoved his shoulder playfully, "I'd love to meet him! Just tell me when and where and I'll make some time."

Nodding, he considers his options. He is torn between stretching out his time with Hob and simply getting it over with. In the end, he chooses what he feels is a polite and reasonable timeframe.

“One week from tomorrow, in the afternoon. At the New Inn.”

“I’ll be there,” grinning, Death linked their arms together, “I can’t wait, I bet you two are sickeningly adorable together.”

A bitter part of him thinks Death would just be sad to see someone like Hob shackled to Dream.

“I will not be present. This meeting is for you and Hob.”

Death pulls back to look at Dream’s face, frowning in confusion. For a moment she seems to consider her words, before settling on a question, “What’s going on in that head of yours, little brother?”

Dream meets her gaze and answers flatly, “Nothing of importance.”

There is exasperation in her voice as she huffs, “I hate that you really believe that.”

He loves his sister so very much. And he does not have the strength to be yelled at right now.

So he straightens his spine and keeps his voice even, “I will let Hob know of the time of your appointment,” he allows himself to soften, just slightly, “He is looking forward to meeting you.”

“I look forward to meeting him, as well.” Death knows she has been dismissed, and so she gives Dream one final squeeze on his arm before departing back to her duties, a gentle rustle of feathers echoing through the gallery.

For a long moment, Dream stands in his gallery alone, gazing at the sigils of his siblings.

He will go and tell Hob of his upcoming meeting with Dream’s sister. And if he stays longer than strictly necessary, if he presses a little closer than he usually does, he if stares too long at Hob’s face in an attempt to commit his smile to memory, Hob is nice enough not to comment.

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

It is not raining in the Dreaming.

Dream does not feel that kind of sadness. There is grief, for certain but… it is a grief he believes he has no right to feel. This is not sorrow, it is justice, a loss of something that was never his to have. He cannot cry, he cannot mourn, he can't, he can't, he just-

The Dreaming is covered in a thick layer of fog.

A white mist, so thick it feels like you could move it with your hands, wade through it, drown in it. Dream is in one of the gardens surrounding the palace, grinding his teeth and trying desperately to make it go away. He had hoped that going outside would at least help clear the fog that had permeated the palace halls. Matthew had flown into a wall twice before resigning himself to perching on Lucienne’s shoulder until the hallways were visible again, and Dream does not think he could survive if another raven was injured due to his weakness.

The week had passed too quickly for his liking, time showing him no mercy. He had visited Hob each day, an unusual occurrence that Hob had raised an eyebrow at but otherwise not commented on. And in all that time, Dream had still not told him the truth. He did not explain that the Endless he was to meet would be nothing like Dream because Dream was nothing like the other Endless, did not confess to having cheated more time with Hob by misleading him about his nature. And now, it was too late. Hob would leave, and Dream would always be a liar.

Sighing, he leans against the tree behind him, looking up and frowning as the fog hides even the leaves above him. Sometimes he wishes he had more control over his connection to the Dreaming. More control over himself. He wonders if this is how humans feel when they wish mastery over their own bodies, their organs, their blood.

The fog is getting thicker.

Growling deep in his throat, Dream presses the tips of his fingers against his temples. There is no reason for him to feel so… lost. He has existed and survived before Hob, and he will continue to do so after. Happiness is not necessary. And besides, he has wanted to be a better person, and would a better person not prioritize their loved one’s happiness over their own? It is an irrefutable fact that Hob deserves better than Dream is capable of, so it is the least Dream can do to not stand in his way.

Pulling his knees to his chest, he wraps his arms loosely around them, feeling as bare and exposed as he had in Fawney Rig, suddenly thankful for the cover of fog. Perhaps, he could allow himself this respite. A moment of selfishness, and then he would pull himself together. Just one night to grieve where no one could see him. Just one night to hide-

“There you are!”

Dream’s head snaps up, eyes wide with a shock he could not hope to conceal.

Because Hob is here.

The immortal is smiling, like he has every other time he’s seen Dream, stumbling slightly through the fog before plopping himself down to sit pressed against Dream’s side. This close, he can see the spark of concern in his eyes even as he throws an arm around his shoulders to pull him closer.

“Well this is a bit different. You know I saw Merv actually sweeping the fog? What’s crazier is it was working, swept it into a big pile and then pushed it out the front door. I know anything is possible here, but I will admit I did spend a few minutes just staring at that spectacle.”

Throughout his rambling, Dream is aware that he is staring. A quick assessment of his own body alerts him to the fact that his mouth is parted, and he is literally gaping at Hob. How unbecoming.

When he fails to respond to his story, Hob’s smile dims, and the concern in his eyes amplifies, “Hey… is everything alright?”

No. Nothing makes sense. He feels more lost than before. He thinks the fog is getting thicker, heavier, colder.

“You…” He clears his throat, trying to compose himself even a little, “You were. Supposed to meet Death today. Did. Did that. Not happen?” That is the only logical explanation.

But Hob shakes his head, “No, we did, got back a couple hours ago, just took me a bit to fall asleep,” he chuckles a bit to himself, “She’s a riot, honestly, nothing at all like all the skull and crossbones nonsense.” He gives Dream a warm smile, “I can see why you two get along so well.”

Dream is. Dream is-

He opens his mouth, and all that comes out is fog.

“Woah, okay,” Hob jumps a little, but doesn’t pull away. If anything, his grip around Dream’s shoulders tightens.

Fog is drifting from the corners of Dream’s eyes.

He can’t see. He can’t breathe. He feels so lost-

“Alright, hey, hey,” Hob pulls him closer, wrapping him in a firm embrace, “Love, I think we should go to the Waking, okay? Is that alright?”

Dream forces himself to nod against Hob’s chest. His body is no more bound in the Waking than it is in the Dreaming, but sometimes the distance makes it… easier, if only a little, to keep his shape. As opposed to here, where the edges of Dream and the Dreaming often blur together. Like now.

Hob kisses the crown of his head, and Dream can feel him pulling away, waking up, and Dream follows the pull. In the space between realms, he forces his form together, like holding a door shut, like clenching a fist. When he arrives, he is laying on top of Hob, who is splayed out on his couch. Some hysterical part of him wants to scold Hob for not settling in his bed to sleep.

As Hob fully awakens, his arms reach up to embrace Dream, and Dream can’t help but curl his hands in Hob’s shirt. Slow and gentle, Hob maneuvers them to sit up, and when he pulls back, Dream cannot look him in the eye.

“Hey…” Hob cups his face with both hands, rubbing his thumbs in gentle circles on the hinge of Dream’s jaw, and Dream realizes for the first time that he is clenching his teeth together hard enough to crack human bone. He fears what will come out if he opens his mouth.

“You’re alright, dove,” Hob whispers, still trying to coax Dream into relaxing his jaw, “Everything is alright, I’m right here, sweetheart, I’ve got you my love.”

It takes a few minutes, just Hob whispering softly and soothing his fingers over Dream’s skin, but eventually Dream musters the courage to let his teeth separate, parting his lips just slightly. He sags with relief when all that escapes him is a shaky breath.

“There you are,” Hob presses a kiss to Dream’s forehead before tucking his head beneath his chin and pulling him into a hug, rubbing a hand up and down his back.

Ever patient, he waits until Dream is breathing evenly to question him, “What’s going on, dearheart?” He rocks them back and forth as he speaks, “You’ve been off all week. I should have said something sooner, but I thought you were just nervous about me meeting your sister.”

Swallowing thickly, Dream forces himself to answer, “I was.”

Hob pulled back, brows furrowed in confusion, “Okay, but everything went fine? I told you, we got along great.”

“But…”

“Did you think we wouldn’t?”

Dream feels as lost now as he did in the Dreaming. How does he explain this to Hob? How does he explain it without drawing Hob’s attention to that which he somehow missed? He should be grateful that Hob is still here, how is he supposed to tell him this truth without making him leave?

Is he destined to make him leave no matter what?

Belatedly, he realizes he is still clutching Hob’s shirt.

He lets him go.

“I did believe. That you would enjoy each others’ company,” he explains resignedly, “And I assumed that in your meeting, I would. Lose your favor.”

Had he been looking, he would have seen Hob’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, “You thought I would like her more than you?” His voice is heavy with disbelief.

“In a sense…” He had not considered Hob finding romantic interest in Death, as Hob seems to think, “I merely thought that. In meeting her, you would realize…”

(Death never struggled with her words the way Dream, the Prince of Stories, always seemed to.)

Taking a deep breath, he tries again, “We are both Endless. And yet. She is…”

“Different?”

“Better.”

Hob sucks in a breath as though he’s been slapped, “Dream-”

“You think that all the things wrong with me are due to my nature as an Endless,” Dream interrupts, the dam broken as he spills out everything he has been holding back for months, “and I let you believe that. But the truth is, my siblings are not like me. They do not struggle with humanity as I do, nor do they share my penchant for arrogance and cruelty. Death is older than I, and yet you saw her- she is kind, and she speaks normally, and she understands-” His voice cracks, and he has to pause, closing his eyes and forcing his molecules to stay solid. To stay here.

“The problem is not that I am Endless,” he confesses in a whisper, “The problem is that I am… me.”

Dream keeps his eyes downcast, fixated on the texture of the couch in the space between them. He wonders if Hob will chastise him for his deceit or simply tell him to leave, wonders if he will demand punishment or repayment.

One hand laces their fingers together, as the other gently cups Dream’s cheek. Hob does not try to tilt Dream’s face or make him meet his eyes. He just holds him.

“I happen to like ‘you’ very much, actually.”

Hob’s voice is soft as a breath, quiet despite the devastation and sorrow painting each word. Dream closes his eyes as Hob leans forward to brush their foreheads together.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he states firmly, confidently, “You’re not perfect, I know that, the same way you know that I’m not either. But there’s nothing wrong with you.”

The conviction in his voice gives Dream just enough courage to open his eyes. Hob’s eyes are filled with tears and shining with so much love it takes Dream’s breath away. When their eyes meet, Hob gives him a sad smile and brushes his thumb along his cheekbone.

“I’m sorry. For ever making you think you needed to explain away parts of yourself,” He brings Dream’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to his trembling knuckles, “I don’t love you in spite of anything. I just love you.”

Dream wants to argue. He wants to give every example from his long, long life that he is wrong, that Dream is defective and unworthy and unlovable.

But when Hob kisses him, whispers “I love you” against his lips, he finds himself… hoping. That maybe Hob is right. That maybe this is another bet he would lose to the strength that is Hob Gadling’s love.

Later, after Hob has held him long enough that he does not feel like he may fall apart, he will give his arguments. Later he will state his case and Hob will not hesitate in debating right back, punctuating his points with soft kisses and fond smiles. And it will not fix everything right away, as much as they both wish it would. But it will feel like a start, like adding support beams to a faulty foundation, like strengthening the parts of Dream that always felt a breeze away from buckling.

But for now, Hob holds him tight and whispers against his hair, “You want to hear a secret?”

When Dream hums questioningly against his neck, he presses a kiss to his temple, “Death isn’t perfect either.”

Dream lets out a barking laugh, and then another, and another, and then he is sobbing and holding Hob like he is the only thing keeping him together because he is, and maybe this outburst is just another flaw of his.

Regardless. Hob still holds him.

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

A month later, Hob and Dream invite Death over for drinks. Three very different people sit in hob’s living room, and they drink wine, and laugh, and Hob occasionally scolds Death when he feels Dream stiffen at some of her teasing.

Before she leaves, Death pulls Dream into a hug, patting his back even as he stands stiffly in the circle of her arms, “I was right. Sickeningly adorable, both of you.”

Dream huffs, but feels no real offense or embarrassment at her words. It is still hard to trust that this is real, sometimes. But all night he had searched Hob’s eyes, and even when Death made him laugh or understood some human reference, he still turned to look at Dream with love and joy.

As hard as it is to believe, the truth is that Hob sat with both of them, and when he grew tired he asked Death to leave.

But he asked Dream to stay.

#the sandman #dreamling #dreamling fic #my writing #projecting on characters in the club tonight

[stiltonbasket]

I know Nyoomerr wrote a mini fic where Shen Yuan dotes on Bingge’s kids, before I sent you the prompt also, but listen… I want many cakes!

There are so many possible cute OC Bingge kiddos Shen Yuan could dote on, and so many ways the Binggeyuan drama outside said doting could go! I’d happily read a million different versions! ♥️

In spite of having three older siblings to play with, and three nominal mothers and four nursemaids to raise him, Luo Shunlei was a very lonely child.

Unlike his brother and his two elder sisters, Shunlei was rarely allowed to see his own mother. Muqin spent most of her time away from his father's palace in the human realm, for she was Emperor-Father's most trusted lieutenant as well as his wife, and could not be spared from the various battlefields Father left in his wake for more than a single season out of each year.

That life suited his mother, Shunlei knew: and he was being looked after well enough, since Mother Ning doted upon him just as tenderly she cared for his sister Suoxin. But he hated to go to her when he fell while playing cuju in the garden, or felt lonesome for his absent Muqin, for Mother Ning cried so often when she thought her children were out of earshot that Shunlei could not bear to add to her troubles.

Nor could he go to Mother Liu, for Mother Liu was Luo Nianzu's mother, and Nianzu clung to her like a baby fire-horned monkey because his birth mother had died before Nianzu ever knew her.

(The less said of Mother Hua, the better, Shunlei thought. She was not unkind to him, but she made no secret of the fact that she was jealous of the favor Muqin received from Emperor-Father; and since Shunlei was Muqin's son, Mother Hua had never liked him very much, either.)

But then, late in the spring of Luo Shunlei's fourth year, Mother Liu brought a man into the hougong's central garden and announced that he was to be Suo-jie and Ying-jiejie's new Shizun.

"He will be your Shizun too, in time," she said to Nianzu, "as soon as you learn how to read more than a few characters."

"What about me?" Shunlei asked anxiously, plucking at the hems of her sleeve. "Shunshun wants to study, too."

At this, Mother Ning looked up from her account-book and kissed the top of his head.

"You can join this year if the taifu says you may," she assured him. "You're very bright for your age, Shun'er, but there's no need to rush. Mingyan gave Zhu-laoshi a twelve-year contract, so he won't leave the palace until the year you turn sixteen."

Sixteen sounded dreadfully grown-up to Luo Shunlei, who had yet to celebrate his fourth birthday. And if the new taifu really would be staying for the next twelve years, it hardly mattered that Shunlei wouldn't begin his studies until after he turned five.

But the taifu was more than happy to teach him, though Shunlei had only managed to learn the three characters that made up his name—and by the first week after lessons began, Shunlei had affixed himself to his new Shizun like a barnacle clinging to the hull of a boat.

Zhu Qinglan was, strangely enough, only the second man that Shunlei had ever met. Imperial Father was the first, and Shunlei had seen some of his demon lackeys from afar; but they were forbidden to enter any part of the inner court save for Father's private palace, so he had never actually spoken to them.

"Are all men from the human realm like you?" Shunlei asked his Shizun once, not long after Imperial Father returned from his latest campaign in the North. "If they are, why doesn't Father make friends with them instead of fighting?"

Shizun laughed and put out his hand to steady Luo Shunlei's grip on his writing brush.

"No," he replied, after the brush picked up its pace again. "Your Shizun is very old by now, that's all. I had to spend eighty years wandering the wilds alone before I learned how to hold my temper properly, and my Shizun was long gone by then—poor shifu! If your Imperial Father had met me when I was a young man, he wouldn't have wanted me as a servant, let alone a friend...or as his children's taifu, I suppose."

Luo Shunlei pouted. "Shizun can be my friend."

"Mm, then this teacher is very lucky. Oh, Shun'er, not again—you mustn't touch the scroll at all, remember? See how well da-gongzhu is writing."

It was true that Shizun was scolding him, Luo Shunlei reflected—smudging his copy-work as he thought, to Shizun's great distress—but he did it so gently that Shunlei wriggled with glee, feeling very much like a wilted flower that had suddenly been thrust into the full light of day.

Shizun treasured Luo Shunlei, just as he treasured Da-jie and Er-jie and Gege; and since he belonged to all four of them, he loved them equally. Mother Ning loved Da-jiejie the most, and Mother Liu loved Gege the most; and though Mother Hua loved nothing in the world other than Er-jiejie, Shunlei was certain that his Muqin loved Imperial Father far more than she loved him.

Zhu Qinglan loved no one at the palace better than he loved Shunlei, and that feeling was so dreadfully new to him that he burst into tears the next time Shizun entered the schoolroom with a bowl of his favorite sweet sesame cakes.

"Why are you crying?" Shizun demanded, bewildered, as Luo Shunlei let out a wail and scurried over to bury his head in the long skirt of Shizun's white robe. "Are you ill?"

He passed the cakes to one of the maids and lifted Shunlei onto his hip, feeling his cheeks and brow with the back of his rough hands.

"His little highness doesn't have a fever," Shizun muttered, "but we can't take chances, so run for a taiyi as quickly as you can. This one will stay with the little prince until the doctor comes."

"No," Shunlei bawled, rubbing his face against Shizun's shoulder. "I'm happy, Shizun."

"Happy?" Shizun asked, more puzzled than ever. "Why?"

Luo Shunlei laid his cheek on Shizun's soft neck and wept, too overwhelmed to explain that no one had ever made anything specially for him to eat before.

His siblings were only passingly fond of sesame cakes, though they refrained from saying so to save face for their Shizun. But Shunlei likes Shizun's cakes even more than the ones Father sometimes makes for their weekly luncheons, and yesterday, Shunlei had finally worked up the courage to ask if Shizun could bake them again.

Shunlei's lessons were canceled that morning, since Shizun and Mother Ning's taiyi said that he needed rest; and so, he spent the rest of the day being carried about the palace on his teacher's back, and fed another handful of sesame cakes whenever Shizun remembered he was there.

By the third month, Luo Shunlei decided that he loved his Shizun more than anyone else he had ever known, except for Muqin and his Suo-jiejie—which was why he bit off the left half of his Imperial Father's nose when Father told him that he meant to take Shizun into the hougong as a bride.

"You can't have Shizun for your wife!" Shunlei screeched, incensed. "He's ours!"

Imperial Father only raised his eyebrows at him.

"If you ever do that again," he drawled, conjuring a mirror to make sure his nose was healing properly, "I'll send you to the North to fight ice demons with Hualing, and I won't bring you back until you're too old to need a taifu anymore."

Luo Shunlei growled and kicked his little feet until he heard the satisfying crack of one of his Imperial Father's ribs snapping in half.

"You can't," he insisted, as Father let out a gasping wheeze and put a hand to his chest. "You have thirty wives already! That's too many. You can't have my Shizun, too."

Father's right eyebrow climbed a little higher up his forehead. "Everyone under the sun belongs to me," he said. "If I want your Shizun, he'll be mine eventually. There's no more to be said about it."

"But Shizun doesn't want you," Luo Shunlei scowled. "Everyone knows that."

For some reason, Father's face fell so quickly that Shunlei almost regretted his unkindness.

Only almost, though.

"It doesn't matter what he wants," Father said at last, after a long silence—and after his broken rib had healed, much to Luo Shunlei's frustration. "But he—he will want me some day, even if his heart lies elsewhere now. You'll see."

Luo Shunlei squinted at him. "I'll go tell Shizun what you're planning," he threatened. "Then Shizun can run away, and I'll go with him."

"Do you really want to visit the North so badly?" his father said idly. "Everything that lives there could eat you up in one bite."

(Shunlei's mother had taught him what to do in case anything ever ate him, so he could survive perfectly well in the Northern Desert if he had to.

Naturally, he said nothing of this to his father.)

Shunlei reached up and tugged sharply on his father's hair.

"Shizun won't like you if you send me away," he sniffed. "You can't be stupid if you're an Emperor, Imperial Father. Shizun said so."

Father sighed and tucked Luo Shunlei under his arm. "Would it really be so bad if Qinglan joined the harem?" he asked. "He'd still be your Shizun, and you'll still get to see him whenever you like. Nothing will change for you and the other little ones."

Luo Shunlei said nothing.

"And," Father said softly, "you can call him muhou after he and I are married. I plan to make him my empress, so he'll be your Imperial Mother as well as your Shizun."

"Imperial Mother...?"

Shunlei had never had an Imperial Mother before. Officially, every woman in the harem was Father's legitimate wife; the sole difference in status between them was that only the five inner wives—or four now, after the untimely death of Luo Nianzu's birth mother—were allowed full courtyards of their own and the right to raise children.

None of them were allowed to call themselves empresses, only consorts and wives: not even Mother Ning, who had reputedly been Father's favorite wife since his childhood on Cang Qiong Mountain.

But if Father meant to take Shizun as his Empress, and if that meant Shizun would be Shunlei's Imperial Mother, then...

"Then if you do marry Shizun," Shunlei ventured, plucking at the yaopei dangling from Imperial Father's belt, "can Shun'er have a little sister? Or a brother?"

Suddenly, Luo Shunlei felt his father's body go cold.

"No," Father said brusquely. "You may not."

"But why not?" he persisted. "If Shizun becomes my Imperial Mother, won't he be allowed to have his own Shun'er? Like Muqin and Mother Ning and—"

"No," his father repeated, more harshly than before. "After your Nianzu-ge was born, I vowed that I would never father another child. Don't ever mention such things again."

Luo Shunlei stared at him. "But I'm smaller than Gege," he said uncertainly. "Didn't Father break that vow already?"

"Enough," Father hissed. "Listen to me, Luo Shunlei. I nearly killed your Mother Ning by letting her give birth to Suoxin, and I as good as murdered your late Mother Qin by fathering Nianzu upon her. If Hualing had tried to give birth to you the usual way instead of molding you from our mingled blood, she wouldn't even have lived long enough to bring you into the world. Would you have me risk killing your Shizun, too?"

Shunlei's eyes burned.

"No," he said in a strangled voice. "Put me down."

So Imperial Father set him down on the ground, looking very much as though he could not bear to stand in Shunlei's presence for another moment.

"Don't you dare mention any of this to anyone," Father said wearily, as Shunlei rubbed his fists across his smarting eyes. "Otherwise, I really will send you up North to your mother."

Luo Shunlei nodded, somehow contriving to hide his tears until he made his way out of his father's courtyard; and then he staggered off to the Bamboo Palace where Shizun lived, hoping against hope that Shizun was at home and not out on another beast-trapping trip with Mother Liu.

"Shizun," he sobbed, beating on the gate with his tiny fists. "Shizun, Shun'er is here!"

And then Shizun was there, bundling Shunlei into his arms and draping a warm cloak over his shoulders before bringing him into the Zhugong's little kitchen for cakes and hot tea.

He fed Luo Shunlei and washed the tears from his little nose; and then, after his sobs began to slow, Shizun wrapped him up in a soft blanket and took him to Mother Ning.

"No," Shunlei wailed, as Mother Ning came running out of her own palace with worry all over her face. "Mother Ning, Shun'er wants to stay with Shizun."

Mother Ning blinked. "He didn't make you cry?"

"No!"

"Then who did?"

Shunlei frowned and burrowed into his Shizun's coat. "Nobody. But Shun'er is staying right here."

"All right, all right," Shizun said soothingly. "You can stay with Shizun for as long as you want. Lady Ning, if you would..."

Mother Ning nodded and promised that she would send a maid to the Zhugong with a bag of clothes for Shunlei.

"You can send him back for his bath, if he needs one before bed," she fretted. "But if he'd rather stay with you, then that's all right, too."

Satisfied, Shizun bowed to Mother Ning and whisked Shunlei back to the Zhugong, where he was made to drink two more cups of medicinal tea—though he did not mind this, since Shizun had already fed him all the fresh-baked sesame cakes he could hold—and put to bed on the pretty lounging chair in the front room.

"Go to sleep," Shizun told him, stroking his hair. "And don't look at this teacher with such big eyes. I'll still be here when you get up."

Luo Shunlei's lip trembled. "Do you promise?" he whispered. "You won't go away while I'm sleeping?"

"Of course not. Has your Shizun ever broken his word? Look—I won't even let go of your hand. You can hold this one, and I'll use the other to write while you nap."

So Shunlei finally let himself drift off; and when he opened his eyes again, some two hours later, he found that Shizun had fallen asleep at his desk, with his head on the erhu score he was copying and his left hand still clasped about Luo Shunlei's.

Suddenly, Luo Shunlei's heart felt very full. But then he remembered that Shizun would leave one day, whenever Father deemed that Shunlei and Nianzu and their jiejies had no further need of him, and then...

And then Shizun wouldn't belong to Shunlei anymore.

His spirits sank. He squeezed Shizun's palm, not knowing whether he wanted his teacher to sleep on or wake up and comfort him.

But at that moment, two words shaped themselves upon Luo Shunlei's lips; and before he could bite them back, he found himself saying them aloud.

"Imperial Mother?" he whispered, hugging his Shizun's arm. "Muhou, Shun'er is...is...."

And then—like a ray of white sunlight spearing through a blanket of clouds—his Shizun smiled, though he had not woken, and kissed Luo Shunlei's pudgy hand in his sleep.

"Hush, my baobao," he breathed, already sinking back into his dreams. "Don't cry. Mother is here."

#svsss #bingyuan #prompt fill #my fic #!!!!!!!! bingyuan shenanigans are back #this is set in the same verse as “a wife by any other name” #if anyone was wondering

[ludwig-holy-blade]

The Eyes of the Beholder

Rhaenyra Targaryen x Male Dayne Reader

Rhaenyra Targaryen, the realm’s delight, did not feel beautiful today. It was the early morning on the isle of Starfall and Rhaenyra was sat upon the beach as she was oft to do every morning. Her gown had been soaked around her ankles and bum for the better part of an hour now, though she had hardly noticed. 

Her thoughts were awash with doubts as she stared out towards the Torrentine. It was only eight days ago that she had given birth to her fourth son and it had become strangely apparent to her that she was not the beauty she once was. After ten years of marriage Rhaenyra and Y/N had produced no less than eight children together. The thought brought a smile to her face. She and her husband had been rather over eager in their passions. 

The truth was however that those births had added weight to her once slender form. While Rhaenyra and her husband enjoyed the new size her breasts and bottom she had quickly become quite frustrated with the weight around her middle. This frustration was often made worse whenever she saw Alicent, still slender and slim despite having birthed four children of her own. She often feared that in time her husband would grow disgusted with her and in time would seek out others. There were so many after all in Dorne alone not to mention across the Narrow Sea and in Westeros itself. 

These thoughts liked to creep into her mind in the early morning and late into the evening. They would often leave her quiet and staring into the mirror, reminiscing on her once beauty. 

The sound of splashing dragged her out of her thoughts.

The reason for Rhaenyra’s love of watching the waves in the early morning was twofold. On one hand the sound of the waves and the cool air were calming and brought her a sense of peace. On the other, was her husbands love of swimming. Lord Y/N Dayne loved to swim around the entire length and breadth of his Island Castle and Rhaenyra loved to watch him. 

Y/N had also gotten bigger over the last ten years except unlike Rhaenyra Y/N had turned said weight into muscle. This was made easy due to her husband’s love of swimming and many other forms of exercise, he often spends hours training with his houses ancestral blade Dawn and loved wrestling and grappling. Rhaenyra loved to watch him train, not only was it incredibly attractive to watch Y/N’s muscle flex and move but it also made Rhaenyra more comfortable, it was a comfort to know just how well her husband could and in fact would protect her if needs be.

The sight before her was one she had seen many a time but still never grew tired of witnessing. Her husband came out of the water in naught but his small clothes and while a grin broke out across her face at the sight of him and thoughts of more amorous activities flooded her mind she couldn’t stop herself from covering her stomach. 

Y/N approached sluggishly, as there was no way possible to exit the water attractively. A smile broke out across his face as soon as he saw her, his true smile, the one that reached his eyes. The slow walk turned to a quick stride as he got closer. The sight of his approach made Rhaenyra’s heart beat faster and heavier, made her smile almost painfully wide and made a blush spread across her face and ears. 

He came and sat before her folding his knees under him. He looked nearly boyish in that moment, smiling like a fool without saying a word. The two of them simply sat there gazing at each other simply smiling. 

“Hello gorgeous.” Were the first words spoken, quietly, as if he was speaking reverently of her. Rhaenyra merely took him by the face brought his lips to hers. joy flood into her as it often did when they kissed. 

They parted for a mere moment and Y/N stopped to look at her. “What’s wrong Rhaenyra.” She averted her eyes though she knew she couldn’t hide her upset. She never could, not from Y/N. “It’s too early in the morning to be so distressed.” Rhaenyra had turned her face into her shoulder, a vain attempt to hide herself but Y/N had followed her turning his face with her. No longer desiring to hide from her husband, it was to want to she knew, Rhaenyra steeled herself. Taking a deep breath she spoke. 

“Do you still find me beautiful Y/N?” The shock that over took his face would have been funny if Rhaenyra was in a joking mood but she remained stoic. Y/N appeared almost offended by the very question when he answered. “Why wouldn’t I Rhaenyra, your as beautiful now as you’ve ever been.” His response was earnest and yet still Rhaenyra’s face was still downcast. “Who would call you anything but lovely Rhaenyra, tell me they’re name, I'll strike them down with a god’s wrath.” A laugh bubbled up from Rhaenyra. “No one Y/N I swear no one had offended me so.” A laugh interrupted her and she brought her hand to his cheek once again. “Though thank you for caring so much as to kill someone for my pleasure.” The two of them laughed quietly. 

“I will be honest with you then my love but please try not to judge me,” Rhaenyra breathed deeply again. “Over the past I have begun to notice, after the children have been born, I have kept more weight on my stomach than I should have been.” Y/N once again began to speak but Rhaenyra’s raised hand stopped him. “I simply do not feel as beautiful as I once did, I know you love me but it does worry me that perhaps one day you will decide to seek out another younger woman.” She wove her hand through his long dark hair, Y/N closed his eyes and took her hand. 

“Rhaenyra I want you to listen to me and hear everything I say.” She nodded. “I have loved you since the moment I first saw you as a boy. You are as beautiful as you could possibly be.” Y/N came forward, making Rhaenyra lie on her back. He settled his hands in her splayed out hair, as he loved to play with her silver locks. Y/N locked eyes with his wife before he spoke again. “There may younger women, prettier women, women with larger tits, tighter asses and the like.” He brought his hand down to stroke her cheek. “There will never be a woman more beautiful than you in my eyes, no one. And there shall never be another woman as beautiful as you to come.” 

Y/N began to kiss Rhaenyra’s neck, long deep kisses which pulled moans deep from within her throat. He descended slowly kissing a trail down her body. He opened her night gown, revealing her breasts to the early morning air, he kissed both of them for some time before moving on. He made his way downwards to her belly and stopped. He kissed it once, twice, thrice then over and over and over again. It was obvious what he was doing but Rhaenyra had not married him for his wits but rather for his honesty and frankness. It was not to say his kisses were ineffective either. Rhaenyra became hot once again, warmth flooding through her chest as Y/N’s kisses continued. 

After much time and many more kisses Y/N finally stopped. Crawling back upwards he sat between her legs, Rhaenyra wrapped them around his waist almost instinctively, and he kissed her lips again. “You may grow as big a house if you so desire Rhaenyra Targaryen and should any man call you anything less than beautiful I’ll kill them and the next generation of their families. No man or woman will demean you in my presence, not even yourself.” 

He brought his lips to hers once again, passion colliding as they embraced. Rhaenyra knew in that moment that no more words need pass between them, Y/N intended to prove his loyalty the best he could. It was long into the morning that they loved each other and Rhaenyra in that moment, could not have felt more magnificent. 

#rhaenyra targaryen #house targaryen #House Dayne #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x male reader #male reader #dayne!reader #house of the dragon #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire

[chaotic-iguana]

Refuge | chapter two.

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter | general masterlist

chapter two: reluctant acquaintances 

wordcount: 1.3k summary: what if reader and joel were married before the outbreak? what if just another mundanely late night at the office on the night of the outbreak separated them for a decade? warnings: grief/mourning, estrangement still, developing?? re-relationships, contempt, guilt, survivor’s guilt, panic attack again, soft joel!, struggling joel!, i love ellie too she’s for sure a kid but a fucking good one, child loss. 

You hadn’t realised you were attacking her until she was nearly under you, her eyes wide and panicked staring straight into your own. 

When you finally did gain control of your own body, the jagged pen in your grip went scattering to the floor as you scrambled back on all fours, desperate to get yourself away from her. 

You had just nearly tried to stab a child. A scared fucking child. 

Guilt spread like fire in your veins, a weight settling on your chest as you tried to get your bearings. The voices around you seemed to get louder, fragments breaking the haze you were in. 

“…fucking apeshit she’s goddamn crazy, you know - almost choked Eugene when she got here…” 

A harsh bark of words you couldn’t quite make out ensured that voice fell silent. 

You didn’t care - the only word on your mind was Sarah, and it took a few moments for the hum in your ears to fade enough for you to recognise your own voice uttering her name over and over like a damned prayer. 

The sympathetic wince on the girl’s face while she reached a hand out to help you up had you recoiling further, tucking your knees into your chest to curl in on yourself. 

Just a dream. This is just a dream. I’ll wake up, and it’ll go away. 

Eyes squeezing shut, you pressed your forehead into the top of your knees, cradling them to your sternum, cold tile biting into your skin. The chatter increased, crescendoing as it echoed in your skull, until a single syllable was yelled out abruptly.

Footsteps sounded again, then pin-drop silence.

You refused to move; to open your eyes or to acknowledge this illusion your reality seemed to have woven itself into. Two large, heavy weights settled on your shoulders, wrenching a yelp from your lips, before an all-too-familiar face came into your swimming vision. Your frantic scan of the room turned up empty. The girl, Tommy, Fred - all gone. 

“You okay?”

A pause. Blinking seemed to be out of your realm of possibility - let alone answering him. But his gaze remained patient - warm and welcoming, even, as he waited for you to respond. It took you a minute, but his palms remained clamped on your shoulders, face just inches away. 

How could he still do that? Know exactly what you need. 

When your breath slowed down to normal and you could see more clearly, you swallowed painfully against the sudden dryness in your throat. 

“N-not real. ‘S not real.” 

When he made out what your hoarse whisper was repeating, his eyes softened further, hands moving down to grip your arms just above your elbows. 

“It is, honey. It’s real. ‘M right here, see?” He took your shaking hands and pressed your palms into either side of his face, stubble prickling against your skin.

You shook your head, mumbling and pulling away, comprehension evading you. “Not real. Not here.” 

His grip tightened, resisting your movement. He squeezed your wrists gently, making you look at him again. 

Joel was older now. He was just under ten years older than you when you had met - but you had fallen too hard to care, and loved the crinkle in eyes and smiles all the same. But his curls were gone now, shorter and washed grey. His beard was thicker, peppered with white, and the indent between his brows was deeper. None of that leapt out at you, though. It was his eyes - still as soft as you remembered them, but haunted now, shadows lurking just behind them, pouring melancholy into his gaze. 

But you were hardly the same, either. Lines had etched themselves on your forehead, next to your eyes, your mouth. Hair somehow darker, whites and greys smattered across your slightly receded hairline. Your hands shook now, and your lips had forgotten how to curve into a smile. 

Oh, how you wished for the innocence of youth again. To bring the sickly sweet pear of ignorance to your mouth and feel your teeth sink into its flesh once more.

Now, regret ran thick like honey down your throat until you couldn’t breathe. Your face must have given you away, because Joel’s voice began rumbling under your touch the second the thought crossed your mind.

“No, baby, no. Focus here. On me. Y’still gettin’ these? Who’s been takin’ care of ya?” He sounded so honest - so sincere. 

You fucking left me behind, Joel. Who the fuck else would even have tried? 

You just snorted in response instead, his face contorting into the expression of a broken man. As if this, now, was his final straw.   

“Yo-you’ve been alone? This whole time?” His question was so tentative, spoken so softly and cautiously - as if his mere formulation of it could change the outcome. 

A nod from you, and a sharp intake of his breath. Another pause. 

“Who else was supposed to take me in? You left, Joel. Don’t shoulder that responsibility on someone else.” How fitting, for the first words I speak to him in years to be scalding enough to make him wince. 

Your breath hitched at the tears that unexpectedly filled his eyes, or the fact that he had to look away. His hands dropped to his knees, shoulders curving in. The utter defeat written into every inch of him is enough to make you want to forgive him a hundred times, and then a thousand more. He looks like a vanquished god like this - brought to his knees, shoulders slumped and head bowed low. In another lifetime, you would have painted this moment until you ran out of paper. You settle for searing it into your mind, instead. 

“I-fuckin’ never shoulda stayed late at the office that day. Fuck.” 

Has he gone senile?

“…What? What the fuck, Joel? I’m the one who stayed late.” 

And he’s shaking his head; reaching out for your hands again; holding them against his chest. 

“I was late, too. It’s why I couldn’t pick you up - ‘cause Sarah called to cut the cake an’ wouldn’t take no for an answer - had to drive home and convince her to just wait. Second I did, everythin’ had gone to shit. Don’t even know where the fuckin’ cake went.”

A frown was carved onto your face as he spoke. You had assumed he simply hadn’t bothered to so much as phone you to warn you while him and Sarah sat on the couch.

“You got to her? Before it started?” His chin dipped to confirm the affirmative, and you let loose a breath you forgot you were holding. 

She’s safe, she’s okay. I’ll forgive him for fuckin’ anything if she’s okay. 

“That’s not Sarah, though, right? Did you leave her at a QZ? It’s safer there, atleast. I’m just glad she’s okay. Fuck, I am so fucking happy she’s okay.” Giddy with hope as it coursed through your veins, you barely noticed Joel’s face fall further at your words. 

“Joel? Which QZ?” Silence. His eyes were pointedly chasing away from yours, hands slackening their grip. 

Fear clamped her ruthless fist around your neck once more. 

“Where the fuck is my daughter, Joel? I want to know where she is. I’ll fucking-I’ll find her. I don’t give a shit. Where the fuck is she?” 

The crack in your voice said enough. So did the tears glistening on Joels cheeks. And the two of you knelt, in mocking prayer to a merciless God in mourning for the daughter that should have been with you. 

And you wept. 

hello loves, as always - thank you for reading. comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day! taglist (let me know if you want to be added/removed):@imherefordeanandbones, @theywhowriteandknowthings, @josephquinnswhore, @millerscoffee, @nostalxgic, @sscorpiiio, @pedrosaidsheispunk, @its-nebuleuse, @sofiparallel,@bastardmandennis, @breakfastatjoels(sorry bc forgot to tag u in the last one) dividers by me! series taglist (message/comment to be added): @spookyxsam, @obscurexsorrows, @planet-marz1, @lunxramour, @anavatazes, @joeldjarin, @stunkbiggu, @joels-darlin, @casa-boiardi, @noisynightmarepoetry, @chiogarza, @jasminedragoon, @daddy-din, @moonlightdivine, @stickthegremlin, @mandoisapunk

#the last of us #tlou fanfiction #the last of us x reader #joel miller x you #tlou hbo #joel miller x f!reader #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #the last of us fic #sad joel #joel x reader #joel the last of us #joel miller #joel miller angst #joel miller au #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller self insert #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel x reader smut #husband! joel miller #husband!joel #tlou #the last of us hbo #tlou fanfic #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller x y/n

[tarydarrington]

There is one upside to the spiderwebs: Dorian can usually tell that he’s dreaming.

“Tell me,” he says, examining his lute, refusing to make eye contact with the presence looming behind him, “is this actually you? Or am I imagining you all by myself, these days?”

There comes a wet clicking as though of pincers or long, sharp legs. He forces his shudder into a sigh.

That’s the thing: the Spider Queen, her royal creepy highness, never whispers to him anymore when he’s awake. Two beds over, she’s doubtless playing in Opal’s head instead, trying and failing to spin her into a trap.

A sticky tangle of webs weaves itself between his lute strings. His skin crawls with dozens of tiny, invisible legs.

“Is there really a difference?” whispers that familiar voice. “What makes you think I couldn’t hear you if you called for me in that pretty little head?”

Her rumble of laughter comes from every direction at once. Dorian fights the urge to dig into his ear, where the tickle probes deeper and deeper. The itch feels too real for comfort.

It’s not out of the realm of possibility that this nightmare is her making. Opal herself says that things have been quieter lately, and that the voice in her head is more often than not afraid.

And after all, what does a frightened spider do but seek out a new place to hide?

“This is your fault, you know.”

Dorian whirls, finding nothing but empty black laced with spiderwebs. His brother’s voice is unmistakable, but Cyrus is nowhere in sight. Something thick and wet drips down walls he can’t see.

“If you had just stayed where you were supposed to, we would both be safe at home right now.”

“Well, that’s not very nice,” Dorian says lightly. “I hardly think I’m responsible for your decisions.”

There comes a sound of derision that is somehow at once his brother, his mother, and his father. Dorian rolls his neck and hopes it doesn’t look like the squirming it is. The clicking of spider legs grows louder, closer, more insistent. He blinks, leaving his eyes squeezed shut just a heartbeat too long.

“Dorian?”

His eyes fly open. Was there a stone in his hand before? It rests there now glowing faintly blue, warm to the touch.

“Why’d you go?”

Orym’s voice, layered strangely over itself, rings in his ears. Dorian’s fingertips feel numb. He forces a breath of laughter.

“Oh, things to do,” he says. “You know how it is. Something always comes up, doesn’t it?”

With a tight, mirthless smile, Dorian tucks the stone into his web-lined pocket. It will take more than that to fool him. Even neck-deep in nightmares, the memory of headache after headache reminds him that Sending hasn’t worked in weeks.

“Wouldn’t it be so funny if you were doing this to yourself?” Fearne’s voice whispers directly into his ear. He manages to only jump a little, composing himself again as her voice dissolves into breathy laughter all around him.

“Maybe it’s funnier if the Spider Bitch got to you after all that fighting,” says Opal’s voice, just over his shoulder. “You really thought you won, huh? And you didn’t even get anything good out of it.”

Her voice multiplies until it sounds as though a thousand copies stand in a circle all around him.

“You didn’t protect your friends.”

Opal’s voice, Fearne’s voice, Cyrus’s, Orym’s, and a dozen others repeat it one after the other, running together into one continuous whisper. From a thin line of web, a tiny spider drops down onto his shoulder.

He takes a slow breath, deliberate and steady. A dream. It’s only a dream. A few more moments and he’ll be startled awake, and all of this will fade from memory.

Unless the Spider Queen is really here and burrows into his mind too deeply to pull back, of course, but that isn’t a very useful thought.

“Dorian.”

The whispering stops. As though a curtain has fallen around him, muffling an unseen audience, all is suddenly silent. Dorian turns in all directions, finding everything still and black.

The stone is back in his hand.

“We’re alive,” Orym says. “Been to the moon. Going back.”

Behind his voice, the whispers begin to build again. Dorian strains to hear Orym over them. Something about this feels different.

“Find the Tempest.”

Tempest, Tempest, Tempest echoes in the dark, melding with the murmuring.

“If I don’t get the chance again…”

“Enough.”

This is too far. This is knocking on a door Dorian has kept carefully shut—a door through which the Spider Queen is most certainly not invited. He takes a step forward into nothingness, a liquid that might be water splashing underfoot.

“I’ve really missed you.”

The ground gives way, and Dorian falls headlong into waking.

Catha hangs brightly in a sky that stretches as far as the eye can see. Around him lie his friends, and around them a sprawling field rolls with the wind. Dorian’s heart pounds as he braces both hands on the ground, sitting up to feel the wind on his face.

His fingertips dig into the dirt. The dew-soft ground is clear of spiderwebs. Just an ordinary, everyday nightmare. The gods are far too preoccupied to whisper in his ears.

He shouldn’t have needed the spiderwebs to know it was a dream. His brother would never blame him for any of this, and neither would Orym.

There are a lot of things that Orym—grieving, heartsick, married-at-heart Orym—wouldn’t do.

Dorian takes a breath, running a thumb over the Sending Stone in his pocket. It feels warm to the touch despite the weather, the way it might if a message had truly come through. Dorian stuffs it into his bag with a knot in his chest.

Morning comes after very little sleep, and Dorian crawls out of his bedroll to find the others already gathered around the remains of their campfire, breakfast in hand. He waves off Dariax’s offer of a stale pastry with what he hopes resembles a carefree smile. The Stone weighs heavy in his bag.

He finds an excuse: they’re running low on water, and there’s a stream nearby. It’s easy enough to slip away from the group and find a quiet clearing out of earshot. He sits cross-legged beside the rushing water, spends a moment debating exactly how foolish he’s being, then fishes the stone from his bag.

He clears his throat. Takes a breath. Lets it out, clears his throat again, and takes another.

“Orym.”

The stone buzzes with magic. Dorian’s heart hammers in his ears.

“I hope you’re out there somewhere. Silly to think this time would be any different. I miss hearing your voice.” He grimaces. “Opal and Dariax say hello!”

The message cuts out before the last word is out of his mouth, his head crowding with static. Dorian winces and rides it out, wiping a thin trail of blood from his nose.

Well. That settles that.

Probably for the best—what was he thinking with a line like that? ‘I miss your voice?’

He tucks the stone away, dipping his waterskin into the stream. Only a dream. He will call the awful feeling in his chest resignation and examine it no further.

It had been a silly thought, he reminds himself as he returns to the group with a smile and a wave. He ought to have known by the spiderwebs.

#hello friends. i have wrat #dorian storm #dorym #cr spoilers #critical role spoilers #c3 #mine #mine:fic #i am rusty but i am not immune to dorym crumbs #there is some exu-typical spider-based creepiness in this one if that is not your jam #dorian

[froggyfics]

The Deadliest Poisons Are The Sweetest - 5

Your wedding day arrives.

Note: (09/15/23) PLEASE READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER. If you have read this series before this date, please note that I have combined chapters 1 and 2 together. This may seem confusing, but I have decided that as a creative approach, I would like the chapters to be longer. Therefore, the original chapter 4 is now chapter 3. Chapter 4 is new. This chapter and beyond are up to date.

Btw y'all it's gonna get saucy in the next chapter lmao

Feedback is always appreciated. Feel free to message me privately or comment below to let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is always welcome!

Word Count: 4,844

This is the closest you’ve been with him in weeks. The intimacy of the moment is warped however, with underlying feelings of inadequacy. 

This is your wedding day. Yet, you feel as though you are imposter. You can feel the red-hot glares of the jealous maidens in the crowd. After all, you are marrying the most eligible bachelor in the entire realm. If only they knew that you felt sick to your stomach, and you wished that they were in your place. 

You don’t even look him in the eyes. You stare at his mouth, as if you needed to do so in order to understand the vows.

“I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.”

No, you won’t, you say to yourself. You led me to believe that we could be more, but you tricked me! 

He places a ring on your finger. Your hand suddenly feels like it’s weighed down by a ton of bricks. You nearly choke on your vows as they stumble out of you. When you arrived in Gotham a month ago, you were admittedly excited for this day. However, Damian’s icy demeanor as of late has left you bitter. How could it be possible to be so close with someone one day, and then completely cold the next. It befuddled you. Damianbefuddled you. 

Your vows were sealed with a chaste kiss. Cheers and whoops erupted from the crowd. Through the noise, you could distinctly hear your father’s booming claps and mother’s animated laughs. Of course they were happy! Their daughter was married off – to a prince no less. Your marriage ensured a lifetime of stability and wealth for them. Not bad for a baron and baroness. 

You wobble to the great hall for the wedding banquet with Damian’s hand clasped in your own. It wasn’t your choice to make physical contact – he was the one that initiated.

“Weddings are the end of their lives as they know it. The beginning of a prison sentence. The end of youth.”

This is an act. You must admit, if acting was a respectable career choice, Damian would be a top-notch performer. The vows meant nothing. The kiss was expected. The hand holding was necessary for the performance. 

You sat right next to your husband. Aristocrats, both strangers and now familiar faces, approach to wish glad tidings upon you and Damian. You accept their kind words as politely as you can. All the while, you twist your ring, round and round, underneath the table. 

You light up when Rachel approaches the table. A genuine smile finally crosses your face.

“Lady Rachel!” you call out excitedly. 

You jump when you feel Damian’s presence near your ear.

“How do you know of Lady Rachel?” he asks.

You gape at him while Rachel curtsies shyly. His question is not shocking – you chalk it up to mere curiosity. It’s the fact that he’s talking…to you! Willingly. And the conversation does not revolve around simple greetings or pleasantries. 

You can’t even answer him. Anger bubbles inside of you. He almost completely ignores you for four weeks and now suddenly acts like you should be receptive to his conversation. You have half a mind to ignore him in favor of speaking to Rachel. However, the ring sits heavy on your finger, and you suddenly remember your place. 

He is now your husband. He is the heir to the throne. If there is anyone you should hold your tongue towards, it’s him. 

“We met one week ago,” you reply. Rachel beams at you while you recount how you met her. 

“We’ve only become closer and closer, day by day.” You hold your hand towards her, and she takes it affectionately. 

“The princess is right,” Rachel adds. “It is almost like we have known each other our entire lives.”

Damian speaks only after he gulps his entire drink quickly. “Well, wife,” he emphasizes when he grabs your hand, “I am glad you have made a friend in Gotham.”

He smiles menacingly. You can tell by the way his lips unnaturally stretch over his teeth and the reddening of his face. 

Rachel glances at your conjoined hands and clears her throat. “Well, I just wanted to say that I wish for the two of you to be happy.” She raises her cup and you raise yours with your other hand in support.

“To the happy couple,” she concludes. The edge of the cup reaches her lips, but she does not drink. She instead curtsies once more and disappears among the crowd of people.

As soon as she leaves, Damian releases your hand, wiping his palm on his pants as if you were a leper. You clench your teeth so hard that they squeak in retaliation. You manage to take deep breaths to calm yourself – in and out, in and out, in and out. It’s truly an act for him. 

Everyone looks to be so happy. Not for you, of course not. They are happy for their own selfish reasons. Guests are fed the most delicious food and drink that the realm has to offer. Your parents rub elbows with highly ranked aristocrats. Your siblings dance merrily along the aisles. King R’as laughs heartedly a few seats away from Damian while speaking to his friends. Even Talia seems to be in a cheerful mood, scarfing down her food. 

Perhaps you can attempt to be happy, too. It is your wedding day after all. You inhale deeply to gather confidence.

“Husband.”

Damian doesn’t acknowledge you.

You clear your throat and repeat yourself once more.

He doesn’t even look up from his plate.

“Damain!” you half-shout.

His head shoots up immediately. “Yes, wife?”

You want to punch him in the throat. His polite tone seems genuine, but it sounds fake to your ears. 

“Are you…” You scan the great hall. “Are you enjoying the festivities?”

He nods his head slowly like he has trouble understanding your question. “Quite.” He returns to his plate.

You growl, but say no more. After all, there is no point making a concerted effort at conversation now when you apparently have the rest of your life to do so. You might as well take what little enjoyment you have now and ignore the glaring loneliness that dwells within you. 

The wedding took place at noon, but the reception continues well past sunset. You did not even know that there existed so much food in the entire city. Drinks flowed like a river all night long. Some people fell asleep in their seats, despite the rambunctious behaviors of others. Some people danced and danced until you thought their feet would fall off. 

You remain glued to your seat nearly the entire reception. There were a few moments where you stretched your feet, such as when the guests stacked cakes on top one another, so that you and Damian could kiss over them. You managed to peck each other’s lips without the cakes collapsing to the ground, which made the audience break out into cheers. After all, if the cakes fell, it symbolized bad luck for your marriage. 

As if you needed any more of that already. 

The reception seemed like it would never end. Your posture slowly deteriorated over the hours, until you were slumped in your chair. Muscle aches began to surface for sitting for so long. You wanted the night to be over. 

“Damian!” R’as called.

Damian pushes the table to make room to get up. He travels just a few feet farther to his grandfather who whispers something in his ear. Whatever was said made Damian stiffen and glance at you.

You suddenly develop that prickly feeling when you feel like someone is talking about you. Damian’s glance made you certain that you were the subject of their conversation. The realization made you shift in your seat. You decide to study the wooden table to distract yourself from your insecurity. 

A tap on your shoulder breaks your concentration. You find Damian looking down at you with a stoic expression. As usual, you can never determine what he’s thinking.

“Follow me,” he bluntly says. 

He doesn’t move an inch and you don’t realize until a few moments later that he expects you to get up first. You push yourself from the table and slowly stand up. You’ve been sitting for so long that your knees crack upon straightening. 

Damian maneuvers you so that you remain in front of him. He’s mere inches behind you and his hands fix themselves to your waist. He pushes you forward, directing you towards the door. 

The once lively room suddenly quiets down, until cheers are erupted once more.

You peer behind you to see that nearly everyone is looking directly at you. Men are jeering, throwing their hands in the air. Your father kisses your mother’s forehead while she blows a kiss towards you. Women are clapping obnoxiously. You face forward once again in mortification when you realize that they are cheering for your consummation. Everyone knows that you are walking out the hall a virgin – only to become a true wife by tomorrow. 

You look back again, scanning the crowd for Rachel. She has been one of the few sources of support you’ve had as of late. You just want to look at her, to search for comfort in her eyes. You find her violet eyes eventually, only for your humiliation to turn into sadness. Her eyes do not necessarily brim with tears, but they are certainly glossy. 

You give her a comforting smile as the door to the hall opens. 

Don’t be sad for me, you want to say to her, but the door of the hall closes before your message can be relayed through your eyes. 

Damian continues pushing you from behind through the castle. You are eventually brought to an all-too familiar, yet unfamiliar room. 

It certainly has changed since you were in here last, all those years ago. Damian’s room still exudes extravagance, worthy of an heir. However, small details have changed.

There are several arms-related items laying around. A full armor suit sits at the corner of the room. Several weapons – swords, axes, morning stars – are hung on the walls. Papers are strewn across the room. They’re on his desk and dresser and end tables. Most importantly, the room feels larger than it did when you were a child. Well, that was probably due to the fact that you felt smaller now than you did then. 

The door behind you slams shut. You jump in surprise at the loud noise and see Damian leaning on the door.

You hate it. You hate that you feel so nervous. It’s all too much. This room brings back happy memories that you cannot – should not – dredge up in fear of living in the past. You stand in a room, alone, for the first with someone known as your husband. Someone who is actually a stranger to you still. You can’t help but look down. It may be due to submission or shyness; you’re not entirely sure. All you know is that your girlhood has officially ended, and adulthood is crashing upon you.

You see his shoes from your peripheral. He stands toe-to-toe with you. You can’t bear to look him in the face. No good could come from falling for those green eyes. 

He cautiously raises his hands to your waist. You grow numb as he removes your belt. Your dress puffs out into a shapeless blob. 

He grabs your shoulder and turns you around, your back facing him. You can feel your dress loosening as he undoes your corset, one string at a time. Your breathing quickens at the intimacy of the act. You’ve had maybe two decent conversations with this man, and now, he has full access to your body. The discomfort makes you twitch.

“Raise your arms,” he commands. And you listen. He reaches down to hem of your dress, and pulls upward. You become blind momentarily until your dress is fully removed, and all that remains is your paltry smock. You feel overexposed. Your shoulders, arms, and legs are bare. Bare! You instinctively cover yourself the best you can with your arms, but Damian, while still behind you, firmly grabs your forearms to place them at your side. You gasp when he places a quick kiss on the back of your head.

You remain stuck in place despite hearing the crumpling of clothes behind you and await for Damian to direct you. There’s a creak, and several more creaks, and the crinkling of sheets.

“Come.”

You turn around and are met with a shirtless Damian, already beneath the sheets. He pats the unoccupied space next to him, and you follow his orders. You slink underneath the sheets and lay flat on your back, burning holes into the ceiling. The only sounds that could be heard is your breathing and the crackle of the fireplace. 

You await for his orders once more. And wait. And wait. And wait some more, even as he slips completely underneath the sheets completely. From your peripheral vision, you can see that he turns his back towards you. You bite your lips nervously and you dare lift your arm up in an attempt to touch him.

“Good night.”

His words make your arm drop back down onto the mattress. The finality of his words make you close your eyes. There is nothing to do, nothing to expect. He is an actor, and you are at the whim of his play.

The extinguished fire from the fireplace doesn’t wake you. Neither does the blearing sun peeking from behind the curtains. What does wake you are the stomps of your ladies-in-waiting. 

Your eyelids instantly open, the crust that developed during the night making it difficult at first. 

“Princess, it is time to wake,” Matilda says in a voice that it all too loud this early in the morning. She wretches the curtains open and sunlight streams in. You hiss at the light, still walking the line between unconsciousness and alertness.

Joan grabs your shoulders and heaves you into a sitting position. In a militaristic approach, Joan, Matilda, and Honora perform your morning routine. You’ve had a month to adjust to their “help”, but it has only become slightly easier to tolerate their grubby hands and rude shoves. You can only say – Ouch! – so many times until you realize they do not care if they cause you pain. You are a job for them. They may be your household staff, but they are certainly still Talia’s minions. 

The hubbub of the morning almost makes you forget where you are and what had happened the night before. You glance at the spot Damian was sleeping just a few hours prior. In his place is the outline of his body on the mattress.

“Where has my husband gone?” You wince when Joan tugs your hair particularly hard while brushing it. 

“You have been summoned by Lady Talia.”

It hangs in the air, but you don’t expect them to answer your original question. It’s the nature of your relationship with them. It only reminds you to formally add Rachel to your household staff. Perhaps an ally in the mornings would improve your days. 

You’re prodded and shoved and squeezed until you are dressed. A green and black gown once again. An emblem of the house that you married into. You are no longer a daughter of a baron – you are now a princess of the House Al Ghul.

You’re led to Talia’s room within the castle. A guard stands upright outside her door, and opens it for you and your brood. Within, you find your now mother-in-law with a table full of assorted small plates. Fruits, cheeses, bread. Your stomach grumbles in hunger, but you doubt you’ll be able to enjoy your meal. Not with Talia. 

“Lady Talia,” you politely greet. 

She waves you over without looking up. As you approach her, she finally glances at you, but now before grunting in disapproval.

She is now your mother-in-law. You must remain polite. You repeat the mantra to yourself several times as you become situated in the seat across from her. Your ladies-in-waiting stand off the side, along with Talia’s servants.

A moment passes. Then two. Then several. Talia says nothing and continues to eat. You recognize that she will not speak to you first, and that you must initiate the conversation. You desperately want to your roll your eyes, but you remember your mantra. 

“Ahem, Lady Talia,” you start. “I have heard that you summoned me. Might I ask why?”

She sharply glares at you. “Do I need a reason to call upon you? After all, you are now my daughter.”

“Of course not.” You smile as sweetly as you can while simultaneously wanting to burst. You stomach rumbles again to remind you that it is empty, so you swiftly gather some items to make your plate full. 

“Will Damian be joining us for this –”

“No,” Talia interjects. 

“Oh.” Silence befalls the room except for the occasional chewing of food. “Is it possible for my mother to come join us? She will be leaving –”

“No. Is my presence not satisfactory to you?”

“Of course it is, Lady Talia,” you grit. She feigns a smile at you, and her eyes sparkle.

She knows that she’s irking you. She loves it.

“Are you close with Lady Rachel of House Azarath?” you inquire. The best use of your time here with Talia is to at least introduce the idea of Rachel as an additional lady-in-waiting. 

Talia sips her tea generously before answering. “Yes, she used to be quite close to my son.”

“Well, her and I have only recently met, but we have become incredibly close. She honestly feels like a sister to me –”

“You’re talking about Lady Rachel?” 

You gulp and shakingly nod your head. “Yes, I am. Erm – like I was saying, she has become a true friend. Since my family will return to my birthplace soon, and I have left behind my childhood friends, I was thinking about having Lady Rachel join my household staff. As a lady-in-waiting.”

Talia stares blankly at you, her green eyes burrowing into your soul. Her façade soon begins to break as her lips twitch and her eyes crinkles. Soon, she releases out a howling cackle. She laughs and laughs, holding her stomach to support herself. 

Joan, Matilda, Honora, and the remaining servants in the room look to one another curiously before they begin to laugh as well. Their laughs start as awkward chuckles until they are bellowing to match their master.

You sit in utter disbelief at the situation unfurling in front of you. There’s a joke hidden in Talia’s laugh, but you remain oblivious to it.

“Oh, oh, my.” Talia wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “Why, yes, of course! Lady Rachel is free to join your household staff.”

Your face is red with embarrassment as the laughs finally die down. You’re not sure what the joke was, and you so desperately want to know. 

The food no longer looks appetizing to you. The measly few bites you had appease your stomach for the time being. Desperate for the attention to be off of you, the course of the conversation is redirected.

“Erm – thank you, Lady Talia. Say, how did you enjoy the festivities yesterday?”

“Ahem, yes, it was fine.” Her joyful tone suddenly reverts to its malicious nature. “I presume you enjoyed your wedding night, especially. How very lucky you are to bed a prince when you are…” She points in your general direction. “Well, when you are…you.”

A forced chuckle exits your mouth. Never have you ever met someone as blatantly, yet simultaneously subtly, rude. It dawns on you that her status allows her to speak however she wants, and that social graces are only for those inferior to her. 

“I am eternally grateful that Prince Damian chose me to be his wife.”

She waves your pleasantry off. “Yes, yes. After all, he chose you out of…every maiden. I am certain you will do your duties as a wife to ensure his happiness. As long as you bear him heirs, I suppose that is all I can ask for.”

The conversation feels unpleasant to you. After all, shouldn’t your marital relations with Damian be kept between you and him? Admittedly, you’re not sure whether you should alert Talia to the fact that you did notbed Damian last night. Sure, you slept in the same bed, but you are certain that is not what she cares about.

The question that she was dancing around finally is brought to the forefront. “Last night was…successful, correct?”

Your hunger has not yet returned, but you abruptly feel the urge to stuff food into your mouth to avoid answering her. 

“Mmhm.” 

She leans in dangerously close. She remains across the table, but it seems like she will pounce on you if you dare utter one wrong word.

“Did you bed Damian?”

You breathe in deeply, having had enough of the intrusion. “Lady Talia, I feel as though my relations with your son –”

“This is a yes or no question, dear,” she seethes. “Did you or did not do your duty as the wife of Prince Damian?” She slowly stands as she asks you her question, her anger palpable. 

“Does it matter?” you counter. “Why is that any of your business?”

“So, you did not bed him.”

You eye twitches in annoyance. “Lady Talia, I did not say that.”

“You don’t have to.” She slams her hands on the table, shaking it. You jump in surprise and grab hold onto the arms of the seat. The other women in the room hold their breath in frightened anticipation. 

“What was the point then? What was it?” She places her hands on her waist and circles you. “There were so many others – richer, prettier, friendlier. Some of them he grew up with. Why you if he doesn’t even want to bed you?”

You remain glued to your seat. Talia looks down at you with rage in her eyes, while you look back with confusion. You don’t know how to answer her question, because ultimately, you’re unsure of the answers yourself. If she had asked you a month prior when you first arrived in Gotham, you probably could have answered that you and Damian shared a sweet encounter from many years past, and that encounter led to your marriage. However, with Damian’s aloofness, you also are uncertain as to why you were chosen to be his bride.

Talia groans in frustration at your muteness. She stomps towards the door, but not before a servant rushes over to open it for her. You watch as she disappears into the hallway, presumably to confront Damian. 

You let out a shaky breath that you didn’t know you were holding. 

“Take me back to my quarters,” you order your ladies-in-waiting. “And send for Lady Rachel.”

You pace back and forth in your room, practically burning a hole into the floor. A loud knock disrupts your fervent strides, and in comes your rescuer, Rachel.

“Rachel,” you whimper as your nearly run into her open arms.

Her arms wrap around you tightly, like how a snake suffocates its victims, except her hug was full of love instead.

You’re shaken up by your encounter with Talia, but the culmination of the previous 24 hours bears down upon you. You sink to the floor, Rachel helplessly attempting to lift you back to your feet, but the energy is no longer within you.

“Everything is wrong.”

“What is?” Rachel finally sinks to the floor next to you, holding your head to her bosom, holding you like a mother would do to console her child. 

“Everything. This cursed family has brought me nothing but misery. I will be miserable until the end of my days, I fear.”

Rachel gently quiets you and strokes your hair. “No, that will not happen. I will not allow that to happen.”

“It will!” you exclaim. “Damian hates me!”

“He does not hate you.”

“Yes, he does!” Embarrassment sinks into your bones when Rachel asks you to explain.

“Last night was a disaster,” you murmur into her chest.

Rachel stops stroking your head momentarily. “Hmm? How so?” She starts once more playing with your hair.

“I am…still a virgin.”

She pulls your head backwards so that her eyes meet yours. “Do you mean…he has not bedded you yet?”

You cringe in embarrassment. Her shock has only solidified your insecurity – something must be wrong with you. That’s the only explanation! 

“No, no, darling,” Rachel clucks. “Do not hide your face from me. It is not your fault – hey – look at me. It. Is. Not. Your. Fault.”

“Then, what is wrong?” You swiftly get to your feet and resume your pacing. “If not me, then what? It’s silly to think that there is another issue at play here.”

Rachel grabs hold of your shoulders and firmly shakes you. “Listen to yourself! You sound mad.” She looks around the room as if it isn’t empty and leans in close to whisper. “Understand that there may be other factors at play. The emotions of man can certainly affect his…libido. Take it from me, I should know.” 

She releases her grip, but remains planted in front of your face. “I have had…prior relations.”

You nod at her wide-eyed. This is the first you’ve heard of Rachel speaking about her romantic life. 

“Certain emotions can make it hard for a man to perform his husbandly duties. I do not think it wise to push the issue, as to not cause any embarrassment for him.”

You nod your head emphatically, whole-heartedly internalizing her speech. “But – what if he doesn’t bed me tonight either? Lady Talia is already speaking about heirs.”

“Again, do not push the issue. You would rather not face Damian’s wrath.”

A singular, harsh knock interrupts your discussion. In stomps in the subject of the conversation, the man of the hour, your lifeline and your ruin – Damian.

Rachel immediately curtsies out of respect and lowers her head. He opens his mouth to speak, but is seemingly stunned by the presence of another human in your room. He looks back and forth between you and Rachel.

“Husband,” you greet.

The sound of your voice brings Damian back from his trance. He nods his head towards the door and several servants, including your ladies-in-waiting, pile into the room.

“Wife,” he starts. He strides over to you and plants a kiss on your forehead. His lips leave a burning sensation on you, as his sudden display of affection jars you. “Pack your essentials. We leave soon for my father’s.”

“Damian,” you whisper. His face reveals his agitation: his lips are stretched into a scowl and his forehead wrinkles deeply. “Is everything alright?”

His palm reaches to your face, his thumb stroking your cheek. You want to believe he does it lovingly, but your heart can’t take that risk. 

“You should have called upon me,” he murmurs. “As soon as my mother disrespected you, you should have come to me.”

You look down in shame. So, he’s heard of your interaction with Talia earlier that day. “I did not think that was an option. I did not even know where you were.”

He lifts your head up with his index finger on your chin. He bends as best as he could to meet you at eye-level. “Of course, that is an option. You are my wife.”

You swallow hard. The way he’s looking at you, and comforting you – it’s too much. It’s too sudden. You shimmy your way out of his grasp and look to Rachel for support, only to find her back facing towards you and Damian.

“Lady Rachel has been consoling me.”

Damian stiffens and his jaw tightens. “Thank you, Lady Rachel,” he starts. He looks over his shoulder her, and she does so too ever so slightly. Neither face each other completely, however. “You may now take your leave.”

Rachel nods her head and without turning to say goodbye to you, she starts heading towards the door.

“Wait, no!” you call out. You circle around Damian to reach Rachel’s arm. “Lady Rachel is to be my lady-in-waiting. She must remain by my side.”

Damian’s eyes bulge out of his head. “Your lady-in-waiting?” he repeats brashly. 

You huff in irritation. You’re not sure why everyone seems to be so astonished that you want Rachel to be a part of your household staff. “Yes,” you reply. 

Damian clicks his tongue in disapproval. The amorous façade he performed just moments prior is now gone. It’s been replaced with the real Damian – the stoic one. 

“Fine.” He pushes back you to reach the exit before stopping by the door. He doesn’t even turn around. “Remember, just the essentials. 

#dc comics #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x fem!reader #damian wayne x y/n #league of assassins #loa!damian wayne #damian wayne

[pinkkittysaw]

CHAPTER II

- MAY I HAVE THIS DANCE?

← chapter one

series master-list can be found here!

summary: the night of your brother’s annual birthday ball takes an unexpected turn

paring: knight! clive rosfield x princess! reader

word count: 9,613

content: NSFW (minors + ageless blogs DNI! you will be BLOCKED!) heavy plot, oral (f! receiving), fingering (f! receiving) handjob, power imbalance, dirty talk, spit, slight humiliation kink, parental loss.

disclaimer(s): although this series is inspired by the medieval and regency time periods, they are not 1:1 representations. although i will always do my best to represent both as accurately as possible, there may be some minor changes.

some of the plot points in the original game story have been altered or taken out to fit this au better. there are no eikons

a/n: i want to dedicate this chapter to my AMAZING friend, and fellow writer, jordy (@cryptictongues) who not only let me bounce ideas off her constantly, but also beta read some of this chapter as well. thank you for everything!!!!!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

dividers by @/saradika-graphics and art is by edmund blair leighton

A month or so passed since your last tryst with Clive, leaving the relationship between the two of you to be strained with pent-up tension. In light of the momentary heat of passion, you both agreed that such conduct would be better kept private, in places where no wandering eyes could intrude, so as to not arouse any more suspicion. There were to be absolutely no dubious behaviors in public, which proved to be undoubtedly difficult.

With every promenade you'd take around the castle grounds, you'd see him training, all sweaty and flush in his fit form, and all you'd be able to think about was mounting him then and there, riding him until you were both run ragged.

Your confidants and lady's maid have caught your prolonged glances during your strolls in the sunshine, but you've always met their accusations with a dismissive flap of your hand fan, stating that you were "simply curious about the training regiment that the knights were conducting," even if your eyes always lingered on one knight in particular. Baddies

There was talk around the palace for a while about the sudden disappearance of a certain scullery maid, but seeing as the crown had more pressing matters to deal with than the loss of a single maid, one who could easily be replaced, any investigation resulted in the conclusion that she had simply "fleed her duties," and it was left at that.

In reality, though, you had visited her late in the night after your passionate affair with Clive many moons ago, offering to pay off her debts and then some if she swore to secrecy that nothing she saw that night would make its way into the ears of the public.

The amount of gil being offered was unlike anything she could have ever imagined. Seeing as your father amassed insurmountable fortunes during his reign, idle gossip wasn't worth the consequences if she were to be found out as the source of the rumor, so she took the small fortune and fled the palace walls that very same night.

Now you find yourself sitting in another store room, one that's presumed to be in less use than the previous one, perched upon an old barrel.

A royal ball was in attendance, and all nobility within the realm were invited. The occasion? Your younger brother and future heir to the throne's birthday. He reached the tender age of one and twenty, which just so happens to be the legal age of marriage in your country, so, of course, your father invited all the reputable debutantes in the realm in hopes that your brother would secure a future queen, though he'd never admit to such schemes out loud.

You were hoping that tonight would be another secret rendezvous with your lover, but you haven't so much as gotten a single word with him all evening.

All you had thought about during the preparation was how you were going to tease him throughout the night. The gown you had selected to wear was chosen with him in mind. The silhouette hugged your figure to perfection, and your cleavage was heavily accentuated in the lavender muslin. The hem was detailed with a layer of tulle tulips, and crystals of various sizes decorated the bustline. Put simply, you looked ravishing—the epitome of the most elegantly cut diamond.

Your father would spare no expense when it came to his son's birthday ball, so you were in luck to some degree, but the only man whose eyes you wanted on you was nowhere to be found.

The ball was supposed to provide perfect cover. All the orderly staff would be at your father's beck and call all evening, and he'd be too busy showing off your brother like a prized chocobo to notice your disappearance, leaving you to your own devices after a certain amount of time.

You and Clive would be able to sneak off without a trace or care in the world, but for some reason, every man of nobility just happened to be extremely insistent upon getting in at least one dance with you, all whilst having meaningless conversations regarding topics you couldn't bother yourself with caring about.

The ball started off well enough. You knew you couldn't immediately disappear into the shadows; you owed both your father and brother a dance to start the evening, as was tradition for the royal balls in your country.

The three of you walked out into the ballroom together. Your father went first, then you and your brother in succession.

The room was lavish, as it often was whenever such events were hosted in your kingdom. Multiple chandeliers holding long wax candles filled the ceiling, and the light reflecting off the gems on your gown made you shine beautifully. A golden hue encapsulates the entire room, casting wispy shadows and twinkling shapes on the hardwood floor. Your family emblem was painted in stark white chalk at the center of it. Various flowers from the royal gardens hung in sconces around the perimeter of the room, with vines filling out the empty space in between. Fine fabric in your kingdom's colors was draped over the windows in high arch shapes.

Scanning the room, you look for where to make your grand escape. After a few dances and perhaps some intermingling at the refreshments table, you'd be skittering along the ballroom walls, hiding in the shadows, before making your exit.

There was still a short amount of time before the guests started to file in, so after the final touches were made to the decorations, you took your place on the dais next to your family, with your father in the center and your brother to your right.

The royal knights line up in front of the small stage, and though Clive is always the pinnacle of orderliness while on duty—excellent posture and great form—you swear that you catch his eye as he files inside the room. He's not so careless as to let his emotions wear on his face while in the presence of others, especially your father and the Lord Commander, but you're certain that the slightest tinge of pink floods his cheeks at the sight of you.

As the knights continue to get into position, your gaze falls upon Clive's shaggy hair, reminiscing about how the thick yet soft tendrils felt between the length of your fingers as he made his presence known between your legs moons prior.

Your father's voice reels you back from your fantasies as you clear your throat slightly and hope that the bright lights of the chandelier won't give way to your previous thoughts.

Nobles from all across the realm begin to file in and make their greetings, some familiar and some new. A part of you is surprised that all these people traveled from their home countries just to visit your brother, but you supposed that none of the nations wanted bad blood between your kingdom and theirs.

After all the introductions were made, your father began his long-winded speech about your brother, the future of the country, and how proud he is of how far his children have come. The smile plastered on your face feels stiff, and your thighs feel as though they're about to collapse from the amount of curtsying you've been forced to do.

Finally, after what felt like hours, you're granted some relief from the spotlight while the band sets up on the stage where you and your family previously resided.

You make your way over to the refreshment table, nodding and curtseying to the fellow noble ladies as you make your way over to procure yourself a glass of iced lemonade.

It was not even three seconds later that your father was introducing you to some nobleman.

"Dearest daughter," he starts. You take a deep breath and settle your princessly smile on your face once more before turning around.

"I'd be pleased to introduce you to the Archduke of Rosaria and his mother." You gaze upon the both of them; this is the first meeting you've had with the current Archduke of Rosaria. You met the previous archduke, Elwin, when you were still of tender age, before your brother was born. You scantly recall the details of the meeting, only that he gifted both you and your mother bouquets of Rosarian wildflowers and that he had a penchant for making you laugh (as later on confirmed by your mother).

It's clear, though, that the man standing before you bears no resemblance to his father, sharing the same icy eyes and pale hair as his mother.

"His Imperial and Royal Highness, Joshua, the Archduke of Rosaria, and her Imperial and Royal Highness, Annabella, the Dowager Archduchess of Rosaria," your father continues, giving you room to make your formal introductions.

"It is an honor, your Highness," you state, giving a swift curtsey to the both of them, and although Annabella merely nods to you in acknowledgment, her son gives a full bow in return.

"Come now, Joshua. There's no need for that," she chastises, as if her son were still a child and not a grown man.

"But mother, how could I not marvel at the beauty bestowed upon me?" He responds in full. At your astonishment at his bold declaration, he takes your gloved hand into his own and presses a delicate kiss to the back of your knuckles.

"Might I say that your gown looks exquisite tonight, my lady? You shine bright like a diamond." Both you and the Dowager Archduchess share a similar look of shock on your faces, and even though you can't see your father's expression from behind you, you're sure that he mirrors both of yours.

Heat floods your face as your eyes meet Joshua's, then his mother's, and although their eyes bear the same shade of cerulean, her gaze pierces through you like daggers of ice, whereas the strawberry blonde beside her carries a lot more warmth.

Time stands still, and you wonder if such flirtations were a product of his father, seeing as his mother held very little kindness or regard in her heart.

You feel your father's hands on your shoulders and realize you've spent the last minute or so gawking at Joshua and his display.

"Please forgive my daughter; she isn't used to such blatant declarations of affection from esteemed gentlemen." It's at your father's statement that your brain kicks back into gear. Your hand is withdrawn, and an immediate curtsey follows in its place.

"My sincerest apologies, Your Highness." As you raise your head, your eyes meet Clive's just across the way from behind Joshua, but he's quick to refocus and march forward in front of him.

"No apology is necessary," the Archduke smiles, "though if you truly wish to win my forgiveness, you'll allow me your hand in a dance."

Before you even get the chance to respond, Annabella interrupts, "Joshua, you mustn't. Think of your health."

"Mother," a domineering smile plasters itself on Joshua's face, "certainly I have enough energy to last me at least one dance with the most elegant princess in all of Valisthea."

Annabella sends another harsh glance toward her son before muttering, "Of course," and  taking her leave elsewhere.

Joshua heaves a heavy sigh before extending his hand, silently asking for your dance card. You raise your wrist and allow him to pencil himself in before he gives one final bow, and retreats toward his inconsolable mother.

Your father exhales the breath you were unaware he was holding when the band gets in position for their first song. Both you and your father take place in the center of the ballroom as the first dance of the evening.

You couldn't help but notice as you scanned the faces in the surrounding audience that someone was missing. As the starting notes boomed from the instruments, you whisper to your father, "Papa, where's Dion?"

Prince Dion, next in line to be the Emperor of Sanbreque, had grown to be one of your close friends—well, as close of a friend as a princess could have when confined to castle walls for most of her life. You were close in age, and given that there weren't as many young heirs throughout the realm at the time of your childhood, it was only natural that the two of you would become fast friends.

Rumors quickly spread that you and Dion would become betrothed when you were older, securing an indisputable alliance between both nations, but as the years trickled on and both of you came of age, no such proposals were made. After he became leader of the dragoons, it was apparent that one such proposal would never come, but you weren't deterred; if anything, you were relieved.

You held love for Dion in your heart; you'd known each other since you were children, but the love you held wasn't the type of love fostered between two individuals who were passionate about each other romantically.

Your father's face held a quick grimace before lowering his voice as the two of you prepared to take your first steps in tune together. "Dion is busy preparing for a war effort; he sends his regards."

"What?" You mutter, trying to keep the look of shock from developing on your face.

Though you and Dion couldn't frequently meet in person, the two of you penned missives back and forth. In none of your most recent correspondence with each other, had he mentioned anything in regards to an oncoming war.

Your father wasn't a gossip, but being the ruler of an entire kingdom, one must be well knowledgeable about the state of other nations.

He lowers his voice even further: "It seems that the King of Waloed is insistent on reclaiming his territory from Sanbreque."

"Dion never mentioned anything of the sort in his letters."

Your father gives you a lopsided smile in an attempt to reassure you: "He probably didn't want to worry you unnecessarily, especially with the ball coming up."

Your father was more than likely correct in his assumptions, but you couldn't shake the sinking feeling in your stomach.

"I'm sure Dion will be alright," he adds, brushing his thumb over your hand after noticing the newfound stiffness in your movements.

You nod. Dion was and is strong; he turned the tides for Sanbreque in battle many a time before. This was a fact, but something about him having to go against Waloed's army shakes you to your core.

Your father and the king of Waloed, Barnabas Tharmr, were amiable allies for the most part, but you've heard stories, many in particular when he visited your kingdom after the death of your mother. You were still young then, so you couldn't quite grasp the weight and meaning of the whispers your handmaidens had shared in secrecy upon his arrival.

He visited annually for some years after his initial visit before they died down altogether, though you could never ascertain what the meetings were for besides the first one.

Barnabas was kind enough, as one of his nature could be on his trip, but you could never help the feeling that something more sinister lingered beneath the surface when your young eyes met his.

You did your best to quell the unease in your heart and continued to dance with your father. Although he had gotten up there in years, he still moved swiftly across the ballroom floor, even if you had to slow your steps a bit.

It seemed that just as soon as the dance with your father began, it was over, and you were anxiously anticipating the next dance with your brother. You go hand in hand with him while the band begins to play.

"So, Crown Prince," you begin, filling the air in an attempt to quell your nerves. "Future heir to the throne, how does it feel to be Papa's favorite?" You smile, albeit teasingly.

"Surely you jest, dear sister. For without you, I'd be hopeless."

"Now who's jesting?" Your grin graces your face once more as the two of you glide across the ballroom before a somber expression soon replaces your previous jubilant one. "It pains me to think that this ball may be the last time we see each other like this."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Look at all the people here," you whisper to him, "surely you don't think Father is just merely celebrating your birthday. You're twenty-one years of age now, dear brother; officially legal to be wed."

"You don't truly think he'd see to it that I'd be married right away, do you?

You both twirl around, and your father comes into view, standing next to the royal guard.

"Maybe not right away, but you know how he is. Ever since Mama died, all he's wanted is to see our futures secured, and in your case, our bloodline. If that means marrying us off early, then so be it, I suppose. At least you have the luxury of choices in who you'll marry."

"Then how come you weren't married off as soon as you came of age?"

"Because you still needed me. You had no mother to set an example, so I needed to be in your life to show you how proper noble ladies should act," you snirk as he rolls his eyes. "If I'm speaking honestly, I feel the answer is more sentimental than logical. I don't think Father wanted to lose another member of our family before we were both of breeding age."

"I suppose you're right. It's more than what most fathers would do. Now that I'm able to be wed, do you suppose that'll hasten his plans for your marriage?"

You sigh, the thought has lingered in the back of your mind since your brother grew out of being a child. "I'm not sure, but who knows?"

"Don't look so down," he smirks. "If you reach spinsterdom, you'll always have a place here with me."

You smile kindly. "Thank you."

As the instruments die down, signaling the dance coming to a close, you once again find yourself on the outskirts of the ballroom. You snag a look at your dance card to check where Joshua has penciled himself in. A waltz, of course. He'd undoubtedly use this opportunity of close quarters to flirt with you some more.

His name was listed far enough down the line that you could make a break for the storeroom now, and...

"Your Royal Highness!"

The next hour and a half was filled with nothing but dancing, with only a few minutes of rest provided in between.

You had been skirting along the edges of the ballroom when you just so happened to catch the eyes of an old presiding duke who resides in your kingdom, and it was all downhill from there.

What was supposed to have been a "romantic" evening was turning into a disaster. At every turn, you were swept into the arms of yet another elderly gentleman looking for a younger and more agreeable wife.

As you twirled and spun around the hardwood flooring, you were afforded only mere glances at your lover from afar. Every time you laid your eyes on him, he always appeared to be preoccupied with something else. Not that any of your concurrent dance partners would've noticed your wandering eye, as theirs were doing much of the same.

If there was one thing that all these men had in common, it was the ogling. Some of them "tried" to be more polite about it than others, going for glances at your cleavage in between the minimal required time they had to actually look you in the eye instead of blatantly staring at your chest the whole time.

It was clear, though, that all of them were oblivious to just how obvious they were being with their gaping looks, not realizing that you could tell when people were talking to your chest instead of your face.

Though you're certain that a drink limit was set for this ball, it was becoming quite clear that a majority of the "gentlemen" had imbibed to their pleasure, the smell of port lingering on their breath whenever they'd lean in close. 

After a while, you had managed to escape all your suitors and camouflage yourself in a nearby group of gossiping noble ladies, the majority of them being mothers, who were well-equipped with an onslaught of questions about your brother and the future of the kingdom.

After quelling their curiosity, you nestled yourself in a corner, facing the wall of the ballroom, and let out an exasperated sigh, taking a few moments to collect yourself.

You were beyond frustrated, both sexually and mentally. All you desired was to climb between the sheets with your lover and have him pleasure your body until your thoughts were reduced to a mindless fog. To say you were having intense urges was an understatement.

It'd be easier to deal with if Clive wasn't a member of staff that you saw often, like a cook or a coachman, but being your sworn shield, he was in your presence a majority of the time. So close, yet so far.

His touch was often the source of your fantasies at night. Your mind wanders, flitting between thoughts of his scruff against your neck, his breath on your skin, and how his strong hands would grip your body.

You were never able to help but wonder what your first time together would be like. What does he look like when he comes? What does he sound like? Does he moan, grunt, or whimper? Would he be gentle with you? Similar to how he grasps your hand when helping you step down from a carriage, slow, languid thrusts into your heat as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear, both of your bodies clinging onto each other for purchase. Or would he be rough? Similar to how he fights: powerful, unrelenting thrusts into your cunt, overwhelming as he batters into you, stealing the breath from your lungs. You were often unable to decide which scenario you liked better as you reached your climax, whispering his name as you came down.

You know you shouldn't have such intense lust for someone who's working in your service, but knowing that just excites you more.

"Princess!"

You release another deep exhale as you turn around. You're really starting to get irritated at the word "princess."

"Your Highness!" you exclaim with a half gasp. Apparently, Joshua was set on keeping his promise of a dance.

"My sincerest apologies," you curtsey.

He gives a dismissive wave of his hand before extending it toward you. "You owe me no such things, my lady. Are you still willing to accept my dance proposal?"

"Of course, Your Highness," you place your gloved hand in his as he walks you to the dance floor, and you can't help the smile that rises on your face as you take your place together.

"I know it's against propriety for you to deny me a dance, but I'm not so cruel to force a lady when she doesn't want to."

"It's a pleasure, Your Highness. I assure you. You're perhaps the most polite man I've danced with thus far, besides my father and brother, of course."

His hand makes its way to the small of your back as more couples fall in toe behind you and the Archduke. Your conversation lulls until the music picks up, your hand delicately resting on his shoulder.

"Although I am most disappointed to hear that these gentlemen would treat a beautiful woman such as yourself with little regard, I can't deny that I'm pleased to be the only one who's seemed to win your affections."

This man.

As much as you try not to fawn over the attention, his words are like silk in your ears, as if they're the most natural sound you've ever heard.

It doesn't register that you're smiling so brightly until he comments on it: "You have one of the most radiant smiles, my lady."

You shake your head from side to side as if trying to regain your composure. Despite all the time you shared with Clive over a month ago, you weren't used to such blatant flirtations in front of so many people at once. Even if they couldn't hear your conversation, the smiles on both your faces single you out from the other couples on the floor. It leaves you feeling exposed, as if a bright light has been shone on both of you.

"Forgive me if I speak out of line, Your Highness," you inhale, "but where on Valisthea did you learn to become so charming?"

He offers a chuckle and a swoop of his strawberry-blonde hair. "I'm quite a fan of the written word. It was often one of the few escapes I truly had as a child, so I may have picked up a few techniques after reading a romance or two."

"Perhaps you could lend your novels to some of the other gentlemen here so they can learn how to properly woo a lady."

"And risk losing being the sole recipient of your affections?"

"Feeling insecure over your abilities?" You cock your head to the side, a small smirk appearing on your lips.

Joshua ponders the question for a moment, putting on a good face of deep thought as if he's truly rolling the question around in his head before responding, "More so like...I don't want to give the poor blokes false hope when I'm sure to come out on top anyway."

"It seems that you're very confident indeed."

The two of you chuckle as he twirls you around, only to be met with the scorn of Annabella's icy gaze after locking eyes with her from the other side of the ballroom. The joy in your expression quickly dies off, and the figurative noose tightens itself around your neck, suffocating the life from your lungs.

With your newfound stillness, Joshua has to guide you back into his arms. He looks off in the direction of your eye line and sighs before speaking once more, "I apologize on behalf of my mother."

"You needn't do so for my sake," you're quick to respond, attempting to reassure him that you were unaffected by Annabella's glare.

"Do you think I can't sense the dread in your eyes?" He smirks, and you offer a strained half-laugh in response while waiting for him to continue.

"I was frequently ill as a child, thus it was very rare to step foot outside the archduchy," he clears his throat, "after my father had passed, it seems that her protective nature only grew."

"I'm sorry about the loss of your father. I've only met him a handful of times, but he was always very kind. My mother once told me that I frequently laughed in his presence." You understood Joshua's pain well, having lost your mother during the birth of your brother years before the former Archduke passed. 

A solemn look graces his features before he relaxes once more. "He was a good man, from what I can recall from my memories of him," he pauses, "I can only hope that I can be half the man he was when it comes to ruling the archduchy."

You take a moment to mull over your words before voicing them. "It seems like you've managed to capture his kind and generous spirit. I'm sure you're already well on your way to living up to his name."

"You're very kind," he nods, and a genuine smile fixes itself on his face, unlike the charming one he's graced you with before.

The music slows to a stop, indicating the end of the waltz, and Joshua walks you back to the fray of the ballroom as slowly as possible. "Perhaps this is inappropriate to say given the present company, but I'd love to call upon you some time."

A part of you is surprised, not expecting a courting proposal from someone you could actually tolerate. Being thoroughly charmed, you agree.

"There's a jousting tournament within the next fortnight. It's always an invigorating time. You should attend if you're able."

He takes your gloved hand in his, raising it until your knuckles graze his lips. "I'd be most delighted to attend. Until then, my lady." He releases your hand and turns off in the direction of his mother, who looks all too unhappy with him, and you, by extension.

You sigh, ready to be completely done with the evening. You move toward your father, ready to meander around where he sits near the dais, hoping that any lingering suitors would see him situated nearby and turn the other direction.

Once you've raised your head and made your way toward your father, Clive comes into view. He's moving toward you at a fast pace, and before you can stop yourself, your feet turn to guide you in his direction instead. Momentarily forgetting your place, you call out his name, though it's difficult to hear over the chatter of the ballroom.

At the same time, two overlapping voices call out to you. One is Clive's; the sound of his voice is more familiar to you, but there's another that cuts through the air.

A gruff "princess" is all you're afforded in terms of a greeting.

Both you and Clive come to a halt and turn in the direction of the unknown voice.

The man has a familiar face, though you can't exactly place from where you know him. He's around your father's age, with wrinkles lining his eyes and forehead as well as dashes of grey in his facial hair, so you conclude that your father must be how you've made his acquaintance before.

The man is decently handsome, more so than the other creeps you've had the displeasure of dancing with. He has stark eyes, almost crystalline in nature, which are a sharp contrast to his raven-colored hair.

These traits prove to be startlingly similar to those of your current lover, but you decide it's best to dissect that later.

Clive is the one who breaks the silence. "My sincerest apologies, Your Majesty."

Your majesty?

You offer the man a curtsey in apology while Clive bows, but the stranger pays you no mind, choosing to focus on the knight instead. 

"Is something the matter?" Though it's merely a question, his voice carries a wealth of command behind it.

"Nothing that can't wait," Clive begins, his eyes flitting between you and the unknown—at least unknown to you. "Please pardon my intrusion." He bows to the both of you before stalking off toward your father.

You suppose you'll be informed later if it's truly so important.

The silence fills between you and the man again before he asks, "May I have this dance?" His mouth quirks up in a smirk.

“It's only a country dance; nothing too intimate,” you think to yourself.

If you were being honest, the last thing you wanted to do was begrudgingly endure a dance with this gentleman after having more than your fair share of imbeciles indulge themselves in your assets, but propriety comes first. So instead of telling this man to kindly fuck off, you put on your best princessly smile and place your hand in his.

"Of course," you reply, and he leads you toward the floor.

You stand next to each other in between other couples before the band begins to pick up once again. The melody starts slow enough, so you take this time to ask the man exactly who he is, keeping your tone light and polite.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty; it seems that I remember the face but not the name.”

He must've made his entrance later on in the evening after the formal introductions, because you certainly would've remembered him during the greetings.

He offers a light chuckle before muttering, "Barnabas, King of Waloed."

King of Waloed. The very same king who's planning to go toe to toe with one of your closest confidants. He's aged quite a bit in the fifteen-odd years it's been since you've seen him last; it's no wonder you didn't recognize him. 

Your body language gives you away despite your best efforts, and his laugh pierces through you. "It seems my reputation proceeds me."

The disdain is thinly veiled in your voice. "Don't you have a battle to prepare for?" you grit, and he laughs again as if the prospect were beneath him.

"I'm not worried," is all he offers in response. His presence must've been what Clive was trying to warn you about.

You take a deep breath, seeing it best not to stir anything up in the public eye.

You get a better look at him when the succession of people in the line with you turns around. He certainly doesn't dress like a king—definitely not one like your father. There are no bells and whistles to his outfit, no ornate capes lined with exotic furs, or gilded crowns.

If anything, it seemed like he'd dressed down for this event, and you can't tell what pisses you off more: his pompous attitude toward heading into battle that may surely send Dion to an all too early grave or his nonchalance in showing up to a royal ball in only a blue tunic and black leathers. It felt like a jab. Though his pompousness in battle may be deserved, this blatant display of disrespect was not.

He gave the impression of a venomous snake, intriguing to look at but ultimately best viewed from a faraway distance.

It takes everything in you not to grind your teeth together and overemphasize the stiffness in your movements.

As if sensing your irritation with him, Barnabas probes, "Are you enjoying yourself?"

No, you're quite simply NOT!

"I've gotten to the age where these sorts of gatherings lose their luster."

It wasn't exactly the truth, but it wasn't a lie either. As you got older and balls became more about finding matches, you started to dread them. You were hoping that it being your brother's birthday would be enough to spare you from marriage prospects, but alas, you were clearly wrong.

"A shame," he mutters, his words lacking enthusiasm.

The group moves along to the beat of the tune when Clive comes into your view, talking to your father.

"Who's that brooding fellow you're staring at?" Barnabas asks, trying to cut off whatever is taking your attention away from him.

The two of you move in succession toward the back of the group when it registers just how much you've been gawking at Clive in Barnabas' presence.

"Him? He's my first shield," you answer nonchalantly, letting no indication of fondness slip into your voice.

Barnabas snickers, "I had no idea noble ladies were so heavily invested in the lives of their shields."

"I know naught of what you mean," you scoff, acting like the princess you are.

His voice rises in volume as he declares, "Why don't you let a real man take care of you?"

Heat floods your body at his words, and you do little to hide your disgust.

"Excuse me?"

"He's nothing but filth," he continues to say, and the rage inside you reaches a boiling point.

"You speak of him as if he's nothing but a lowly street rat."

"He might as well be, compared to us. You could have an entire kingdom of knights protecting you as well as one of the most powerful men in the realm, instead of just one lowly feeble knight."

"Are you always so incorrigible toward those who are beneath you? It's a miracle that your kingdom still stands."

He laughs out loud, beside himself. You were sure he'd have your head. Instead, his volume just gets louder, so those dancing alongside you can hear.

"I've heard rumors that your precious first shield is actually a royal bastard, but from whom he's a descendant, I've no idea. A man of his standing is simply not fit to be in the position of protecting a princess. I'm just looking out for you."

If you were feeling rage before, now you're furious. As much as the people in your dance group tried to be respectful, heads couldn't help but turn at Barnabas' accusations.

Whether Clive being a bastard was true or not didn't matter; you refused for someone who valiantly defended your life to be made a mockery of over such trivial matters in your eyes.

"I was the one who held the sword that knighted Clive!" You start off loud, similar to him, but your voice gets lower as you draw near.

"My father gave him a title under his tutelage. Clive's been protecting me since I was the tender age of twelve years old and is the only man I'd trust with my life outside of my father and brother."

There's a pause before you continue.

"If you wish to win my favor, it'd be wise to watch what you say in regards to him," you grit.

You're not sure when the rest of the group stopped dancing alongside you, but by the time you realize it, all their eyes are on you. Though the people outside of the circle couldn't hear your conversation, the crowd caused those on the fray of the ballroom to turn their attention toward you.

Barnabas only snirks, scanning your face plainly when you turn back to face him. Your glare is prominent as he escorts you back off the dance floor once  the music dies down.

He speaks in a low voice, right in your ear, "You're a feisty one, but don't worry, I enjoy a challenge." He smiles menacingly before releasing you.

All the wandering heads seem to return to their original activities upon the group's dispersal. You don't want to cause any more disturbance, something you're sure you'll get a lecture for later on, so you give a curtsey to Barnabas, lowering your head.

"I shall bid you adieu, Your Majesty." The words are choked out, and not a moment later you're turning on your heels and making your exit out of the ballroom.

Which is how you ended up in an old store room, with nothing but your various frustrations and the ebbs n flows of silence to keep you company.

You're not sure how long you've been sitting there, but by the time you hear the door open, you're convinced that it was a servant sent to escort you back to the ballroom, but instead, it's Clive.

There's no hesitation in his movements as he steps toward you, catching your face in his gloved hands as he reads your expression.

"Are you alright?" He asks. Even if there's no threat of physical danger, that doesn't mean emotional scars weren't left after your interaction with the king.

"I tried to warn you...I tried to-"

You cut him off, "I'm okay, Clive. A little embarrassed, but it's nothing I couldn't handle." You smiled softly at him, which he returned in full.

"What were you two talking about?"

Warmth flows throughout your body once more, and you don't want to admit that the cause of the outburst you had was because of him, so you act nonchalant.

"Nothing of importance."

He raises his eyebrows like he doesn't believe what you're saying at all, but he doesn't press you on it, not now at least, and you won't give him the chance to when you ask, "Jealous?"

He smirks, shaking his head back and forth slightly. "Do you enjoy tormenting me, my lady?"

"I beg your pardon."

"Do you enjoy watching my torment? Does it give you pleasure?"

"I'm afraid I know naught of what you mean. Have you perhaps forgotten your place, knight?" You put extra emphasis on the word as you toss a smirk his way.

He backs up from where you're sitting on the barrel. "All those men, dancing with you, ogling you. All the while, I'm forced to stand by and watch them all make a pass at you."

You offer a faux pout. "Aw, come on. They're not all bad."

"Enough of them are."

"Are you truly so jealous of those who're above your peerage?" You can't help but snirk in amusement. This was the first time you'd seen him act like this.

"Yes, no!" He takes a deep breath to collect his thoughts: "The Archduke and that bastard king."

Your eyebrows rise at his declaration. "You hate them so much that you've forgone proper titles?"

He rolls his eyes at your statement, and you're unable to hold back your giggles. You hop off the barrel and take his face into your hands.

"There is absolutely no affection for that king in my heart, I assure you. As for the Archduke, though he is roguishly charming, I happen to prefer meaner mugs to delicate pretty features like his," you move to press a kiss to his cheek.

His head hangs low in shame. "I cannot deny that jealousy and resentment burn in my heart at the thought of you with another."

"Believe me," you say, stroking his cheek, "I'd much rather spend my time with you than with stiff men who smell of port. I've been looking for an escape practically all evening.“

"They don’t deserve you at all, my lady. Those men don’t deserve to know the softness of your skin,” he lowers his mouth to place delicate kisses on your neck, then moves toward the exposed flesh of your bosom above your gown.

"Clive," you gasp, tangling your fingers in his thick locks.

“They don't deserve to know the sweetness in your voice when you cry out in pleasure," he whispers, pulling away from your skin to trace his thumb along the frame of your face.

“I’ve missed you," he states.

“I’ve missed you too.”

He pulls you into him for a kiss, one full of hunger and desperation, eager to taste each other once more. The kiss is sticky; the clear gloss painted on your lips transfers onto his. He’s licking into your mouth as your lips brush against each other, tongues wrestling each other for dominance.

You're moved backward until you're pressed against the storeroom wall. Clive reaches down, grazing your bum with his palms over the fabric of your skirts before lifting your legs in the air. The back wall holds you steady as he wraps your legs around his waist.

Desperate to get close to him once more, not even wanting to separate for a second, you pull him back into you and kiss him fervently, not wanting to be parted from each other. He angles his hips toward you, teasingly grinding himself into your heat, causing you to whine into the kiss.

“Looks like you did miss me, hm?” He separates from your lips, moving to kiss down your neck once more.

“Let me make it up to you for being so neglectful of your needs.” He continues kissing down your neck, moving over to your décolleté, and then finally down the swell of your breasts.

“Founder, how I wish I could mark these tits,” he murmurs, dropping your legs back down onto the floor so that he can skim your torso and squeeze at your chest through the fabric of your gown.

“You have an intense infatuation with my breasts, don't you?” You giggle, laughing at his awestruck countenance while he continues to knead the fat in his hands.

“You've no idea." He smirks at you, then suddenly kneels before you.

“What are you doing?” You pet his hair softly as he looks up at you.

“I’m just being a good knight, my lady. On my knees for you, like I should be.”

"Oh, really now?"

"Mhm," he mumbles, taking your gloved hand in his. “I truly did miss you, and I plan on showing you just how much.” He reaches towards the hem of your gown, bunching it up over your navel.

"If you'd be so kind as to help hold up your skirts, my lady."

"I suppose I should be so kind." You lift the hem of your dress over your hips as Clive places your leg over his shoulder.

“Now this is how I shall swear fealty to you,” he leans towards your bare mound, planting a few kisses upon your mons before blowing cool air onto your cunt.

“I’ve missed your taste. I dreamt about it for so many nights." His thumbs trace slow circles into the skin near your pelvis as he continues teasing. He trails his tongue where your thigh meets the stark white stocking covering the majority of your leg.

"Fuck." He leans his face into your pussy once more, inhaling the rich scent before finally dipping his tongue into your wetness. He groans into your cunt.

Holding up the skirts of your gown the best you can in one hand, you snake the other into his shaggy locks, taking hold of his roots. Your chest heaves in anticipation.

“Please, please, Clive, don’t tease me," you whine, "it’s been too long.”

“Aw, did my sweet princess miss me?” He goads, sticking his tongue in your entrance and greedily sucking up your arousal on his wet muscle.

“Did her princess pussy miss how good I made her feel?” He kisses up the seam of your cunt until he reaches your clit.

"Did she miss how I made love to her with my mouth?” He spits on your pussy, the glob of saliva sticking to the hairs that cover your mound, some of it dripping to the ground.

He's quick to remove his gloves, tossing them aside before he takes his thumbs and spreads your folds apart, watching as your quivering hole twitches in anticipation.

“She must have missed me, with how much she’s leaking just for me."

All you're able to do is bite your lip and nod, feeling embarrassed as his words generate heat in both your cheeks and core.

He plugs your warm hole with his tongue, not wanting a single morsel of your essence to be wasted.

“It’s alright, princess; I’m right here.” He speaks directly into your cunt, looking at you with a deeply enamored gaze.

"I’ve missed her too, you know," he says, sliding his tongue all around your sopping pussy.

“I’ve missed her wetness, her sweetness, and her warmth. I missed how she clenched around me as I gave her pleasure," he groans.

Making his way to your clit, he gives it sweet kisses and drags the length of his tongue along the entirety of the bundle of nerves before pulling it into his mouth. His teeth graze the nub, causing your hips to jump forward, pressing more of yourself into his face.

Your fingers curl into his shaggy locks, struggling to keep your dress in your hold as you lose yourself in the feeling of pleasure, his pretty face proving to be useful for more than just gazing upon.

His teeth nip at your inner thigh, “getting greedy now, aren’t we princess?” He traces the divots of your thighs with his fingers, enjoying the feeling of your skin.

You don’t say anything, choosing to instead respond with an angry huff and pull his face back into your cunt by his hair.

“Point taken,” he smirks against you before pulling your clit back into his mouth again.

He moves his hand from your thigh and down to your pussy, sliding his middle finger back and forth between your folds, coating it in your slick. He slips to your entrance, circling the quivering hole and waiting, drawing out a whine from you.

“Please,” you exhale, your head rolling back against the wall, desperate to have him deep inside you. Though you’d much prefer squeezing down on his cock, that’d have to wait for another day.

He chuckles, the vibration from his voice moving through you, causing you to keel over slightly. Clive breeches your warm hole, slowly, letting you enjoy the feeling of his thick finger stretching you out.

“Fuck yes,” you whimper.

“That’s it, princess; you’re so wound up. Just take what you need," he coos, murmuring against you, his breath hot on your skin.

He curls his finger into you, the pad of his digit hitting the spongey spot along your walls.

“Looking for another audience? Was the poor maid not enough the first time?” He’s smirking against you now as he begins to pump his finger in and out of your cunt.

“What if your father were to catch you with me, hm? How do you think he’d react to his little girl stuffing her cunt in the face of someone he deigned worthy enough to protect her?"

Your breath is ragged, unable to form words due to the sound of his voice, deep and gravelly as he spews more filth at you.

“Keep moaning like that, and we’ll soon know the answer yet.”

He moves to your clit once more, slurping and sucking at your swollen pussy, desperate to push you over the edge. He fucks his finger into you at a rapid pace now, and his tongue is quick to catch whatever dribbles out onto his fingers, dining on your essence like it’s the finest ambrosia known to man, and to him, it might as well be.

Your head is lulled back against the wall as heat creeps onto your face and into your core. You don’t dare look down at Clive, who's nestling his face further in the hair that covers your cunt, knowing that you’ll surely come undone at the sight.

After the night you’ve had, you more than deserve this a thousand times over, and if it were up to him, he would happily oblige in all your desires.

The tips of your fingers cinch into his scalp, tugging him impossibly closer to your core, your orgasm building rapidly.

Clive pulls no punches, suctioning his lips around your clit and sucking it like a piece of hard candy. His index finger has joined the middle digit, fucking in and out of your cunt.

With practiced strokes, he contorts his fingers until your climax is upon you. Your lips part with a silent scream as your eyes roll into the back of your skull.

Your thighs shake as they try to close around his head, and his steady palms hold them apart as he removes his fingers from your pussy. Every drop of arousal that leaks from your womanhood is lapped up by his tongue til your hands are pushing his face away.

Clive gets the hint, removing your thigh from his shoulder and setting it back down on the floor. You attempt to move away from the wall, but he holds you in position until the jitter in your leg ceases.

He wipes the remnants of your spend from his face onto your inner thighs, and the roughness of his facial hair sends a shiver up your spine.

Once you've settled, he moves to help with fixing the skirts of your gown.

"Do you like it?" You smile brightly. "I wore it with you in mind."

You twirl slowly, your dress billowing slightly, wanting to show off all the detailing. His face warms at the gesture, and he presses a soft kiss on your forehead.

"I think lavender may be my new favorite color."

You allow yourself a moment to indulge in the blissful feeling before Clive speaks up once more.

"We should get moving. The break for supper will be happening soon, and we don't want any whispers of our whereabouts if we're not in attendance."

He moves to make a break for the storeroom door when you grab his forearm.

"Surely you're not going to go out there with your... predisposition," you flit your eyes down to the front of his trousers, where a prominent erection has made itself known.

"I'll take care of it myself, later."

"Let me help you..." There wasn't much time for you to return the favor with your mouth, and any other activities would leave you disheveled in a way that everyone would know of what happened between the two of you, but you could provide relief with your hand.

Despite the time restraint, you wanted to tease Clive a little, putting the tips of your silk gloves into your mouth and pulling them off of each hand slowly with your teeth before setting them aside nearby, so as to not be sullied with bodily fluids.

You wanted to get a good look at what you'd be working with, so you sink to your knees and pull his trousers down to his thighs. You give him a wide-eyed expression as the appendage bobs free, hitting his stomach gently.

His cock looked a lot different than those pictured in the medical texts that you've snuck from the royal library. He had extra skin and hair and garnered a much bigger girth as well.  

As tempted as you are to swallow the whole of him into your mouth, you settle for a simple kiss right on the tip, and his cock twitches back at you cutely in appreciation.

You rise to your feet once more with his aid and grasp him in your hand. His fingers are quick to cover your own, the size of them dwarfing yours.

"Are you positive that you want to go through with this? I truly don't mind taking care of myself," he asks.

"And not return the favor?" You chuckle. "I promise, I am doing this out of my own desire." You move to the column of his throat, placing soft and delicate kisses on the skin before moving toward the junction of his jaw.

"Now just relax," you coo, running your fingers delicately up and down his shaft.

He's so pent-up that it won't take long for him to climax, but you do your best to be as teasing as possible. His head lulls back as muffled sounds are delivered from his throat, and you can't help but admire how pretty he looks like this.

Not only does he have an impressive amount of girth, but his length is nothing to scoff at either, with a protruding vein running along the underside of him. The sheer size of him fills up your entire palm as you continue to pump slowly, the softness of your skin akin to silk upon his cock.

"So tell me, Clive, how many nights have you been fucking your fist to the thought of me?" You whisper in his ear, and his eyes shoot wide open as he takes in a gulp of air.

His hips buck lightly against you in response, giving you all the permission you need to continue your questioning.

"Come on, tell me. It can't be that bad." Your kisses continue on his neck as his hips continue to rock.

He takes in another gulp of air before answering.

"E-every night.”

"Every night? How cute," you tease, speeding up your movements on his cock. He bites his lip in an attempt to hide his noises while the rhythm of his hips meets your hand every time.

"I touch myself thinking of you too. Except my fingers are nowhere near as filling as yours," you chuckle to yourself as he groans out.

"Founder, above."

His cock is fully slick now, and at any moment, he looks like he's ready to burst, taking to wrapping his fist around yours and creating a vice-like grip with your fingers. All his movements are hurried and rushed as he chases his release.

For the final blow, you mutter to him, "Fuck my fist like you would fuck my pussy."

Clive full body shudders, tightening his grip once more before thrusting wildly. It's only a few short moments later that he's removing your hand from himself and laying his seed on the floor below, groaning your name in the process.

Afterward, the two of you take a few moments to collect yourselves and tidy your appearance. Old rags were used to wipe off the remnants of Clive from the floor, and you were just about to make your exit when the melody from one of your favorite songs played through the door.

"Clive, may I have this dance?" You extend your hand toward him, giggling to yourself.

From looking at your dance card earlier, this song was the second-to-last song to be played before the break for supper.

"And don't give me the excuse of not having enough time. We'll make it back to the ballroom before everyone's filed out for the evening."

"Even if that is true, my lady, I assure you that I know nothing of ballroom dancing."

"Did I ask you if you knew how?"

There's a momentary pause, one that he fills with a shake of his head. You nod in return.

"No, I did not. I simply asked you to dance with me. I'd still wish to so even if you had two left feet."

There's another pause as you extend your hand toward him again.

"I even saved you a spot on my dance card," you smile, shaking the parchment in front of his face, where the line for this dance is indeed left blank.

In his indecisiveness, you take his hand in your own and press yourselves close together.

"It's just you and me," you whisper, resting your head against his frame, the sound of the music filling the silence. His opposite hand moves to the small of your back, and the two of you end the evening in each other's arms, swaying to the sound of muffled music. 

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