#this fic possessed me it could have been LONGER i had to stop myself

[barleyo]

Love Machine. (Part Two)

Android! Leon Kennedy X Fem! Reader

A/N: Sorry for the wait! It took me a while to brainstorm ideas for this. Plus, I’ve been super busy lately! However, I have been trying to keep myself out of another hiatus, so, here I am with another fic! Hope you all enjoy, I love you all a whole bunch :)

Wordcount: 1.6K

Tags: Oral (m receiving), face fucking, rough sex, p in v, spit play, hair pulling, sex doll/android, slight degradation, kinda some objectification (?)

Leon became a permanent fixture in (Y/N)’s sex life. She had practically disregarded every other toy she had; none of the cute, little vibrators in her top drawer could do the job for her anymore. She needed something real– well, sort of real.

The longer she owned him, the more attached she got to him, and the less ashamed she became of having him in her possession. She even started to see him as more of a boyfriend, going as far as to keep him almost always on, allowing him to walk around her home freely. 

“Can I? I mean, I don’t know if it’ll do anything for you, but….” (Y/N) was already on her knees, sitting right between Leon’s legs while he sat on the plush couch’s cushion.

“Everything you do does something for me,” he quickly interrupted, running his hand over the cold metal of his belt buckle, a shining addition to the pants she had found for him soon after bringing him home. “Everything.”

Her hands flew up to replace his own. Using the pad of her thumb, she forked the belt open and unzipped his pants. His cock was already stiff and unconstrained, with no boxers to cover the length.

“Ah,” her lips parted slightly at the sight and her tongue darted out quickly to wet them. 

Leon wrapped his hand around his cock and gave it lazy strokes, watching as her eyes focused on the leaking head. “Hm? Look, it’s ready for you,” he said, a huff escaping his nose as he held back a chuckle.

She tried to lean forward to place a lick over the top, but he stopped her. His hand gripped her hair gently and forced her to look up at him. 

“Hey, I’ll guide you, yeah?”

(Y/N) nodded and felt him loosen his grip, but still keep her in place with his hand. Taking the other hand, he smeared the head of his cock over her lips, coating them in a thin sheen of his pre. Her tongue slipped out again, tasting the glossy saltiness, and keeping her tongue out for him.

“Oh, that’s cute, baby. Keep that tongue out for me.”

Leon tapped his heavy tip on her tongue, smiling inwardly at how she tried to curve her tongue to coerce the full length into her mouth. He complied and pushed her head down quickly. Her throat constricted around his cock for a moment before she adjusted. 

She looked at him through her eyelashes as her spit started to dribble down his length and down her chin. Her jaw already ached at how wide her mouth had been split to fit him, but she powered through, eyebrows drawing together and eyes pricking with tears. Pressing her head down one more time before letting her go, he groaned at the tight, warm, wet fluttering of her throat, desperate for air.

“Christ, Leon,” she said with a choked gasp, “didn’t know it’d be that rough.”

“Rough? (Y/N), you don’t even know what rough feels like, you big baby,” Leon said with a dry laugh, clearly trying to get a reaction out of her.

“Yes, I do, and that was it.” She rose up and sat over one of his thighs, wrapping her arms over his shoulders and wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. “Couldn’t even breathe.”

“Well, if you really wanna have the air knocked outta you,” he teased, slightly moving his head and turning to show his dial the best he could. 

“Oh, hell no, you already wear me out enough as it is, Leon.”

“Aw, c’mon, I bet you’ll like it, if you try it.” He tilted his head to the side and offered her the dial again.

(Y/N) pursed her lips for a second while she thought and hovered her fingers over the dial. “Okay, but you have to at least try to be easy with me.” She bit the bullet and switched the dial to rough mode. 

“No promises.”

Leon’s eyes blanked out for a split second, and a red light flashed out from them as he rebooted. For a moment, they just looked at each other, and he only acted when she tried to call out to him.

“Leon–?”

“Been too easy on you, baby.” He pushed her off of his lap and onto the couch, trapping her under his weight. “You getting soft on me? Can’t handle it when ‘m a lil mean?”

“N–no, Leon,” she mumbled, keeping her eyes averted from his. His gaze felt stronger now, she could feel him piercing through her with every look.

“Don’t lie to me. You can’t even look me in my eyes, can you? Hey,” he called, gripping her chin and making him look at him again. “Look at me when I talk to you, you know better, hon.”

She tried to respond, but she couldn’t force herself to. Her mouth and eyes went dry. Leon sighed, his breath short and warm as he pulled her body down to the other end of the couch.

“If you won’t talk, I’ll use your mouth ‘til you have somethin’ to say.” He hovered over her face with his thighs on either side of her head. Without any hesitation, Leon bottomed out in her throat, feeling the back of it. It was smooth and warm against his shaft, and the squeezing of (Y/N)’s choked gurgling only prompted him to fuck it harder. “Oh,” he chuckled darkly, “there, sweet girl. Got such a nice mouth, feels so good wrapped around me. Could use you like this forever.”

She reached up and grabbed onto the thick muscle of one of his thighs, bracing herself for his pace. He pulled out after a moment, moving down so that he had her trapped still, legs caging around her hips. She whined and coughed a bit, grimacing at Leon’s smirking face. 

“All that cryin’ n’ moaning needs to stop, baby. Are y’ready to be a big, tough girl f’me?”

(Y/N)’s voice was croaking and wheezy as she spoke. “Yes, I can do it– can be good for you,” she said.

“Good.” Leon was already pulling her pants off of her, tossing them far over his shoulder. He placed her legs over his waist and slotted himself between them. He let his thumb trail over her clit, just barely touching it. His other hand gripped and held her hips down while she tried to inch them up into his whispering touches. “No, stop all that. I’ll give you what I think you need.” He added a bit more pressure, enough to have the full pad of his thumb pressed against the little bud.

“Please, I need more. Can you fuck me, please?” She impatiently wrapped her legs closely around him, forcing his hand away from her cunt, but pressing his cock right against it. 

“You’re so needy, baby,” he cooed, giving into her and rutting his tip through her slick. “How bad do you want it, huh? How bad?”

“S–so bad, fuck, c’mon, don’t tease me.”

He pressed his lips against hers roughly, gnashing their teeth together and slipping his tongue over hers. There was no softness in the exchange, only rough, red-hot pleasure. Leon finally pushed inside of her. She gasped at the intrusion, despite her begging, the feeling of him pushing into her cunt was unexpected. He fucked into her mouth with his tongue while he started to burry himself deep inside of her. 

Pulling away from the kiss, Leon was slowly pulling in and out of (Y/N)’s pussy, observing how her face contorted. “Open, (Y/N).” 

Her eyebrows were furrowed a bit, a reaction to the sudden sharp thrust from him. She parted her lips and let a moan bubble in her chest when she felt his spit hit her tongue. 

“Swallow. Swallow, dirty girl,” he urged, eyes glued to her mouth as he watched her hold it in her mouth greedily. She swallowed it and opened her mouth again to him, showing him the proof. “Good girl, you listen to me so well when you want to,” he said, caressing her face softly. 

She nodded and bit down on her bottom lip. A soft, content sigh left her. Leon was being relatively gentle with her, until he felt a sharp squeeze from her walls.

“How’re you already close? I haven’t hardly done anything to you,” Leon said, trailing his hands down to her waist. He held onto her sides, hard enough to bruise later, and moved her body down on his cock, sliding her up and down like a toy. “If you’re gonna cum, you might as well cum nice n’ hard, yeah?” 

He didn’t wait for an answer, and instead scooped her into his arms briefly while he laid on his back. She sat, straddling him, waiting for him to move her body. She took possession of his shoulder, digging her nails into the skin while he brought her hips up and down, bringing her to the very tip of his cock, and slamming her back to the base with brutal strokes. 

She couldn’t last very long, soon throwing her head over his shoulder and gripping his blonde hair in her fingers, pulling at his scalp tightly with a deep, guttural moan. Thin globs of her arousal dripped down his cock and onto the couch, leaving wet spots over the fabric. 

“Oh, that was a good one,” he said, feeling his cock kick in her, prodding at her g-spot and overstimulating her. He shifted his hips upward in a ruthless strike against her tender, abused pussy. 

“Fuck, Leon, too much,” she mewled, leaning back to look at him again. Her face was flushed and sweaty, eyes heavy and lidded from her orgasm. 

“No such thing,” he said, pushing her down on the couch again, holding her weak arms above her head and rutting into her. “This time, I wanna see your cute lil’ face when you cum. Can you do that for me? Hm, baby?”

#barleyxnighteye #fanfiction #smut #smutfic #x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #resident evil x reader #resident evil #re2 leon #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x y/n #leon scott kennedy #alternate universe #fanfic

[gravehags]

your sin, your preacher

Pairing: Papa Emeritus II x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit, 18+ ONLY MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Tags: jealousy, possessiveness, rough sex, tender love confessions

Words: 1,618

Summary: You really should be used to this kind of thing by now but watching him with others never fails to make your blood burn.

a/n: AHA REMEMBER ME have a horny secondo fic based on a dream i had several weeks ago that i can no longer remember any of the pertinent details to. anyway cheers i did not intend for this to get so sweet at the end but i can't help myself. tender bitch disease status: terminal.

~~~

It wasn’t like it was the first time you’ve felt that pang of jealousy when the two of you were out but Sathanas did it sting.

The two of you are currently in Secondo’s bedroom both silently undressing after a Ministry event at a favored local club. All the upper clergy were present that night with only a handful of siblings - you being one of them. But you know you’re no ordinary sibling. Everyone knows you’re no ordinary sibling. Papa Secondo’s favorite. Papa Secondo’s mistress. Papa Secondo’s faithful little lap bitch. You’ve heard it all at this point and none of it really bothered you. What did however, despite internally chastising yourself every time it happened, was your reaction when you’d see others hanging all over your lover. And oh, did they hang. Painted lips close to his ear, promising him a night he’ll never forget as hands slide along his inner thigh. You had been speaking to Cardinal Copia that evening, the two of you complaining about your dislike of the music and the volume at which it was being blasted, when you saw a woman in a short dress, hanging on his side, her hand dangerously low on his belly. Secondo didn’t acknowledge her - instead electing to continue his conversation with Papa Terzo - but his disinterest didn’t stop her from continuing the path of her red-clawed hand. When she cupped your lover’s clothed cock, bile rose in your throat until the observant Cardinal took it upon himself to step in front of you and break your line of sight. You should be used to it by now, you chastised yourself, it’s part of the job. All part of the game he has to play. 

Yeah well it didn’t mean you had to like it.

Having stripped yourself of your clothing and jewelry, you silently grab your nightgown - a short black silk sleep chemise gifted to you by the man watching you carefully from across the room - and head towards the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind you. As you diligently remove your makeup you wonder if he could sense your irritation, feel the ugly green jealousy seeping off of you through the wall that divided the two of you. You wouldn’t be surprised, he’s always been startlingly good at seeing what you try your best to hide. Face washed, teeth brushed, you slip your nightgown over your head and loosen your hair with a sigh. With your hands on either side of the sink supporting you, you look up at your reflection. 

He chose you.

You smile at yourself and push yourself off the porcelain and put your hands on your hips.

But it doesn’t hurt to remind him.

Turning around you shut the bathroom light off and open the door. He’s already in bed, mismatched eyes watching you like a hawk as you pad across the rug and fling back the luxurious sheets to climb in beside him. You don’t have to say anything as you lie on your back with your eyes shut and simply wait. He’s predictable like that. And before long, you feel a long, elegant hand slide across your belly and up to your breast. You pretend not to notice him even as dextrous fingers circle your nipple. When he pinches insistently, hard, at the bud you finally let your eyes fly open and as soon as you do, he’s upon you. He doesn’t kiss you but instead drags his crooked nose along your neck and inhales deep.

“Amore…” he breathes and you can smell the expensive whiskey he drinks on his breath mixed with the mint of his toothpaste. “You looked delicious tonight.”

“Did I?” you ask, attempting to sound disinterested even as heat and slick pools between your thighs. “Kind of you to notice.”

That makes him pause and you seize the opportunity to flip him onto his back and straddle his hips. He’s half hard between the two of you and you know he can feel your wetness as you pin his forearms above his head. There’s a fire in his eyes now and you grind down on him with a sigh.

“Diavoletta mia,” he growls, “you play a dangerous game.”

“Oh?” you idly lift your hips and grab his cock to tease the head at your soaked entrance. Your hands are no longer holding him down but he obediently stays in place, electing instead to watch you sink down on him with a groan.

“Fuck,” you breathe, eyes rolling back at the way he stretches you. Frantically your hands search for the hem of your nightgown and in a smooth motion you lift it over your head and fling it aside. When his eyes meet the sway of your breasts you can’t help but smile with pride. You’ve never seen him look at anyone else with that gaze. Slowly, your hips begin to undulate as you slide off of him then take him back in. When his hands twitch you have to laugh - you know all he wants is to place them on either side of your hips and guide you.

“Ah, ah–ah!” The chastisement loses its bite when on the last syllable, his hips thrust upwards to fuck into you. He’s smirking at you now and with your brows furrowed, you take your hand and wrap it around his throat.

“So dominant, agnellino mio,” he taunts, “tell me does it lessen the sting of seeing that woman with her hand on my cock tonight?”

Your jaw drops and your face flushes in anger as you squeeze on either side of his throat. Bastard. Ruthlessly you begin to ride him, watching even as his iron control slips with each clench of your cunt. 

“You’re–lucky–” you pant, flinging your hair back, “almost went home with someone else tonight. That–Cardinal Copia–is such a sweet man. I’m sure he would treat me right. Might–might even be able to fill me better than this too.”

You knew you’d gone too far even as the words left your mouth. With a roar, Secondo flips you onto your back and with one large hand, effectively pins both of your wrists above your head. You’re about to throw a retort back at him when he slams inside of you with such force your head nearly grazes the headboard. All you can manage to is moan, higher and higher, as he pounds into you at a bruising rate.

“Never–forget–amore,” he snarls in between thrusts, “you are mine. You are mine and I am yours, capisci? This body–ah–this body is yours. This–ugh–soul is yours. This bed is ours and this cock is yours.”

Your lips form the words but no sound manages to come out - how could it at the rate he fucks the breath from your lungs? - so you nod frantically, tears sliding down your temples. The pleasure is bordering on pain but you don’t even care, how could you when you feel so deliciously used? When your spine begins to tighten and you feel your body bend off the mattress, you come with an exaltant scream of his name, cunt spasming around the thick length of him. If he was wild before, feeling and hearing your pleasure makes him positively feral, grunting and swearing profusely. When his previously precise thrusts become erratic, his hips stuttering, you know he’s close and so you end his suffering and sweetly clench around him once, twice, thrice and he comes with a hoarse shout, pumping rope after rope of seed into your cunt. When he finally relinquishes his grip on your wrists your hands immediately cup his cheeks and drag him down for a fierce kiss. He remains inside of you as his body sags and leans into your touch, momentarily breaking the kiss to pant into your mouth and nudge your nose with his.

“Amata mia, amata cara ragazza…do not ever doubt your Papa’s fidelity. I am yours, mi hai sentito? Only yours.”

With one final, uncharacteristically soft kiss he slips out of you and collapses to the side. You lament the loss of him inside you but your heart is so full to bursting tears begin sliding down your face once more.

“Secondo?”

"Sì, bellezza mia?”

“I love you.”

Those words were rare to pass between the two of you and always have been but you have never felt it more fiercely here, in this moment, as your body aches beautifully from his touch. You dare not look at him, instead choosing to stare at the coffered ceiling of the bedroom as tears continue to pour freely. There is a moment, then another, and you realize he’s staring at you so you finally turn to meet his gaze and oh, what you see there makes you gasp. Those mismatched eyes you love so dearly regard you with such raw feeling a hiccup bubbles in your chest. Gently, he reaches up and with two fingers, brushes the hair out of your eyes, followed by your tears.

“I do not know why the Unholy Father has seen to bless me in my old age but cara…you are my greatest treasure. Dolcezza mia. The words do not do how I feel justice but I will say them all the same. Ti amo.”

When you were watching siblings of sin grind on each other to the tacky thump of club music earlier that evening you had never anticipated this is how your night would end. You’ll pay for it tomorrow - you both will - your body bruised and used and his knees and back aching. No matter, you think as you curl your body into his, hand carding idly through the dark hair on his chest. Anything would be worth this.

#papa emeritus ii x reader #secondo x reader #secondo x female reader #papa emeritus ii x female reader #papa emeritus ii #secondo #secondo emeritus #papa secondo #the band ghost #the band ghost fic #rachel writes

[starstruck-cupid]

The sweater

A/N: This is my first time writing a fic in ages. This wasn't proof read, and was fixed by a grammar bot. I just wanted something small for my first, but I started writing and couldn't stop. I hope this is at least a bit good

(edit: name change. Formerly unnamed)

Tw: cussing, smoking cigarettes, mention of weed, lighter, reader accident exposing themselves(underwear)

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

With the cool warmth of fall's air drifting into my cracked open window, my mind began to race. After 2 weeks of nothingness, I realized something was very wrong.

 

Charlie was acting weird.

 

In our 3 years of friendship, he had never acted this way before. 

 

It started small. He stopped coming to movie night when I was invited. His texts became more sporadic. He kept his blinds closed, despite having kept them open for longer than our friendship. He stopped asking for rides. Then he stopped talking to me. No prompt or warning, just silence.

 

Charlie was an introvert. I couldn't blame him for needing a break. As much as I wanted to talk to him or even be near him, I gave him the space he seemed to want. 

 

It was weird. Charlie was my best friend. In these last 3 years, not a day has gone by where we didn't interact. This break was driving me crazy. I slowly started to realize Charlie wasn't just my best friend; he was my only friend.

 

At first, I thought he just needed a break, but as the days went on, I started to doubt myself. Had I done something wrong? My horrible memory made it hard to pinpoint what I could have done.

 

I needed to stop thinking. That never did me any good. 

 

After slowly getting up from my bedroom floor, I looked around for my hidden joint. I know I had one. I always kept one in case of an emergency. I always keep any personal items in my jewelry box, shoved in between my box of loose fabrics and a stack of clothes I would never wear. The only other person who knew was...

 

Charlie.

 

That ass. 

 

Why would he take it, though? He hates smoking. 

 

I decided not to let my mind wander; I opted for a cigarette instead. Walking to my nightstand, I found my pack hidden in the very back of the drawer. I walk into my bathroom and find my lighter on the counter. Opening the curtains and pushing up the bay window, I noticed Charlie's open blinds and open window. His bedroom window facing my bathroom. 

 

I don't see Charlie. He had to be there. His blinds haven't been open for 2 excruciating weeks. There's no way he's not. 

 

Sitting on the cushion ledge of the bay window, I lit my cigarette. Waiting.  Watching.  looking for any sign of him. I could be content with just a glimpse. Anything that would let me know he's still thinking of me

 

I sat like that for an hour. No sign of Charlie No movement.  No nothing.  Where was he? Was he even home? Why is his window open?

 

I finally got up. I walked into my room, looking at the clock. It was 2:30 a.m. That made the lack of life in Charlie's room more suspicious. Where is he at 2:30 in the morning?

 

No.  It's not my problem. I need to give him space. I need to sleep. shuffling around, looking for a movie and pajamas. I decide to watch Suspiria. After putting the DVD in, I go on a hunt for my sweater. The sweater.  This multi-toned, grungy, striped sweater. I thrifted it with Charlie. I had wanted it more than I had ever wanted anything in my life. Knowing I wasn't in a position to afford it, Charlie bought it for me. It was my greatest possession.

 

Finding it, tucked neatly into the drawer I used specifically for Charlie-related stuff. This is what I wanted to wear. I needed some semblance of normalcy surrounding my Charlie situation.

 

As I sat on my bed, I turned toward the movie. Already having pulled my shirt off, I started to pull my shorts down. I got them to my knees before I heard a window slam. Whipping my head towards my window, I noticed Charlie's window was now closed and the blinds were shut.

 

Fuck.

 

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. 

 

I can only hope he didn't see anything. I rushed to close my curtains, forgetting that my shorts were still at my knees. One foot too far out from the other, and I fall. Instinctively, I cover my face, leaving the rest of my body unprotected. I fell hard onto my floor. Rolling from my side to my back, I began to cuss myself out once again. 

 

Slipping my shorts down my shins and ankles, I sat up. Attempting and failing to close my curtains without further exposing myself, I ultimately decide to crawl to my bed, slowly pulling the sweater off and slipping it over my head. 

 

I get up slowly, still in pain from the fall, and shuffle to the window. Pushing the window down and pulling the curtains together as much as possible, I hear my phone go off.

 

One ping, two pings, three pings

 

Out of fear that they were from Charlie, I decided to ignore the texts. Slipping under my dark-colored covers, a feeling of relief washes over me. I quickly give us trying to pay attention to the movie. My brain was tired and needed a break. I easily slip into a deep sleep, forgetting that my bathroom window is open.

#charlie walker #charlie walker x reader #rory culkin

[r4zberrygirl]

drunk in love

tooru oikawa x female! reader, post timeskip/olympics arc, fluff,

cw: drinking, reader wears a dress and is shorter than oikawa

an: my formal apology for dragging oikawa so hard in my last oikawa fic lol. also my formal apology for skipping over the entire speak now tv and jumping into 1989 i got swamped with school but i'll def write some stuff eventually :) -raz

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : "Slut!"

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯

You and your boyfriend have been steadily dating for a little over two years now, but you decided early on to keep things under wraps. It's not that Tooru was ashamed of you or anything even close to it, in fact he wanted to show you off after every win, and talk about you in every press conference, and take you out after every practice. It’s just that you didn’t want to be put under a new spotlight. You knew how fans of his could be and you did not want to become their new subject of criticism. If fans of his had even an inkling that he was with another woman they would be picking apart her every little move from the last nine years and writing detailed reports on why he should be with someone better. Of course not all of his fans fit under this category, some really were just fans of his because of the talent he possesses, but there was enough to still make you uneasy when in public with him. It really only took one night to convince you to go public with your relationship. 

The Olympic Argentinian team was hosting an event for the players and their partners to let loose after the Olympic games. There was food and drinks and the venue overlooked the beach. You adorned yourself with a fitting white dress and heels that brought you just a bit closer to Tooru’s lips. You really looked stunning and it was easy to tell your boyfriend thought the same. 

A couple hours into the party you started feeling your drinks and stepped outside to admire the view of the moon bouncing off the water and illuminating the beach below. You leaned against the railing with your glass for a few moments before Tooru joined you outside. 

“The view looks nearly half as good as you do mi amor,” Tooru smiled cheekily, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. You smiled at him before turning back towards the view. Tooru stands next to you with a hand around your waist, “What are you thinking about, love?” 

“I think I want to stop hiding our relationship,” you said and Tooru’s eyes widened. 

“Really? You mean it?” 

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it for a while now,” you admitted shyly.

“Are you sure? I mean I don’t mind keeping you all to myself a little longer,” he teases, “but if you really want this then I’d be happy to show the world the beautiful girl who's been keeping me at my best.” Tooru kisses your temple and smiles, “What made you change your mind?” 

“I think I’m just realizing that you only get to be young once and what we have is real and beautiful and we shouldn’t hide it because of others… I remember when I first noticed I fell in love with you I felt like a teenager all over again. You were all I could think about, I would sit in bed and daydream about our future. And now we're living our future together,” you rattle on as your face flushes and ears heat up. You think about how his fans will react before finally deciding their opinions on your life won’t matter in the long run. Tooru is yours and you are his, it’s nobody’s business but the two of you. 

“Do you want to post something now? Management might have my head in the morning but we could blame it on the drinks,” Tooru chuckled and looked at you. A tipsy smile graced his lips as he reached for his phone in his back pocket. 

“Yeah, why not? We’re dressed up nice anyways. And if I get criticized, I think it’s worth it this time,” You looked up at him with a sappy smile, feeling the outcome of the drinks you had earlier as well. Tooru feels more secure in your relationship now than he ever has been, knowing that you’re willing to take the risk even though you could face some backlash from his followers. Later in the night, your boyfriend posts a picture of your hand holding whatever cocktail you've been sipping on with no explanation other than the caption, “drunk in love.” Then he mutes his notifications, nothing could ruin this night for the both of you. You left the event with hands intertwined and made sure to smile bright for the paparazzi that had shown. On the ride home you think about how you’re positive you made the right choice in a partner. You really couldn’t have found someone better suited for you. At the same time, Oikawa thinks about the shiny ring he’s had tucked into the back of his nightstand since your first date together.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa x reader #haikyu x reader #oikawa tooru #raz.writes

[andydrysdalerogers]

Presley ~ A Curtis Everett AU ~ Part Eight

Curtis Everett x OFC Presley Adams

Synopsis:

Curtis Everett is a hard working man. As the head of the mob of Concord, he does everything he can to provide for his wife and children. His life is perfect. Until it's not.

After a devastating accident, Curtis is alone with his children and needs some serious help.

Presley Adams needs to find work and fast. Running from her past she just wants to lay low and earn enough to get her out of town. Until she starts working for Curtis as his live in nanny.

As she falls in love with this family, can she stop her past from finding her? Or will her past be the end of the Everett reign in Concord?

Book two of the Five Kings of Boston series

Warning: themes of a mafia lifestyle; SMUT; possessive tendencies; murder; death; age gap; rape

Banners by me! Dividers by @firefly-graphics

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Previous: Part Seven

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter Eight ~ Negotiations

Presley 

I’ve never given much thought on how my life would end.  

When I was trapped in my father’s house and slated to marry Charles, I had considered taking my own life just to escape.  But my mother, bless her, she knew and convinced me that she would get me away from this life.  When I was on the run, I feared a bullet being put into me.  The last year was the first time that I hadn’t thought about my demise. For the first time, I could plan a future. I could see myself having love with Curtis, raising our children.  We had talked and we always wanted more.  

It wasn’t suppose to be like this. Mama had said that marriage was hard work but that love would be the foundation.  I had asked her once whether she loved my father.  She told me she used to. A lot of things had changed after the war we had when i was a child. That was the reason he could no longer have children, an accident. After the war, my father changed and was no longer my papa. He starting making plans on how to protect his family, his legacy. I was a princess and now I was just a pawn.  

Enter Charles.  

He was sweet, once. When we were introduced, he had charm, charisma. A good looking man from an under family.  He had saved one of my cousins and earned favor with my father. My engagement was announced a month later. He just had to wait until I turned 18. 

Then came the library. 

It was a typical mafia soiree, food, liquor, music. I needed a moment to breathe. I was feeling nervous. My birthday was in less than a month away. I wasn’t ready to be a wife and my mother had been pleading with my father to wait until I was older. But my father refused. So, I was sulking in the library, emotional over all the congratulatory wishes we were getting. I had to stand by his side. At the time, I was happy to marry Charles. I would be queen of this family as my father has always said. But when someone mentioned starting a family right away, a surge of unease filtered into my belly and I needed a moment.  

“You’re hiding, love.”  I turned to look back at Charles.  

“I just needed a moment to take it all in.” I smiled to comfort him. “Its a little overwhelming.”  

“Yes, it is. But when we are in charge, you will want for nothing, be worried for nothing.” He kissed my forehead. “I promise, everything will be fine.”  

“I know you will take care of me, Charles. But, I am nervous about being intimate and having kids. I wanted to see the world and live a little.  I wanted to spend time with my husband before we are parents.” I looked back out the window. 

“I can’t believe you are so innocent in this world.” He pressed up next to me and I could feel how aroused he was at the idea of me being innocent.  

“Charles, please, I just need space,” as I moved to push him away.  

“Oh, darling, I’m just looking for a taste.” He grabbed my hands to put them over my head. My dress, which he had requested be shorter than I liked, rode up to the tops of my thighs. “You are gorgeous, my little innocent flower, mi Piccola.” He kissed me hard. I struggled to break free but he had a tight hold on me.  With my wrists in one hand, Charles used his other hand to skim from my knee up my dress. “Fuck, so hot right here,” pressing on my center.  

I screamed. He tried to silence me but the sound caused my guard, Natalia, to rush the room.  My mother had been looking for me and ran in with her.  Natalia pulled Charles off of me and threw him to the ground.  “You’ll never lay a hand on her again or I will gut you like a fish.”  

Charles picked himself up and dusted off his clothes. “You will regret this,” he told her. “All of you!” He stormed out.  I was sobbing in my mother’s arms.  

“Sweetie, this is bad,” my mother says to me.  “We need to get you out of here.  Natalia, in my sewing room is an envelope with Ameila’s name on it in the bottom drawer. Grab it and wait for us in the garden.” My mother grabbed my face. “You’re gonna be ok. You just keep running.”  She walked me out to the back of the house, away from the party.  

“Natalia will know what to do.  Just keep moving. Change your name if you can Ameila.” We made it to the back fence.  Natalia was there with a small backpack. “Take care of her.” She kissed Nat’s forehead. “Keep her safe. I will distract them for as long as I can.” She looked at me. “I love you princessa. Remember that.” She took of the necklace she wore, my favorite and sent me into the night.  

I didn’t know that would be the last time I ever saw her.  

We ran and for some reason, a car flashed it lights. “I called in a favor,” Natalia told me. A man behind the wheel didn’t say anything as we climbed in.  But before I closed the door, I heard a shot in the night.  

We ran for two years before we got separated.  They had found us, my father’s men and Natalia led them in a different direction.  I thought she was dead as well. I found my way into Massachusetts and met Cat.  The rest is history.  I thought I was safe, that i found a home. My future was in my sight.  

I didn’t see that I would be back in Charles’s clutches.  

He paces in front of me, speaking on the phone. I keep digging my nails into my palms, trying to stop my body from trembling. I can only imagine who he is on the phone with. Probably my father.  He finally hangs up and turns to me. “I’ve been waiting six years to find you Amelia.” 

“My name is Presley.” Why am I being defiant to a psychotic man? 

“That’s right. Marco did say that you changed your name.  Legally as well.” He smiled. I remember that smile. Ladykiller, my mother called it once. “We’ll change it back once we are married.”  

“I’m not getting married.”  

It was like he was lightning. One second he was on the side of the room, the next he was in front of me, grabbing my chin so I would look at him. “If I say we are getting married, then we are getting married. Do you understand me? DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?” I nodded, scared to open my mouth.  This is the lunatic that my father chose for me. “Good.” He planted a kiss on my lips and it took everything not to gag. “Now, we leave in an hour, so freshen up, we have a drive a head of us.”  

Once we were in the car, Marco driving with another guard I had never met, Charles took my hand and intertwined our fingers. When I tried to pull away, he just tightened his grip. “You’re hurting me,” I whispered.  

“Then behave.” Charles sighed. “You know Presley, I wish we had the last six years.”  

“Why? You just wanted to use me.” I kept looking out the window, tears slowly running down my face.  

“I thought you and I were made for each other. I only ever wanted a taste. I was never going to hurt you, sweetheart. But you decided to scream. And everything was ruined. Your father though, he is a smart man.  He still made me his right hand and I’ve slowly taken over. The men answer to me.” He squeezed my hand until I looked at him. “I am the head of the Giovanni family now by reputation. After I make you my wife, I’ll be the head of this family forever.”  

“You’re a monster.”  

“Stick and stones, sweetheart. You could have been in a position of power. Standing by my side. But now, well now, now you are going to be my little slut. I’ll keep you chained to our bedroom, naked and waiting for me to use you as my personal cumdrop. Whenever I need a release, it will be in your little whore pussy.” He voice was calm, smooth, as if his words weren’t deploring, deprecating. He grasped my by my hair to tilt my head so I could look up at him. “I always win, princessa. It took six years to take power from yur father but I can bet that it will take less time to break you.”  

I struggled to get away from him put he pinned me as he got close to my face.  “Don’t touch me,” I cried. 

“You’re mine, Piccola and I will do whatever I want.” He inhaled my scent and then kissed my neck. “I can’t wait to make you submit.”  

Yes, I was back in my nightmare.  

Charles 

Leaving my princess in her cell, I moved to the living room.  My men were preparing for our departure from Camden. We need to leave before the King of Camden knows we are in his city. “How much longer?” I ask.  

Sid answers, “five minutes, just waiting for the last car.” The plan is set.  

“Excellent. Sid, get our Queen and put her in my car.” I fixed the cuffs of my suit and turned to Marco, my second. Are the preparations ready? 

“Yes sir. The ceremony site is ready and we have Mrs. Giovanni’s dress for Amelia.”  

“Perfect.” Once I married her, I was changing her name back. I fucking hate that name. Presley.  She’s been my Amy, my Amelia, my Piccola, my queen. And I was going to demonstrate my power to the family.  

Everett thinks he got the underhand on me yesterday.  Showing old man Giovanni the supposed “proof” of my indiscretions was a step too far. All of those were willing participants.  At least they were, once I fucked them hard enough to render them stupid.  I made all of them sign NDAs after I had them.  All except my cousins and Mrs. Barber.  She had tasted the sweetest. Fucking Lloyd spoiled that taste for me. 

Its been about four hours since Amelia was taken from the Everett compound and my phone buzzes. I smile because I know who it has to be.  “Hello Mr. Everett.”  

“You little fucking bastard!”  

I laughed. "You told me twenty four hours. Well I did it in four. Look at that.”  

“I will find you and I will get back my girl.”  

“She was never yours,” I growl.  “She has always been mine. Happy hunting, Mr. Everett.”  I hung up on him and walked out to the cars. “Let’s go!” 

Amelia is seated right next to me, holding herself as far away from me as possible. “You’ll enjoy being my Queen, Amelia.”  

“Presley,” she whispers.  

“I hate that name,” I growl. “We’ll change it as soon as possible.”  My phone rings again and I smile. “Mario, what can I help you with?” I put the phone on speaker.  

“Do you have my daughter?” 

I hold the phone out towards her. She looked at me and I growl lowly to her. Her lips tremble before she answers. “Hi papa.”  

“Lia.” I can see Amelia’s eyes begin to water. I knew that was her nickname she had when she was a child. It's something that she probably hadn’t heard in years. “Are you ok?” What the fuck is this question? The man has never cared for his child in the time I knew him.  

She looks at me terrified and I nod for her to answer. “I’m ok.”  

“Good. I will see you in a few hours, figlia.”  

“Si, papa.” She looks away from the phone but I can see the tears running down her face.  

“Everything alright Mario?” I could have sworn I heard something in his voice.  He wasn’t usually affectionate with his daughter but then again its been six years since he’s seen her.  

“Nothing, Blackwood. Just get her here.”  

He hangs up and I turned back to Amelia. “I can’t wait for our wedding night, Piccola.”  I run a hand up her leg. I wish she had been in a dress or skirt so I could feel the smooth skin I remembered. But she slaps my hand away.  

“Do not touch me,” she seethes.  

I won’t let this behavior continue.  I grab her by her hair at the root and pull her head towards me.  She cries out and as much as I love that sound, I need to ignore it. “You are mine Amelia. I can do whatever i want with you.  Do you understand?”  When she doesn’t answer, I yank harder. “Say it.”  

She whimpers. “I’m yours.”  

I kiss her hard. Finally, I have what has been mine for the last ten years.  

Curtis 

I’m pacing.  

That call with Blackwood put me on my last nerve. Jake is tracking the necklace. She never takes it off. It subtle enough that no one things its worth anything.  That’s why Presley liked it so much.  But her ring, well her ring will be a show stopper. I want the world to know she is mine.  

“She’s still stopped at the same location,” Jensen says. “Its still in Camden.”  

“Sir, are you sure you don’t want to reach out to the King of Camden?  He could have the house surrounded in an hour,” Clint asks.  

“No, something like that could trigger them to hurt her.”  I knew I could call Ari and have him help but this was my war.  I do send him a message, as a courtesy.  

Everett: Levinson, heads up, there is a situation happening in a house in Camden. We have a feeling it will move in the next hour but I wanted you to be aware.   Levinson: Need help?  Everett: not yet. I don’t want to risk her or your men.   Levinson: Her? Your queen? You know our agreement is we help  Everett: I know. I have an insider and they have advised to stand down for now. We’re tracking her.   Levinson: You know Jennie and I would do anything if needed.   Everett: I know. I’ll let you know.  

I put down phone and resume my pacing. I need to get her back.  the visual of my children asking for their momma hurts my chest so much, I actually rub at it. It feels like hours have passed but in reality its just been a few minutes.  My phone rings. “Yes?” 

“They are moving. To New Jersey.”  

“Thank you.”  

“I’ll wait for you.”  The line goes dead.  

I face my team. “Jersey. Let’s get ready.” The men move to grab their gear but I see one person who is waiting.  “Nat?” 

“I’m coming with you.” The determination is set on her face.  

“Natasha, that is not a good idea,” Clint starts to say but I stop him.  

“Nat, are you sure?  This will be dangerous and I don’t think Presley would want you to be in danger.” I put my hands on her shoulders. “Tell me you’re sure.”  

“It was my job to get her to safety. I’m just finishing the job that Mrs. Giovanni gave me. Please, let me finish my work.”  

I nodded. “It’s your right but you listen to either me or Clint.” She nodded. “Let’s move.”  

I watched the blinking light on the monitor Jensen handed to me.  Hang on Kitten, I’m coming for you.  

Presley 

A few hours later and I know I am back in hell.  

Well, my own personal hell.  

I’m back in my father’s house.  

Charles escorts me into the house. It looks the same, as if time stood still.  I looked around and saw the one thing that had changed.  In the corner stood a painting of my mother and me.  There were fresh flowers positioned around it.  I took a step towards it to read the plaque.  

Beloved Wife and Daughter 

Forever In Our Hearts 

He has got to be joking. I scoff at the painting and turn back and freeze.  

“Lia.”  

One word. Its one word that until today I hadn’t heard in years. Its a direct hit to my heart and it cracks.  

“Papa.”  

My father rushes and pulls me into his arms. I remember this type of hug. It’s the type of hug I missed after I left. After I had disappointed him.  “Mi Bambina,” he cradles my face. “I wish you had disappeared figlia,” he whispered. I’m confused. 

“I wish I had too.” A tear slides down my cheek and he brushes it away.  

“Figlia, non aver paura. C'è un piano per farti uscire di qui. Ricorda solo tutto quello che ti ho insegnato.” (Daughter, don't be afraid. There is a plan to rescue you. Just remember everything I have taught you.)

The one downfall of Charles Blackwood is that he didn’t learn enough Italian. I’ve been fluent since I was five years old. My father has a plan. A plan to have me rescued.  

“Si papa.” I look to Charles.  “He said to take me to my room and wait for him there.”  

“Fine.” Charles takes my arms and moves me up the stairs. “You know, I’m not stupid, Amelia. I know your father said something else to you.”  We enter my room and he spins me to be pressed against the now closed door. He whole body seems to be covering me. “What did he say, Amelia? Don’t lie.”  

I try to push him away but it’s useless. I slump against the door and look at him.  He said this wasn’t part of the plan but that I earned it.  

Charles smiles sinisterly. “This is the plan, baby.  I’m getting what I was owed six years ago.” He tears at my shirt and i scream.  

“Stop! Let go of me!” I swing my arms but then he grabs them and pins them over my head with one hand while the other roams my body.  

“You’re so soft Piccola. And warm. Are you warm everywhere?” He undoes the button of my jeans and slides a hand in. “Oh yes, warm and wet.”  

“I don’t want this, please stop,” I plead. 

“No,” he says as he pushes a finger in. I squeal at the intrusion and its like he gets off on it. “So tight Piccola.  Does Everett not please you enough? Is he just that small?” I shake my head but he stops it with a sharp thrust into my pussy and his palm buts my clit. I gasp and Charles chuckles. “So responsive.”  

He starts to pump his fingers at an unrelenting pace. “Come for me Piccola. Scream out my name.”  

“No!” I try to close my legs but he forces them open with his thigh. He’s fucking me with his fingers and my traitorous body begins to tingle. A soft moan escapes from the amount of pleasure he is giving me. I close my eyes and thing of Curtis.  Curtis is doing this to me.  Curtis loves me and loves to see my body break for him.  

“That’s it, Piccola.  Give in. Let me feel you break.” Charles curls his fingers and I shatter. I cry as my orgasm washes over me. He doesn’t stop. He works me through it until i collapse in his arms.  Only then does he remove his hand. He takes his cum soaked fingers and licks them clean. “Delicious.”  He pushes me so I’m on my knees, ripping away my clothes and takes me from behind. No matter how much I scream or cry, he is unrelenting until he finishes inside me. “I can’t wait until i can do that every night,” he tells me as he button ups.  He yanks me towards the bed and I fall beside it.  “Stay here until its time.”  He exits and locks te door from the outside.  

I curl up on the floor and cry.  I cry for the humiliation, the degradation, the stolen pleasure.  

I cry because now, I’m not sure Curtis will want me after Charles took what wasn’t his.  

Curtis 

Where half an hour from the Giovanni cmpound when I get a text.  

MG: She’s here. Security is heavy.  

I smirk as I read the message. Its amazing what people will do to right the past.  

Fifteen minutes after the meeting ends.... 

“Everett, can I have a word?” 

I looked at Mario Giovanni. “I thought we are done negotiating. Shouldn’t your successor be here?” 

Mario looked around. “Please Curtis. For my daughter?” 

That set off the alarm bells. “What about her?” 

“Walk with me.” I walked out to his yard. “You know, this was Amelia’s favorite place. Her uncles and I had built her a play house for her princess parties.” I see a dilapidated wooden house that has ivy growing over it. “Many of my associates said  I should get rid of it to remove the memory of my traitorous daughter. But no, its the only thing I have of her. Its also the only place where the camera and microphones can’t reach.”  

My head whipped to him but he motioned to keep quiet. “The guards will give me a minute so pay attention.” I nodded.  “You will receive a call in a few hours that my daughter will have been taken from your home. Charles will have someone take her and he will work to bring her back here.  You need to go home and check on your family. I will ensure my daughter is safe.”  

“Why would you allow it to happen?” 

“Because he can’t be stopped. I will keep you updated on what is happening. Allow him to think you are chasing him. I will do my best to protect her.”  

“Why now?” 

“I will explain later but for now, know that I love my daughter very much.”  

Present 

As we assemble down the street, Jensen pulls up a map of the house that Mario had provided. “According to our insider, there are guards on every landing on each staircase. We need to send in someone in to distract.  The problem is, we don’t know where Blackwood, Giovanni or any other guards are or stationed.”  

“Giovanni is in his garden,” I said, unblinking.  “We only have to contend with Blackwood and his minions.”  

My team looks at me before Clint clears his throat. “We can access the attic if we are quick on the side,” he points. “Coming from up top gives us an advantage.”  

“I’ll do it,” Natasha volunteered.  

“No,” I reply.  “I need you to be the eyes for us since you know the house. We’ll send Johnny up.” I looked at the man, Johnny Storm. “Think you can handle that kid?” 

“No problem. I’ll cause a diversion.”  

“Get into places,” I tell them.  I look at Natasha. “Are you sure?” 

“I owe her and her mom to get her back alive.” Natasha pulled her red curls into a pony tail.  

“Just watch yourself,” I said and kiss her forehead. “You’ll be in alone for a bit to scope. I’ll be thirty seconds behind you.”  

Natasha nods.  “If anything happens, the combination to the lock box in my room is 12-03-19-84.”  

“Nat, if...” 

“This is the life I chose when I joined the Giovanni family.  This is just a precaution.  I plan on coming back and marrying Adam.”  

My gut is telling me this is a bad idea but I just nod and she gears up.  My coms crackle and I hear Johnny, “Flame on.” Smoke billows from the side of the house before I hear him again.  “I’m on the roof.”  

“Ok, Nat, you’re up.” She moved but I stopped her. “Please be careful.”  

“Take care of our girl ok?” Nat smiles.  “See you in a minute.” She enters the house and I send a prayer.  

I’m listening to comms as different people enter the house at different points. “Breaching the attic,” I hear Storm say. I can hear thumps as people hit the ground. Clint taps me on the back and we move into the house. Each area is clear as I see a couple of Blackwood’s goons on the floor. “Natasha,” I whisper. “Where are you?” Silence greets me and I look at Clint.  

“May be she got bogged down, he replies.  I have the layout. Presley’s old room was on the third floor to the left. I think she may be there.”  

“Ok, let’s move.” We move through the staircase, checking bodies as we go.  We get to the mid-landing between the second floor and the third floor and I see a shock of red hair under another body. “No!” I pull the goon off of Natasha and her eyes are closed, two bullet wounds across her chest, blood trickling from her wounds. “Nat!” 

“Sir, we have to move,” Clint says.  “I’ll call someone to get her. We won’t leave her. We need to get to our queen.”  

There is water in my eyes. Presley's best friend is gone and she may never forgives me for this. I wipe at my eyes and then hear a blood-curdling scream. Its my girl, my Kitten, my queen.  

My Presley.  

I charge up the stairs and follow her screams. I kick in the door and see Charles holding Presley, using her as a human shield, a gun to her head. “Let her go, Blackwood,” I growl.  

He just laughs. “Who do you think has the upper hand here? I know its not you.”  

“Kitten, are you okay?”  She nods but squeaks when Charles tightens his grip. “Stop!”  

“Never. She is mine.” He turns his face towards her and sniffs her hair before kissing her cheek. “Hmm, she smells good enough to eat.” His sinister smile tuns back to me. “Now, drop your weapon and step back out. Another move towards us and I will cut her.”  

“Ok, ok.” I dropped my gun and kicked it towards them. I raised my hands and move towards to the door. “I love you Kitten.”  

“I love you,” she rasped.  

“How very touching,” Charles sneered. “Now...” before he could finish the sentence, Presley elbowed him, causing him to drop the knife. I grabbed her arm and pulled her towards me.  

“Curtis!” She wrapped around me. I kissed her head, thankful she was ok.  

“Go, Clint is on the stairwell.” I spun us around, my back to the room.  “I’m sorry Kitten but I need you to run.”  

Presley’s eyes widen.“Curtis look out!” 

I turned back and that when I felt the knife slide into my gut, my eyes now on the face of the deranged man holding it  

Presley 

I watched in horror as Charles stuck the knife into Curtis. I screamed and Charles pulled the knife back out.  

“Look at what you made me do, Piccola. I ruined my shirt.” He laughed as Curtis fell to his knees and then his back, holding on to the wound.  Charles just laughed and laughed, like the psychotic animal that he is.  I feel to my knees and put pressure on the wound.  

“Hang on baby, just hang on. Clint!” I screamed as Charles began to wipe the tears of laughter from his face, smearing Curtis’s blood on himself.  

“You sound like you want to save him, Amelia.  Why?  You’re mine.”  He was starting to make sense again and I knew my time was limited.  I saw Curtis’s gun on the floor. I grabbed it and stood up, pointing it at him  “What are you going to do, Amelia? Shoot me?” 

“I could. Or I could send you away for a long time.” I griped the gun tighter, trying not to end this so fast. 

“Do you even know how to use that, Amelia? Hmm, I bet you are so scared right now.  Hand me the gun Amelia. Be a good girl.” He reached for it and I took a step back.  

“It's funny you think that I don’t know how to use this, Charles.  I’m a mafia princess.  My father and my uncles have been teaching me about guns since I was five years old.  The most dangerous person in this room is me.” I cocked the gun back and pointed the gun back at Charles.  

“You’re too sweet, too innocent to murder me Amelia. You really want to live with that sin on your conscience?”  He mocked me.  

“For the last fucking time, my name is Presley.”  

Every seen a bullet hit a skull?  It has an interesting effect, especially as close range. Rather gross. 

Charles head snapped back and he was dead before he hit the ground.  I dropped the gun and went back to Curtis. “Hang on baby, ok, someone is coming to help ok?” 

Curtis looked up at me and smiled, blood already coating his teeth. “I’m happy I got to see you again, Kitten,” he labored. “Will miss you.”  

“No, don’t say that, Curtis.  You promised to marry me, you promised we could make babies, to make siblings for Joshie and Evie,” I sob. “Clint! Please, someone help!!” 

Curtis reaches up to cup my face. “I love you. Tell them I love them too.  Take care of them.” 

“I love you too, but please. No! Curtis, no! Please don’t leave me! Curtis, don’t close your eyes!”  

I don’t feel the mass of people that rush into the room to help him. All I can see are his eyes closing for the last time.  

“Curtis!” 

Epilogue

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[parkitaco]

can I ask for details abt this amnesia fic that once has so much promise? 👀

also fun fact I too have an amnesia fic that once held so much promise but is now functionally abandoned until further notice. hive mind moment

hello elli YES omg idk what it is apparently amnesia fics are just that fucking difficult. or smth. idk but!! yes i will share everything that is still in my brain involving this fic (under the cut tho i'm abt to infodump so hard)

this idea was originally planted by an anon who left a very cute little amnesia prompt in my inbox (anon if you're out there i'm so sorry i swearrr). i've since deviated from the og prompt which was fairly lighthearted (amnesia will sees mike hovering over him obsessively and assumes he's his bf. and mike short circuits. which was an excellent idea my brain just wouldn't accept it) and went for angst bc well. i'm like that. and basically my idea was just that will wakes up in mike's room very recently post-apocalypse (the wheeler's house has been a base in the apocalypse and mike offered his room bc of course he did), having been in a coma for a few months. the idea behind it was that vecna / the hive mind tried to possess him again, but this time will was strong enough to fight back, and though he couldn't fight *through* the possession he was at least able to kind of incapacitate himself so that he couldn't be used to hurt his friends (yay angst!!). while he was asleep the others managed to stop vecna / kill the UD, hence freeing will from possession. yay he's awake!! unfortunately, since he was in the coma for so long, the virus ate away parts of his consciousness, namely his memories.

basically i took s2 and birthdaygate and made it bigger and more dramatic and worse. yay parker!!

the way i was planning on having will's memories come back is very slowly and methodically (i.e. it takes him a while to remember stuff but once he does it pretty much sticks), mainly through him being reminded of them through sensory recognition or people sharing stuff - he also has vague feelings attached to people, and can definitely recognize when a face belongs to someone important to him (cough cough mike wheeler) but he doesn't remember names or details and this drives him INSANE.

the bylerification of this would be mike, post-apocalypse and broken up with el and having had some Very Important Realizations, frantically fumbling trying to give will love confessions and apologies when will literally doesn't remember any of their fights. so not only does mike have to apologize for everything, he also has to make will relive it first, and Then hope that will doesn't reject him. (hehe.) this sucks for him, but yada yada it all works out and they make out sloppy. the end

i abandoned this fic for a lot of reasons, many of which i no longer remember, but the main ones were a., that is a lot of backstory for a story that ultimately doesn't have much plot beyond Mike Is Stressed And Will Is Confused, and b., at the time i was kind of burnt out on writing/reading apocalypse stuff, and c., i wasn't a big fan of the concept of everyone saving the world with will still incapacitated bc i know my boy is more of a key character than that!!! (this is small and ik people could get over it for This One Fic but it Really Bothered me Ok)

that being said,,, writing all this out did remind me of how much i liked the concept and i think taking the pressure off of myself for a couple months did help, as did taking a break from apocalypsey concepts for a while. so. Maybe. and that is all i will say about that <33

#so sorry elli this is probably more than u ever needed to know #and if i did publish this fic ever it is now 100% spoiled #but. it's fine #i do have 15k written of scenes that i really do like #there's just more plot that needs to be added and at the time i was working on this that felt like an impossible task #. anyway #so sorry. but u did ask so this is really on you #and if you ever get ur amnesia fic going again i will be the no. 1 supporter !!!

[dystopiandramaqueen]

Tough one but… favorite line from any fic you’ve written 💅

*Seated in a leather armchair by a crackling fire, I flip to Chapter 10 of Undisclosed Desires*

"“You should spank me.”

My sexuality was a secret, hidden thing for most of my life. I picked up a copy of 50 shades of Grey to see what the fuss was about. It was my first experience with smut. With women talking about their sexual fantasies. I learned 50 Shades started as fanfic. That is how I got into writing. It was the most liberating, healing experience of my adult life.

THT is a very vanilla fandom bc the ship are rape victims.

It took me a very very long time to get those characters into a setting where June could ask Nick to spank her just because she wanted him to. Not because she was age regressed or confused or a masochist- but because being manhandled is fucking hot.

I beta'd this story with so many people, getting the vibes right.

But this line?

I got to the point in the story where the chessboard was set.

She had to just fucking say it.

It's the hardest thing I've ever written, and looking at it now it still feels like- I climbed Everest or something.

That's the delay with Indulgences too I have a literal mental block about finishing my fantasies and making them real.

And I'm just learning to proceed and ignore all the doubt.

My goal is to have written enough smut to keep myself entertained when I no longer want to write. I want to finish this shit. And thank you for this ask- bc its reminding me like- just fucking write it.

below is the scene in context! Enjoy!

June goes to leave but Nick blocks her. She’s caged between his arms, his palms flat on the wall next to her shoulders. She catches her breath and looks at him.

Something’s changed. His body language is primal. Possessive. Chest rising and falling quickly. He licks his lower lip. Voice a low growl.

“You’re getting fucked. Hard. But not until we discuss your behavior.”

June’s stomach twists with excitement and embarrassment.

Nick grabs her wrists and pins them to the wall above her head.

He kisses up her neck, mouthing over her ear. Voice low. Dominant. “You. Are in BIG trouble.”

June’s heart races. Oh my god, it’s happening.

“You have been very, very bad. Making me watch while other men touch you...Getting me so hard for you.” He moves her hand down, so she can feel his huge erection straining through his gym shorts. She gasps. It feels so good. Jesus.

He continues, dark eyes locked on hers. Expression humorless. “You did that. Wasn’t very nice was it?”

Her eyes squeeze closed and she shakes her head. It’s too good. Too hot.

“And worst of all. You’ve been keeping secrets from me.”

June drags her dazed eyes to his.

Nick raises his eyebrows, nodding at the severity of this infracion. “Should you keep secrets from your husband?”

She shakes her head, eyes shimmering with mischief.

“No. You shouldn’t. How am I supposed to fuck you right if you won’t tell me everything you need. EVERYTHING you want me to do to you.”

Oh jesus, it’s happening.

“You’ve been dropping hints for weeks. But I want you to own it. You’d better fess up or you’re gonna be in worse trouble than you already are. You’re already getting punished for getting my cock so hard for you. Do we have to add secrets to the list?”

June’s breaths are coming hard now. Body on fire. Too turned on to move or respond. Heart beating entirely too fast. Everything hurts. Throbbing down there. Aching. She needs him so badly.

Nick’s lips ghost over her mouth, leaving sparks when they brush against hers. Whispering.

“You’ve... been... So...Fucking... Bad. What should I do about that?”

The words tumble out before she can stop them. A breathy whisper.

“You should spank me.”

“Fucking Christ.” Nick whispers under his breath. Eyes clenching shut. He swallows thickly. He presses his lips together for a few beats. He blows out a slow breath to center himself. She feels goosebumps rise on his arms. “Very good.” He whispers. “That was very good. I know that wasn’t easy.”

A smirk grows on his gorgeous mouth. He’s so fucking into it. Into her. She remembers what he said. That his ultimate kink is giving her what she wants. Her embarrassment vanishes.

She leans forward to kiss him. He moans into it.

Then suddenly he’s pulling her across the room. Sitting on the bench in the middle of the room. Pulling her across his lap, like he used to pull her into bed in his apartment.

Oh my god it’s happening.

Continue reading on A03

#nick x june #osblaine #nick blaine #fic #undisclosed desires #a03 #asks

[pkg4mumtown]

Through Glass (Ch. 3)

Rating: M

Summary: You finally learn why you’ve suddenly acquired a new roommate.

A/N: Hey! Thanks for all of the love! Guess who wanted to post this yesterday and forgot to do the art? Yea, me, so I rushed this shit piece of art below. Also, I’m fighting with myself about how this fic is going to end. My original ending is no longer feasible to me because of how much this writing has evolved from my notes. So…apologies ahead of time if this thing crashes and burns LMAO.

Warnings: Angst, Eventual Fluff, Feelings of being watched, Multiversal Stalking, Possessive!Stephen, Eventual body horror, Gender Neutral Pronouns for Reader, No Y/N, First Person POV, What If AU where Reader dies instead of Christine, Strange-Supreme just needs a hug honestly, Stephen in Reader’s universe is a big dummy

Catch up with Chapter 1 / Chapter 2

Just listen to the noises

(Null and void instead of voices)

Before you tell yourself

It's just a different scene

Remember it's just different from what you've seen

-Through Glass by Stone Sour

“Why did you bring him here?” it hissed.

My back couldn’t hit the wall fast enough as reality set in. My chest moved rapidly as I began hyperventilating and still, I couldn’t say anything. But what would I even say right now if I could? This had to have been what Oscar saw, though he had been far more reactive than I was currently.

Annoyed at my lack of answer, the being moved forward in an attempt to touch its side of the reflection only to hiss and draw back as those symbols that Doctor Strange conjured appeared, then disappeared as the monster retreated.

“Cute,” it laughed, sounding like a hundred voices talking over each other at once; flicking its wrist nonchalantly. 

I watched the golden symbol get eaten by flames from the outside edges to the inside edges in an instant. Strange wasn’t kidding when he said that the being wouldn’t fear him by himself. That’s when I truly realized how screwed I was. I gripped the corner of the wall as I fought the tears pooling in my eyes. I wanted to run, but where the hell could I hide in my own house? And if it was so easy to destroy the wards, then what was stopping it from coming through and finding me if I did hide?

“I know you can hear me...” the sing-songy voice echoed in my bathroom, my name falling from its terrifying maw.

“Please, please don’t hurt me—I—,” I was cut off by my own sobs bubbling up out of my throat.

“Hurt you?” The monster asked, taken aback. All at once, the anger it had possessed moments ago vanished, and its shoulders hunched over, “Why would I—? No, my love, please don’t cry,” it seemed to beg. “Not again,” I heard it whimper softly. Seeing my continued distress seemed to snap it out of its own feelings, placing a hand on the glass and urging me, “You need to calm down, you’re breathing too fast,” it pleaded, repeating my name over and over.

“How do you know my name‽ Why does everyone know my god damn name‽” I screamed inching my way toward the door to exit the bathroom.

“Because I know you a—and you know me,” it soothed with its disembodied cacophony of voices.

All of a sudden, it stepped back from the mirror, curling in on itself as if it were in pain and struggling. I soon realized it actually was in pain and struggling as it started howling and contorting its face, as if it was trying to contain something. Bright yellow and red energy swirled around it, along with various other things that I couldn’t quite make out, seemingly coming to a finality until the mirror was empty again.

After a few beats of silence, my name floated through the mirror; more distant than before but growing louder and closer. I was halfway out of the bathroom when a gentle voice stopped me.

“Wait, please,” it cooed.

My eyes closed tightly, refusing to look in the mirror. The voice was no longer disembodied and echoing with a thousand different voices. Fuck, it sounded so familiar.

“I’m sorry for scaring you, I—please look at me,” it—he pleaded.

With my chin still wobbling out of fear, I sniffled my sobs away and cracked my eyes open. In the center of the mirror was a much smaller person—well, smaller than the monster, which had taken up the entire mirror—walking toward the mirror. The mirror warped and shifted around him until it was no longer a reflection of my bathroom, but a glowing, magenta grid behind him.

“Wha—,” the words died in my throat as I got a good look at him.

Two deeply haunted, sunken eyes stared back at me, eyes that seemed like they hadn’t had a restful night of sleep in years. The same unruly brown hair as the monster littered his head and face, though it was much neater now. The off-red tunic actually fit this form, no longer ripped at the shoulders. They were…the same? 

Wait. Those gray streaks. Those cheekbones that stood proudly on his face, albeit on a much slimmer face than I had just seen...

“Doctor Strange?” I whispered in realization.

“By Vishanti, you hadn’t called me that in years but, oh, how I’ve missed it anyway,” he sighed wistfully, letting a longing smile adorn his features.

“W—what do you mean? It’s all I’ve ever called you,” I gulped.

“No, darling. My version of you, my love, they called me ‘Stephen’. ‘Doctor Strange’ was reserved for when I was in trouble,” he chuckled.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked incredulously. “Fuck, I—I can’t do this. I’m going fucking crazy,” I shakily admitted, my breathing picking up again. I brought my hands to my head, suddenly light headed, and swiftly exited the bathroom that felt far too small, now.

Doctor Strange or Stephen followed me through the reflections as I just about ran to my bed. I dove into the blankets, burrowing my head in the pillows.

What the fuck was going on? The question made tears well up in my eyes again. The situation was all too overwhelming and unexplainable for me to process in one day. From Doctor Strange telling me some uber powerful being existed on the other side, to finding out that being was him? I did not have the energy to get mind-fucked today.

“Sweetheart…” I heard him whisper, making me turn my head and seeing him out of the corner of my eye in the reflection of the cup of water resting on my nightstand.

“Doctor—Stephen, I’m sorry. I can’t—I need to wrap my head around this,” I managed to choke out before I was reduced to sobs as my emotions got the better of me.

He was silent and for a second, through my emotional haze, I figured he’d disappeared and didn’t want to deal with the crying. I wouldn’t blame him.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” his voice resonated sadly, “If you need—or when you’re ready to talk just…I can hear you so…call out for me.”

I didn’t answer him, my only response being sniffles and gasps for air as I drifted off into a crying-induced sleep.

Doctor Strange woke up with a start, panting and clutching his sheets as he sat up in bed, immediately reaching out but no one was there. Levi bristled at being moved so suddenly, moving up Strange’s torso and applying pressure so he would lay back down. Annoyed, Strange got out of bed and chastised his cloak.

He opened and closed his fists slowly to get them warm and used to movement after waking up. He rolled his neck, grunting at the pops and sighing as he stretched. Strange hesitated as he always did before performing this spell but powered on anyway. He quickly drew the beginning symbols of the spell, watching the spinning disc of what looked like film in front of him. Finding what he was looking for, he yanked out the moving picture and crushed it in his hand.

There was no need for you to see that, he thought to himself.

I walked out of my apartment building dressed to the nines and grinning widely when I saw Stephen standing there waiting for me in a tuxedo with the passenger side door already open.

“Hey, you,” I took his outstretched hand and hummed happily as he pulled me in and pressed himself against me at the same time.

Stephen simply stared with a love-struck grin on his face.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, feeling my face get hot at his attention, turning to hide it in his shoulder.

Stephen didn’t let me, instead taking my chin between his fingers and lining our gazes up again,” I think I just had a mild cardiac event,” he teased.

“A heart attack, doctor?” I rolled my eyes.

“What can I say? You’re breathtaking,” He smirked, dropping his head until his lips met mine. 

I wound my arms around his neck, smiling at his urgency.

“Do we have to go?” He groaned as our lips separated. “We can stay in, order Chinese, maybe a little desert,” he hummed, punctuating “desert" with a squeeze.

“Stephen, not only are you receiving an award, but Christine will literally kick your ass if you don’t show up this time—and, I’ll help her,” I squinted at him.

“Oh, will you now, doctor?” He dropped another kiss to my lips before I pushed him toward his car.

The roads were slick and windy as we chatted, so focused on the truck in front of us that—

My body lurched forward out of control, forcing me to sit up without consciously thinking of it. I sat there. panting and sweating with my fists clenching tightly around nothing. My adrenaline was sky high, my eyes looking around wildly as I tried to get my breathing under control. I tried to settle my stomach, which felt like it had just tried to exit through my mouth like I’d just dropped on a tall rollercoaster.

“What the hell was that? So fucking weird...” I finally found my voice, still unsure of what had just taken place.

“What was weird? Bad dream?” I heard Stephen speak up next to me.

I screamed and covered my mouth, burying my face into my hands and scrubbing my face roughly, “Fuck! Stephen!”

Since his terrifying revelation in my bathroom mirror, I had been ignoring Stephen for a few days, refusing to acknowledge his presence with words, not that I didn’t see him all over my house anyway. I didn’t know how to process his presence, hoping it was a shitty dream, but as I continued seeing him pop up more openly the last few days...maybe Iwas the shitty dream. Though, apparently, I had forgotten that he didn’t need me to acknowledge him for him to speak. So, when he finally decided to stop being ignored and make himself known, just now, it’s safe to say I was a little startled. 

“I—I don’t know,” I admitted, glancing at Stephen’s human form in my glass of water on the bedside table.

“You don’t know if it was a bad dream, or you don’t know what was weird?” He pressed with a twinge of disbelief.

“I don’t remember the dream…” I muttered, trying my best to recollect what was a hyper-vivid dream as I experienced it. I should be able to remember it. It felt so real.

“Uh, if it made that much of an impression, you have to remember something—.”

“I don’t remember, okay!?” I snapped, groaning into my hands once more before sighing. Lifting my head up so quickly that I felt a crackle, I turned toward him with an annoyed frown, “Were you watching me sleep?”

“No,” he said all too quickly. “Yes. Not really,” I raised my eyebrow at him flipping back and forth between his words. “Only because you screamed in your sleep. I was worried,” he finally settled on his story with a shrug.

“Gee, thanks,” I huffed and got up to wash the sweat and sleep off of my face.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” his voice followed me all the way to the bathroom. “You’ve been ignoring me for days and I’ve given you your time to think about what’s going on. If you let me explain, it will make much more sense.”

“Can I, like, feel human first?” I snapped, reaching over to turn the shower on. “Preferably without your prying eyes?”

“Not the first time I’ve seen you first thing in the morning, love,” Stephen smirked, dropping his gaze to my oversized t-shirt.

I stopped what I was doing to throw a glare at the mirror.

“Okay, okay. You’re not a morning person in any universe, I guess,” he conceded with his hands up.

I flipped the mirror off and got ready for my shower.

With caffeine finally in hand, I plopped myself on my couch after making sure all my blinds were drawn to avoid anyone seeing me talking to my TV. As soon as I sat, Stephen appeared on my TV with the same magenta glow behind him. With a disgusted, insulted scoff, he crushed the ward on the TV as easy squashing an annoying bug.

“So—.”

I held my finger up to silence him, chugging a decent amount of the drink in my hand. Once I swallowed, I turned my wrist and flashed him a thumbs up.

“What do you know of the multiverse?” He questioned.

“I’m gonna have to stop you there and ask you to dumb it down. I barely know about my own universe, buddy,” I interrupted, something he was most certainly glaring at me for. “It’s like—the theory that what? Like there are multiple alternate universes existing together at the same time?”

“Sure, close enough,” Stephen shrugged. He sighed, pondering how to start, so he decided to go with an introduction. “I understand that I scared you before and I’m so sorry for that. It takes a good amount of effort to keep my natural form these days. I came in too hot and it was extremely overwhelming. So, with that…I’m Doctor Stephen Strange, but from a different universe—”

I raised my hand right away, making Stephen sigh begrudgingly, “Yes?”

“Thank you for the apology, one. Two, why is your universe geometric and hot pink?”

Stephen knitted his brows together in general confusion as to what kind of question that was. He turned, looking behind him and back at me, “First of all, it’s not hot pink. Secondly, I’ll get to that later.”

“I’m just sayi—”

“Anyway!” he interrupted. “Back to the explanation so you can stop ignoring me like an annoying spam call.” 

I rolled my eyes at his comparison but waved for him to continue. 

“I know how this is going to sound, but in my universe and so many others, you and I are together—I’ve checked. And in universes where we aren’t, it’s because one of us died early. It only led me to conclude that we’re drawn together across universes, almost like—.”

“—Soulmates,” I finished.

“Something like that. It’s a bit much to call it that, I know…”

“I’m talking to an alternate version of a sorcerer through my TV. There are stranger, more far-fetched ideas than soulmates,” I waved my arms in emphasis on “soulmates". “So, what happened in your universe, then? Where am I?” I asked him.

Stephen was eerily silent, taking in shaky breaths with closed eyes; clearly trying to remain in control. 

“If you don’t want to talk about it…”

Without warning, he clenched his teeth groaned in pain as blood-red scales flitted across his face, making him clutch his cheek in pain with red, scaled claws. As fast as it happened, it disappeared, ending with Stephen back to human form and pressing his hands into his face and fingers into his eyes.

“Your hands…” I set my drink down on my coffee table and approached the TV to get a closer look.

“What about them?” He questioned, still breathing abnormally but relatively under control now. He pulled his hands away from his face to examine them. 

“Nothing.”

“Okay?” He asked slowly.

“Strange, my Strange—ew, that’s weirdly possessive of someone I don’t know—whatever, his hands are scarred badly, and they shake constantly.”

“Nerve damage?” Stephen hummed, smirking to himself at your dismissal of your universe’s Strange.

“I heard that he was in a car accident and couldn’t be a surgeon anymore.”

Stephen scoffed, my eyes narrowing in to where his eyes were watering.

“What?” I pressed.

Stephen sniffled, shook his head, and wiped his eyes with his thumb and middle finger, “Where do you work? What did you go to school for?”

I was annoyed at him ignoring my question but humored him anyway and told him, “Why?”

“We ended up at Columbia together for med school and, oh, did I fall hard,” he smiled. 

“Well, now I know you’re lying. I’m not smart enough to be a doctor. I changed majors because of it,” I snorted.

Stephen growled softly, “I hated it when you doubted yourself like that in my universe, so I won't allow you to speak about yourself like that in this one.”

I bit my lip in an effort to keep my mouth shut, clearly having said the same thing to him a bunch in his universe enough to tick him off.  

He gathered his thoughts again and continued, “I was an arrogant prick when we met, and you wouldn’t put up with my bullshit for a second. You begrudgingly accepted my friendship after a while, and then we started something physical during our residency at New York Presbyterian. We finished our residencies at roughly the same time since you specialized in—.”

“—Pediatric surgery,” I interrupted.

“How—how do you know that?” He looked taken aback.

“I don’t know. Well, when I was younger, I entertained the idea of becoming a doctor in pediatrics but like I said…things changed.”

“But you said pediatric surgeon, just now. How did you know that specifically?”

“I—I don’t…”

“Do you dream?” He interjected.

“Like while sleeping? Yea, I think so. I have trouble remembering my dreams now, even some that I held onto when I was way younger, but I know it’d be easier if I wrote it down immediately when I woke up. I kind of attributed it to getting old,” I chuckled. 

“But remember, you couldn’t even tell me what you dreamed about this morning. And dreams…dreams are the window to alternate universes. You should be dreaming about us in every other universe. I know I do, and if I do, then I know he does.”

“I just…when it’s happening it’s so vivid that I know I should remember them, but I just can’t.”

Stephen was silent again and I knew, now, from experiencing two of him that it meant he was problem solving. Stephen scowled before erupting into a flurry of cycling creatures around his body, the energy seeping out of his body as he failed to contain himself, “That. Fucking. Snake,” Stephen growled, baring sharp, jagged teeth. 

I jumped back from the TV like something was going to come through, walking quickly backwards until my legs hit the couch; wanting to sink into the pillows. We made brief eye contact and then the TV suddenly went dark, leaving me in silence as I wondered what in the hell had just set him off. 

“Stephen?” I called out softly, sitting up straighter on the couch in curiosity. 

No response.

When he didn’t return on his own for a few minutes, I was standing back up and making my way to the TV. I pressed a hand to the screen, not caring about the inevitable handprint I’d have to clean later.

“Stephen.”

“I’m sorry,” reverberated throughout the room.

“It’s okay, come back. It’s okay,” I whispered.

The TV rippled, revealing Stephen coming back into focus, still absorbing the last of his creatures. His eyes fluttered shut, neck stretching to the side as a stray tentacle absorbed into his neck and shoulder.

My mouth suddenly went dry at the sight of his softened features and full lips as the last of the creatures disappeared with a dull glow. Strangely, the more glimpses of his creatures I saw, the less scary it became. Plus, if that tentacle was part of the same curious one that liked to follow me around the past few weeks, we were too well acquainted for me to be frightened of it at this point.

Stephen’s eyes flitted open, “If you keep staring at me like that, you’re going to drool.”

My mouth snapped shut as that arrogant, flirty smirk flash across his face; the same one I’d seen from the other Strange. 

“Shut up,” I mumbled. “Are you good?”

“I’m…okay,” he answered cautiously. “They’re very reactive to emotions.”

“And that was not a good emotion, I’m guessing?”

“Definitely not. Um…” he cleared his throat, “…I have a theory and I can’t really test it without him finding out about it. I can cloak my presence in various ways in your universe but the second I try any other spell, especially like the one I’m thinking of, he will know something big has arrived. Cloaking spells are generally hard to detect for a reason.”

“And your theory?”

“That he’s erasing your dreams of our alternate universes together. For what reason, I don’t know, but he clearly didn’t want you to know him. It’s aggravating and highly unfair to you,” he snarled.

“The universe had other ideas, though, because I, quite literally, ran into him shortly after you ‘moved in’,” I held my fingers up with air quotes.

“You can’t escape fate,” he droned ominously.

“Why—um—why is it aggravating? I mean it’s invasive and totally not ethical without my permission. And I feel grossly taken advantage of, but why were you ready to unleash hell for it?”

“He’s directly avoiding the plans the universe has for you both and if he and I are the same, I’m sure it’s some self-righteous bullshit. But I lost everything for you and while I probably wouldn’t do it again because of the ramifications I know of now, it is deeply insulting to me that he won't even keep you in his life,” he growled, his emotions—and by association, his creatures—seeping through again as his voice took on gravelly and hissing undertones.

“What happened, Stephen?”

He took a second to reel his monsters back in, his voice evening out, “I—the reason—the reason he has scars, and I don’t. The scars and his hands had to be why he became a sorcerer in the first place. Me, I—I had you in the car with me and y—you—,” he stopped abruptly, chin wobbling as he avoided crying, but it didn’t work. Slowly but surely, tears trailed down his cheeks; prompting a tentacle to poke out from his neck and wrap around his neck and torso comfortingly. “—you died in the crash. But you didn’t have to, he’s proof that you didn’t have to die!” he wailed. 

I let him take his time and regain his composure so he could continue.

“I moved on for years, became a sorcerer out of grief and the Stephen Strange curse to want to fix everything. One of the nights of the anniversary of your death, I went back and tried to prevent it. I watched you die over and over,” his voice shuddered. “My mentor tried to stop me because your death couldn’t be changed, it had to happen in my universe, and I couldn’t accept it. I escaped to the far past and sought out the power to break an absolute point. As it turns out, she split me into two Stephens. The other half of me never sought out to fix your death.”

“So, the creatures? That’s how you got your power?” I wondered.

“Correct,” he shot me a watery smile, proud of how quickly I caught on, “I found myself at an ancient library run by Master O'Bengh, who nicknamed me ‘Armani’ upon meeting me. I absorbed them, so many of them, for a long time. I didn’t even realize I had been slowing time for myself until I came out and saw O'Bengh on his death bed. When I felt I was ready, I wanted to go back and O’Bengh told me I still had to absorb the other half of me. And I did,” Stephen paused, mournfully silent for the side of him who knew better than to attempt what he’d done. “I broke the absolute point and brought you back, but I had destroyed the universe as a result.”

My hand flew up to cover my mouth at the realization that he had destroyed his entire universe for me—well, his version of me.

“I had to watch you die—but terrified at the sight of me—one last time in my arms. That image of you will haunt me for the rest of my life. I created this hot pink sphere to keep the dying universe from consuming me, too,” he hoped the little joke would bring a smile to my face, but his own smirk fell when he saw how concerned and shocked I was. “I’ve done awful things and I’m not excusing that. I’m trying to be better. I prevented the destruction of the multiverse just recently, and I know that doesn’t mean much, but I—I just wanted to see you. I thought I deserved that much,” he sighed.

He destroyed an infinite amount of matter for one more minute with the love of his life. I should be horrified. I should lock myself away in a non-reflective room for the rest of my life. I should. I should. 

But…

I felt bad for him. He was right about one thing. He did everything he could to save the person he loved, meanwhile this other version of him was invading my mind and deleting himself from it. It was infuriating. Who was he to decide what I could and couldn’t see?

“Stephen,” I whispered, bringing my hand up to the screen where his cheek was. His eyes were glossy with tears. “I’m here.”

At my words, his face crumbled; fighting the sobs wracking his body. The TV rippled like before and I was afraid that he would disappear again until the screen gave way. I gasped, fearing something had broken. My hand passed hesitantly through the screen like water, eventually landing on the side of Stephen’s face. He jolted in surprise, opening his red, swollen eyes with a sharp pant. His bubble was cold and his hands even colder as they wrapped around mine and pressed my palm firmly against his face. His face nestled into my warm skin like a touch starved puppy.

“I’m here, Stephen. I’m here.”

A/N 2: For clarity:

Stephen = Strange-Supreme

Strange = Dr. Strange in reader’s universe

Chapter 4

#stephen strange x reader #doctor strange x reader #gender neutral reader #strange supreme x reader #my art #marvel fanfiction #series: through glass

[queen-haq]

Fic: Alive - Part 27

Fic: Alive - Part 27

Summary: Aidan traced the thin chain around his neck, rubbing the infinity pendant between his fingers. No longer a symbol of their everlasting love, it was something he touched in anger when he thought of Sage. It was the only thing of hers that still remained with him after eight years, the last possession which still connected them together. When he 4did find Sage again, and he would no matter how long it took, he planned to destroy the pendant - and her.

Taking place across two timelines, Alive tells the story of Aidan and Sage, high school sweethearts driven apart by who they are and where they come from. Once enemies then lovers, their relationship runs full circle when they meet again in the present, now prepared to destroy each other.

My Masterlist (contains links to previous parts)

Sage placed a soft kiss on Ziyah's cheek, peering down at her daughter's sleeping form. Usually the munchkin put up a bit more fuss about going to bed but as Aidan had offered to read her favourite book, Ziyah had readily agreed. Of course the reading session lasted only a few minutes as she fell asleep almost immediately.A short time later Sage entered the den and found Aidan on the floor, gathering all the toys Ziyah had left scattered on the carpet. "Don't worry about those. I'll get Ziyah to clean up the mess tomorrow."

"It's fine, I can do it."

"I'd rather you didn't. One of her chores is to organise those toys."

He sat back against the couch, his long legs stretched out in front of him. "Chores, huh? Putting her to work already?"

"Damn right. This ain't a free ride, she has to earn her keep." Sage offered him a smile, taking a seat on the couch opposite to him, but realised almost immediately maybe that wasn't the best idea. Despite the ample distance between them, it felt like he was entirely too close, especially with his gaze centered upon her. She averted her eyes from him, reached down to pick up a toy from the floor.

"You have this mom thing down pat, don't you? You just seem great at it."

"Thanks." Although the admiration in his tone was flattering, she reminded herself not to let it get to her head. Aidan was raised by horrible people masquerading as parents, and simply being affectionate to a child probably constituted as great parenting to him. He'd never known unconditional love, unlike her. Unfortunately she had never really appreciated how great of a mom Layal had been until it was too late.

"I swear it's in your DNA to be perfect at everything."

"Yeah well, it's not. I'm not aspiring to be perfect, that's impossible, I just want to be the best that I can possibly be. And if you think it's easy, you're wrong. Some days Ziyah drives me nuts and I'm so close to losing it, and then I feel guilty for feeling that way."

"How do you get through that?"

Her restless fingers smoothed the fur of the stuffed elephant she was holding. "I remind myself that Ziyah is a child, she needs me to hold it together and take care of her no matter what. Thomas always made me feel like I was a huge burden on him and when I think about Ziyah feeling that way... I stop feeling sorry for myself. I don't ever want Ziyah to think she's unloved, unwanted. She's the most important person in my life, and she makes me want to be better."

"She's lucky to have you."

Her eyes locked with his. "No, I'm the lucky one. Without her, I'd be... well, I don't know what I'd be. All I know is that she saved me."

"From what?"

"Despair," she said with trepidation, hoping he won't broach the subject further. Frankly, the last thing she wanted was to discuss the past with Aidan.

"There's a lot of you in her," he remarked.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe, but she's also extremely friendly, a frickin' social butterfly actually. She doesn't get that from me."

He smirked. "No kidding." She threw the elephant at him, he caught it before it could strike him. "Maybe there's a little bit of me in her too." His lips formed into a pout as he snuggled the elephant, resting his chin on the fur.

"Probably. She does act like a jackass at times."

"Don't hate." He chuckled. "We can't help it if people love us."

"Sometimes I get paranoid that she's a little too friendly. All someone has to do is strike up a conversation and she's ready to call them her best friend. Not exactly very safe these days, you know?"

His forehead furrowed with concern. "Fuck. I never thought about it like that."

"Don't get me wrong. She knows better than to talk to strangers, but you-"

"She needs a bodyguard."

"What?" Taking in the earnest expression on his face, she realised he was completely serious. "No, she doesn't. She's fine. I'm just being paranoid."

"No, seriously. I'll contact some security firms and find a bodyguard for her. She'll be protected 24/7 and we never have to worry."

"I'll always worry, that's just how it is, and hiring a bodyguard isn't going to change that. Anyway, Ziyah's a good kid, she's smart and she knows to be wary of strangers. As long as I'm there to protect her, she'll be fine."

"But you can't be watching over her every minute of every day," he pointed out.

She shot him an irritated glance. "Are you trying to freak me out here?"

"Hey, I'm freaking out too!"

"Get used to it. Being a parent means you never stop worrying."

"That's fucked up."

She gave him a sympathetic smile, knowing exactly how overwhelming it felt to be responsible for another human life. She'd experienced the very same emotion the first time she'd held Ziyah in her arms.

"You could have let me walk out of here when I was ready to give up, but you didn't. Why?" His gaze narrowed, almost assaulting her with their intensity.

Stomach coiling with anxiety, she remained silent. Fact was, she'd been asking herself the same question for the past few hours and had yet to come up with an answer. Considering she wanted him gone for good ever since he barged back into her life, it would have been so easy to encourage his insecurities and let him walk out. He'd given her the perfect ammunition but she'd been unable to use it - and a part of her was already regretting it, especially when he moved closer. Kneeling in front of her now, his face merely inches apart, he studied her keenly, allowing her no chance to escape.

"I would have left you and Ziyah alone for good if there was any chance of me hurting her. You could have let me believe I was like him, but you didn't. Why?" he asked again, his breath humming against her skin.

"It's getting late. You should go." She tried to get up but he blocked her path, trapping her in place.

"Not until you tell me why."

"I don't have to explain myself to you."

"You're always accusing me of running away when things are hard but you do the same."

"Whatever."

"Or you pick a fight. Anything to avoid talking about your feelings, right?"

"Want to know how I'm feeling right now? Annoyed and bored with your Dr. Phil impression." 

A smug smile formed across his lips, she'd just played into his hands. 

"I want you t o leave," Sage ordered.

He didn't move, watching her keenly. Gradually the smile on his face dissolved, leaving in its place a forceful expression which she couldn't ignore. His gaze held her hypnotised, wreaking havoc with her thoughts.

"What you said before, about me never loving you, you don't believe that. Right?"

Her breath hitched in her throat.

"I know David overheard me telling Cat you meant nothing to me but it wasn't true. That day I was just trying to get Cat off my back. If she realised how I really felt, she would have fucked up your life even more. I couldn't risk that."

The mere mention of Cat's name snapped her out of her daze. Sage steeled herself, determined not to betray any emotions. "So you said that to protect me. How sweet of you."

"I've loved you for as long as I can remember."

"Yeah, sure."

"But you're not that girl anymore. You've changed."

"Ah, I see. And let me guess, you don't like who I am now. I was so much more lovable when I was your doormat, right?"

"I know it's probably easier to believe that so you can hate me for it."

He wasn't rising to her taunts, and his calmness was nerve-wracking.

"You're not ready to be honest with me and that's fine," he continued. "You were kind to me when I was freaking out, you could have totally fucked me up, but you didn't. The part of you I fell in love with, that sweetness, it's still there but you're also so much more. If I let myself, I'd fucking fall for you all over again. But I can't do that, Sage, not when Ziyah is involved. This isn't about us, it's about her, and getting involved with you is only going to complicate things between us."

"What makes you think I even want you?"

A shadow of a smile fleeted across his face. Suddenly, his lips pressed against hers in a sweet, tender embrace that made her insides melt. The ache within her sharpened, no longer suppressed. As soon as she tried to cling to him, he slipped away from her touch, leaving her stunned and speechless, watching after him as he headed out of the room.

Heart pounding heavily in her chest, she fell back on the sofa.

To be continued...

@bustlingcrowdsxorxsilentsleepers​ @idaofinfinity​ @tiki-tequila

#original romance #romance novels #enemies to lovers #my fics #alive

[hyperfixatinglove]

Happy valentines day, Roe! 💕 For the asks, how about crush and confession with Zeus? 💖

crush — when did your f/o realize their feelings for you? how did they deal with those feelings?

Very early into our relationship so to speak, we were nothing but strangers but he felt already screwed, he fell on the spot. I treated myself on the first meeting fic since I just imagine Zeus to be all or nothing kinda guy. And since I have difficulty to be seen as desirable, why not make someone like Zeus who I imagine to have the most obsessive type of love that rivals Aiden Pearce to absolutely fall head over heels for me?

Zeus did not deal with those feelings. At all. Not well. He ignored them mostly, getting agitated when he daydreamed about me since he knew nothing about me. He tried to ignore them for longer, but it didn't last. Within a month or two, he was trying to find me again. Not that he didn't know where I lived in NY, he felt he was intruding or being creepy if he suddenly shows up in my apartment again. He thought it was more natural and less scary for me if we just suddenly found each other on the streets. It was a game to pass time, since that was all Zeus had. He didn't want to bother Dana too much by being around her all and every day.

When that didn't work he tried to watch me from afar, waiting for me to come out of my apartment. Creepy? Maybe, but it was all he got. He didn't want a mere phone call, he needed, desperately needed to actually see me.

When he finally did he couldn't get any words out. Stood there like frozen statue, staring at me, like my mere existence stunned him. I was just happy to see him so I jugged him & his attempts to cope with his feelings dipped into way worse.

After that he spent all his time with me, unless he was visiting Dana. He feared to be bother but was baffled when I reaffirmed it was nice having him around. He was acting like I had become part of him, like he was sewn into my hip. It was good for him though since he came to know me & I him.

He dealt badly, but it didn't show outside, unless you had keen eye & knew how he normally acted. If Dana was around me she would've been able to tell.

confession — how’d the confession happen, and looking back on it, what are your (and f/o’s) thoughts abt how you both were back then?

The good old classic ''Confessed in middle of a fight in heat of the moment'' scenario.

It was first time I saw Zeus consume someone. Right in my very eyes. A military man, who had recognized him from his rampage in NY months before and because Zeus doesn't change his clothes nor his face even when he easily could.

The sight was rather disturbing. To see Zeus jump on this guy, who had done nothing beyond raising a weapon at him & know who he was, beat him to death with his fists while the poor man screams cause that's all he can do. That was already horrible in itself, but the consuming process is, while quick, it looks incredibly disturbing. There's this mix of black and red similar to fog or liquid that surrounds the victim, while multiply tentacle-like black biomass comes out of Zeus. It only lasts a second, but it creeps me out.

Naturally, after I recovered from the shock of this sight^ I started yelling at Zeus for technically killing innocent man, he hadn't done anything. Zeus just countered by his knowledge of Blackwatch, the in-universe military, how they were always trying to either kill or capture him and how I would also be in danger if he let that man go. I spit he shouldn't use me as excuse for killing, which is when he snapped and backed me against a wall.

The only moment I ever feared him. Wondering what's stopping him to consume me as well. Was I just some amusement to him he'll cast aside, maybe murder me in dark alley for his enjoyment down the line?

Those thought got expelled by him kissing me out of the blue. I couldn't say anything when we departed. He spilled all of it, how ardently he loved me, how possessive and obsessive he was, how he never wanted to be away from me..

We uh had a long makeout session after all of that.

#i hate getting flustered when i try to describe kissing bc THEN I CANT #happy belated valentines sunny ♥ #you consume all of me #letters of love

[its-kall-the-clown]

Life update and blanket statement to those concerned.

I’m not going anywhere and neither are my fics. I know I haven’t been updating them as frequently as I used to and some might be concerned. I get comments and asks daily making sure I am not abandoning any of my stories and I want you to know I’m definitely not doing that.

First I want to say none of these comments pressure me or make me upset. I’m quite flattered that y’all will go out of your way to check on the stuff I make. ❤️

But I am going at a slower pace and let me explain why.

Quick history lesson! Im an artist and graphic designer. Those I consider to be the things I think of first when describing myself. I have a degree in graphic design and I’m currently the lead graphic designer at a small company. I took up writing as a hobby in 2020 because I was suffering MAJOR burnout on art. I couldn’t even pick up a pencil without feeling defeated.

Since I had to do it for work of course I couldn’t stop but then I felt like I was giving away all my creative energy to job and when I got home I wouldn’t be able to do any art for myself. Of course there was also the peak of Covid that year and that left me stir crazy as fuck. Not having much to do but still not possessing the love for drawling like I used to I took up writing as a hobby. It was literally just something to keep myself sane but also express myself creatively in some form and fashion.

Never in a million years would I have guessed that people would like my work and even flock to it. I worked hard to make sure I improved and always delivered something I felt proud of. I’ve come a LONG way and very happy with the progress I’ve made.

But I think I was so focused on getting better I didn’t realize I was sprinting towards the finish line and I was burning myself out again. I want to prevent what happens before where i could barely do something I loved because it became a job to me.

I’m no longer sprinting. I’m walking. I’m taking my time when I write and not pressing myself to meet crazy deadlines I set for myself. Im enjoying myself again even if it’s much slower.

Im even working on an original novel that I hope to share with you all one day!

But for now I’m continuing on at a healthy pace I’m comfortable with. ❤️🤡📝

#Kall rambles #Kall art #clown time #also happy Halloween 🎃 #writing stuff #I can’t wait to tell y’all about the novel I’m writing ❤️ #life update

[abbysratking]

MORE ELLIE/ABBY CONTENT because I physically cannot stop! Please help! Its a modern au, butchy bffs to lovers, smut. Its 11k of that, I can't sell it to you any better

#abby anderson #ellie williams #ellabs #ellie/abby #ellie x abby #whatever our tag is #OH AND TRANS ABBY #because i talk a big talk but havent written it yet #and we deserve #honestly tho i love this au #this fic possessed me it could have been LONGER i had to stop myself #my fics

[tendous-whore]

do you think of me too?

(Naoya Zen’in x reader, ft. Toji Fushiguro)

summary: when naoya leaves you for another woman, he doesn’t realize until it’s too late that everything he desired, had always been in his reach. so when you’ve finally remarried, why does he silently wish that it wasn’t him, but naoya instead?

warnings: fluff, angst, ex!naoya, possessive, sexism, pregnancy, lil suggestive (if ya squint), abuse

notes: I have so many drafts of naoya x reader so if I have miraculously posted this, I finally picked one to finally finish. yuh. also I’m just winging all my jjk fics at this point too lol. also this is just a toji brainrot literally cannot stop thinking of him one upping naoya and just,, being better as a man hehe also this ones kinda looooooooong

Part 2 -> home is with you :D

“I will not repeat myself again."

With narrowed eyes, Naoya silently watched the way your eyes fell back to the ground, your head dropping into a low bow, and slowly retreating back into the hall and out of sight. But before you would leave, and for good, he heard as your faint voice called out from the short distance, before you would finally hide your face and disappear like he said to.

"Forgive me."

Your hair had fallen out from its neat bun, pieces of hair stuck out and disheveled at odd angles, some stuck to your forehead with sweat. You held onto your bottom lip, holding it in place, to stifle any more sound from coming out. And your eyes, once round and bright, had become swollen and raw. Wet and dry streaks ran down your cheeks as well, a mark of your frustration and despair.

He made a face at the unpleasant sight of it all. It was unbecoming of a woman such as yourself, that it left a foul taste in his mouth. Looking at you no longer made him puff out his chest, his head held up a little higher than before. Now, looking at you only made him angry, unsatisfied, and ashamed. He only asked that his wife served him in all ways that she should for her husband, but somehow, even you managed to fail the simplest tasks.

When you were unable to conceive, when you failed to get pregnant, he had had enough. If you could not, and would not give him a son as his heir and protege, he'd simply find someone who could.

And that's exactly what he did.

A sweet, shy girl that served below the servants had caught his eye. Once he had realized that this marriage had no longer benefited him, he made his move. This woman was a catch, everything he had wanted. He didn't need to push her, to break her into a true woman, unlike you. And most of all, he didn't have to fuck her over and over to try and knock her up, when it only took him once.

So as you cried to him, begged him not to do this, that this time, you'd finally bring him a child, your words and tears did not sway him. And when you'd finally calmed down, with no more tears to cry, did you accept it.

So as he beckoned the shy woman that hid behind his body to take her well-deserved place at his side, he didn't notice that you had already left, or the way you gazed at him from afar before rushing off to god knows where. It wasn't his concern, not anymore.

That was the last he had seen of you, at least he hoped.

Until now.

Nobody knew the truth of your sudden absence, but many speculated. Not that you cared, anyway, you were too tired to. Having lived as Naoya's wife withered you away to the bone, and there was nothing left for him pick at.

Nobody knew the truth of your sudden absence, but many speculated. Not that you cared, anyway, you were too tired to. Having lived as Naoya's wife withered you away to the bone, and there was nothing left for him pick at.

"I don't ever want to see your face again."

When you stumbled into the night, barefoot and dressed in a silk kimono, you walked until the trees leave thickened, and the growth of wild grass and berry bushes grew far and wide. The industrial world outside hadn't touched this side of the country, not yet and you hoped it would remain this way. Wildlife was scarce, but if you sat still long enough, the birds chirped, the bees hummed, and the deer crept out from the thicket.

When you stumbled into the night, barefoot and dressed in a silk kimono, you walked until the trees leave thickened, and the growth of wild grass and berry bushes grew far and wide. The industrial world outside hadn't touched this side of the country, not yet and you hoped it would remain this way. Wildlife was scarce, but if you sat still long enough, the birds chirped, the bees hummed, and the deer crept out from the thicket.

They were curious of the woman who wept beneath the konara tree.

Leaving behind the life you clung so dearly to, was no longer a nightmare you prayed to wake up from, but a breath of fresh air, and peace of mind you hadn't known you needed. You couldn't remember the last time you'd spoke above a whisper, or if you ever wore your hair in anything but in a tight bun. Now, sometimes you smiled, sang, and danced with the trees when the wind forced its branches to bend, kicking at the loose dirt and dipping your hands in the stream of the river as fish swam in a frenzy.

Having disconnected from the rest of the world. From him.

It was healing.

And it gave you hope.

But everything eventually had to come to end.

When you had woken to an unfamiliar face peering down at you, you thought how odd it all was. You should have shouted, thrashed your arms and push yourself away from his lingering gaze and run in the opposite direction. But you didn't. The two of you stared at one another, with nothing by the cool air whistling and the sound of rustling leaves.

And when his hand reached forward, did you move away, shying from his touch, tucking your face into the sleeve of your worn kimono and shutting your eyes. It was reflex, natural to be startled and you half expected to feel the cool palm prick your skin, pulling you back.

But you didn't.

"What's a pretty lady doing out here all alone." He asked. His voice was deep, vibrating against his chest, that you could have sworn that you felt it too.

You didn't breathe a word. Not when the tips of his fingers quietly coaxed you to look at him, the pads of his hands worn, calloused, and rough as they beckoned you to turn towards him. He didn't pull you, grab and manhandle you to look at him, not like Naoya.

When your eyes lifted from the forest floor, did you notice his eyes. Green, like the leaves and surrounding moss and floral around the two of you. His gaze was fierce and piercing as he studied your face, but there was something else in them, something that drew you in.

"I'm lost."

And truthfully, you were. And he smiled.

"So am I."

He breathed. His shoulders slumped, a look of somber washing over him before he was up and standing. He didn't hesitate a second before offering a hand, a finger curling towards him, telling you to take it. And ever so slowly, with a shaking hand, you allowed him to grasp your palm, pulling your body off the ground. The quick motion had you stumbling over your feet and right into his chest, but his arms caught you.

"I got you." He whispered.

And for just a moment, you could hear the thundering rhythm of his heart and steady breath as the warmth from his body spread to yours. It was foreign, something you'd forgotten what had felt like for far too long. His arms held your body up, his hands clasped at your back, holding you in place, holding you not as a toy or possession, but in a way that had you feeling grounded, secure, and safe.

It was that day, the trees you'd found comfort in wisped in the wind, as if the forest itself knew, that this was your goodbye. And you knew you'd miss it, the peace of it all, but you didn't worry. This journey hadn't come to an end quite yet.

Not when he held onto you, guiding you back down the mountain.

Onto the next chapter, towards a new beginning.

"You insolent wench." He hissed.

"After all I have given you." He stalked closer.

"You have ruined everything."

It takes everything in him not to strike her down, and she knows it. Backed into the corner of the room, Naoya takes a step back and turns to leave. He doesn't look, not even a glance when he hears the quiet thump of her knees hitting the floor, and choked sobs between her gasps of breath. But in between the short wails, does she thank him, thankful for his mercy, thankful that he choked her instead of the latter.

It's pathetic.

"Father will be here shortly. Clean yourself up." He orders.

He slides the door shut behind him, massaging the sides of his temples as he made his way down the corridor and to the front of the house. He can hear not too far, the sound of distant chatter, notably his father, Naobito. But amidst the low hum of his voice, two others joined in. This has Naoya stop just before the door. He was aware that his father was going to join him for dinner, to discuss matters in regards to alliances, as well as to prod him about his soon-to-be grandson, but he wasn't made aware that it would be open to others, besides them.

What a nuisance.

Nonetheless, he walked on, fixing the sleeves of his kimono and adjusting the collar before opening his gate.

"Naoya." Naobito greets. He doesn't nod, nor acknowledge the way his son barely looks his way, not when his eyes are locked onto the couple beside him.

"Why are they here." He says. He doesn't bite his tongue, not when his enemy and past are right at his doorstep.

His father ignores Naoya as he steps in, brushing past him and making his way into his home. And so do the two figures, their bodies shuffling together side by side. Neither of them cast a glance his way, which only pisses him off even more, but this time, he holds his tongue and shuts the door behind them.

From behind, he glares at the taller, more broad figure, his eyes watchful of the way he’d lean down and whisper something into the ear beside him, earning him a soft giggle in response. It irritates the shit out of him, but all he can do is watch.

At dinner, everyone is quiet, besides the sound of chewing and small banter. Not much is said, not enough for him to care when his father asks him about the Hei. Buts it’s when Naobito clicks his tongue and nods to the woman at his side, acknowledging her presence but not ignoring the way she hid herself underneath his gaze. His father wasn’t a stupid man, nor was he a fool. He could tell that when his eyes lingered longer at her waist and looked to Naoya, that he knew. At least he had the decency to not mention it now, not while they were in front of them.

His eyes looked away, down at his plate, and then back up at the figure sat across from him. He doesn’t hide the way he stares, the way his hands clench and unclench when he looks at the man beside them, his jaw unconsciously tensing when that man meets his eye. Or the way her eyes finally look up, and stare back at him, her lips parting in a soft breath.

He sees it, the movement to shy away from his glare but somehow, you stand your ground. He can see the way you’ve fought back the urge to drop you head. It makes his chest swell, happy that you still haven’t forgotten him, that some of your mannerisms hadn’t all been washed away by his cousin. But there’s this burning itch to smack that look off your face and remind you of your place.

But he doesn’t. He can’t.

You’re not his. Not anymore.

He can hear his father ramble, not too much, but mostly about the area and something about some thing. He can’t quite remember, not when his focus is on you, his eyes trained on the bulge beneath your kimono. The way the material stretches across, a slight sheen and green floral pattern weaved into the obi that held you altogether. It's distracting, and he finds its repulsive, yet, he can't pry his eyes away.

You’re pregnant.

Very pregnant.

And Naoya was not the father.

That thought alone has him looking back at the man at your side, Toji, who held a lax arm around your waist, your flush pulled to his side and hand on top of your stomach. It’s his own way of taunting him, holding out the prize in his hand that he will never reach. Saying, to his face.

“Look at me. Look at her. Look at what you failed to do. But I didn’t. I, didn’t.”

And when dinner is over, Naoya walked them to the gate of his home. You and Toji strolled past him, barely acknowledging him except for a slight nod as you two walked along the stone path outside. His father, on the other hand, hangs back, his eyes watching you, the same as Naoya.

“She can carry.” He says.

There is an edge to his voice, something that threatens him without actually threatening him. It has Naoya glancing to the man beside, giving him a nod, followed by a huff.

“And she cannot.”

He knows he knows. And now, he doesn’t try to hide it.

“She lost it.” Naoya snaps. Not intentionally, but the pressure of it all has him on his toes and frustrated, which his father can see. He's not oblivious to his situation, in fact, he's just as frustrated. When his son had come to him with another woman, promising his father that this one would bear him a son, an heir, he permitted him to marry, again. She looked promising after all, such a shame that it had come to this.

“Perhaps it is you, who has lost it.” Naobito says, and before he can give an answer, anything, he’s walking off and away from Naoya. He stands at the gate, watching his figure, and then to yours. Underneath the trees of his estate, you admired the flowers beneath the branches. He watched the way you touched the petals ever so softly, and as he did, the emptiness within his chest became apparent when his eyes fell to the outline of your bump.

Toji caressed your belly, his hand wrapped atop of it as the other held onto your lower back. His eyes gazed down at you, softer than Naoya had ever seen before. He didn’t understand his cousin, the way a man as powerful as him could allow a woman to soothe him into a tame beast. He knew that if it weren't for your presence tonight, Naoya and Toji would have jumped on one another the moment he opened that gate. But he didn't.

He continues to watch from afar until you're drifting further and further away, arm in arm with Toji until he can no longer hear the way you laugh or see the way you smile. It's strange to see you this way, and it has him thinking if you ever smiled when you were his. When he finally returns indoors, Naoya can't help but think to himself.

Since the beginning, you struggled to accept him the moment he wed you. His wife now had successfully carried until recently. He remembers the night it happened, waking up to her scream, pulling back the sheets, and seeing the blood between her legs. A miscarriage. At the time, he couldn't fathom why. She was perfectly healthy, and so were you.

He believed that you couldn't carry, but seeing you now, has proved him wrong. You could get pregnant, and you did, only now you carried Toji Fushiguros child, not his.

Naoya can picture the fullness of your figure, swollen and glowing. There was a gentle air that followed you, your lips plumper and face softer than he remembered. Toji, too. He can't recall when he ever smiled or relaxed his face. He always wore that awful scowl. But now, he held you like a fragile lily, those rough hands that have taken more lives than he can count held onto you with a feeling Naoya didn't get. He didn't know that what he lacked, what he failed, was to nurture and love you.

It never had anything to do with your fertility. To put it simply, you couldn't and wouldn't carry Naoya's child. But for Toji, you did. And he saw that, he understood.

That, that is where he had lost you.

Because he never had you to begin with.

#jujustu kaisen #jujustu kaisen x reader #jjk #naoya #zenin naoya #jjk naoya #jujutsu kaisen naoya #naoya zenin #naoya x reader #toji #toji fushiguro #fushiguro toji #jjk toji #jujustu kaisen toji #toji x reader #jjk angst #jjk fluff

[gotnofucks]

Say, Mob!Steve or just dark!Steve takes the reader and at first it's all brutal but then he falls for her. How do you think she would react when his love triggers her own feelings? Loving someone who hurt you 👀

Title: Condemned to Him

Pairing: soft!dark!Steve x Reader

Summary: It’s hard to love someone you were meant to hate. But Steve doesn’t care, and he will have your love no matter how much you deny it.

Words: 1.8k

Warnings: Hate sex, smut, past non-con mentioned, kidnapping implied, dubious consent, possessiveness, implied forced marriage, mentions of violence and guns, angst, reader in third person pov, 18+ ONLY

A/N: I have never written from a character’s first person pov before, and phew, it is was a little much. For all those waiting for my Halloween fics, I am afraid you’re gonna have to wait longer. I lost my muse there for a while.

My mother told me that death is the ultimate peace. Everyone dies, one day so will I, but until the time that never ending embrace came for me, I lived my life with little regrets. At lease I did, as of a couple months ago. Now I stare at her, watching the way she dipped her pinky into the ketchup only to lick it, sometimes tracing random swirls with it on her plate. She hasn’t looked at me, not once in nearly two weeks.

I think again that my mother was a wise woman, but she never thought I’d be stupid enough to die this way. Because that is what she does to me. She is killing me, every damn day, a tiny bit everyday the more she stays silent, the more she refuses to meet my eyes. It’s ironically fitting. There is no peace in my life without her, and she is the one who would bring me death. I won’t get peace in death; I will get death by peace.

“I can cook you something else if you don’t like this.” I said, trying once more to get her attention. She doesn’t even react. I know she hates what is on her plate, but she pointedly picked up her spoon and took in a mouthful. Right now, I feel as if she’d rather drink poison than look at me.

Sighing, I try to reach across the table to her, my hand an inch away from hers when she quickly got up and dumped her leftovers in the trash, walking away without a look behind her back. No one shows me their back, not unless they want a bullet in it. She doesn’t care. She doesn’t fear me anymore.

If there is one thing she knows, it is that I will not hurt her. Never again, not after I lost my heart to her so tragically that Shakespeare would pay me good money to have an opportunity to write about it.

Give her space, that is what they told me. But space from what? How? I cannot stop loving her, I cannot stop myself from crawling in the bed beside her, staring at her face bathed in moonlight. She can hate me, she can even kill me, but she cannot leave me. I wouldn’t let her.

My fingers slide slowly over the few inches that separate us, gently landing on her shoulder. She was awake, I knew she was, and her body became rigid. It had been more than a month since I fucked her, nearly two weeks since I last touched her. With the way her skin came alive with goose bumps, I know she missed my touch too. If I was a slave to my heart, she was a slave to her body. She couldn’t help craving my touch any more than I could stop craving her heart.

I pulled her close, rolling on top of her and groaning quietly at her eyes that lay stubbornly closed. My lips press softly against one, and then the other, feeling her eyelashes fluttering against my mouth. Her breath hitched, fingers twisting into the sheets, and I cursed her for keeping herself from me. She wants me, and I am here to give her everything.

Please God, just let her look at me.

I kiss down her face, tracing the curve of her shoulder and neck and the soft swell of her chest, reveling in the softest whines she let escape. Her body was clenched tight, like a snake coiled tight and ready to attack only she relaxed with every touch of my lips. I pushed away the flimsy robe from her body, the one she still wore to bed. Maybe it was habit, most probably it was torture. I could see her, but I couldn’t touch her. Couldn’t taste her.

But she didn’t stop me today. I bathed her in my tongue, relishing her taste and feel, fingers digging into her flesh to reclaim the body that I had stolen. I wasn’t gentle the first night I took her. She had cried under me, pleading to be let go as I satiated my appetite inside her. She didn’t want me then, and I didn’t love her then. But now, she wanted me, and I loved her. But there was only silence.

Please God, just let her say my name.

The moment I entered her, her eyes snapped open and she raised them heavenwards to glare at the monster up there, probably telling him to fuck off for letting me get to her. I filled her perfectly, and her hands twitched until she lost the battle and wrapped them around me. Her neck was tilted to stop the temptation of facing me. And I let her have her dignity by burying my face in her breast and breathing hard as I thrust inside her.

It was so gentle, and I knew she hated it. Her entire body trembled as I touched her like a lover, coaxing her to open up. She once told me that she’d rather take my bullet than my heart, but I was a man rarely denied. I forced her to take my love, forced it into the marks of my teeth that littered her collar bone and the mouth hands that worshiped her and the lips that formed her name with every passing second.

She was close, I could tell. Her thighs shook and nails dug hard into my shoulders and the moment she came, I knew what would happen. Love was about letting go, about relaxing in its embrace. She snapped. Her eyes flew to mine and filled with rage, and she clawed like a tigress. I was prepared for her fight, prepared to see her eyes narrowed in hatred and I reveled in it.

I could take her bitterness; I could take every scar she ever gave me as long at those eyes were locked with mine in the battle of wills and hearts. She cried, fighting hard the way she knows I like, and my lips curled into a smile, hips hammering harder, causing her to wince and curse but retaliate with more vigor. The ring on her hand, the one I had forced there, cut across my cheek as she slapped me, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

Let her cut me open and wring me dry of the last drop of blood as long as she was mine. As long as she stayed under me like this and called me words that no one dared say to me at my face. I held her strong, fucking her so hard that I know she hurt for real. But the tears that slipped past her eyes weren’t those of physically agony. When I had stolen her body, she used to cry with pain. Now that I am stealing her soul, she cries because of loss.

I am as battered as her abused hole, her fingers tangled in my hair that she tried best to uproot. But as angry as she was, the wetness that slicked between her legs gave her away. She didn’t stop me. She hurt me, but she didn’t stop me. One word from her and I would have. Between us, she has all the power, but she takes my lust and my need and my love and throws back her anger and disgust at me, poorly concealing the feelings that she reciprocated inside her very being.

I pitied her then, because I would hate it too if my captor turned out to be my pardoner, if the villain I was sworn to hate wore a shining armour and became my hero. I made her fall for me, and she could hate me for it, but she would still love me. I made sure of it.

The moment she begins to close her eyes I grab her face hard, grunting as I pushed into her struggling body with enough force to bruise both of us. Our hearts were already broken, so some bones wouldn’t hurt as much.

“Don’t look away. Not now.”

I am begging, pleading, ordering, praying, everything and nothing as she looks at me and falls apart. I push away as she arches her back and shakes in pleasure, my mouth finding her cunt and diving in until her shrieks are heard by God and Satan and angels and demons who all stop to watch us burn. My tongue sweeps inside and flicks until she cums again, trying to pull away from my mouth unsuccessfully that keeps up until she is sobbing and cuming once more.

She lays limp on her bed, the fight fucked out of her as I enter her once more and take her harder and faster and with more love than either of us knows what to do with. I release inside, marking her as mine and holding her close, ignoring the blood that leaks down the cuts that she inflicted on me. I would put a dagger in my own heart to see her smile.

Please God, let her smile again.

“Steve.” She says, and my heart freezes before burning again because I never thought she would say my name again. It tastes like poison to her, and she only spits it out. But now, she sobs. “Why cannot you let me hate you in peace?”

I want to. I want to give her everything she ever wants. I want to give her my gun and ask her to point it at me and end her suffering. Mine too. But I love her so much. And I love her so selfishly. She was mine, and her every breath was mine. We could spend the rest of our lives fighting, with her clawing at me and me chasing her when she tries to run, but we will spend it together.

Because she was here to stay. She was my heart. My true heart. The one inside my chest could shrivel up and die but she would live and beat and thrive, and as long as she did, so would I. I didn’t know how to leave her alone.

“I will let you strangle me right now.” I promise her, pulling her broken body close. “I would let you take out the last dregs of your hate and rage on me, right here, right now, if you promise to love and mourn me for the rest of your life. For your love, I would die.”

This night, she doesn’t sleep with her back to me. Her head is on my chest, and I wonder what she is thinking. Maybe counting my heartbeats. Or maybe contemplating how to stop them.

I don’t care. As long as she is mine, as long as I have her here with me, I will survive.

#soft!dark steve x reader #dark!steve x reader #soft!dark steve #steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark fic #steve x reader

[yesimwriting]

Hello! Your Nikolai fic tranquility is so beautiful! Can you write more for Nikolai? Maybe the opposite with reader having a nightmare? Or whatever you want just please give me more! If you have a tagging list I'd love to be included btw :)

A/n hii!! first off,, thank you! i was a little nervous about writing him for the first time,, but i love him so much (even though i love a good villain/morally grey character in love i think nikolai would probably make the least toxic bf in the grishaverse lol)

you gave me a little too much freedom here lol bc i have so many ideas for him!! lowkey might need to give him a longer fic/series soon when i catch up with requests!! WOW THIS FIC IS SO LONG AND FOR WHAT

Summary: Reader is a handmaid who has grown up assisting Nikolai. Through the years, the two have developed a special relationship that most definitely breaks royal protocol--they’re best friends and rivals on a good day, and dangerously close to being something more the second either of them is remotely upset or extremely happy. Learning about the fact that Nikolai was almost engaged to Alina (a good friend of yours) and being reminded of the fact that as royalty Nikolai has many prospects (both serious women worthy of his title and women only suitable for trysts meant to relieve tension) has you both realizing something you should have years ago.

Word count: 31210

Warnings: disclaimer--may not be the most cannon thing ever,, but i wanted the ‘child of the help competes and falls in love with the child of royalty’ energy okay?? Lol

I could do a whole blurb series with this dynamic nikolai x reader,, like just stories of them growing up together and randomly realizing they might like each other romantically?? I probably shouldn’t rn but i ADORE this trope.

--

The perfection of the room is disappointing. Idle hands, idle thoughts--so I work to smooth out a perfect duvet. Still, the thoughts come--aggressive and unavoidable. It’s silly, maybe even sad, to feel possessive over something that’s never been yours, something that could never be yours, but the harder I fight off the feeling the stronger it grows. Jealousy is a weed growing quickly in my chest, vile roots planted firmly in my heart.

Normally my favorite part of the day would be waiting for Nikolai to return to his room in the palace after dinner and his evening duties. He’s always a bit softer in the evenings, during my last check-in of the day. I’m normally thrilled to be done organizing his room early because that means the second he arrives there will be no distraction. Most evenings, he’ll find me perched in the seat by his bed, reading. He’ll mock-scold me for daring to defy his orders and reading ahead from the book we both take turns reading aloud from each night. He then warns me that I better react exactly the way I did when I first read it or else. That threat is always followed by a gentle laugh.

Tonight I’m in no mood for our nightly banter or even our nightly reading. My mother had warned me of the dangers of getting too comfortable with the royal family. I should have heeded that warning when she first gave it to me, the morning she found Nikolai and I fast asleep on a couch in the library as children. The palace likes to bring up the children of the staff by training them to attend to the next generation of royals. It makes the staff more efficient, a lifetime of knowing what someone wants makes you better for them. It also creates some level of connection, making betrayal a little less likely. Nikolai and I might have taken it farther than most. But now I want a reminder of the way we’re supposed to be--maybe if I detach now the bleeding of my heart won’t kill me. That has to remain secret, because if I explain it to Nikolai something in me will break. The one line between us will be crossed.

This will be the sixth secret I’ve kept from Nikolai in my entire life.

--

The secrets:

I don’t know why I was picked for Nikolai. I wasn’t particularly skilled, but still, the day came when my mother was told that I now worked directly for the Lantsov boy. It’s an honor, a true one, but my mother had been a little nervous. To whom much is given, much is expected--and I detested Nikolai. Not for being a prince, but for being a prince who thought girls couldn’t race or fight.

The day my mother came looking for me because I never showed up for dinner and she found Nikolai and I attempting to fight in the way only a ten-year-old girl and eleven-year-old boy would, she had looked truly mortified. Nikolai had only laughed, either oblivious to my mother’s embarrassment or uncaring about it. He had then hugged me--an expression of care that had left me reeling. I saw him more as a rival than someone to tend to, but in that moment I saw him as a friend. Even more so when he told me he didn’t want me to go yet and that he was upset that so much of the day had been wasted by studies that kept him with boring people and away from me. And then he invited me to his lessons--my mother was quick to attempt to decline politely, but the desires of a prince at any age outweigh that of a mother.

After that, everyone kind of just stopped trying to remind us of our propriety. The tutor at first was concerned about my presence, but Nikolai remained stubborn. I wasn’t a big enough deal to cause an argument, so I began to attend lessons with him almost every day, only staying away when my mother needed aid with laundry or cleaning. His parents must have been somewhat aware of our friendship, but they must have been oblivious to our closeness because it was never mentioned.

My mother’s worry began to ease, she’d even started to take some pride when I’d come to our room proudly proclaiming that I scored two marks higher than Nikolai. She did, however, warn that it might be more tactful to let him score higher.

The comment was casual, just a suggestion, but it left me feeling wrong. It was the first time since we met that I had thought about our different statuses. I didn’t tell him--and that was the first secret I ever kept from him.

As we grew, we traded physical competition for academic rivalry, trying to best each other in both lessons and games of strategy like chess and cards. But with growing comes responsibility. Nikolai started to have obligations that were meant to be private. I couldn’t follow him at all times. But he’d always come back from locked door meetings grinning like he carried schoolyard gossip instead of government secrets. He shared everything with me, even when I playfully warned against it.

He’d always step closer when I teased that perhaps he shouldn’t tell me everything. And then he’d say, “If I can’t trust you, then I can’t trust anyone--and I don’t want to live in a world like that.” Often, he’d give my hand a light squeeze before moving on like he had not said anything intimate.

On a day in which Nikolai was in one of those meetings, I became a woman. When I first saw the blood, I had been horrified--but my mother was quick to explain that it was natural. She said that I was now a woman, a wonderful thing, really--but a thing that came with obligations. She told me that I could no longer have the impromptu ‘sleepovers’ with Nikolai unless he ordered it. I told her he’s never ordered me to do anything for him.

She didn’t ease, something in her had started to become nervous again. My mother had recently started to act the way she did when Nikolai and I first became friends. I didn’t want to fall asleep in Nikolai’s bed while I was bleeding, but I didn’t want to never have another sleepover with him again. Especially not when she refused to explain why being a woman changed so much.

I had decided to avoid Nikolai as much as possible until the sting of my mother’s new rule faded. Unfortunately, that night Nikolai was extra talkative--excited as he insisted I stay for a little longer. Soon, I found his familiar good naturedness melting away my nerves and before I knew it I was laughing in the middle of the night. When my eyelids started to feel heavy, I had moved from the chair, ready to head back to my room.

Nikolai had looked at me oddly before he asked why would I leave so late when it would be easier for me to just sleepover? It was an innocent question, he did not know about my change and I had wanted to keep it that way.

I tried playing coy, but Nikolai has always had a talent for getting around my better judgement. I don’t recall exactly how it happened, but I remember him standing in front of me. It was the first time I noticed how much had actually changed over the years--he was now taller than me for the first time in his life. His hair had started to grow a little longer, golden and soft-looking--and his face seemed much more angular. But he had not lost his boyish charm.

“Y/n?” My name fell softly from his lips, and that was the first time I had ever noted the fullness of them. I didn’t understand why I considered that something worth noting. “Did I do something to make you mad at me?”

Perhaps I had been a little curt--nerves and hormones had left me not feeling like myself. I didn’t tell him about the bleeding, I couldn’t. That became the second secret I kept from him--but I did tell him that my mother had told me I was a woman now, and that women can’t have sleepovers. Not with those of the opposite gender. I made no effort to hide my confusion because I expected him to be as perplexed as I was. But he was not confused--in fact, he had the audacity to laugh. My face flushed, but I did not know why.

“Why is that funny?” Maybe he thought I was still too much of a child to be considered a woman. I assumed it a fair assumption, I had not grown the way he had--my shoulders had not become sturdier and I had not become particularly broader. Still, I would rather melt into the floor than tell him about the reason my mother now considered me a woman. “My mother did say that, and I don’t know what being a ‘woman’ has to do with staying in your room at night.” Something strange had crossed over his features then, something much more brooding than I was used to.

I had blinked at him as unexplained nerves pooled in my stomach. Perhaps that look would have been enough to keep me silent if he had managed to not grin. That self-assured grin that had always challenged me. “Well since you know everything about my mother now, maybe you can tell me why she’s been acting strange. She’s starting to act the way she did when we first became friends.” I expected him to at least pretend to be worried. Perhaps his parents had spoken to her and had mentioned wanting our friendship to end. But his grin had only grown. Pride left me angry. “She did say that I could stay if you ordered it--but I’m glad you’ve never ordered me to do anything, so I can leave right now because you’re acting as odd as her. I don’t understand what you could find funny about our friendship ending.”

He had stopped me from storming out of his room by placing one hand on the wall between me and the door. “Y/n, don’t be cross--I’ll explain it all, I promise.” Angry pride made me want to storm away from him, but curiosity and something unknown and warm kept me in place. “Do you remember when we read the play about the rival families, how the two main characters had kissed?”

I remembered that part of the play especially well. The concept of kissing so casually, outside of marriage, had been jarring to me. “Yes.”

“Now that we’re older, your mother must be worried that we might do that.” He paused before leaning against the arm he placed on the wall to keep me from leaving a little more. “Kiss.”

The clarification was not needed--in that brief pause, I had allowed myself to imagine no distance between our lips. Something in me burned with embarrassment when I realized that some part of me found the thought appealing. The only thing I wanted in that moment was assurance that Nikolai would never know I felt that. That was my third secret, and the weight of it was heavy against my chest.

Still, though, all of my confusion had not yet left. “Is there much harm in a kiss?”

The question had left an odd smile on his lips. “There’s potential harm in what it could lead to for the woman, but not so much for the man.” He exhaled slowly as my face tensed. He could always read me too well because he was quick to add, “What it could lead to isn’t a bad thing, it’s meant to be pleasurable, but it’s serious.” I did not understand, but a part of me was starting to grow okay with that. Nikolai’s voice had started to become lower than ever, and his gaze remained tense. Perhaps if I accepted the confusion for now, things could go back to normal. If the conversation ended, I could stop thinking of his lips and his hands and what it would mean for them to touch me. “It’s considered a vice, like drinking or gambling.” The additional comment helped more than it should have. A vice--not scary and not painful, but not something to indulge in. That’s enough explanation for now. “If you want to know, I won’t deny you.”

I appreciated the offer tremendously. The vice that comes after kissing is clearly something that’s been intentionally kept from me. It’s something he was privy to that I was not, and he offered it to me like so much else. But if knowledge that my mother feared us kissing made me think of his lips, then I doubted I could handle knowing what comes after kissing.

“I’ll let you know when I want to know, but I appreciate the offer.” It felt like a fair response. His snarky grin came back immediately. Irritation rooted itself in my stomach. I hated not knowing more than him for once, but I still had one question I could not relinquish. “But what does that vice have to do with orders?”

At that, his smugness faltered. “It’s not unheard of, for princes and handmaids--for a prince to obligate a handmaid in order to fulfill his vice. Though many handmaids fill the vice of their own will for benefits.

The explanation left him like a confession. I didn’t understand his hesitance--it’s not like he’d ever make me do anything I didn’t want to do. Even when I worked, he was hesitant to ask me to go out of my way to bring him a glass of water. And I couldn’t imagine gaining anything from offering Nikolai something I didn’t really understand. I wasn’t naive to the fact that my life had more privileges than many palace servants. “Oh.”

His eyes hardened. “You know I’d never--”

“I know.” It was finally easy to smile again. “I never thought otherwise.” Something in him seemed to ease at that, his eyes went from hard to warm in less than a second.

I had no more questions for him and I was also no longer a flight risk, but Nikolai did not move. He did not step back to create a more appropriate distance and he did not drop his arm. His gaze, however, did move--dropping downwards, and slightly away from my eyes. I did the same, my eyes falling to his lips.

The silence between us began to make me feel like something in me was in danger of overflowing. “Then I guess my mother is once again worrying for no reason.” Strangely, I did not feel the need to feel embarrassed about staring at his lips. “Because I would never particularly want to kiss you, Nikolai Lantsov.”

The comment was meant to be teasing, a joke to clear away unknown tension. I should have known better than to challenge his pride because he instinctually moved his hand off the wall and beneath my chin. I did not flinch when he tilted my head upwards slightly with his fingers. “I could get you to want to kiss me if I wanted to.”

Three secrets in one night. I did not think I could bear a fourth one. “Hm…” The ground we treaded on felt unstable, but something in me trusted Nikolai to not let me falter. “I should--I should go before I give my mother anymore cause to worry.”

His fingers had brushed down my chin easily as he dropped his hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

And that he did. The days passed without mention of the last time he asked me to sleepover. It was as if nothing had changed except now I found myself noting things I most definitely did not want to note. These didn’t feel like individual secrets because it felt easy to group each admirational thought into one secret. Soon, that became my new normal--easy banter, easy touches of hands, and easy yet silent admirations of his beauty.

I never wandered too hard about what the vice that kissing can lead to entailed. I didn't particularly want to know, but knowing that I could ask Nikolai at any time brought a sense of security to me. But besides that, I never thought of that conversation until the day I was asked to look for Nikolai because he was late for dinner.

That in itself was odd, most of the time when Nikolai was late it was because he was with you. I checked his room, two other rooms he was known to frequent, and then finally the library. First, I noticed a handmaid two years older than me. I was finally at an age when one begins to compare their beauty to those around them, and I recognized the girl as gorgeous. She was better endowed than me, physically, and she always seemed fun. And then I noticed Nikolai, standing closer to her than I’ve ever seen him stand to anyone. His expression was serious as the girl giggled.

Nikolai’s expression shifted from tense to shocked when he saw me. “Y/n.”

It took me a moment longer than it should have to realize what I had interrupted. Guilt and jealousy were quick to twist in my stomach. “Dinner--your parents sent me to look for you.”

He was quick to walk around the girl, who was quick to glare at me. I attempted to disappear down the hall after mumbling a quick apology, but Nikolai was faster than me.

“Y/n,” he did not hesitate to grab my wrist.

It shouldn’t have irked me the way it did, after all, neither of us had ever really hesitated to touch each other. I had always reached for him when I wanted him, and he had done the same. But the thought of the same hands that touched the most beautiful girl I had ever seen on me left me bitter in a way I didn’t understand.

Still, I pushed through all of that. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything, your mother asked me to look for you because she assumed you’d be with me when you were late to dinner. I didn’t think that there’d be--”

“You didn’t interrupt anything.” The words came out flat as his eyes took on the same quality they did the night he explained my mother’s concern to me. “Valaria wishes there was something to interrupt, but there wasn’t.”

Oh. I refused to let the correction inflate me. “Would you like me to not come to your room tonight?”

The offer felt awkward to make. “No,” the answer came quickly, “In fact, go there now--I want to see you right after dinner. I’ve missed you today.” The instruction left my face feeling warm. “We could read an extra chapter of our book if you’d like.”

Despite myself, I grinned. “Yes.”

“Looking forward to it.”

True to his word, Nikolai was quick to return to his room. He had come back to me eagerly, going out of his way to squeeze my shoulder as he entered the room.

I opened the book to the chapter we had left off on, but before I could start reading, Nikolai stopped me. “Sit next to me?”

The question came softly. It had been some time since we sat next to each other on his bed. Still, I moved off of the chair and to his bed. Something in me longed for the familiar closeness of childhood. I allowed him to play with my fingers as I read.

“You know you could take one night off from me if you wanted to.” The admission left me softly, part of unsure if he was still paying attention to my words. “She was pretty, it wouldn’t have hurt my feelings if you told me you wanted me to not come tonight.”

Nikolai exhaled easily, squeezing my fingers once. “I said I wanted to see you and I meant it.”

It took all of my energy to push past the way his words made my stomach leap. “In general, if you ever--”

Nikolai cut me off by laying his head on my lap the way he used to. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” It was the first time in years that he spoke to me in a way that acknowledged his authority. “Keep reading please.”

And that was the last time we had ever mentioned other handmaids in that context. The fifth secret I ever kept from him was the way I worried that one day that would change.

--

The door creaks open while I’m in the middle of fluffing an already pristine pillow. Nikolai steps into the room, but I continue to work.

“Darling,” he breathes too easily, “Today has been painful.” I straighten, looking at him as casually as I can manage. “And now I have to deal with you being mad at me.”

Damn him and his ability to read me with one look. “I’m not mad.”

“You know you can’t lie to me,” he sighs, stepping forward, “We’ve known each other too long for that.”

I press my lips together, irrational anger pushing itself into me at an odd angle. “We’ve also known each other too long to keep secrets.”

His eyebrows draw together, a look so quizzical I’m reminded of our schooling days. “What secrets have I kept from you?”

Mentioning that had been a mistake. I exhale as flatly as possible. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.” My dismissal only has Nikolai’s expression hardening. I drop my gaze. “Unless you need something, I’m retiring my services for the evening.”

I take a reluctant step towards the door, eyes attached to the floor. “Y/n,” his voice is gentle. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing, I’m just tired.” Please let that be at least somewhat believable. “I’m sure I’ll feel more like myself in the morning.” I take another step, a little more assured. Nikolai’s hand is on my shoulder before I can escape. “Nikolai--”

“Y/n,” his voice is that of velvet, “I can’t have you be mad at me. Not now.”

Sighing, I meet his gaze. The tiredness I see behind his eyes is almost enough to chase away my nerve. What I’d give to be able to melt into our familiar routine. “Then you should have told me you were almost engaged to a literal Saint--the same literal Saint who’s one of my closest friends.”

Nikolai’s expression shifts as his hand drops from my shoulder slowly, fingers brushing down my arm before he finally intertwines our fingers. I bite my tongue to avoid squeezing his hand, but I don’t move to separate us either. He studies me silently, eyebrows drawn together. The longer he stares, the more whatever turmoil he’s experiencing seems to dissipate. After a minute of silence, I can read his expression perfectly. His lips are pressed together in that coy way--the way he only looks when he’s suppressing a smile.

I loathe him for it. “Nikolai Lantsov, don’t you dare laugh--not after what you did. Do you have any idea what it felt like to have Alina casually mention the fact that you almost married her casually? Like that was common knowledge to everyone but me?”

My words break away the last of his self control. He grins, flashing his annoyingly perfect teeth. “Do you have any idea what it feels like for me to want nothing more than to see you and then you let me believe something may actually be wrong when the only issue is your jealousy?”

The amusement in his tone is like poison to me. I find the strength to jerk my hand away from him. “I am not jealous.” He laughs; I am further enraged. “I am not.” The genuineness of my anger must finally register on some level, because he tries to suppress his smile. “I have every right to be mad at my best friend for not telling me that he was almost married.”

“We didn’t exactly come close,” he manages, expression still much too light for my taste. “I’m glad for Alina’s sake, I’m not sure being a Saint would be enough to protect her.”

He is infuriating. “I’m not sure anything you have will be enough to protect you.”

Something in his gaze shifts, softening the tilt of his mouth. “I don’t doubt that.”

I don’t know what I expected from him--but not this. I thought he’d be at least somewhat apologetic. “You should have told me.”

“I would have if I felt it was significant.”

“I’m your best friend--your marriage is significant to me. And even though it’s not like you’re engaged to her right now, you should have told me. You know I talk to Alina all the time.”

He sighs once, a hint of apology threatening to ghost over his eyes. “If I knew not knowing would have upset you so much I would have told you. I was--I was just so excited to be around you again I didn’t see much relevance in anything that didn’t involve you.”

The intensity that Nikolai regards me with is enough to wither all of my fury. But without my anger, I am left spiraling in emotion that I’ve been pushing against for years. My mother’s warning about relationships with those above us rings in my ears--sharp and headache inducing. I am still when he reaches for my hand again, but I do no allow myself to return the gentle squeeze of his fingers.

“I’m not sure much outside of you has significance.” He’s giving me a look I am familiar with. A look he often uses to chase away my anger.

Without my anger, I have nothing to keep me from melting into him, indulging in his presence fully. It’s so easy with him and I blinded myself to the danger of that. He may not be marrying Alina, but one day he will marry someone. A person worthy of his status--and what would I be left doing? Washing their laundry? Tearing up when I dusted the library and came across a book we had read together? Enough damage has already been done--I need to cut myself with this blade now in hopes of making sure I can one day recover.

He will get married one day, and nothing will be the same. And that’s a good thing--he deserves the love of a princess or queen. I want his happiness, even if it’s not with me. But some vindictive part of me hopes that some part of him will miss me. That some part of him will be dulled without me.

I’m a fool--he will remember me as the handmaid from his youth. The girl who made him laugh once or twice before he grew up. I force my hand out of his grasp. “You can’t win me over with words every time.” I need to get out of here before he says something that makes me lose all resolve. “Tomorrow morning I’ll be here to prepare you for breakfast.”

“Y/n.”

I step forward, refusing to look at him. “Goodnight.”

He sighs, his hand quick to grab my arm. Before I can question him I feel myself pulled back. I expect him to pull me just close enough so that I have to meet his gaze. He continues, pulling me sharply before placing a quick hand on my shoulder, forcing me down. My back hits his bed.

I sit up as soon as the reality of what just happened seeps into my mind. “Nikolai, what in the Saints--”

“If you’re going to act like a child, I’m going to treat you like one.”

I scoff, thoughts of escaping him put on hold by the principle of pride. Fine. I’ll beat him one last time, and then I’ll let us separate. I shove him. He laughs--of course this is funny to him. He got to keep fighting past the age of about eleven. His laughter adds to my anger, I move to shove him again, but he catches my wrist easily. I struggle against his hold, shoving him a third time with my still free hand. He pushes me slightly. That’s all it takes to unleash familiar habits.

Our small fight is hardly fair. He has all the advantage--more training, and he’s standing above me. When I finally make a move that might give me some success, Nikolai leans forward. He practically tackles me, his weight forcing me flat against the bed.

I move an arm, ready to push him off of me. Nikolai snags my wrists, holding them above my head. “This means I win.” I roll my eyes, anger returning.

“Let me go.”

He sighs tiredly, but the smugness radiating off of him is suffocating. “Admit that you were jealous.”

There are a lot of things I am willing to do for him--but never that. I cannot give him the one separation I still have. “I wasn’t.”

“Then why are you mad?”

I press my lips together. “I told you--”

“Do you really think you could lie to me?”

“You don’t know me that well.”

Nikolai moves his freehand, touching my chin as a way to ask me to look at him. I meet his gaze hesitantly. “Yes, I do, and that’s never bothered you before but it does now.”

Maybe this is a conversation better had bluntly. “It bothers me now because you’re too old to hold onto the daughter of a palace handmaid and I’m too old to pretend that our different statuses don’t matter.”

“Y/n,” he breathes, “Nothing’s changed. Status didn’t matter to me when we were children, and it doesn’t matter to me now.”

“You can afford to say things like that.”

“What good is my title if it means I can’t,” he pauses, eyes hesitant, “If I can’t keep things the same between us?”

I smile, the sadness of the look weighs on me and I can’t even see it. “Nikolai, you always knew things would change.”

“No, I--”

“You can’t tell me you think your future wife would like you having such a close relationship with a handmaid.” I press my lips together. “One day you’ll fall in love and get married and you’ll want me to leave your bedchamber as soon as dinner is over because you’ll be eager to spend time with your wife.” His gaze hardens. “And that’s not a bad thing. It’s actually a really good thi--”

The last syllable of my sentence dies in my throat. Nikolai, who must be possessed by something, leans down and presses his lips against mine. I beg myself to resist, but his gentleness is everything I’ve ever wanted. He releases my hands in favor of holding my face. That’s all it takes--my hands move without my permission, into his hair--pulling him closer to me. What am I doing? I’m insane. Placing my hands on his chest cautiously, I push just slightly. He’s quick to obey, pulling away while allowing his teeth to brush against my bottom lip.

I gape at him--taking in his now slightly swollen lips. “Nikolai.” He can’t do this to me. We’re friends. Despite the fact that I’ve loved him more than I should--we’re friends. “You’re being extremely unfair.”

He draws his eyebrows together, sitting up quickly and moving off of me. “I’m being unfair? I have spent my entire life loving y--”

I sit up, furious in a new way. “You have not!” This is the dumbest I have ever been. I move to stand, still feeling the softness of his lips against mine.

“Your tooth fell out.” The sharpness of his words forces me to still.

“What?”

I can’t bring myself to turn and look at him, but I’ve always been able to feel any heaviness he bears. The weight of it leaves little room for air in my lungs. “You were ten. I told you ‘girls couldn’t fight’ so you punched me in the face. That was the first time we ever fought--I didn’t mean to hit you in the face, but you moved. You moved and I hit you in the mouth and your last baby tooth fell out. I expected you to cry or get angry, but you just blinked at me and laughed. You were happy to lose your last baby tooth because it meant you were grown up. And then you smiled and asked me if you looked older. If anything, the gap in your smile made you look younger but I told you that you looked like a grown-up because I wanted you to keep smiling. Because your smile made me feel like I won something.” I turn on my heels, but I cannot meet his gaze. “That was the moment I fell in love with you--so don’t tell me I haven’t spent my entire life loving you.”

The weight of his words is harder to survive against than the heaviness of his feelings. “Nikolai, you know we can’t ever be together--”

“Why not?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” I manage, voice low, “You almost married the Sun Summoner--”

“That was political--”

“Exactly, your marriage is meant to be political, and if it happens to be out of love--which is what I hope you get, because it is what you deserve--it will be to someone of status.”

Nikolai stands, the movement is that of a king, not the boy I know. “I do not want status or to love someone else--I want you.”

“I can’t take that from you--”

“You can’t take anything from me because I’ve already given it all to you.”

I press my lips together, heart tearing for him. “I love you too much to ruin you.”

My words seem to snap something in him because his eyes darken, the way he watches me adjusting accordingly. “You can’t ruin something that’s always been yours.”

I let myself smile. At him. At his words. At the foolish hope the child in me has clung to after all of these years. I reach for him thoughtlessly, because I have the right to. Because I’ve always had the right to. He’s quick to respond, kissing me with much more security than before.

This time, he pulls away of his own regard. “You still haven’t admitted that you were jealous.”

His teasing smugness isn’t as sour to me anymore. “I wasn’t.”

Nikolai pulls me towards him easily, lips threatening to brush against me, warm breath against my face. “Are you sure, darling? You were awfully quick to claim what’s yours.”

I roll my eyes, grinning so widely I’m surprised my face doesn’t yet hurt. “You’re the one that fell for a ten-year-old girl with a bloody mouth.”

When he smiles back at me, he places a hand on my hip, pulling me forward slightly. “That I did.” He pulls me forward slightly. "Does this mean you can sleep in here again?"

"If anything, this is more reason for me to sleep in another room." He rolls his eyes, pulling me even closer. "But I won't tell if you don't."

Nikolai leans forward, pressing his lips to my forehead. "Deal."

tags: @deardiarystuff @theincredibledeadlyviper, @grishaverse7 @benbarnes-supremacy  @tranquilitymoon @kaitlyn2907 @lunamyangel @christinawxxx @deceivedeer @real-mbappe @tonks33

#nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov x you #shadow and bone #shadow and bone fic #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone imagine #grisha #Grishaverse #grishaverse imagines #grishaverse imagine #grishaverse x reader #shadow and bone netflix

[marwritesgood]

Just Me | S. Basset

Pairing: Simon x WOC!Reader

Timeframe: Early Season One

Summary: Simon and Y/n had a long history together. So why did it take reading Lady Whistledown’s latest column for her to learn about his blooming relationship with Daphne Bridgerton?

masterlist

A/N: This fic is over 6K words. 

The mere thought of a BIPOC love story set in the 18th Century is enough to make me swoon. So I decided to give it a go and write one myself. There’ll be two more parts after this :)

I also wanted to keep the reader description applicable to any and all women of colour, so it’s a bit vague just to ensure all of us (women of colour) can feel included. Please let me know if there any parts of this fic that don’t do this and I’ll fix it asap! 

If you’re white, this fic is not for you to identify with x

Also, if at any point you find my attempt at mimicking the language used in Bridgerton laughable... you are not the only one lmao. This has been super fun to write and also very challenging, but I am well aware it is farrrr from perfect :)

Nonetheless, I hope it’s a nice read for my WOC readers <3

Simon and Y/n first met when they were children. Her mother was very closely acquainted with Lady Danbury, so naturally, a friendship grew between the two of them- and a strong one at that. 

For years, their interactions had remained within confinements of what was socially acceptable. They bickered. They laughed. They shared inside jokes about the people within their social circle. Their feelings for each other never extended beyond what was befitting of a friendship. 

That was until they grew older.

When marriage and love became more and more ingrained into casual conversations, Simon and Y/n explored their feelings for one another. Questioned the extent to which they cared for each other and whether there was something more beneath the surface.

However, just as Y/n came to realise her love for Simon, he left for London. After a few short weeks, he returned with a new title. A new vow that the Hastings bloodline would end with him. Subsequently, with it, any hope Y/n had of her relationship with him becoming anything more than all it had always been: a friendship.

A year had passed since the sorrowful conversation resulting in Simon and Y/n agreeing to not indulge in the affections they shared. Since then, Y/n struggled to focus on securing a marriage proposal from one of the suitors in her town.

“This is your second season,” Y/n’s mother cried as she paced across the sitting room. Y/n sat in silence, having been interrupted from playing the piano by another one of her panicked outbursts. “Your second season and yet you continue to reject every marriage proposal you receive.”

She couldn’t blame her mother for being frustrated with her. As her only daughter, she needed to find a good match and be married off as soon as possible. Her father was of old age, but even he remained restless that Y/n be married. He much preferred the prospect of dying knowing that the estate would be inherited by Y/n’s husband instead of his nephew.

“I did not reject Mr Graham’s proposal, mama,” Y/n responded, unnervingly calmly considering how distraught her mother was. Mr Graham’s proposal was the latest one she had received that season. “I... simply asked for more time to consider my answer.”

“What on earth is there to consider?” Mrs Y/l/n shrieked. Her frustration only grew when her daughter was unable to answer her question. Y/n turned away from her mother. “He is a good man. He comes from a good, honourable family and will give you a good future- something you will not have if you continue to turn away suitors.”

“Mama, please.” Y/n could not say anything more, for fear that her mother’s anger toward her would only grow if she were to find out the truth. The real reason she could not yet bring herself to accept a marriage proposal.

“Why do you need time to consider, Y/n?” Her daughter had stood up from behind the piano and had her back turned to her mother. That did not stop her from continuing to pry. After so many rejected proposals, she felt she had a right to know why her daughter refused to marry. “I beg of you, tell me- what is there to consider?... What could possibly be keeping you from marrying Mr Graham.”

They stood in silence for a moment before Y/n sighed exasperatedly and turned back to face her mother.

“I do not love him,” Y/n replied in a hushed cry, only just loud enough for Mrs Y/l/n to hear from across the room. “He may be a good man, mama, but I... I do not love him, and I do not believe I ever could.”

She knew from their first encounter that she could never love him. Perhaps it was how he mispronounced her grandmother’s name or the way he possessed the same arrogance as every other suitor Y/n encountered. 

“My dear,” Mrs Y/l/n said, her voice and expression softening entirely. She reached out for her daughter’s hand and took hold of it gently. She knew precisely how Y/n felt, which meant that, unfortunately, she knew there was nothing to be done. “We have talked about this. Women like you and I... we do not have the luxury to make decisions based on our own feelings.”

Y/n was surrounded by women who did not share the same experiences she did. Women who could not empathise with the challenges she faced and being a woman in the 18th Century. Not even if they tried.

Therefore, whenever Y/n found herself hoping for the same things as the white women around her, she had to bring herself back to reality. She had to remember that if life was unkind to white women, it would always be hell for women like her, no matter who married into the royal family.

“I know,” Y/n answered. 

She did. She knew it was incredibly reckless of her to reject all of the proposals she had received. She knew she was naïve for basing her decision based on love. Yet, even so, she could not keep herself from holding out on the hope that she would not end up in a loveless marriage.

“I do not mean to upset you, Y/n,” Mrs Y/l/n said sincerely, as she guided her daughter to the nearest seat. “But I fear that if you continue on, you will have no more proposals to reject, and I... I simply cannot bear the thought... Please, dear, you must-”

Y/n began to close her eyes ready to brace herself for what she feared would inevitably happen- her mother insisting she accepts a proposal. However, just as she did, a maid knocked on the door and promptly brought in the newspaper. When Simon left for London, Y/n requested that any newspaper copy or mail sent to her from London be immediately handed to her. She looked forward to any kind of update on him.

“Thank you,” Y/n said to the maid as she handed her the newspaper. Without hesitation, she immediately turned to Lady Whistledown’s column.

“What does it say?” Her mother asked, giving up on her attempts at convincing Y/n to accept a marriage proposal, at least for the time being. 

Y/n’s blood ran cold as she read the column. She had expected to hear more about the bitter impression Simon was leaving in London. She was going to comment on how typical arrogant white elitists villainising anyone who did not approach them in a way that appeases their ego.

But that was not what she read.

Instead, she read about Simon showing a particular interest in the woman named the ‘Diamond of the Season’ by the Queen herself- Miss Daphne Bridgerton. She read about him courting her and spending a significant amount of time with her. She read about flowers, the expensive kind, and walks through Hyde park, and she was unsure whether to feel betrayed or feel furious.

It was one thing for Simon to begin courting another woman, after explaining to Y/n that he would never marry. It was another for her to have to learn all of this from reading the Lady Whistledown column. 

Without providing her mother with an answer as to what the column wrote, Y/n slammed the newspaper against the table beside her and stood up abruptly. 

Her mother went to reprimand Y/n for slamming the paper so violently against her favourite table. However, Y/n walked hastily into her bedroom. She began to plan what she was to pack when she would leave for London in the morning.

She was adamant on learning the truth in its entirety. And, this time, not from an anonymous publisher but from Simon himself.

***

Y/n had an aunt who lived in London with her husband and their three kids- all much younger than Y/n was. She knew that if she could get away with arriving in London unannounced with intent to stay for longer than a week, her only luck was with her aunt.

After she was escorted inside by one of the workers, Y/n stood and marvelled at her aunt’s husband’s estate. It looked nothing like the sitting room at her home. It looked fancier with much nicer things, leading her to think back to why her mother pushed so hard for her to marry. Mrs Y/l/n had helped her younger sister find a match, and now she lived in a beautiful home in London. 

Perhaps all she wanted was to ensure the same future for her only child.

“Y/n, my dear!” Her aunt came bursting through the doors with arms stretched out. She pulled Y/n into a tight embrace as she always did whenever greeting her niece. Before her three children, she had Y/n. “Oh, how I have missed you!”

“I have missed you too, Aunt Philippa,” Y/n smiled, gently clutching her aunt’s hand as she held her cheek. “Please forgive me for arriving here unannounced. I would have written to you in advanced, but I have an urgent matter to attend to.”

“Do not be silly, my dear,” Philippa laughed, before guiding her niece out of the sitting room and towards the staircase. “You are welcome to stay here for as long as you may need. Though I imagine your mother will be impatiently anticipating your return... how is my dear sister?”

“As restless as ever,” Y/n mumbled. Philippa’s laughter echoed across the halls. Just as she expected, her older sister had not changed. Not one bit. “She is adamant that I am engaged by the end of the season, which is part of the reason I needed to leave home so quickly.”

“I do not blame you, dear,” Philippa murmured. She knew from first-hand experience how relentless Y/n’s mother could be. Even so, she knew it was out of love. Y/n knew as well. “Now... what is the urgent matter you need to attend? I imagine you will need a chaperone... and perhaps a carriage?”

Y/n smiled in relief. Everything she had done leading up to her arrival in London was purely impulsive. She hadn’t even thought of how she would get to Simon or who she would have to escort and chaperone her. 

“You wouldn’t happen to know the whereabouts of... the Duke of Hastings?”

Philippa’s eyes grew twice in size. Whether it was shock or excitement, Y/n could not figure out. It wasn’t until her aunt pulled her into the nearest empty room, checked to see if anyone was listening in, and grinned at her that Y/n concluded it was the latter.

“When I read about the Duke and Miss Bridgerton, all I could think of was you,” Philippa began, speaking in a hushed tone, though unable to contain her excitement. She did not typically indulge in gossip, but she was entirely invested in staying updated to her niece and Simon. “You never did tell me what happened when he returned. Did you confess your feelings?”

Philippa had generously volunteered her afternoons so that her niece could practise what she would say to Simon. She hoped those afternoons had not been spent in vain.

“I did... And then he did too... Before telling me, he would never marry,” Y/n explained, trying to conceal the way her breath hitched and the way tears welled up in her eyes. “Though, after reading Lady Whistledown’s column, it is clear that perhaps he meant that he would never marry me.”

Philippa frowned and lifted her hand up again, holding the side of Y/n’s face and swiping the few tears she couldn’t stop from escaping. As she did so, Y/n inhaled sharply- trying desperately to keep herself from indulging in her sorrow.

“I am sure that is not the case, dearest,” Philippa insisted. 

She refused to believe Simon would do that to her niece. Not after the stories she had heard from Y/n as they grew up. Not to mention all the times she caught one staring at the other across ballrooms and dining tables. 

“We must hurry,” she chirped, dropping her hand so she could grasp her niece’s arm. “I believe the Duke will be in Hyde Park with Lady Danbury. ‘Tis best we leave now if we wish to catch them.”

Y/n smiled. Being with her aunt was a nice change of pace to being with her mother. She would have scolded Y/n had she caught wind of what had happened. 

***

Upon their arrival at Hyde Park, Philippa approached Lady Danbury. Her plan was to make conversation with her, find out more about Simon and Daphne’s relationship. Then, she would ultimately create a segue for Y/n to have a somewhat private conversation with Simon.

However, Y/n had other plans.

When they arrived, she scanned the park in search of Simon. Once she spotted him walking alone on the pavement, she threw caution and decorum to the wind. Before her Aunt Philippa could stop her, Y/n sprinted. 

Once she reached him, she grabbed his shoulder roughly, prompting him to turn around.

“Peach,” Simon whispered, dumbfounded by Y/n’s sudden appearance.

He stopped calling Y/n by her name when they were five. Instead, he called her Peach, for reasons that remained a mystery to Y/n. Despite not knowing the reasoning behind it, she always adored it. She was the only person he had a unique designated name for.

More recently, she wondered if Miss Bridgerton would soon become an exception.

“You owe me an explanation,” Y/n said harshly, not having the patience to beat around the bush. This was primarily because she wanted to know the truth and because she was out of breath from sprinting to Simon.  “Do I really mean so little to you, Simon?”

“Please lower your voice,” Simon begged, subtly grabbing Y/n’s arm and quickening their pace to avoid the crowded area of the park. 

“Do not speak to me as though I am a child,” Y/n growled, yanking her arm away from him and stepping back. 

“Then do not act like one,” Simon retorted.

Y/n scoffed, before dusting off her dress. Simon rolled his eyes to cover his nervousness. He had a habit of concealing it with aggression. Y/n was often able to see through it, but she was guilty of doing the same.

“What changed?” Y/n asked as she looked back at Simon. “You seemed so certain when you told me you would never marry. Now you have extended your stay in London to court Miss Bridgerton?”

“I wish I could give you an answer,” Simon responded honestly. It was perhaps the most honest statement he had made all month. 

His courtship of Daphne was a mere ruse to attract more suitors for her. Truth be told, Simon was incredibly stressed by it, but he was too deep into the lie to give up any time soon. He hadn’t anticipated Y/n would be caught in the middle of it.

“Well, what could be hindering you from doing so?” Y/n cried, confused by how vague and cryptic Simon was acting.

He struggles to find the right words. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Y/n any more than he already had, but he could not give her the answer she wanted. Although he was not actually courting Daphne, he still would not marry. Thus, he could not do what would make her happy, which was the main reason he kept his distance from her in the first place.

“Things are different now,” Simon said apologetically, hoping to deter Y/n from prying. Though he desperately wanted to say more, he knew that doing so was incredibly risky. “We... we are not children anymore.”

Y/n blinked, astonished by Simon’s reaction. It was far from what she had expected. She expected an explanation. She expected assurance. Instead, she has pushed aside as though she and her feelings were disposable. 

This was a familiar feeling to Y/n.

“Is that all you think of me?” She asked angrily. Simon, of all the people in her life, had the most power to hurt her. And he often did so without realising. “A child?... And our relationship? You think it is something as easy to put behind you as your childhood? Is that all this is to you, Simon?”

She went to speak again. To demand what she felt she had a right to. However, before she could get a word out, a woman appeared from behind her. She was fair-skinned and wore a dress that resembled her complexion. 

“Miss Bridgerton,” Simon gasped. He did not know whether to be grateful for her arrival or concerned about how it would affect Y/n. He eventually became both. “May I introduce you to Miss Y/l/n. She is a... very close family friend.”

Y/n had to keep herself from scoffing. She was more to him than just a friend. Y/n knew that well, despite Simon’s denial.

“I am terribly sorry,” Miss Bridgerton cried, averting her attention to Y/n. “I did not mean to intrude.”

“Not at all,” Y/n assured, smiling sincerely at Daphne. Her anger was entirely directed towards Simon. Unlike him, Daphne had no pre-existing history with Y/n to remain considerate of. “I actually must return to my aunt. It was lovely to finally meet you, Miss Bridgerton.”

Before Y/n turned to walk back to her Aunt Philippa, she glanced back at Simon, who was very clearly terrified of how calm Y/n was. He could only imagine the amount of anger she was harbouring. Deterring her would prove to be much more complicated than he expected.

“Your grace,” Y/n snarled through gritted teeth, before forcing a smile as she turned away.

***

It had been a week since Y/n and Simon’s interaction at Hyde Park.

Y/n sat beside her aunt Philippa in a carriage as she read through her mother’s letter. She had made vividly clear, through an eight-paged rant, that she was absolutely livid with her daughter. Y/n’s hands were trembling. 

“I assume she is quite upset?” Philippa asked, though she already knew the answer. 

Y/n had extended her stay to a week just so she could attend a gala at Lady Danbury’s estate. It was her last hope of catching a moment alone with Simon and gaining, at the very least, some form of closure. She hoped it would not come to that, but from their last interaction, Y/n was losing confidence.

“She is furious,” Y/n answered shortly, before folding the letter abruptly and placing it aside. Her mother wrote one demand that sent chills through her bones. “If I am not home within a week, she will come to London and take me back herself. Then, I will have to accept Mr Graham’s proposal.”

Philippa’s stomach dropped. She placed her hand atop her niece’s. Y/n looked down to conceal the tears that began to gather in her eyes. Philippa noticed and wrapped her arm around Y/n, gently squeezing her shoulder. 

“I am sure it will not come to that,” she whispered soothingly, though she struggled to sound sincere. Y/n nodded. She didn’t quite believe her aunt, but she knew there was no point in losing hope entirely. At least not yet.

Once they arrived at the gala, Philippa made conversation with a friend, whileY/n made way to Lady Danbury. The event was held in her courtyard. While others marvelled at her estate, Y/n felt a warm sense of nostalgia. When Lady Danbury brought Simon to her London estate during summers, she would often invite Y/n and her parents. While her parents and the Danburys made conversation in the house, Simon and Y/n would run about freely outside.

“Welcome back, Miss Y/l/n,” Lady Danbury smiled warmly, as Y/n and her aunt approached her.

“It is a pleasure to be here, my lady,” Y/n responded curtly, before laughing out loud as Lady Danbury pulled her into her arms for a tight hug. 

Once she let go, they made small talk. Lady Danbury asked Y/n how her parents were. Y/n asked Lady Danbury how she was and how her fruit orchards were. After they ran out of things to discuss, Y/n could not help but scan the room searching for Simon, who was nowhere to be found.

“I am not completely sure where he is,” Lady Danbury said, startling Y/n who had not realised how far from natural she was acting. “Though, he did complain about how suffocated he was by the throng here... I imagine he has gone to a place where it will be difficult for most to find him.”

Y/n thought for a moment. Lady Danbury was cryptic by nature, and after years of knowing her, she had a knack for figuring out what she meant. Once Y/n knew, she smiled at Lady Danbury, before excusing herself from the gala.

Y/n headed away from the gala and towards the maze area. It was well-lit, which she was grateful for as it meant she could navigate her way around swiftly. It felt like second-nature to her; running about in the Danbury’s London Estate. She forgot how much she enjoyed the thrill of running through and past the hedges.

Once she reached the maze’s centre, she saw Simon standing idle, his back towards where she stood. That was the place they spent most of their time. When they were younger, they would sit there and play games. As they got older, they would sit there and talk. Sometimes he would read while she drew. Sometimes vice versa. But most of the time, they spoke—about everything worth talking about, and then some.

“I remember the first time we played here together,” Y/n began, causing Simon to jump. Once he turned around and saw Y/n his tense posture softened, and a small smile appeared across his face. She felt relieved by it, though she didn’t want to let her guard down entirely. “I got lost, almost immediately, and you found me sitting here, cross-legged, in a puddle of tears. Do you remember?”

Simon chuckled. Of course, he thought. 

“You were inconsolable when I found you,” he mocked, prompting Y/n to reach out and lightly punch his shoulder. His laughter only grew.

“We were five,” Y/n reasoned. She would never admit that she was dramatic. Not even as a child. “I genuinely thought no one would ever find me... and then you did, within a matter of minutes.”

She joined him in laughing. It made for a very entertaining story that they retold relentlessly. While others were sick of hearing it, neither of them were sick of recounting it, for their own reasons.

“I told you I would never leave you behind,” he added, smiling as he thought back to that day. His smile faded quickly when he realised the irony. He frowned and took a step towards Y/n. “Peach, I must apologise-”

“-No... I am the one who must apologise,” she intervened. Simon stood back in confusion. Y/n sighed before clarifying herself. “I did not mean to blindside you so aggressively before. I did not come here to argue with you, Simon, I... I came to ask you if it is true... Are you courting Miss Bridgerton... with the intent of marrying?”

Simon winced. 

He felt conflicted by both his love for Y/n and the promise he made to Daphne to uphold their ruse. He could not in good faith outright admit that he was merely pretending to court Miss Bridgerton. However, he couldn’t bear the thought of breaking Y/n’s heart a second time.

His lips parted, but his mouth ran dry. Before Simon could keep himself from blurting out the wrong thing, he was overcome by a habit he developed over the last month of playing along.

“I am,” he answered.

Just as he did, he lifted his hand to his temple and scrunched his eyebrows. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Y/n. He was still haunted by the look on her face when he told her he would never marry.

“Right,” she sniffled, unsure how to react. Y/n had convinced herself that there was more to the story than what she had read from Lady Whistledown. She regretted how in-denial she allowed herself to become. 

One thing Y/n knew for sure, though, was that she did not want to be near Simon. Although she was on the verge of sobbing, she still turned around and intended to leave him, but Simon grabbed her arm and kept her from doing so.

“Please let me explain,” he begged.

Y/n’s tears halted as she glared at Simon, shocked. She shook her arm out of his grasp and took a step back from him. She had always despised the way men often treated women as though they were disposable and replaceable. She never expected Simon to be one.

“There is no explanation necessary,” she scoffed.

“Y/n, please, you do not understand,” Simon cried. It was rare for him to call her by her name, but Y/n dubbed it as him trying to manipulate her emotions. She would not let that happen. 

“No, of course, you would deceive me,” Y/n spat, unwilling to let Simon get a word in. She was tired of waiting around just to hear from him. This time, she would be the talking. He would be the one listening. “-about not wanting to marry or have children, and of course, I believed your ridiculous lie, like the fool I have always been for you.”

“Ridiculous?” Simon hissed. Y/n’s dismissal of his vow sparked a fit of anger that overcame him before he could realise it had done so. No one had ever called to question or criticised his decision to remain a bachelor for life. No one until Y/n.

“Perhaps not a ridiculous lie,” Y/n sneered. “No, it was more-so childish and nonsensical.”

“And yet, you believed it... What is that to say about you, Miss Y/l/n?” Simon scorned. Y/n flinched. Simon had only ever addressed her in such a way to either tease her or to emphasise his anger. It had been a long while since he had done so for the latter. “It was not a lie, Y/n, I... You could never understand the immense pressure I have been placed under my entire life-”

“- Pressure that significantly decreased with the death of your father,” Y/n argued. Simon acted as though he had a monopoly over her when it came to challenges in life. He could not have been more wrong. “I, on the other hand, am placed under severe pressure and will continue to be, long after my parents pass... That is one of the many things you will never understand.”

“That is not true,” Simon fired back, only for Y/n to continue speaking- this time, with a louder voice.

“We may be the same in one sense, but we are significantly different in another, because you, Simon, are still a man with a title.” Y/n and Simon both shared similar challenges as neither of them were white. However, where Simon inherited certain advantages for being a man, and a Duke, Y/n was only disparaged more. He often forgot that. “You, at the very least, still have the luxury of choice. To choose how you wish to fulfil your future, and whether or not that may include a wife or children.”

Simon lowered his eyes defeatedly. Though he was still angry, there was no denying the shame he felt. 

“I do not. Those choices were made for me the moment I was born a daughter and not a son. So do not act as though you are in a position to empathise with me,” Y/n said. “Especially when you have been the least bit empathetic after I came all the way here, just to confirm the truth about you and Miss Bridgerton.”

“I never told you to come to London,” Simon snapped.

“No, you did not,” Y/n retorted, with just as much, if not more, annoyance in her voice. “You did not tell me anything. I had to find out at the same moment as everyone else in England, as though we are strangers.”

Simon flinched as Y/n progressed from speaking loudly to outright shouting. He had always relied on having her sympathy and her support, even when he was in the wrong. Thankfully, they were far from the gala. However, Simon still feared someone had heard her reprimanding him.

“You claim you are different, now that you are a Duke, but you are the same as you have always been,” Y/n continued. She knew how he had always been. Better than anyone, let alone Miss Bridgerton, that was for sure. “You are still rigid and arrogant. You are still a coward who will never allow himself to feel any kind of joy. And you are still revolving your every decision in life around a man you claim to despise.”

“You do not know a thing,” he whispered, which only confirmed to Y/n that he was scared. He was intimidated. For as long as they had known one another, Y/n rarely confronted his relationship with his father.

“I have watched you go from living only to please him to living only to spite him, even if it means hurting the people who actually care for you,” she cried. She had no more anger within her. Not any more. She had only sadness. “Did it ever occur to you how much it hurt when you rejected me?”

“That was never my intention,” Simon said regretfully. 

It was the truth, though Simon had begun to realise that his wrath against his father blinded him from what he cared about more: her happiness. 

“Peach,” he whispered, inching towards Y/n as he lifted his hand and held the left side of her face. “Please, believe me, I never meant to hurt you.”

Their eyes locked for what felt like an eternity. It had been so long since they had shared a moment like that. An intimate moment shared between no one but them. Where Simon was not the stoic and emotionally detached Duke of Hastings. He was Simon. Dare she say, her Simon.

Despite that, Y/n was the first to turn away. She wanted to indulge. To take advantage of the opportunity to reconcile with him. To enjoy how vulnerable he was, after months of distance. 

But she couldn’t. 

Not when there were still questions burning in her mind. She could not rest until they were dealt with. After all, she was her mother’s child.

“Then what about Miss Bridgerton?” Y/n’s expression remained stagnant, but she could not keep hands from trembling. Simon winced at the mention of Daphne. “You... courting her after rejecting me... You cannot possibly tell me you did not intend to hurt me when you did that.”

Simon opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He had no response to what she had said because there was no justification for what he had done. All he could do was curse quietly to himself for taking so long to realise how foolish he had been.

“I had always expected this to happen,” Y/n began, sniffling as she tried to compose herself enough to explain herself. Simon remained quiet and decided he would until she finished. He figured he owed her as much. “I always knew I would be turned away for someone like Daphne Bridgerton.”

It had been the subject of many of her mother’s lessons. Before she was introduced to society, her mother made it a point to prepare her for rejection. To not hold out hope for any man, until a marriage proposal was made. 

Simon had been Y/n’s only exception to that rule. 

“It’s happened to me my whole life,” Y/n laughed bitterly, as she recalled all the times she had lost to a woman of fairer skin than her. All the times she wept to her Aunt Philippa and to Simon. “I always expected this would happen. But I never expected this would happen with you.”

Simon’s eyebrows furrowed as he watched Y/n struggle to stifle her cries in between her sentences. He had watched her sit in this sorrow many times, just as she had done for him, for this was a pain she shared. But this time was different. This time he was the one responsible. 

He didn’t know pain, so heart-wrenching, was possible. But watching her cry and knowing he could do nothing to fix it. That pain had never felt more real.

“I do not blame you, Simon,” Y/n whimpered, which only made him hurt more. He wanted her to be angry. To berate him some more. It was the least of what he deserved for causing her such sorrow. “She is the ‘Diamond of the Season’ after all, and... I am just me.”

Y/n hated the pity party she was throwing for herself, but she could not help what she felt. After a life of being classed second to white women, who could blame her for internalising this? 

He was dying to say something. To tell Y/n that she had it all wrong. He wanted to reveal that his courtship of Daphne was all a ruse. That he could never bring himself to entertain the idea of marrying anyone but her. But his fear of only making things worse left him paralysed. 

“You have made it abundantly clear that I was a fool forever waiting around for you,” she said to Simon. Unfortunately for him, she had taken his lack of response as confirmation that what she had concluded of the situation was accurate. “I will not make that mistake again.”

“Peach-”

“Goodbye, Simon,” Y/n blurted as she turned away hastily. 

Left in too much shock to reach out and stop her, Simon stood, dumbfounded, and watched as the woman he loved walked away from him and back to the gala. Looking back, he wished he had called out to her. Simon wished he had run after her. But he did not.

When Y/n reached the courtyard where the gala was being held, she couldn’t help the wave of disappointment that rushed over when she realised Simon let her go. This assured her that she was right to leave him, but it did not alleviate the pain in doing so. 

She made her way through the crowd and searched for her aunt. As she did, she felt her cheeks burn and her pace of breath quicken. She had gone through all the effort of coming to London just for what she feared most to be the reality. 

“There you are, my dear!”

Y/n turned around and saw her Aunt approaching her. Philippa smiled brightly as she walked towards her niece. However, when she realised that Y/n’s enthusiasm fell short of matching hers by a significant margin, her smile began to fade.

“Where is Simon?” She inquired, her voice lowered to not draw attention to their conversation. From Y/n expression, Philippa inferred that was the last thing she wanted.

Y/n’s lip quivered as she tried desperately to answer her aunt’s question. When she failed to do so, she hung her head- too embarrassed to face her aunt. Philippa frowned. A line appeared between her brows as she reached out to her distraught niece.

Though she was dying to know, the details of Simon and Y/n’s conversation were the least of her concerns. All she cared for was her niece and helping her in any way she needed. 

“I will call for our carriage,” she whispered, before guiding Y/n out of the courtyard. 

Once their carriage arrived, Philippa sat opposite her niece and watched worriedly as she refused to make eye contact, let alone speak.

“Is there anything I can do?”

Y/n took a long moment to respond. She stared at her gloved hands as she thought about what to do next. She regretted all the proposals she had turned down, and all the ways she put her life on hold for Simon. She felt ashamed that she had allowed herself to be in the situation she was in. 

Then she realised the only thing she could do to fix it.

“May you organise a carriage to take me home tomorrow?” Y/n asked. Her aunt’s eyes widened. Returning home to face her mother was the last thing Philippa expected Y/n to want to do. 

She watched her niece closely, trying to figure out what her plan moving forward was. Y/n finally looked up and met her aunt’s gaze. To Philippa’s surprise, her niece had a prominent sense of confidence in her expression. 

“Why, my dear?” Philippa quizzed, her eyebrows still knitted in confusion as well as fear. The way her niece was suddenly overcome with confidence after being on the verge of tears was concerning. She couldn’t imagine it would lead to anything good.

Y/n inhaled sharply, pursing her lips as she did so. She knew her aunt would disagree with what she planned to do. But she also knew that, given the circumstance, Philippa would reluctantly do as she asked. Before she answered, Y/n momentarily glanced down at her hands and turned back to her aunt.

“I have a proposal to accept.”

NEXT PART

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