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purplelupins · 2 months

Text

Lamb

|Midnight Mass|

Father John Pruitt/Father Paul Hill x Fem!

Reader

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

Word count: 13.5K

Summery: An entire life of being a good girl was a difficult cross to carry...especially in a tiny town with 127 residents on a good day. You kept the town fed and spirits as high as you could, but when a new face steps off the afternoon Breeze, things around you start to change; you don't even know you're in the eye of the storm.

Warnings: nsfw, reader is religious, religious symbolism, ideology, explanations and general conversations of religion, age gap (like this man is 80 technically and he watched reader grow up, and can remember reader as a little girl so if that’s creepy to you then go no further), stalking, manipulation, murder (hello have you seen the show?), drinking of blood, hunting of a person, grief, description of animal death, reader is described as blushing, character death, non consensual help showering, guilt and god maybe more but I think that’s it…this is not really a fix it fic

I invite you to listen to the playlist I made that goes along with the story.

Notes: **please read** This story is told partially from John Pruitt's pov and partially from readers, as such, when it's John's (Paul) it will refer to him as John, seeing as he had no need for the alias when it's from his pov. But when it's from readers, she will be referring to him as Paul Hill. Thank you!

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Crude oil is destructive to say the least. It is thick, and cloying; dense and dark and it holds no mercy for anything it touches. It kills and pollutes and fuses itself to anything it touches like some dependant parasitic bond. Not that it knows any better.

At one time, Crockett Island was a home off the Eastern coast to close to 500 residences. There was a harmony and calmness to that time; back when the island had summer visitors, and talks of an airport, and no one had to worry about how to pay for their groceries or if they could afford to pay for house repairs after a bad storm. Back when people were alive and helped eachother and laughed.

As the Breeze approached the marina of Crockett Island, there was a passenger who stood outside, leaning against the railing as he remembered Crockett when it was a secret haven. Then that horrible accident…Now, it was more akin to a shelter to the last 127 souls who remained. The brisk maritime wind tousled his black curled hair and flickered into his eyes.

Not that he minded too terribly- he didn't mind much of anything.

John Pruitt sucked in a full breath of the sea air- something he hadnt been able to do in decades when his old self's lungs had began to weaken. It nearly brought tears to his eyes to have been blessed with this second chance as he took in the mass of land before him. His home. His duty. John knew what he had to do. A needle of anxiety poked at him as he hoped his large cargo was still safe in the hold of the small ferry. Of course it was, but he couldnt help but worry until it was safely tucked away in the rectory.

His gift.

“I’m here to help…just here to help…” He repeated in his head.

The ferry lurched as it docked, though his sturdy frame barely flinched. John blinked, and adjusted his satchel one last time before coming to the off-boarding ramp. He slowly and shyly looked at the other passengers, and had to press his tongue to his teeth to keep from acknowledging a familiar face that stood only a few feet from him.

Riley Flynn.

It had been years since he had seen that face, and he felt a swell of happiness at the prospect of having another addition to his flock to receive this gift he so eagerly wished to bestow upon them. He could hardly wait to see each face and see them properly with his rejuvinated sight. See how they’ve grown and aged. He couldn’t wait to help them.

John stood off to the side after exiting the boat as he waited for his trunk.

"Whatcha waitin' for?" Came a gruff voice that John knew well.

He turned to see the island handyman, Sturge, and a small smile pulled at his cupids bow, "My trunk…should be the largest thing on there I’m afraid." John said.

Sturge huffed a little, but nodded, "Yeah its comin', you need a hand gettin' it to where your goin' we got a..." The man droned on about helping the man transport his precious cargo, but unfortunately John had inadvertently tuned him out after something had caught his eye; someone to be precise.

It was the shrill chime of a bicycle bell that had initially drawn his attention, though now he was entranced by the young woman riding the very bike that had made it.

The same wind that had combed through his own hair was now blowing yours back as you came to a stop by the small marine building for the fishermen; a large parcel was fastened to the back of your bike. In fact you were so engrossed in calling to the fishermen on the dock, while unfastening the goods from your bike that you didn’t notice the supposed stranger with his brown eyes glued to you. Staring at how the men approached you and tried to sneak a look at what you brought for them; of course he also was not blind to the evident leers you recieved from the same men. Men he knew were married and had children who he had baptised over the years.

Yet here he was practially on their same level as he watched you; transfixed by the way your hair would get caught in the breeze, and how your cheeks were a lovely pink from the cold. how you had a certain incandescence to you that brought up the spirits of the worn down fishermen.

In John's old age, he hadn't been able to see you properly since you were born; cataracts and dementia coupled with a few other ailments made you into a foggy memory for him, even now. But he knew you. He knew you had been a lovely little girl, and had decided to remain on the island and open a small bakery; John could recall Bev mentioning it a few times that you made food for the Crockpot luck each year. He remembered thanking you...not that he could properly appreciate your gift. You were a familiar face to St. Patrick’s, too.

It was only now that he could recall baptising you some twenty years ago when he had just broached 60 years...and he could see what a stellar young woman you had grown into.

Beautiful.

John had mumbled something to Sturge about only needing help to get out of the marina, and his hand gripped the top of his bag absentmindedly as his eyes flickered over you handing out pastries and sweet treats to the men.

You smiled so brightly that it truly must have been one of the many gifts you were given in life from God. Your calling to brighten up the cloudy days of Crockett island.

A patch of sunlight.

As John pulled the crate up the stairs to the rectory and pushed it across the floor, the solitude finally let him start to think. He knocked on the trunk twice, and slumped against the side as his mind began to wander. John Pruitt had been a priest for well over 60 years; he had seen and heard and dealt with just about every scandal, thought, sin, doubt and joy you could think of. Which was why he knew that there was a divine reason behind your delivery to the fishermen coinciding with his arrival.

It was no random coincidence that your face was among the first he saw upon returning. God’s plan was at work, and John felt anticipation fill him at the thought.

You were a good girl, just like your parents raised you to be, and it wasn’t as if you had a reason not to be. You had made a comfortable life after your family had either left or passed. Moving was expensive and you liked the quiet. It was a simple life and an easy one. Habitual and concise.

You went to church on Sundays and attended daily mass with Leeza. She loved your cinnamon rolls, and you liked to sneak a few into her bag. John remembered noticing that after daily mass one day. It made his chest swell with what he told himself was pride and admiration; not pining and adoration. It excited him to see someone so full of life, even if it was quietly. But that excitement was a double edged sword, after all it too made the Father dread it when he felt it in him. That excitement would settle low in his stomach and make him lose his train of thought.

A test. It was all a test.

The first time you saw the man was when you were leaving the dock that morning. It was strange to see a new face on Crockett, let alone a handsome one at that. You had wished you were heading in his direction so as to give him a welcome; he had such a large trunk with him that you wished you could have given him a hand too. But alas you were needed in the opposite way back down Main Street.

You petalled down the road, and dropped off a few more deliveries down the island to the elders who couldn’t venture too far. Your routine every other day from 10:30 in the morning for an hour.

John knew that too. He remembered feeling someone cycle past him with a soft greeting everytime he visited town after mass. Everything was starting to click back into place as his memory was replenished.

You finished your route, and hopped off your bike as you came to the little bundle of shops in town.

You knew Monsignor Pruitt was returning the next day, and you found yourself hopeful that he hadnt exhausted himself…you were also excited for Bev to calm down after weeks of her relentless, poor moods…and that was saying something for a woman who already lacked a pleasant temperament. The Monsignor always seemed to calm her…perhaps it was that she was able to abuse his position for herself-

You took a deep breath to calm yourself as your temper flared at the thought.

The following day, Saturday, was your day to yourself. Your little shop remained closed until Sunday afternoon, and your appreciation for the downtime was great. You took extra time for yourself, and sat down to read that book that you had promised to read last year; tried a new recipe for dinner and baked yourself a fresh batch of cookies. It wasn’t terribly interesting, but it was easy, and you liked that.

As you brushed your hair out for sleep, your thoughts wandered to that strange face you had seen exit the Breeze the day previous. You wondered if he was visiting someone or if he was some kind of inspector for the island…so little happened on Crockett that new faces were so obvious. You were surprised no one had mentioned him during your day at the shop.

You shrugged it off.

It wasn’t your business.

The rosary you clutched as you prayed beside your bed dug into your skin as you squeezed it unconsciously. Some nights your worship came with difficulty…you mind wandered and you wondered if you were doing the right thing…praying to the right god. Not that you would tell anyone that.

You didn’t sleep well that night. Somehow you repeatedly awoke every few hours to a deep sinking in your gut and prickle up your neck that kept you from returning to sleep. The restlessness had you surrendering just before dawn, and you wrapped a thick blanket around yourself as you sat in front of your window that just peaked over the water. Your bleary gaze was heavy, though you felt yourself sober when you swore you saw a dark figure move into the thick bushes. You jumped, and felt your blood freeze, but when you leaned a little closer to look out, there was nothing but the gentle sway of the trees in the wind. It was so easy to dismiss what you had seen as simply your tired mind playing tricks on you.

You rubbed the heels on your hands into your eyes, and sighed as you stood.

Coffee. A coffee was needed.

The dirt road was muddy with the approaching storm that would be on the horizon in a few days. You hoped this one wouldn’t be too damaging.

You followed behind Leeza with Dolly, and told them what you had baked that morning for your shop, while Erin and Wade listened; enjoying how the air smelled of petrichor and pine. There was a comfortable chatter amongst everyone as they grew happy to welcome their Monsignor back to Crockett.

You sat yourself in the middle, in the same seat you always took. After months of Father Pruitt being gone, you routine was beginning to settle again.

The small organ began playing, and you stood to start singing with everyone else, but then as the alter boys passed you and you watched them, there was an unfamiliar voice behind them. You slowed your singing as you were once again distracted; sure enough, there was a much younger man who passed down the aisle in a gold chasuble and his hands held in prayer.

That same man from the dock.

You felt confusion fill you, and evidently you weren’t the only one as the churchgoers exchanged confused glances with eachother. You looked over at Wade, hoping he might look a little less confused as the mayor, but he mirrored every other face.

Knowing you weren’t getting any answers from your peers, you directed your attention to the pulpit as the stranger walked up to it.

“Good morning,” the man began, “I know I’m not who you expected to see this morning. I’m Father Paul Hill, and I was sent by the diocese to fill in for Monsignor Pruitt. Just know that I’m only here to help, and I look forward to meeting you all.”

You blinked in surprise at his explanation, thought you supposed it wasn’t entirely strange- just unexpected. Had something happened? You remembered how so many islanders had advised the Father not to make the journey, and now you were wondering if you all should have insisted harder.

The man looked a little nervous, but hopeful as he looked around to his new flock. But as his gaze passed over yours, you noted it paused for a moment. You smiled a little a him in hopes that it might make him feel a little welcome, and you briefly wondered if he recognized you from the marina.

There was a lilt to his strong, low voice that made you listen. He was compelling and direct; certainly not what you were used to with Monsignor Pruitt. He had always been a wonderful preacher, but for the last decade, he had grown slow and drawling.

You remembered your mother saying something about “It’s not about the sermon or who’s giving it, it’s just about being reminded of god and our mortality in this life.” And while you had always agreed with the sentiment, there was something about being invigorated while at church that was making your fingertips tingle.

You could already tell that Father Hill was appreciated amongst the churchgoers. There was a softness in their weathered faces as he spoke, like he was indeed connecting them to God.

As everyone filed in for the sacrament, you fell in line and felt your palms start to sweat. A part of you was thankful that Bev was there to provide the wine and your…replacement; you didn’t want to have to stop the church proceedings just to explain why you couldn’t drink the wine.

The discovery of your ethanol allergy had come as a distressful lesson when you had first drank the sacrament as a child. You still remembered what a fuss everyone made and how you had been rushed to Dr.Gunning who had only graduated from medical school recently. From then on your Monsignor had been very understanding and blessed your separate cup of grape juice every mass from then on.

When you accepted the wafer, and accepted the smaller cup from Bev, you noted in the back of your mind that the priest before you looked a little shaken as you drank. You paid it no mind- he was new and he likely had his quirks.

But it was no quirk. The Father felt his shoulders sink, and blood drain from his face as he watched Bev hand you that cup. He felt his idiocy fill him, then the subsequent dread and horror that followed his realisation.

You couldn’t drink the communion wine.

You never had.

A flash of the first day you tried it made his head hurt as he recalled how distraught your mother was upon learning what had happened. He tried to push the worried expression on his young face away but he was sure it was now more of a grimace.

You couldn’t accept the gift.

Panic clouded Johns mind as he continued to give the sacrament to each of the islanders. The devil on his shoulder proposed that it simply wasn’t your fate to be given the gift. But John had learned to ignore that horned heathen well, and he knew he must do something to guide you with the rest of his flock.

No lamb left behind.

As you filed out to leave, you walked behind Annie Flynn and her son Riley.

He had left years ago when you were still in your mid teens, and he didn’t exactly leave a lasting impression on a teenager. They stopped for a moment to speak with the new father, and while you wanted to say hello to the pastor, you hated to linger and get in people’s way; you knew you would see the Father again, and so you went to skirt around Annie, but as fate would have it, their conversation ended quickly, and the older woman took you by the arm as her son left.

“This is the beating heart of Crockett herself!” She beamed at you while you stood there suddenly locked in conversation with the young priest.

Annie had always appreciated your positive attitude and good nature. You found yourself always trying to cheer her up on her worst days while she worried herself sick about her husband and her son on the mainland. She was a mother through and through, and you often held her as a place-holder for your own flesh and blood since you saw your family only a couple times a year since they moved away.

And Annie seemed content with that. She had always wanted a daughter. The way she gushed about you then to the Father and introduced you had you trying to brush off the praise with a few failed “Oh no I-“ and “I’m not-“ and so forth. Your flushed cheeks had another agenda entirely however when you finally looked up at the Fathers gaze.

It was those soft brown eyes of his that struck you first. So focused and yet so…sad. Like he might cry at any moment. You wondered if his eyes stung.

He was handsome in a weathered, timid sort of way; couldn’t have been more than mid forties. He looked as if he had seen years of life beyond his age. Perhaps years of absolving sins had taken a toll.

“She is our baker here on Crockett…helps liven up the plain variety of food we have.” She half joked, thought it was mostly truth. Crockett was a place of bread and butter- basics. So a treat of some kind was greatly appreciated, and you were happy to deliver just that.

“Ah yes…the Monsignor mentioned his love for your pastries.” He smiled genuinely and nodded as if recalling being told, “I’ll be sure to stop by.”

There was a boyishness to him that endearing enough to settle your nerves.

Your eyes widened in surprise, “He did?” You asked.

You were certain Pruitt wouldn’t be able to recall something so insignificant in his declining health and old age. It had only been a few years that you had been running the shop, and you knew he hadn’t been fully coherent long before that. A poetic connection between him and Crockett Island you supposed.

Father Paul seemed delighted by your shock though, and the crows feet around his eyes deepened, “Yes he was quite adamant I assure you. I believe you’re also a regular face I will be seeing and that it may just be you and Leeza at times.” He added.

You clasped your hands in front of you to keep from fidgeting.

“I- well I try to be.” You looked away timidly, and shuffled your feet as Annie smiled at you. You weren’t used to someone being so passionate about small things- let alone a man.

“Oh she’s just modest.” The older woman said.

Father Paul chuckled, “Modesty is a virtue. Now, I noticed you weren’t able to drink the sacramental wine, is there something I should know?” He seemed so curious and invested.

You nodded, “I’m afraid I’m allergic to something in wine- ethanol. I’ve always been given plain grape juice instead…the Monsignor was always kind enough to have it ready. I hope that won’t be a problem-“

Father Paul shook his head as he rushed to put your mind at ease.

“-no no not- not in the least I assure you. Your presence and dedication is more than enough…you still receive the lords blessing even if it is from a sweeter drink.” He mused.

“Thank you, Father.” You replied and looked down again so as to hide the warming of your cheeks again.

Annie smiled and hugged you, “Well then, not to cut this short, Father but I’m starting my shift in a half hour. I’ll see you then?” She asked you.

You nodded, “Sure will. I’ll make us some coffee. I’m sure the sheriff could use some too.” You called after her as she walked away and bid the father farewell. Leaving the two of you to stand together. You turned back to Father Hill as he towered over you, and fought to find something to say as your nerves kicked in. You were usually good at finding conversation but you felt like you were a kid being forced to talk to some family member your mom insisted you knew.

You took a deep breath. “It was-“

“I hope-“

You both spoke over each other, and both looked at one another apologetically. You shook your head and smiled a little to ease his embarrassment, “Please you first, Father Hill.”

He looked at you for a moment for confirmation to ensure that he wasn’t being rude then he began again, “I was only going to say that I hope to see you here again…it’s enlightening to see a youthful face in a church.” He grinned- a curl of his dark hair falling over his forehead as he looked down at you.

You returned his grin, though yours was a little forced in comparison.

Attending church was a routine ingrained in you since childhood, and now it was just something expected of you. You knew the day you didn’t attend would make the talk of the town and you were never in the mood for Beverly to come knocking on your door to berate you.

You could still remember a couple years ago when you were sick and she brought you a batch of soup for you to help…the offer had been kind enough, but the soup itself had made you want to curl into a ball and chew on a dead seagull.

“I assure you.” You echoed his words from earlier, and he smiled. “I’ll see you soon. Enjoy the rest of your day, Father.” You said, and slowly stepped past him.

He turned his body to follow you. John told himself it was manners to speak to someone with your whole attention, and while that was true, he simply needed one last proper look at you before you left.

“Likewise, y/n.” He called to you as you walked down the steps. Out of your peripheral, you could see Bev still bending by the ear of one of the community members, and you made quick work of sending her a tight smile then hurrying along the path to the road. She returned the forced expression; not that she knew you forced it. Practice makes perfect.

The hairs on the back of your neck began to stand on end as you descended the hill from St. Patrick’s. There was something in the back of your mind that told you not to look behind you, but against your better judgement, you did just that. A pair of soft brown eyes were trained on you as you walked.

The Father’s stare startled you and made your stride stutter.

He was intense and direct. He wasn’t like most of the islanders, and he made you uneasy somehow, but regardless, you cast him a friendly wave, and continued on your way- but that same prickle on the back of your neck simply wouldn’t let go.

John watched you go until your head disappeared down onto the main road and out of sight. He felt his nerves pick up as he said his last goodbyes and returned inside the church. He sat amongst the pews and stared up at the four walls around him. The weight of the gift he was tasked to reveal was growing heavy. He wished so badly to bestow this marvel to every dedicated church goer, and he would.

To every single one except you.

Why you?

Certainly you were in some way special; that had been revealed to him when it had been your face for him to first see upon returning.

Fate.

But if that were the case then surely your way to salvation should be easier…yet here you were unable to accept it; all because of an allergy.

John sighed as he made up his mind to proceed as he did with the rest of his flock. He hoped you wouldn’t taste the blood in your juice tomorrow- if you did he would simply have to find another way for you to accept it.

No lamb left behind.

The walk into town that usually brought you so much peace now came with an impending sense of foreboding. You knew that nasty storm was nearly at your doors, but storms had never bothered you too much. No, there was something in the air that made you all too aware of your heartbeat, and your breath and how your skin felt. You barely paid attention to anything around you as your leisurely pace unconsciously changed into one of hurry.

It wasn’t until you had just passed by the general store, and didn’t respond to Hassan’s greeting that you snapped out of your trance.

“Y/n? Y/n you alright?” He called to you as you strode right past him.

You nearly jumped out of your skin.

“Sh-sheriff, I’m so sorry…” you stopped in your tracks and furrowed your brow as you fought to find an answer for your odd attitude, “I’m…I think I’m just a little out of it today.” You laughed.

The Sheriff glanced you over for a moment, then nodded slowly. “There’s a fresh pot inside.” He tipped his cup filled with black coffee to you. He was a nice man. Exhausted…mistreated, but caring.

You smiled and nodded, “I’ll come by in a few minutes. Thank you.” You hoped your smile would reassure him. You didn’t need to worry an already stressed father and someone you would consider a friend. An awkward older friend who needed a break but a friend nonetheless. “Want an eclair? Got a few extra that I made this morning.” You asked.

He shook his head gently, “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were trying to give me my own form of insulation for winter.”

You gasped in faux shock, and shook your head, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The pebbles and dirt crunched under your boots as you stepped up to the little entrance of your bakery beside the general store. As soon as you stepped inside, you suddenly felt a little safer…at ease. As if you had anything to be afraid of.

You suddenly felt very silly.

Ridiculous.

There had only been one change that day, and that was the charismatic Father Paul Hill.

Had you become so sheltered on that little island that you were afraid of a stranger coming into your community? Surely not.

No. You hadn’t felt fear in the man’s presence so who would you feel it now?

Ridiculous.

Stop it.

You closed your eyes and did your best to clear your mind of any ominous thought and any thought about the new Father.

Out of sight. Out of mind. Not your business.

You strode to the back of the shop and prepared your morning deliveries; it was always the same. It was easy. And you knew it was appreciated. Feeling important was a virtue in a small community that was run into the ground.

Making people feel cared for made you happy.

The day came and went just as it always did, but you couldn’t help but feel like the island had turned a little off its axis. Like something had just nudged it into a slight other direction. Your suspicions were only enforced and justified when almost every one of your regulars mentioned the new pastor to you as they selected their desired sweet or savoury treat from your display case.

“Such a striking young man.”

“Too modern.”

“Nothing like our dear Monsignor…but I can’t say I’ve stayed so engaged during a homily in years.”

“How long do you think he’ll stay?”

“Where do you think he came from?”

And so on.

You had hoped any mention of the man would remain in your own thoughts, but it was as if he had swept through the town like a stiff winter breeze.

By the time you sold your last cheese bun and lemon tart, and closed up shop, there was a very real wind that surged right down Main Street. The cool air pricked right through your thick tights under your skirt and made you made a mental note to dig out some warmer ones.

That storm was due that evening. It had been the talk of the town all day, right after the endless conversations of the invigorating preacher. Once you had gotten home, you felt it start to push up against your boarded windows. The wind howled, and the lights flickered as the sky darkened outside; you took that as a sure sign to light a few candles.

There was something ethereal in the light from a candle. So beautiful. If you caught the flames out of the corner of your eyes, sometimes it looked like they had little halos.

You smiled softly at the thought.

You never stayed up late on storm nights. In fact you slept earlier than usual. You knelt beside your bed and clasped your hands in prayer.

“Father, as I lie down for sleep tonight, wash over me with the warmth of Your love. In Your mercy, soothe my pain, whether in my body-“ you paused your recitation when that familiar prickle began its way up the back of your neck like it had for the past two days. You listened intently, but there was nothing but the wind.

“-mind or soul. Grant me a restful night of sleep so that when I awake, I'm strengthened to do Your will. Amen.” You decided against thinking too much of the unease, and settled under your blankets and closed your eyes.

You didn’t dream that night. In fact it felt as if you had merely shut your eyes for a moment before you were opening them again at the sound of your alarm.

The storm had blown itself out by the time you took your wooden shutters off your windows. There was a sliver of light coming over the horizon as you peered out at the water. You stared at it intently, and clenched your hand into an absentminded fist.

You tried the lightswitch in your kitchen, and praised the lord that it worked. You wondered if Sturge had been up even earlier than you to fix the power lines.

The outside of your house was a mess complete with a crab trap hanging off your fence. Nets, ropes, bushes, clothes, coolers, toys riddled the streets as you walked in the dim light to your shop. But then after only a few minutes, your nose picked up a smell. You were used to the strong smell of the ocean, especially after the storms, but this was different. You started towards the beach, and nearly gagged when you got closer. You had to cover your mouth once you stood on the sand.

From left to right, the beach was littered with the corpses of cats. You knew there were quite a lot on the island, and had seen the odd dead feline, but this was as if something had wiped out every cat and dumped them by the shore.

Anxiety filled you as you stared.

“Oh my-…”

You spun around to see Hassan standing beside you; uniform half buttoned and a bag over his shoulder that you knew had his lunch. The two of you exchanged looks of distress, and you visibly started to shake the longer you looked.

“What…what would…Hassan what-…” you looked up at the man, and he only shook his head. At a loss for words.

“Cmon. I’ll walk you in. Gotta…gotta call the mayor.” He wrapped an arm around your back to direct you away from the mess, “We’ll take care of it.”

You nodded and followed his lead away from the beach and into town, but you found yourself remembering that prickle up the back of your neck that night, and wondered if it had had anything to do with the slaughter. Was there some predator that had somehow made it onto the island without anyone knowing? Was someone going around killing cats? Had the solitude of Crockett Island finally made someone snap and rip every feline to shreds?

The call of your name cut through your thoughts.

You looked up and saw that you were ex standing outside your shop, and the poor man who had walked you there looked even more distressed at your quietness.

“Thank you…thanks Hassan…I’ll…let- let me know if you find anything out.” You said quietly but gave him a small smile of reassurance.

“I will. Take care okay?” He said, and you nodded, but he was already disappearing up the steps into the general store.

You nodded to yourself, and unlocked your shop and stood inside.

Then you took a deep breath.

And got to work.

By the time 8:30 came around, your nerves had calmed, and your nose was filled with a far more pleasant smell of muffins, and tarts and sourdough.

You brushed off your hands, and bundled up the deliveries for that day, then quickly locked the shop up and left for mass. As you walked, you found yourself ever so slightly reluctant. Nervous like your first day of school.

It wasn’t until you heard the sound of Leeza and Annie behind you that you snapped out of a daze that had settled over you.

“Good morning, dear!” Annie called to you as you stopped and waited for them.

“Morning. You all survived the storm just fine?” You asked politely and began walking with them.

“Oh we were fine. Just a breeze.” Annie said good-naturedly, “Sure was strange what with all those cats this morning though hey? Heard Dolly saying they’re still trying to work out what happened.” She said a little hushed.

You nodded, “I know…the Sheriff and I found them this morning…scared me half to death…”

“They’ll figure it out I’m sure.” Annie dismissed the conversation; you could tell she was worried. She always worried.

Not wanting that to be the last conversational subject between your little group, you changed the subject.

“Anything exciting happening at school today?” You asked Leeza.

She shook her head, “Nah…but I think we’re starting on this project that I’m excited about…” the girl began on a tangent regarding her science project. It was nice to listen to someone prattle on about something that would be insignificant in a few years…it was somehow refreshing. Somehow you felt like an older sister to Leeza, and having her confide in you so honestly about mundane things made your heart swell.

The three of you entered the church, and just as always, you sat in your usual spot in the middle, across from Leeza and Annie. And you waited.

“Our processional hymn this morning is number 400 in the red hymnal. “Holy, Holy, Holy.” Please rise. “ came the voice of Father Hill from the door of the church.

A shiver made you twitch, and you blamed a draft in the church. You stood just as you always did; not needing the hymnbook but still holding it out of habit.

You sang, and kept your eyes trained on the text as the Father passed, his hands pressed in prayer as he walked up to the pulpit and continued his routine. You could feel the heavy presence of Bev Keene permeating the air, and you subconsciously ground your teeth. You knew if she had her heart in the right place, she could be a magnetic, beloved member of any community.

But sadly she didn’t have a heart to have it in the right place to begin with. Soot and malice was what sat beneath that gold cross she wore.

“Before he was given up to death, a death he freely accepted, he took bread and gave you thanks…”

Your eyes glazed over at you listened to that voice of his. Not that you weren’t hearing his words, or the message behind them; you were paying attention. But just like being read a story by your mother at bedtime versus a babysitter you had only just met, there was a certain comfort to be found in the former. Yet somehow, where Father Hill ought to have been less comforting, he brought great solace to his homily. It felt as if he was the one you were so used to listening to. Somehow he had eased himself into the Monsignor’s shoes seamlessly and had begun to preach his own gospel that melded with the tone you had become accustomed to since childhood and lulled you into a safe haven of worship.

“…He broke the bread, gave it to his disciples, and said…”

There was an effortlessness in his sermon. You wondered if he had started preaching very young.

With only 4 islanders in the church to worship, Father Hill stepped down from the pulpit and began offering the Body and blood of Christ to each. He saved you for last, you noticed, and for good reason as he retrieved your smaller cup and returned to you. You cupped your hands in front of you, and waited dutifully.

“Body of Christ, y/n.” Came that gentle voice of his like he cared deeply that you accept the blessing.

His long fingers graced the pads of yours so slightly as he placed the wafer on your fingers, and you failed to hide the hitch of your breath as you murmured “Amen.”

Then as he held your small cup for you to drink from, you failed to see how his gaze caught the sight of your pink tongue peaking out just over your teeth as you went to drink. John didn’t know why he noticed that; he supposed he noticed many small details now. Seeing your tongue now must have reminded him of any smaller animal with its mouth open- a small rabbit, a mouse, a cat, a-

A lamb.

The juice tasted strange that morning and somehow thicker than usual. You wondered if it was just in your head after being so shaken from the cats…

Annie took it upon herself to walk Leeza to school that morning, which left you to exit the church alone. On a day like that with the sun shining, you found coming out of the house of God almost ethereal. The light poured in through the single-paned windows and illuminated the dust particles that drifted so gently.

Once you stepped outside, the fresh air filled your lungs and you let yourself smile easily up at Father Paul as he stood patiently.

“Good morning, Father Hill.” You said, craning your neck to look up at the man.

“The beating heart herself!” He smiled, reiterating Annie’s analogy of you.

A good memory.

And a good sense of humour.

The warming of your cheeks was obvious , and John felt a little tug in his chest at the sight of it. Little flower pedals colouring your cheeks.

“She- I’m…”you tried to find a way to humble the dramatic compliment, but failed, “I hope you made it through the storm alright, Father. One hell of a welcome.” You said, trying to redirect the conversation, and to your mercy, Father Hill went along with it.

He nodded.

“It was quite nice actually. Being plunged into darkness almost feels like a renewal of some kind.” He said thoughtfully as his mouth seemed to threaten to tug into a smile.

“Quite sobering.” You agreed, “I’m glad it didn’t chase you off. Don’t know how many times I’ve seen someone buy a summer home here then flee the moment they have to endure a storm.” It was true. A little funny too.

The Father chuckled and nodded, “A fearsome thing to behold, but still a reminder of our creator…the power or lord holds, whipping storms against our rocks and shores just to knock on our doors and say hello. Almost reassuring.” He rambled a little.

You tilted your head, “That’s a very thoughtful way to look at it. Certainly more poetic than what you’ll hear from most of the locals.”

“And what would they say?” He shot back playfully.

You breathed out a laugh.

“One too many curse words for my liking, Father. And a couple confusing analogies.” You said.

Father Hill chuckled and somehow you half expected him to pat your head and tell you to run along. The Monsignor used to when you were a child so it wouldn’t be entirely foreign.

“Well we all have our ways of dealing with hardship-“

“Ah you’re still here, y/n!”

During your conversation you hadn’t noticed how the two of you had come to shift closer to one another; but when that cutting voice of Bev Keen startled you, you took an instinctive step away from the man with whom you had been speaking.

You forced a polite smile, “I am. Just asking how Father Paul made it through the storm-“

“The rectory has always been just fine.” She shot at you with a tight smile as if trying to end your time there quickly.

John could see your lips pull down so slightly into a tiny frown when Bev cut you off; he felt a flicker of irritation. Odd.

You recovered, acting like she didn’t mean any harm. “I’m sure it has. But just because a place is safe doesn’t remove fear. The Father here seemed to have handled it just fine though like you said… “In the storms, winds and waves, He whispers “fearnot” for I am with you.”.” You smiled up at the Father, and he returned it gently.

“Psalm 107:29…truer words could not exist for Crockett Island.” Father Paul said fondly to you; he had a way of speaking to those around him like there was a bubble around the two of you as you conversed. Like nothing else could take his attention from you.

You took in a breath and clasped your hands in front of you when you could feel the gaze of Bev scorching you, “Well thank you for a lovely service today Father, Bev…always a pleasure.” You said to both, but only made it several steps before Father Paul called after you.

“You’re always welcome here.” He said you name so gently. You noticed too that his tone was almost pleading…perhaps encouraging. Did he think you would stop your routine one day?

“I appreciate that Father Hill!” You smiled and waved as you turned to continue on your way; Paul’s lingering stare and Bevs look of distain following you as you went.

Your ear ached as a pull in you almost forced you to turn around and look back at St. Patrick’s again…but you didn’t. Somehow you felt it was in poor taste to do so. You had been startled by being watched once, and you were certain your nerves would not benefit from it again.

Instead, you hurried along, and made it down to the bakery quickly. You waved at a few locals who entered the general store and unlocked your door to grab your deliveries for that day. You always felt a pang of sadness when you looked at your list of houses and saw old customers crossed off; having passed or moved, but you supposed you ought to feel joyous for those who remained.

One by one you completed your deliveries. There were only 15 houses to visit, give or take a few from day to day. You treasured those houses.

You peddled up to one of the houses you frequented, and grabbed the order you needed. You almost bounced up the steps and knocked. It didn’t take long before the door was opening after the voice inside called that they were coming.

You were then met with a familiar face.

“Good to see you. Morning going alright?” Sarah Gunning was always a little direct, but kind. You supposed a good doctor ought to be both.

You nodded as you handed her the two loaves of bread and bundle of fruit cakes. “Not too bad…was a little shaken by the…uh…the cats this morning but nothing a sunny day like today can’t fix!” You assured her. “How’s your mother?”

Sarah nodded, “I heard…smelled it too. She’s alright, thank you y/n.” She took the package from you and gave you a tight smile.

“Good…see you soon.” You chirped, and began backing down the steps.

You turned around and strode out the front yard, but sighed when you noticed one of the straps that kept your goods in place at the back of your bike was loose. You knelt down and retied it. You supposed everything on this island was falling apart just a little.

When you straightened, however, you gasped and nearly toppled over. “F-Father Hill! I’m so sorry-“

The man stepped back a little.

“Im sorry I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” He put his hand up to show he meant no harm, face apologetic.

“No…no that was on me, I’ve been a little in my head lately.” You said, having a hard time meeting his gaze.

“We all can be a little distracted.” He said. A slightly awkward silence fell between you, but it was he who broke it. “You know the Gunnings well?” He asked, and nodded to the house behind you.

You followed his gaze and nodded, “Not terribly, but I remember seeing Mrs. Gunning in church when I was a kid…I just deliver to them now. Mrs.Gunning’s health hasn’t been the best for years and her daughter Sarah cares for her…I just try to help out where I can.” You smiled.

There was something nagging at you though. Something odd. Of course you hadn’t fully realized that this stranger already knew who lived there; you were so used to everyone knowing everyone.

You did notice how the man before you shifted when you mentioned Sarah’s mother. He seemed almost a little more compelled to listen.

“That- that’s kind of you.” He stumbled a little over his words, “Giving to those in need that’s very selfless…a trait that can be hard to come by though we all possess it.” Father Hill forced a smile that crinkled the sides of his eyes.

“We all have traits in us that we can chose to embrace or not. Good and bad, Father.”

His smile turned a little more genuine then. “Ah yes, the never ending duality of man.”

“ “Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that their deeds will be exposed.” John 3:20.” You quoted a little absentmindedly as you saw Beverly pass by on the main road. The distraction kept you from seeing how the man towering over you had his eyes go wide, and looked away for a moment.

You both stood there for a moment, then you ducked your head a little and pulled your bike towards yourself. “Well Father, I’ll leave you to it.”

Father Hill nodded, and pursed his lips ever so slightly, “Good to see you…”

You slowly walked past him and back to the road, but stopped when he muttered something that you wondered if he meant for you to hear.

“Thank you.” He said.

You looked back at him, brows pitched in confusion.

“For…taking- taking care of everyone.” He ended his sentence a little weakly, and you tilted your head a little to the side. An odd man.

“It’s my pleasure.” You decided on. It seemed to be what Father Hill wanted or needed to hear, and you both parted ways.

You paused at Main Street, and turned to look up at the Father as he ascended the stairs to the Gunning house. This time, it was his turn to glance back at you as you watched him. You waved and smiled, and didn’t wait for his response before you were pedalling away.

John had been standing just out of view of Sarah when he had said goodbye to Leeza, and saw you knock on Mildred’s front door. He stayed there, enjoying how much life you held inside you. Youthful and magnetic. Of course the ease in staring at you had nothing to do with the fact that your dress swayed around your legs and picked up so slightly in the wind.

He watched how startled you were by him when he approached you…so cautious yet so trusting. A lamb weary of wolves just looking for her Shepard.

I will be your Shepard sweet lamb…let me. Bend for me…for God.

Then that quote…oh you were no mere lost soul. No you were thoughtful. John felt excitement fill him at the thought of how you would benefit from his gift. He would be lying if he said you saying his true name didn’t startle him. A coincidence, of course.

Then when he turned back and saw you already watching him. Then that peak of your thigh when you hopped onto your bike…John was…

John was distracted.

An ideal lamb to guide yet so concerning. Not a blind lamb…no you were good. You were caring, and strong. Hopeful…hopeful like a man overboard who knew he had to weather swell after swell of water but kept treading water because he knew he was strong enough despite his muscles wanting to give out.

Instead of staying afloat like that man, John lost his breath.

Then he gasped in the salty sea water and breathed you in. Gulped you down his throat like a greedy boy to nourish his body and fill his lungs.

The next morning was thankfully an uneventful one.

Hassan and Wade had managed to get the dead cats cleaned up by the evening of the day before, and you weren’t sure when the last time was that you were so happy to have nothing happen.

Until that evening.

You were fairly proud of your abilities to make delicious confectioneries for Crockett island, and as you stared down your journal of recipes that sat in your lap, you pondered which to chose for the approaching Crock-potluck. You knew there would be a great deal of food already there, but you also knew that something freshly made for desert changed an atmosphere fast.

You were just looking through your various cookie and sweet bread recipes when a knock on your door made you jump. It was rare that you had visitors, especially at this hour. Certainly Erin had come by numerous times for slow walks around the island in the evening from time to time, and then Annie sometimes ran down to your house if she needed an ingredient…but somehow you felt that the person knocking was neither.

It was soft and timid.

You uncurled yourself from your nest of blankets on the couch, and strode to your door, then opened it with a pleasant smile on your face. It faltered only a little once you saw who was standing there.

“I- I uh…I’m sorry for this intrusion so late but I have a favour to ask of you if I may.” Came that low rumble of the man’s voice as he stood in the dim light of your porch.

You blinked, “What can I do for you Father?”

Father Hill shifted a little- an awkward smile on his face as he looked to the side as he stalled.

“This is my first uh- Crockett Po- crock-“ he stumbled a little and you smiled.

“Crock-potluck.” You corrected him.

He laughed a little, “Yes. And I wanted to have something to bring. Something my mother ingrained in me as a boy and well I was hoping if…if you could lend a helping hand so to speak.”

You bit at your cheek to keep from smiling too wide at his request. Here was this man likely twice your age, taller than most trees, fumbling with his words when he preached for a living. He was endearing.

“Well Father…it is getting late.” You started, and his face instantly turned to that of a kicked puppy.

His eyes softened, and the corners of his mouth tugged down so slightly.

“Oh- of- of course how silly-“

“-and I was going to make something for the potluck anyways…so having an extra pair of hands would be a godsend.” You finished.

John chuckled and stared you in the eye when your nose scrunched up so slightly at your tease.

Funny girl.

“Come in, please…make yourself at home.” You ushered him in. You were thankful that Bev didn’t live near you lest she see her dear Father Hill enter the home of a young woman alone.

Of course, John knew that you were indeed preparing to make something. Just like most islanders, you kept your drapes open even at night, and while he had just meant to take an evening stroll and check in on you- his dear lamb- John had found himself standing just outside your window watching you for well past a half hour. You flicked through that book of yours that John remembered seeing on your counter just two days ago when you had tested a recipe from it. You hadn’t seen him that night either. So domestic and sweet in your own space…

It was only when he snapped out of his trance-like state that he felt a little perverse in his current situation and told himself that he must have a reason for being there so long.

Thus the need to make something for the potluck.

John Pruitt had never made something for the potluck.

But he would not just leave your house that night after watching you through your window.

No. No he had a purpose for being there.

Of course he did. Why else would God have guided him there on his walk?

It wasn’t as if he was subconsciously drawn to your little home.

A moth to a flame.

You watched the older man remove his boots, and unzip his grey hoodie, and remove it to fold it neatly onto your couch. He looked so domestic and human.

“We’re going to make a cult classic, Father…I hope that’s alright. Safer for large numbers.” You explained as you flipped to your browned butter chocolate chip recipe. You slowly walked into your kitchen as you reviewed what you needed, and Father Hill trailed after you.

“This might take a couple hour- oh!” You started to say, but jumped when you turned around and bumped right into his chest.

He chuckled, “I think I might need a bell on me…I’m afraid I have a talent for startling people lately.”

You waved it off, “It’s just me…I’m just- I…” you sighed and looked up at the man as he waited patiently for your explanation, “Can I…can I be completely honest with you, Father Hill?” You asked a little timidly.

He nodded- open and calm, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You sucked in a breath, “You’re…well you’re a new presence here on the island…a welcomed one! But because you’re new…you startle a lot of us because we’re simply not…used to you. We’ll get there but in the time being…I think that’s why. I’m- we…we’re glad you’re here.” You stumbled and then when he smiled softly at you you suddenly worried that you had offended him, “I’m…I’m sorry I don’t think that came out right…”

“No no please…it makes perfect sense given how isolated the island is…I take no offence.” He said good-naturedly and waved his hand.

You sighed, and looked down, “Alright well…let’s get started. You might want to roll your sleeves up though it can get messy, Father.” You perked up as you changed the subject, and began to walk to your counter where you had already taken out a mixing bowl and, whisk and measuring cup.

“I am at your disposal, young lady.” Father Paul came to brace himself against the counter edge beside you, looking down at you thoughtfully.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks, but kept your head down enough for him to not see, “Can you get me the butter from the fridge? Should be on the door.” You asked, and pulled out a small saucepan.

He nodded, and retrieved the butter for you. As he looked for it, you glanced over at him, and found your eyes drawn to his exposed forearms from him rolling up his sleeves. You looked away almost instantly, embarrassed for having been looking at your priest like that.

“You know this is the first time I’ve done this. Gotta admit it’s a bit exciting.” He said as he popped the butter beside you on the counter proudly.

“Baking is always fun…especially when things turn out yummy.” You smiled and put two large cups of butter in the heated pan. It started to sizzle. “We brown the butter to give the cookies a sort of nutty flavour…makes it a little tastier even if they’re just chocolate chip cookies.” You explained. He watched over your shoulder, enrapt.

“Did you always want to do this?” He asked you.

You blinked, “The- the cookies-?”

“No.” He laughed, “No, being a baker.”

“Oh. Well…not exactly. I grew up here and when you grow up in Crockett you have a lot of time to think…sometimes too much. I guess I knew I would end up doing something here and when I got older I got into baking and in my spare time I got really good at it…took years but before I knew it I was graduating and had a pretty fortuitous hobby. It was actually Dr. Gunning who suggested it.”

“Sarah?” Came his voice behind you.

“Yeah, Sarah was in the general store when I was there to get some milk and we got to talking…I had made her mom a few loaves of bread that she used to like and Sarah said I should make something out of my skill. And here I am!” You laughed, and stirred the butter as it browned and thinned.

“Wonderful…” he said softly.

You nodded, “She’s a nice lady. You’ll get used to her- just a little direct. Think it comes with being a doctor.” There was a moment of silence between you; only filled with the bubbling of the butter, “Alright, can you go into the freezer and pull out the flour, and measure out 3 cups of it into the bowl there?” You asked the man behind you.

“I certainly can.” He confirmed.

“Oh! Can you get 4 eggs as well?” You asked quickly.

He hummed and looked through your fridge for what he needed, and placed everything by the bowl. The counter was so much lower for him that he almost had to hunker over with his height to work.

He looked so…normal. It was sweet. A little odd to see your pastor baking with you but it was nice. Somehow it made him feel more human than just a man who absolved your sins and blessed you every morning.

The two of you worked together, and you came to find that Father Hill was eager to learn. He was methodical and took his time to do things right. Listened. Before you knew it there was a massive bowl of cookie dough on the counter and your oven was full of baking sheets.

“Each sheet should only take about 15 minutes so this shouldn’t take more than another hour.” You said, “If- if you need to take off I can finish-“

“A good man does not abandon his task, not to worry.” His tone was stern but he was smiling. You returned it.

“Well…” you breathed as you looked around for something to do, “I can put some music on if you like? You’re welcome to look around.”

He nodded, and you went to find something to listen to, “This used to be my family’s house. I’m afraid I only have their old records…Hope that’s okay?”

“More than.” He called out to you as you went into the living room.

You flipped through a few envelopes, and settled on one from Jeff Buckley. It was mostly slow, and you could still talk if you wanted to. You set it up, and as the needle sat atop the vinyl, a calm song began.

“Who’s this little ray of sunshine?”

You turned and followed Father Paul’s voice. He was standing in front of a few picture frames hung on the wall that you kept from when your family lived there.

“That was me.” You laughed, “That was right before Easter I think…I was 5.” You said thoughtfully.

“You looked happy.” He smiled.

I was. You thought.

“I loved Easter. Mostly for the chocolate…” you both chuckled a little, “But…now it’s just the time of year that I like. Spring. Revival…blossoming of plants, birds chirping…everything just seems so much more alive. The world starts to hum with God’s greatness during Easter, I think.” You thought aloud, then looked up at Father Hill once you ended your musings.

He was already watching you; hanging onto every word.

He remembered how much you enjoyed Easter. “One more chocolate, Monsignor? Pleeease?” He could still hear that little voice.

“What do you think, Father?” You asked him.

“I have to agree.” He hummed. You noticed that his eyes were almost glassy-that same teary look you had noticed when you first met him. Like he may weep.

“I think Monsignor Pruitt was partial t-

DING!

You both jumped apart and looked behind you at the sound of your timer sounding.

Had it been 15 minutes already?

You both returned to the kitchen and you began removing the sheets of golden treats. “If you can put them on the cooling rack while I take them out that’ll help a lot, Father.” You smiled.

“They turned out so nicely.” He mused as he followed your orders, “I supposed I shouldn’t have expected anything less from you.”

You laughed a little, “It’s just trial and error until you figure out your best method.”

Modest girl.

John grinned at you from the corner of his eye while you placed the last hot sheet on the counter.

The two of you continued the routine until the last round was in the oven, and you were starting to feel more at ease with the man. Almost playful. He certainly was a young priest, and every bit a red blooded man; his humour was dry, and he smiled easily. His laugh was infectious, though you could tell he didn’t do it often. You supposed the church wasn’t exactly a place rich with humour.

The record had nearly finished after almost an hour of listening, and the two of you were leaning against the kitchen counter listening. You swayed gently to the music, but then perked up when a favourite of yours began to play.

“I love this song…” you muttered under your breath and turned your head in the direction of the living room.

John looked down at you in recognition of what you had said, but in the low light of your kitchen, and the softness in your face, he couldn’t help but be reminded of being young. Not just himself but the island. Back when the people who were not partners used to be children he had baptized. Back when there were dances in the old town hall that had since burned down decades ago.

You reminded him of…a better time.

An easier time.

You were so occupied in your little bubble, that it took you a moment to notice Father Paul coming in front of you with his hands out.

You looked down at his palms, then up at him, and he waited patiently. You slowly placed your hands in his, and he pulled you away from the counter and began to sway with you. So gentle, then he tentatively brought your hand up to his shoulder and he brought his other hand to your waist; guiding you through a little dance.

Neither of you said a word.

Not there was anything to say really.

Somehow the two of you just felt very…human.

Your neck hurt from looking up at his dark eyes, but you didn’t stop. He watched you just as closely as you moved slowly through the room in small circles.

“…You know I used to be alone before I knew you…and I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch, and love is not some victory march. It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah…”

The smell of baked cookies surrounded you, and you almost laughed at the absurdity of it all.

But in that moment, it didn’t feel absurd.

It felt like two kindred souls enjoying some shared time. Any obligations or expectations melted away as you felt the warmth from his hands meld into your tendons and heat your sinew. His fingers holding yours felt more akin to a cradle and his breath between you was like smelling your childhood.

Your heart ached.

Perhaps it was that no one had held you in years. Let alone danced with you.

Hugs and pats on the back were about the extent.

“…and it’s not a cry that you hear at night, it’s not someone whose seen the light, it’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah…”

The two of you slowed until you came to a standstill in the kitchen, simply standing less than a foot from eachother. When the timer dinged this time, neither of you jumped away. The sound certainly brought you down to Earth, but somehow you only found yourself staring up at the man. You weren’t altogether confused, though you were curious and a little nervous.

Why had he done that?

Why did you do that?

You had felt so comfortable…like this was an old friend of yours who you had just seen again after years apart.

John gazed down at you…his mind rich with turmoil and deep contemplation. When he had taken your hands in his, it had been as if God had moved through him.

Compelling.

Like God had told him to embrace the good of the past, and remember what he was working towards. To restore exactly that.

After a few breaths, Father Hill released your hand, and you both quietly walked to the oven.

The last batch now sat on the cooling racks, and you sighed.

“I’ll pack these up and bring them by the rectory before service tomorrow, Father.” You broke the silence.

Father hill nodded, “Thank you my girl.” He said softly.

You nodded and looked down at your hands, “Thank you for your company.” Then looked back up at the man before you.

He tilted his head to you as if to tell you that you were welcome or that it was his pleasure.

He slowly unrolled his sleeves, and you picked his sweater up for him from the living room.

You almost felt bad to watch him go. It might have been nice to talk to him for a few hours more.

He finished tying his boots and graciously took the sweater from you, and slipped it on over his collared shirt.

“Goodnight, y/n.” He murmured as he opened your door.

“Goodnight, Father.” You whispered back.

He stayed a moment longer, and smiled gently at you, then he was gone.

You stood in your doorway, watching him go, and as he left your sight, you found yourself returning to your senses. A wave of embarrassment chilled you when you realised what you had just done. Yet somehow you didn’t feel entirely guilty. It had felt as if some kind of blanket had enveloped the two of you just like when he conversed with his flock after mass- a bubble around you.

You packed the treats away after cooling, and silently went to sleep. You didn’t let yourself dwell.

“It’s great to see so many of you here today. But I do have to ask, why not every Sunday? Christmas, Easter, I get that. But there’s also always an uptick around the start of Lent. Why is that? What’s so special about today? Ash Wednesday, beginning of Lent. It’s hardly a crowd-pleaser.The beginning of repentance, making amends for our sins. Sin. This darkness, this blackness that spilled into us. That darkness, we wear it on our forehead today. Just a smudge of it. Uh…A smudge of death, of ash, of sin for repentance. Because of where this is all actually heading, which is Easter. Rebirth, resurrection, eternal life. Life that rises again…” Father Paul stood before you at the pulpit, presence commanding as ever.

“Even out of blackness, love rises again. Even out of sin. And this island, it will rise again. Even out of disaster, rebirth, restoration, eternal life. Jesus sees you. Sees you, best of all, and he sees you true. Because, don’t forget, who did he seek out? Who did he turn to, to build his church?His apostles. Jesus’ first disciples, they were fishermen. One of his first miracles, right? The nets are empty, fishermen desperate. Jesus says, “Put out into deep water and let down your nets for a catch,” and when they pulled up those nets, a bounty of fish.” You could practically feel the worshipers buzz around you as their heart rates picked up, just like yours.

“He sees you. Oh, yes, he sees you, brothers and sisters, and he will resurrect this island, and he will again fill your nets. It’s great you’re here today, but please keep coming back. Those doors, they’re always open, as the gates are always open. You just bring yourself. God will do the rest. As Psalm 60 tells us, “God, You have rejected us, You have broken us down, You have been angry. Restore us again.” Do you know what psalms are? They’re songs.The word psalm from the Greek psalmoi. It means “music.” Songs of prayer. Songs of praise. That’s who we are. That’s who we must be. That’s what it means to have faith, that in the darkness, in the worst of it, in the absence of light and hope, we sing. “Restore us,” we sing to the sky. And He will, my friends. He will. That same hand that dealt you your hardship, that same hand will make you whole.”

A single tear fell from your eye. God works in mysterious ways, and you could almost feel God working through Father Hill that day. As if God truly was trying to tell you that he was there with you. And Father Hill spoke as if he knew something good was to come- as if God had shown him.

And you believed him.

As you stood, you could hear Annie trying to urge her son to accept the cross of ash, and you gave her a small reassuring smile when she filed in behind you.

“Y/n remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” The preacher murmured to you. Your face was bright that day, happy. John suppressed a smile.

“Amen.” You said quietly, flicking your eyes up to his. He stared down at you steadily, calm as ever.

“Bless you my child.” His was was low and serene.

It was a peaceful stroll down to potluck. You watched as birds started to flit in the trees and chirp; bees starting to buzz, the gentle sound of the shore. Rebirth.

You checked behind you every so often as you walked in case you saw Father Hill; you had brought the cookies to the rectory that morning before service, and when you had offered to help carry the three large containers after, the Father had declined.

You had insisted.

But he insisted harder.

It was wonderful to see the islanders enjoy the little festival. Sharing with each other and laughing. It didn’t happen often. It was as if everyone pushed off their exhaustion just to enjoy that day. Problems could wait until the next day.

You made your way through the locals that you knew well, and stopped a little longer with some. Annie stood with Ed, and you noticed them smiling; perhaps it might seem like a strange thing to notice, but you knew all about Ed’s troubled back, and how their marriage was a little exhausted…it made your heart glow a little to see them happy. Most everyone seemed happier if you were honest, and it wasn’t just that day.

Your legs began to ache after a half hour, and you took to the edge of the festival to sit. You liked this. Watching everyone around you.

“Mind if I join you?” You looked up to see Father Hill walking over to you, a cup of juice in hand.

“Please do.” You scooted over to give him a little more room.

He sat with a soft grunt.

“You did your hair different.”

You turned to him. And your lips parted in surprise, “Wha-“

“I’m sorry- I noticed during communion. Just came to mind.” He said a little awkwardly though no less sweet.

Your mouth fell open a little, “I did. First day of lent…I like to do a little extra for it.” You rambled.

John smiled at you.

You looked pretty.

Not that he could say that.

But you did.

“The crockpot luck…I hear it’s a yearly staple for the island.” Father Hill said to you as you both looked out over the festival.

You nodded, “Sure is…”

John turned to you then; your tone was a little more reserved. Like you weren’t saying all you wished to.

“You’re not a fan of it?” He asked curiously.

You thought for a moment. “Can I be-“

“Honest?” He cut you off. Echoing your words from the night before.

You smiled, “Yes.”

“Please do.”

“I-… Lent is supposed to be a time of fasting and repentance and prayer…I just…it seems strange to have a festival on Ash Wednesday.” You said quietly.

He nodded, “Perhaps a little unorthodox.”

“I think I’ve always found it just…a little odd. Our Monsignor was the one who came up with it, you know? Coined the name. I just…I can’t help but wonder if his theology was a little…uh…off.” You mused, looking down at your hands.

Father Hill regarded you for a moment, and nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“I know you didn’t know him…he was a nice man…but…he was- is just a man. Man has his faults.” You shrugged, then turned to the man beside you, “No offence, Father.”

He chuckled and sipped at his cup, “None taken. I appreciate your candour.”

You pursed your lips.

You weren’t usually so unguarded.

You shouldn’t have said that.

Why did you say that?

This was the second time you had inadvertently said something to insult him within 24 hours. You felt shame start to rise in the back of your throat.

“I don’t want you to worry about offending me, y/n. I’m a friend and an ear to listen…if ever you want to talk.” He said, staring out at the sea of people, then back at you.

You sighed and nodded, “Thank you, Father. You’re very kind.”

He smiled.

Then you remembered something, “Father?”

“Hm?”

You shifted a little awkwardly, “I want to first thank you for maintaining my uh…specialized sacrament, but I just wanted to ask- have you changed the juice?” You asked him.

He thought for a moment, “I don’t believe so. We just got a new shipment…I can check if it’s any different…why?”

“It…it’s just…it tastes very strange. Almost metallic. I don’t know how else to describe it.” You thought back to how the taste stayed in your mouth after only a sip.

John shifted in his seat. You knew. He would have to find another way of give you the gift.

“I’ll find another one to give you. Not to worry.” He said, and patted your hand.

“Thank you, Father.” You chose not to dwell on him touching you.

“Well, I should return to my flock…trying to get to know everyone.” He said, then pushed himself up off the bench.

You nodded. You knew he was only temporary, but it was kind of him to try and get to know the members of the community while he was there.

He was charming and approachable, it wouldn’t be hard for him.

“Of course, enjoy!” You called after him. He waved back at you, and you scrunched your face up as the sun hit your eyes.

You sighed to yourself and after an hour, you began to make another round of the park. The town had truly lucked out with such a beautiful day for such a special day. After such a nasty storm just a few days ago, it was surprising.

You watched at the sun started to lower in the sky. Things were starting to wind down, and some had began to return home-

“Pike!”

You whipped your head around in the direction of the scream. On the other end of the park, you could see a crowd forming. You knew Pike was Joe Collie’s dog, and by the sounds of it, there was nothing good happening. You knew he was old, and loud, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly. You hoped he hadn’t bitten someone.

You crossed the field in just a couple minutes, and when you came to stand in the crowd, you felt yourself grow lightheaded. Pike was laying in a puddle of foamy bile and blood- the light leaving his eyes. You could hear Joe accusing Bev, and saw Sarah knelt over the dog…it was horrible.

“Alright everyone…back up.” Hassan waved his arms to try and disperse the crowd. Everyone began to walk away, and you could feel a solemnness come over the islanders. Like somehow they had all been snapped out of a trance and remembered their troubles.

You pursed your lips, but ultimately backed up as well. You wanted to help, but you knew there was virtually nothing to do. Pike was dead.

You kept to yourself for another hour, the as the afternoon dragged on, you started to collect the now-empty containers that had once held the cookies.

“Thanks for that, y/n.”

You looked over at Wade who was taking one last helping of…something brownish. A casserole of some kind.

You smiled, “Oh it was no problem. It was actually a group effort between the Father and I!”

His brows shot up, “Really?”

“Yeah he wanted to bring something. Wasn’t that nice of him?” You picked the empty containers up.

“Yeah…he- he seems like a real nice fella.” He mused, moustache twitching.

You nodded, “This was great, Mr. Mayor. See you Friday?”

He chuckled- you knew he was just fine with Wade, but you also knew he liked when people used his title- made him feel important. And you did your best to remind each person of their importance when you could.

“See you Friday, sweetheart.” He conceded.

You waved him off, then began your way back home.

John stood on the edge of the park watching you go. He had initially taken the spot to gaze at Sarah, but his gaze had been drawn when you were speaking with the mayor.

They really did love you.

And he understood why.

He watched you disappear down the road, dress fluttering in the wind.

•••••••••••••••••••

@littleredwritingcat @zaunite-leo @f4er1e-g1rl @purplemotif @vampyre-kin @professional-sinner @hamishlinklaters @spacechupss @pansexualpamandabear @ebiemidnightlibrarian

#father john pruitt #father paul hill x reader #father paul hill #midnight mass fanfiction #midnight mass #hamish linklater #flanaverse #happy Good Friday ya nasties #father John Pruitt x reader #father Paul hill fan fiction

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sleepershell · 6 months

Text

Make a Deal with Me pt 2

pt 1

pairing regulus x reader

wc 1940

content fluff, angst, smut 18+ minors please dni, fingering, p in v sex, regulus speaking french because ahhhhhhh, star-crossed lovers, reg is king of consent and asks permission

synopsis just a secret rendezvous with your secret boyfriend reg

Nobody could know I was seeing Regulus. Not only because neither of us could stand our friends knowing, but because we were exchanging much more than love letters. He was going to be the thing that defeated Voldemort. And, for some reason, he didn’t want anyone to know. Somehow he seemed content to keep going to those awful meetings.

After that first morning, when he’d eaten me with more passion than I thought possible, we hadn’t really been able to keep our hands to ourselves. He really did want to help the Order, albeit begrudgingly. And apparently the both of us had been nursing a slight obsession. Whether it had been fueled more by hate or lust was anyone’s guess. He’d even told me it was his parents who banned him from seeing me. After the loss of their eldest, the reins were pulled that much tighter on Regulus. He wasn’t to be seen with a non-pureblood witch. It hadn’t been until after losing Sirius—his only true lifeline—and joining the death eaters that his worldview started to crumble.

So, we met in darkened corners, charmed broom closets, a room in the Hog’s Head, the forbidden forest. We didn’t always sleep together, or at least we didn’t intend to. But something about him just set me alight and I couldn’t quite keep my hands from snaking their way under his robes. And it seemed he’d developed a… taste for me. One might describe it as insatiable. The wizarding world was blazing with conflict but I was solidly on cloud 9. That is, until Regulus had finally slipped and told me his plan.

The moment I stepped foot in the forbidden forest his arms were around me, his face buried into the crook of my neck.

“Mon ange!” He cooed into my ear, and I could hear the smile on his lips.

“Hello, Reg.” It still took me by surprise, calling him whatever I wanted. I watched the other Slytherin girls lust over him, watched them get rejected, watched his mischievous glances over to me. Class with him was getting tougher. Whenever he’d peer over from under those easy dark curls, I’d lose any semblance of focus.

I turned to get a look at him. He was smiling huge, something I’m not sure I’d seen since he was maybe ten. It was a sweet smile, goofy even, which was never a word I’d used to describe Regulus before. His greenish eyes gleamed. I could’ve screamed with joy.

“How are you, ma raison d’etre?”

I shook my head at him. He knew how giddy his speaking in French made me. I think he was just happy to give affection. And to get it. He brought a new meaning to the term touch-starved. I traced my index finger along the smooth angle of his jaw.

“Much better now. How are you?”

“The same.” His smile was so sweet. I didn’t think anyone else had ever gotten to see this Regulus. Except maybe Sirius. Which reminded me—

“I’ve seen Sirius. He’s doing well. Still pigheaded and ridiculous.”

Regulus nodded. I knew he’d never ask, but Sirius was often on his mind. I liked to let him know whenever I’d been to Order meetings and seen his brother. Truly, I wished Regulus would let me tell Sirius he was on our side. I’d never been close with Sirius but Remus was a childhood friend. It'd been clear from my conversations with him that Sirius lamented the loss of his brother. Albeit a bit differently than Regulus did.

“(y/n), sit with me.” He fanned out his arm to show me where he’d sat a blanket on a patch of thick moss at the base of a tree. He sat with his back against the dark bark, and I laid my head on his lap. His thighs weren’t pillowy the way mine were but felt sturdy and sure. I loved looking up at him. “We need to talk about Voldemort.”

I filled my lungs up with air. “Okay. What’s going on?”

He wasn’t looking at me, he was looking straight ahead, into the forest. “I overheard my cousin saying something…”

“Which one?”

“Bella.” I almost shivered. That girl was frightening.

“What did she say?”

“Voldemort is launching more attacks on the muggle families of wizards. And Bellatrix mentioned your mother’s name.”

I sat bolt upright. My stomach threatened to revolt. “My family.” The edges of my vision went black. And then his cool hands were on either side of my face, reeling me back in. His face was an inch from mine, his eyes wide and sincere.

“It’s okay, (y/n), I’m not going to let anything happen to them. And they should be safe, I threw out the names of so many other families they could choose instead. But I know, I know, it’s okay. I’m going to stop him forever.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m going to do it. I’m destroying the locket.” His face was so calm, as if the idea of him putting himself in mortal danger was any better. I grasped his hands, holding them tight to my face.

“No no, Reg, no. It’s too dangerous. We agreed to find another way.”

“Have you thought of another way?”

There was a sinkhole in my chest. “No.”

He didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. The point was made. I slid my hands into his fringe, pulling the hair back and looking in his eyes.

“I don’t care. We’ll think of something else. Please promise.” I could see him beginning to shake his head. “Or at least that you won’t go before we decide.” He didn’t speak, and I didn’t like the look in his eyes. I tilted my face close enough to plant a kiss on his lips. “Please.” Kiss. “Please.” Kiss.

“Alright.” He nodded, his lips pursed.

“Good.” I pushed him back against the tree, and he threw his arms out on the ground at his sides, feigning weakness. I shook my head. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind all day.” I slid a knee over so I could straddle his lap, my face a few inches above his.

“You haven’t? Mon ange, I nearly had to walk out of Astronomy today due to that ludicrous mouth of yours. The chewing on your quill was driving me mad.” He growled, his hands sliding my robes up my thighs.

“I was thinking about you the entire time. Professor said Arcturus and I felt faint!”

We laughed, and my hair cascaded around our faces like a curtain. His fingers squeezed my legs. My face close to his ear, my breath radiating back at me from his neck, I whispered, “I want you.”

The storm was released, a groan like thunder rumbling from the depths of him. I exhaled low and hard as his fingertips climbed ever further. I clenched my thighs hard around him when one of his dexterous hands ducked between, the other tracing a pattern on my sensitive skin.

“You want me, (y/n)? Tell me again.”

“I want you, love.” His fingers lingered just before touching me.

“Again.”

“Please, Reg, I want you.” I gasped, and his hand dove into my cunt, his palm pushing into me the way I’d been craving from outside my underwear. My head thrown back, all I could see above was the dense overhang of the trees.

“Se mouillé.” He cooed, his fingers ducking under the fabric and finding my slick opening. They slid with terrible ease inside me. The way he touched felt like someone gone hungry their whole life. Like he needed to savor every second for fear of that emptiness he’d always known. Desperation and passion like I’d never experienced. It was an invocation of some solitary god.

As his fingers pumped cool and hard into me his thumb began its own rhythm on my clit. The combination of the two sensations drove me into euphoria. There was nothing around us, only the millions of nerve endings and the sound of his satin voice. Sweet heat pulsed through me from my center, building and building, making my breath shallow and loud. He knew just the right pressure to bring me to my heights.

“Look at me, ange.” His voice was coarse.

I threw my head forward and my mouth fell open with my eyes. His green ones gazed from under his brow straight into me. The intensity drove me even further. My cunt constricted around his fingers as my body finally gave in to the wave of pleasure. It racked through me, sending my legs spasming and my mind into complete animal desperation. I let my head fall forward against his chest, feeling the ripples of satisfaction slowly ebb.

His mouth was near my ear. “May I?”

I nodded against his chest with an affirmative grunt, and that was all he required. In a moment, his cock was already freed from his robes, and he was rubbing it against me, savoring the slick evidence of my orgasm. I moved my head back off him so he could see my face as he entered me—I knew it was what he loved most.

It took nothing at all to slide his hardness inside me. It was a relief to feel so full. He smiled briefly, almost in question, and I responded by rocking my hips on him. His head leaned back on the tree, eyes closed in bliss. I loved to see what I could do to him, how much pleasure I could muster in someone else. I started to lift up and back down, stroking him with myself. And then lifted so high that there was threat of his cock falling out. His hands swiftly flew from my thighs to my waist and pulled me back onto him. He held me tight at my middle, bouncing me on his lap.

“Fuck, Reg,” I cried. He was so huge inside me, it was almost too much. As he flung me, I could feel him so deep, pressing so far I couldn’t help the pathetic noises tumbling from my throat.

“Mom juoet,” he groaned. My eyes were rolled back so far I thought I might be seeing another universe. “I’m going to fill you.”

He grasped me, pulling me tightly into his arms with one final, deep thrust. A string of whispered ‘fucks’ left him and his cock twitched inside while I tightened on him. Still holding me so, so tight to his chest, still lingering inside me, he began to plant kisses all over my neck, cheek, shoulder. A barrage of soft lips on skin. And I began to giggle—a giddy, cockdrunk giggle.

No one knew. We were in our own pocket of existence, hiding. Darkness was held above us with a twig, like a trap for an animal. But there we were, laughing in its face, giving in to temptation. I only hoped we’d retreat far, far from the trap before the twig gave way, before the darkness snapped shut around us.

“We should leave.”

His kisses stopped. His arms loosed, and I pulled back to look at him.

“What?”

“Regulus,” I placed a hand on his still flushed cheek, “I want us to go away, even if it’s just for a little. I want to love you and just that. I want there to be nothing else.”

There was that darkness, that worry that always stirred behind the curtain in his eyes.

“Anything, (y/n). I know somewhere. We’ll go straight there after school ends.”

And life, even with my world sat on a precipice, was perfect.

#fanfic #fanfiction #oneshot #regulus black #marauders #angst #regulus arcturus black #smut #💤🦪#🐍#🍑#established relationship #enemies to lovers #rivals to lovers #academic rivals #star crossed lovers

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subpar-ghoulfriend · 3 years

Text

Cuddle Bunny Pt 2

Pro Hero!Kirishima x reader with a bunny quirk

Kirishima get’s his hand on his bunny.

tw: smut, yandere, breeding kink, kidnapping, noncon, dubcon, gaslighting, penetration, delusional Kirishima, belly bulge

You struggled to open your eyes as you inhaled the familiar scent of sandalwood and vanilla. You heart rate picked up as you realized you were in a totally unfamiliar environment. Weren't you just at work?

Whoever was behind you had their arms around you to keep you from sitting up.

"Good morning, bunny. How'd you sleep?"

You knew that voice, confirming who was beside you.

Your mouth was dry and your voice cracked as you asked, "Kirishima? What's going on?"

"I picked you up from work last night, you were out like a light."

The pervious night was muddled in your mind but you knew he wasn't telling the truth. He was supposed to be your last client for the night. The two of you walked out of the building around the same time. You politely declined his offer to walk you home. The next thing you remember was sitting on the curb as the world started to spin. Kirishima was talking to you but you couldn't remember what was said.

You took a shaky breath. You had to be brave, besides he was a hero. There was an explanation. You just had to find it.

"Kiri, are you telling me the whole truth?" Your voice was barely above a whisper but you knew he heard you. His arms tensed around you.

"You're such a curious bunny. We can talk more once you're feeling better."

What was he talking about? All you had was a headache, you could hold down a conversation. Confrontation was never your thing. But maybe you could just keep asking him.

You wanted to wrap things up so you could go home before work.

"Can we talk about it later?" You asked. "I have to run home before my shift."

He nuzzled closer to you, "What do you mean, silly? You don't work there any more."

It was becoming harder to contain the panic building inside of you. You struggled harder against his grasp as small tears began to prick your eyes.

"Please let me up. You're scaring me."

Instead of letting go, Kirishima repositioned you too face him.

He looked concerned, "You don't need to be scared, you're safe here. You don't have to go back to that job, it's too dangerous."

"Be a good bunny, lift your pretty little tail a bit higher for me."

His hands guided your hips further into the air. Once he deemed you to be in a suitable position you felt him tug down your panties, exposing your slick cunt to the cool air.

You whimpered into the pillow. Your body, betraying your mind, ached to be touched by Kirishima's rough hands.

"You're so beautiful," he cooed. With two fingers he began to tease your delicate folds.

As the pressure in your lower abdomen began to build you tried to pretend that the situation was different. If you could lie to yourself about the position you were in maybe you could hold it together. He was stronger than you, much more athletic, even with out his quirk. Even if you struggled you knew you couldn't escape. You didn't want to risk making him angry. Although he kept repeating that he would never hurt you, how much could you trust the words of your abductor?

You bucked towards him when his thumb pressed against your clit.

Although you couldn't see it Kirishima was beaming with pride. He felt reassured that he was making you feel good. His cock throbbed in anticipation for the moment you both felt good.

But he told himself it wouldn't be manly to enter you with his dick before making you orgasm at least once.

Regaining control of himself he paused his assault on your pussy to rub his hands down your back toward your neck, gently pushing his thumbs against the base of your skull. You letting out a rough whine. Both frustrated with the lost sensation and pleased by the firm pressure against your shoulders.

"Okay baby, let's get you prepped, you're tiny compared to me. Let's get you as ready as we can."

You gasped as his index finger entered you. Pressing and curling against your walls as if to examine and assess the situation.

He continued to use his other fingers on the outside of your pussy. There was a wet noise as he gently thrust his finger in and out, and then with out warning you felt a stretching sensation. He has added another finger to your insides.

"That's it baby, you're doing so good. You got such a tight little pussy. How about I get a toy for next time. Something a little bigger than my fingers but smaller than the real thing. That way we can't get you ready a bit better than we will this time."

The idea of ‘next time’ made you lightheaded. You whimpered as he added a third finger. You could feel the stretch between your legs. Paired with the stimulation of your clit you couldn't hold back as the tension in your body released, Kirishima tighten his grip to keep you in place as you tried to jerk away from him.

Pleasure flooded your body and you wanted to collapse onto the mattress.

As you slowed your breathing he gently lowered you're ass so you could rest as he slowly removed his fingers from your drenched hole. He trailed kisses along your back while he praised you.

Finally he turned you on to your back. He was flushed, his hair falling around his face, and he had barely broken a sweat.

He removed his pants revealing his... monster cock. There was no other way for you to describe it. You had never been with someone who had such length AND girth. It looked like it was gonna break something in you.

No matter how hard you tried, Kirishima managed spread your legs. He took a moment to admire the mess he made before digging through a drawer on his nightstand.

You closed your eyes at the sound of the lube bottle opening. Kirishima applied a generous amount to his cock before using two fingers to rub the remaining substance into you.

"There we go," he whispered as he lined up his tip to your soaked cunt. "Just relax for me. Don't be afraid to hold on to me. I'm pretty sturdy."

The tip wasn't bad. You were thankful for the lube. You needed to hold on to him. Gripping your nails into his back as he continued to slide into you. You focused all your energy into your hands, afraid to move. Tears flowed freely from you now. The pain seared and you couldn't stop it.

"It hurts," your gasped. "So bad. Please no more."

Kiri paused.

"Shhh, bunny. I got you. We're almost there then we can give you another moment to adjust." He was running circles on your hips with his thumbs, wanting to provide you some form of comfort. He knew he was a challenge to take. It didn't help that you were so tight. "Take a deep breath for me."

You did, grateful for the momentary break. But as he instructed you to breathe out he shoved the remainder of his cock into you. A violent sob wracked your body. Kirishima hoped that the sooner you adjusted to his size the sooner you'd stop crying.

With him fully inside of you he rested for another moment. You were so tight that he was honesty surprised he fit. He brought a palm to the slightly swollen area of your lower belly. He applied just a bit of pressure before he began to slowly pulse in and out of you. You were still shaking but had quieted down.

When he no longer felt like you you were off the verge of passing out he was ready to help you feel good. He kept his palm against the bulge he was responsible before, but repositioned slightly so his thumb could make its way back to where it belonged - the swollen bud between your legs.

"God you're such a good girl. So tight and warm," he panted. "Gonna fuck you so good. Teach you that I'm the only man you need."

His speed began to pick up. While you were still in pain you began to feel the pressure expand within you once more.

Kirishima kissed the tears off your cheeks. He knew he was close, your walls clenching around his member. He was determined not to be too rough with you, at least not the first few times, but you were unintentionally wearing down his his resolve.

He nipped your neck harder than he should have, breaking the skin. You arched against his chest which allowed him to wrap his arms underneath you.

Kirishima felt like he couldn't get close enough to you as he pressed violently against you tender body. Another orgasm shot through your body causing you to clench even tighter around the cock inside of you.

"Fuckin hell," Kirishima groaned, "You take me so well bunny."

You felt a swell inside of you as he released inside you.

Your mind felt fuzzy with post orgasm bliss. Kirishima softened inside you, remaining in place as he showered you in praise. He began to withdraw from you, allowing his seed to drip past your puffy folds. He didn't leave you empty for too long. He used two of his fingers to push his fluid back into you. He used his other hand to pull you against his chest.

You were still tearful and the realization that he was using his fingers as a makeshift plug to keep his seed inside you was making you sob again.

"Don't cry bunny, you did such a good job. Once we calm down we can get in the shower. Then I'd got a little present for you since you're behaving so well."

You were not a fighter, you wished you were. You wanted to yell at him. To thrash and scream and make him stop holding you. But you weren't a fighter and you knew fighting him would do you no good. You would have to bide your time until you could make a run for it.

At least he hadn't been mean to you. And aside from (probably) breaking your pussy, he hadn't hurt you yet.

He was gentle getting you into the shower. You were washed first, his hands roaming your body and conditioning your hair. Then he helped settle you against the shower bar while he quickly took care of himself. After drying you off with the fluffiest towel he slipped one off his shirts over your head. It was just the right size to cover you ass.

He disappeared for a moment, leaving you sitting along the tub. There wasn't much for you to look at. The cabinets were locked and the room had no windows.

Kirishima was back, changed into comfortable sweat pants. He carried you with ease back to bed. The old sheets piled in a corner, he had replaced them with fresh linens.

Hopefully, he thought, this would make you more comfortable.

"Ready for your surprise?" He asked with a pointy grin.

You thought it was a rhetorical question but it looked like he was waiting for your response. Did you really want a surprise? No. But you probably didn't get much say so you merely shrugged your shoulders. He bounce out bed and went to rummage through one of his drawers.

He turned around to present a stuffed animal. It was a chunky shark, not too big but the perfect holding size.

"Look! I saw him and thought you would think he was cute. Don't forget to name him, 'kay?"

You clutched the toy to your chest. He knew you loved plushies. You mentioned it to him once and said you had them all over your apartment. The shark smelled like Kirishima.

#bnha yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere kirishima #kirishima smut #kirishima x reader #mha yandere

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spvce-cowboy · 3 years

Text

drivers license

francisco morales x f!reader - oneshot

rating: mature

3.1k words

warnings: drug/alcohol use, reader is a dealer, age gap, so much YEARNING!!!

summary: a surprise visit from an old friend

a/n: 100 follower celebration!! partially inspired by this post but also the fact that i have been sing-screaming “drivers license” for oh about four days straight now. thank you guys so so much for all the support so far ! 💕

A fist slamming against your front door wakes you from a dreamless sleep.

You push yourself off your mattress, blearily checking the time on your phone and cursing under your breath when you see that it’s almost 3am. You sit up all the way, blinking as you wait to see if what woke you up was something you’d imagined or if it were real.

It’s real. It starts again after a second, three sharp raps against the door, followed by some kind of muffled talking. Your heart rate picks up in your chest, you grab the baseball bat you have leaned against the wall as you reach your apartment door. Squeezing one eye shut, you look through the peephole.

The good thing is that it definitely isn’t the cops. You take a relieved breath, leaning away from the door.

The bad thing is that whoever is knocking is hunched on his knees, just outside of the peephole’s line of sight, so you have absolutely no idea who the fuck it is.

“Please open the door,” the man’s voice begs from the other side of the door. You’re about to yell at him to fuck off, but he interrupts you before you can even open your mouth. “Little flower, it’s me, please.”

The nickname makes your heart go to your throat. The bat in your hands falls to the floor.

You rub a hand over your eyes, huffing an exhale in a vague attempt to prevent your heart from ricocheting against your ribs. It doesn’t work. Because as soon as he says it, as soon as you realize who it is, it brings everything back with him.

A set of sturdy, tanned fingers cupped against the knuckles of your grandfather’s hand, the voice went low in a warm but respectful greeting. You didn’t realize how gnarled your old man’s hands had gotten until you had someone else’s to compare them to. You looked back down at the crumpled up dollar bills you’d just been handed, one of them still rolled. Turning to find your bag on the coatrack, you stuff the money in your back pocket.

“My little flower, this is a good one,” your grandfather told you with a small hum that signifies whatever he just said must be set in stone. You hear the sound of him heavily patting the hand cupped over his own in that way he does when he appreciates the presence of something. “He has a decent head on his shoulders, no?”

“Little flower?” You can hear the boyish smile in that all too familiar voice before you even turn back around. “That suits you well, I think. Florita. I like that.”

“Christ, Frankie, what are you doing here?” You rest your head against the doorframe, heart sinking in your chest. You don’t open the door, to protect him or yourself you don’t know.

“I need—”

“You’ve got a kid now, Frankie. I told you I’m not going to sell to you anymore.”

“Ever the moralist,” the bite to his words is so uncharacteristic you can’t help but flinch. He seems to realize this, too. His apology is nearly immediate. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You’re right. I… It’s not…”

You swallow, closing your eyes and wrapping your arms around yourself for some bare semblance of comfort. “Please go,” your voice is so quiet you’re not sure he can hear you through the layer of wood separating the two of you. “You’ll wake the neighbors.”

It’s quiet for a long time. Long enough that you nearly think he’s left. Long enough that you don’t know why you’re still standing at the door and not back in bed.

And Frankie says your name, voice cracking. Your actual name. It’s been so long since you’ve heard it come off his lips you can’t help sink into the door.

A held breath leaves you in a shuddering sigh. Your shaking hands open the door.

The man who spills onto the ground before you is a stranger, yet, heartbreakingly, just as he had been when you first met him. Messy hair, worn blue jeans, gray button-down stretching over the perfect expanse of his back. All that is missing this time around is that lazy smile, that easy, Hey, darling.

In a bar. Right when your grandfather started getting sick.

“Eighty,” you said without him having to continue his sentence beyond his syrupy greeting, eyes trained on the shelves of liquor in front of you instead of having to meet his gaze.

He copped an eighth, tucking the little baggie in a pocket on the inside of his jacket. You went back to your drink, angling your body away from him again and expecting him to return to his table of friends. But then the knuckles of his hand nudged the side of you elbow. He gestured to your beer, the neck of the bottle clasped between your thumb and the hook of your middle and index fingers.

“Lemme buy you your next one, yeah?” He had a hunched lean to his posture, in that way that men do when they want you to feel like you’re the only person in the room. You were mad that it worked. He extended a hand. “Frankie Morales.”

The truth of it was that the two of you became friends, after that. Nothing more. Regardless, it was too close for you to get to someone you dealt to, but you were so lonely at that point in your life—taking care of the old man by day, GED classes at night--that meeting Frankie was a small blessing. Nothing ever happened between you two but God you wish it did.

To describe what you felt towards him as a crush didn’t really cut it, but you were fine with friends. Being completely fair, he was definitely one to send mixed signals—Christ, your weekly tradition of driving to an overlook to split an order of fries and milkshakes on the hood of his truck just about screamed every romcom you were raised on. But despite the occasional prolonged touch, the hand he would place on the small of your back to move you out of the way or guide you forward, nothing happened.

You dealt with it. Tried to be supportive as possible when he met his girl. Frankie broke the news that she was pregnant. The two of you saw each other less and less frequently. Sometimes he would call to catch up. Eventually, you stopped answering when he did. Your grandfather died. You got into a local art school.

It was sad how quietly it all faded. You didn’t know it could, but it did.

And now here he is, literally crumpled at your feet.

Frankie messily pulls himself up off the ground and onto his knees. He reeks of booze and old cigarettes. You freeze as his hands wrap over your hips, as he presses his face into your stomach and murmurs an incoherent apology—for what, you’re not exactly sure.

And when you finally processing what’s happening, what you had begged the universe for years, you can’t help yourself. Your card your fingers through his hair, gritting your teeth and squeezing your eyes shut.

“Frankie,” it’s a warning. It’s a reminder. “You’re drunk. You need to go home. Your girlfriend--”

“She left a week ago,” he speaks into the fabric covering your belly. The words burst forwards as if not even he was expecting to say them. It’s a confession. His hands flex from where they hold onto you. “She’s gone.” Your heart drops to your gut, your chest aching. “I need… Just for the night I… Little flower, the house is so empty.”

You keep petting back his hair until his breathing quiets. He keeps holding onto you, even then. The two of you stay like that for a long time.

“Why don’t,” your voice comes out too shaky. Too unsure of itself. You clear your throat and try again. “Why don’t you take a shower, I’ll get you some water and we can sober you up a bit. Okay?”

He tilts his face up at you. It’s the first time you’ve seen him in well over a year.

And he hasn’t changed. It’s all there—the soft mess of shaggy hair, dark but kind eyes, the beloved hook of his nose.

One sun-sick evening, you rode your bike to the beach just to get out of the apartment. You need somewhere to sit and think for a while, just until your head feels more clear. There’s enough of a chill in the air that you have to throw on a jacket, it’s nice. It’s like you can feel the wind moving through you. Past you.

When you arrived at the beach, you got off your bike, leaning it against your hip as you scoped out a spot to sit in the sand. You were about to wheel it over to the rack when--

Someone pinched your elbow in greeting. Their steps were so quiet you didn’t even register their approach. It, obviously, startled you, and your hand immediately flew to the keychain in your back pocket. The knife you had attached to it.

When you turned, and it was Frankie’s familiar face, his hands raised in joking surrender.

In that light, with the sun still flirting with the horizon, it rendered his face into shapes and shadows you had only previously seen in the old oil paintings of long-dead greats. You thought it was in the deep bourbon of his eyes, soft when illuminated by a tangerine sky. It was him. All of him. Slightly breathless, hair ruffled by the wind.

“Hey, hey, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he sounded genuinely apologetic. You released a relieved huff of air.

“Fucking Christ, Frankie. A little warning would be nice next time.”

“Did you bike the whole way here? From the apartment?” He asked, there was a tinge of concern to his voice.

You shrugged, trying to hide your embarrassment by lowering your kickstand with the heel of you boot. “It’s not that far.”

“Don’t you have a car?”

“Can’t drive,” you wrinkle your nose. “Never needed to.”

He looked you for a moment, if you didn’t know any better you’d say critically.

“I was just about to get something to eat, if you wanna join me,” he tucked his hands in his pockets as he spoke. “There’s this overlook nearby that has a way better view of all of this.” He motions to the ocean with the tilt of his head. “I can drive us there.”

You regarded him as he spoke, cautiously looking him up and down. And you nodded, smiling slightly. He smiled back, it was big and crooked. It made something in the pit of your belly feel warm.

You step away, holding out your hand to help him to his feet. He complies, stumbling slightly and rubbing his hand over his face as he does so. He disappears down the hall without having to ask where the bathroom is.

Sighing, you go back into your room, pulling out a shirt and a pair of oversized sweatpants for him to change into. You knock on the bathroom door on your way to the kitchen. The apartment’s walls are so thin you can hear the hiss of the shower from all the way down the hall.

“Come in,” Frankie’s voice barely rises above the sound.

You crack the door open, keeping your eyes trained to the floor as you place the folded clothes on the sink’s counter.

“Here’s something for you to change into,” you tell him. He thanks you, the shower turning off right as you close the door behind you. You walk back down the hall and into the living room, making two glasses of water before settling on your couch.

Once, after a night out, the two of you were too drunk and too broke to afford separate taxis home. He proposed going back to his house, split the cost, grab a cab for you once it wasn’t so late and the rates went down.

You agreed, as you did anytime he extended the offer to spend time there. There was something about the quiet, tucked-in nature of the suburbs that was so novel to you. So calming.

The two of you settled on the couch. Feeling bold, you lay your head in his lap and kicked your socked feet up on the opposite armrest as you describe to him the gallery opening you’d snuck into. How you successfully schmoozed to the owner as well as one of the artists.

He asked you if you had heard back from any of the scholarships you’d applied to. You hadn’t, but you’d only just submitted the applications, so it would be at least a few months wait.

You tell him your dreams of becoming an artist. A real one. He already knew that, but you really tell him this time, all the details you usually keep to yourself, too special to you to have the courage to voice aloud. The fantasy of moving out into the mountains, getting a cabin just big enough for a hotplate and a bed and a studio. You’ve lived and breathed LA for your entire life and you were tired of the city. Tired of every street corner baked with the memories of high school and the listless years that followed, of the small humiliations you had to succumb to in order to survive.

Frankie listened and nodded enthusiastically at all the right parts. It was only then that you realized his hands smoothed over the top of your scalp as you talked. You let it continue, it felt too nice not to.

He told you that you should, and if you needed help finding the money he could always--

You cut him off before he could finish the thought, shaking your head. Responsibilities came first, you had people who needed you. A degree to finish. Savings to maintain. You asked him about the new girl he’d been seeing and he eagerly launches into a story about a different, wild night out. You smile and laugh throughout the whole thing, trying to ignore the pang it gives you when he describes the dress she was wearing. He fingers continued to brush over the crown of your head as he talked.

You fell asleep there, on his lap. You woke up before the sun rose, hot and sweaty and still a little drunk from the vodka Redbulls that never agreed well with your heart.

It took you a second to realize you were in Frankie’s bed, alone. When you padded back into the living room, he was passed out on the couch, a throw blanket wrapped around his shoulders, using his arm as a pillow.

You left after helping yourself to a shower, texting him a sarcastic good luck with that hangover. You’re about to call a taxi home but something stopped you. You thought it might be the way the sun was barely breaking over the cusp of the smoggy horizon, the sky reduced to pale shades of violet with the coming dawn.

The quiet neighborhood Frankie lived in is all the more beautiful, like this. Subdued, empty, houses in winding but even rows that scale up the mountainside like sets of bad teeth. You decided to walk, just until the sun got a little brighter. Until the people started to shake themselves awake for a new day.

You got a text from him as you were making breakfast, back at your apartment by then. Thanks. Hope you slept well, little flower. Something about the small missive kept you smiling the whole day after.

You mess with your phone until Frankie returns.

“I’m sorry, for showing up like this,” Frankie says as he hovers over the living room’s threshold. The clothes you leant him fit well enough, only slightly oversized on his frame as opposed to how they generously drape off of you. He holds his towel in his hands, looking down at it instead of you. “I honestly don’t have an excuse and you… you shouldn’t accept any. But I thought I should still tell you.”

You look at him for an extended beat, knowing he’s being honest. You’re at a genuine loss as to how to handle the situation.

“We can deal with it later,” you settle with that. It sounds good enough to you, and when he finally meets your eyes again he looks a little relieved. You nod you head towards the glass of water you placed on the coffee table, he takes your lead and settles on the opposite side of the couch, leaning over to take his own glass.

“So um… how are you?” He asks you earnestly, angling his body towards you.

“Okay,” you take a sip of water, trying to keep it casual. “Cleaning up my act a bit, you know? Going to school, picking up jobs here and there. Trying to figure out what I want to do. Oh! I uh… I learned how to drive--impressive I know.”

“The city flower herself, operating a vehicle?” His face breaks into a familiar, goofy smile you can’t help but reciprocate. “I’ll add every pedestrian in LA to my prayers.”

“You should,” you shake your head as you laugh, leaning into your corner of the couch and pulling your knees up to your chest. You finally relax, giving yourself the small allowance of settling into the comfort that inevitably comes with his presence.

And it really is just as easy as it always has been between the two of you. The conversation naturally ebbs and flows, neither of you bother to broach the heavier stuff. For now, just this it’s enough.

It’s enough to see the spark in his eyes when he tells you about his daughter, how bright she is, how much trouble she gets into—just like her dad. It’s enough to hear about his friends, all those names and backstories that you still vividly remember. It’s enough to bask in the feeling of how he leans into you with laughter, a hand lingering on your knee for seconds longer than it probably should have, as he always tends to do.

It’s enough to see him grin when you tell him about the scholarships you got, how weird it felt being the oldest person in all your classes, even if it was only by a handful of years. He doesn’t ask how your grandfather is, the living room being cleared of all the heart monitors and breathing machines is enough to answer that question. You’re grateful he doesn’t. You’re not sure you’d be able to keep a brave face if he did.

You don’t want time to pass. You want to stay here, with him, like this, in that perpetual state of catching up, in that breathless deluge that has the not-so-subtle undercurrent of this is what has happened since you left. I wish you would have been there. But I am so happy you are here now.

When you can no longer stifle your yawns, you stand to refill your glass of water, speaking on your walk over to the sink.

“I’d love to keep talking but I honestly don’t think I can keep my eyes open much longer,” you tell him as you turn the tap off. “I can make up the couch for you, if you’d like.”

When he doesn’t immediately respond, you turn to look back at him. He’s staring at you from where he is seated, eyes dark with something that isn’t just from the low light of the living room.

“What?” You ask after a few more seconds of him not responding. He looks away from you, shaking his head.

“Yeah, that would be great.”

Your eyes search his for a moment, positive that that was not at all what he was turning over in his head during those few seconds of silence. You’re too tired to press, so you gather a spare set of sheets for him. He stands when you come back into the living room, holding out his arms to take them from you. You wave him away, setting up the pull-out bed yourself. You’d grown up sleeping on this thing, tucking the fitted sheet into the corners was always tricky, and he didn’t know where the bolts of the couch’s frame would cut the shit out of his hands if he wasn’t careful.

Throwing a pillow down, you turn back to Frankie. He’s standing closer to you, now. You have to tilt your head up slightly to meet his eyes.

“All set,” you tell him. He nods, eyes searching your face for a moment. Your brow furrows. “Frankie, you’re being weird. Stop it.”

His chuckle breaks the tension.

“Sorry—I’ve been saying that a lot tonight, haven’t I?” He takes a deep breath. You’re smiling again, about to agree with him, and without warning his hand is comes up to cup the side of your face. You still, lips parted in an unasked question. “Thank you, little flower,” his voice goes rough again, as it had when you were speaking to each other through the door. “I really mean it.”

Frankie’s hand drops when you nod, lips pressed together. He sits back down on the pull-out. You wish him goodnight quietly and return to your room.

Leaving your bedroom door cracked open, you climb back into bed. With everything in you, you hope he’s still there when you wake. He will be.

#francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #francisco catfish morales #reader insert #triple frontier #angst #hurt/comfort

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melancholia-cressa · 3 years

Text

Weakness

So, one random morning, I was listening to a certain song for the first time. Once the lyrics sunk in, I just had this idea for a Dio and female reader-insert fic. Hope you enjoy it, even if I do hate the guy lmao.

warning: angst, implied child abandonment, mentions of blood and death, swearing, and minor spoilers for those who have not finished Part 1

Addendum: I actually forgot to mention that I based my interpretation of Dio's personality and thought process mostly from the Over Heaven light novel. It's a good read and it helps you understand his character better, so I say give it a shot

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"How many times has it been this week?"

Dio grunted, turning his cheek away from the girl in front of him. Your arms were crossed over your chest with a brow quirked in a silent question. He felt the bruise on his cheek sting and smart by the slightest brush of the wind. If anything, the painful sensation was intensified by your glare. His tongue flicked over the cut on his lip in a fruitless attempt to wipe off the blood. Your exasperated sigh reached his ears; nothing more than a whisper in the breeze.

"Come here, you stubborn mule." Before Dio knew it, you had grabbed his arm and dragged him away from the bustling streets of urban London. Passersby didn't spare a glance for the two teenagers dressed in soiled commoner clothes.

Dio, hoping to spare himself from the embarrassment of allowing a girl to drag him around, watched the crowd go about their mundane activities. Women gossiped with each other, hands covering their mouths to stifle scandalized gasps, while men languidly talked about adult matters—business and what other dull subjects they had in mind. His gaze drifted to the hollowed junction between a clothing shop frequented by aristocrats and an apothecary that had seen better days. The blond already sensed the death and neglect in the air before the sight made his skin crawl. He caught a glimpse of a man in tattered rags whose back hunched over, shoulders sagging from the weight of his head tucked towards his chest. His hand loosely held the neck of a bottle of booze, empty and hidden in the shadows. The hairs on the nape of Dio's neck stood on end, but a harsh tug from you brought him back to reality.

"We're almost there," you told him. You looked at him from the corner of your eye before focusing on the road ahead. Your hand, small and thin with a bony wrist, squeezed his arm before abruptly jostling through the crowd. The throng of people parted, cleaving a path towards the outskirts of the city. Dio scowled, directing his attention to the cobblestone path and ignoring the pain blossoming in the palm of his clenched fist. Murmurs from the socialites rang as clear as the church bells, but you paid no mind to it. Something about your indifference made his indignation and annoyance worsen; his blood dangerously close to boiling over what little patience he had. Another squeeze of his arm and a quick glance from you told him this was a losing battle, one he had never won before. With a scoff, Dio grudgingly remained silent and continued to let you drag him.

From how long Dio knew you and vice versa, he wouldn't be surprised if you somehow noticed his apprehension and discomfort. He never understood why you went out of your way to help him. The first time he met you, Dio had slapped your hand away when you tried to help him off the ground. He expected you to either cry or throw a tantrum, like all the other girls he observed from his time in the slums, but you didn't. Instead, you looked him in the eye with a glimmer of emotion Dio couldn't describe.

"Sod off. I'm helping you, and that's that." The look in your eyes remained even when you roughly pulled him up and dragged him back to your home to tend to his bruises and cuts. Now, here he was again, being dragged by you and your insufferable pity suffocating him. Its spindly fingers ghosted over his neck, which uncomfortably tickled his skin; sharp nails poking the soft flesh that one squeeze could puncture it. Every time your eyes met his, Dio could see the swirl of indiscernible feelings in your gaze, forlorn and soft, just like his deceased mother's. The one who died thinking about others on her deathbed and wishing his son to do the same. The woman who lost her life in return for compassion and kindness. You resembled his mother—the gentle grasp on his arm, the feather-light brush of fingers tucking a lock of his hair behind his ear, the small smile that crinkles the corners of her eyes, the warmth in them—to the point where he found it disgusting and wretched.

He hated it, everything about you, but why did he still keep you around?

The cold, trickling sensation that dripped down his cheek made him jump in his seat. A cough echoed in his ears, followed by a faint snort that told him someone refrained from laughing at him. The corners of your eyes wrinkled in mirth while you held a cold, wet rag to his bruised cheek. He must have looked comically bewildered because you stuffed a fist over your mouth to keep in your giggles. A frown tugged the corners of Dio’s lips as his brows furrowed.

“What are you laughing about?”

“Oh, nothing,” you hummed. Your free hand grabbed his to replace the other one holding the cold rag, “Hold still while I get some more ice from the ice box.”

With that, you left with your skirt swishing from the rush towards the kitchen. A grunt rang in the living space, courtesy of the blond begrudgingly holding the cool cloth to his bruise. Upon looking around, he noted that nothing much had changed from the last time he was here (which was around a week). Moth-eaten curtains hid the windows, most likely coated in dust and grime, and the floorboards creaked at every step you took. The wooden chair he sat on felt cold and sturdy, indicating how you rarely sat on it due to your apprenticeship in the city, while the table across him bore scratches hidden under a doily you embroidered. A basket with a few apples and grapes tempted him, but he didn’t act on it. The house, smaller than his own, is located on the outskirts of the city, and he still couldn’t understand how you lived here by yourself like this. Knowing that women can’t own property of their own, Dio had asked you a question: how did you keep the house to yourself?

“I lie about father sending me on errands,” was your simple reply despite the fact that your parents were long gone. One morning, Dio had found you dragging your feet in the streets and, when you had suddenly leaned into him, the quiet sniffles told him everything. He had taken you home that night—damn his father, he never even cared where he went as long as he brought back a bottle of alcohol—and stayed upon your request. The moment he led you to your room, glimpses from an open door showed him emptied drawers and a barren wardrobe. A drawer box was left hanging from its cabinet, as if it was pulled out in haste. The candle was barely touched. Its wick remained spotless and barely any wax dripped down the candle holder atop the cabinet. He didn’t need to see the rest of the room to know what happened.

His ten-year-old mind didn’t know why he stayed, much less took you back to a cold, lifeless house. Yet, he did all that and more—he kept you by his side without a single, logical reason. You didn’t follow him around like a lost puppy would. If anything, he seemed to be the one drifting anywhere near you. He would wander the slums and traipse through the bars for scraps, mostly booze for his deadbeat father, then his gaze would land on you. You were there every single time, whether it was for apprentice work in that dress shop or buying bread in the bakery, and it drove him mad. Dio, the one who survived alone in this shitty reality of his, subconsciously seeking your company like a besotted fool. The very thought makes him scoff and laugh. Every time he asked himself about these coincidences, he came up blank. His mind conjured nothing but the image of your tear-stained face and the devastation that set itself in place of your usual smile.

Dio didn’t know why, but he’d rather not see you in that condition again. Never.

The creaking floorboards announced your arrival. With a sweeping flourish, you switched the warming rag with a new one wrapped around ice and firmly pressed it to his cheek. Dio hissed, throwing you a venomous glare at the amused smirk on your face. You shrugged, the damning smirk remained, and only laughed when he ripped your hand off the rag to grasp it on his own.

“Stop acting like a child,” you tutted, mocking him as if he was the child in the situation. Heat crept up his neck and ears, skin flushing a slight red. Whether it was from embarrassment or indignation, he didn’t know. All he knew was the annoyance fluttering in his stomach and the twitch of his fingers, ready to smack your hand away should it be necessary. Another laugh came from you, and the fluttering feeling increased tenfold.

“We are children. Speak for yourself,” Dio snarled, but this only earned him another smile from you. The soft, small one that always resembled his mother’s.

He hated it, how you sorely reminded him of his mother, but why won’t he leave?

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“Oh, aren’t you…”

Your wide eyes shifted into crescents, a smile gracing your lips, as you told Jonathan your name. The blue-haired aristocrat gently took your hand and kissed its knuckles, which caught you by surprise. The slight flush of your cheeks said it all. Dio could feel his eye twitch at the predicament unfolding in front of him.

Is this what it felt like when God has forsaken you? Not that Dio believed in the supernatural, but it best captured his feelings at the moment.

He coughed into his fist, diverting your attention away from his stepbrother, and asked as nonchalantly as he could, “I thought you’d be working in the dress shop today? You told me you couldn’t come to the rugby game.”

“Oh, w-well…” You trailed off, fiddling with your thumbs and looking away from the blond. You gnawed your bottom lip, a tic Dio associated with nerves, as your eyes flitted between him and Jonathan. Somehow, this irked him more than it should. Jonathan watched the scene in curiosity, only recognizing you from the time he had seen twelve-year-old Dio walk after you in the city once. The oblivious boy asked about you, and Dio immediately glared at him until he was cowed into silence. Dio was about to demand an answer—childish, really, but his patience was being tested—until you finally answered him.

“Mrs. Smith allowed me to leave early—” once she knew you were playing, was what you thought but chose not to divulge that information—“so here I am.”

Dio let out an amused huff, the swell of relief almost choking him, “Well, what did you think of the game then?”

You hummed, placing a hand on your cheek with a mock thoughtful expression. Dio subconsciously tapped his shoe on the grass as he awaited your response. The raucous beating of his heart dulled his senses the longer you mused, which wasn’t that long in all honesty. It only took a mere three seconds before you spoke.

“I think you and Jonathan were amazing. I would have never expected him to pass the ball to you, then you taking the winning score.”

Dio would have basked in your compliment, which was a rare occurrence unfortunately, if it weren’t for the fact that Jonathan was included in it. Regardless, he sported a triumphant grin and clapped you on the shoulder with a hearty laugh. Your eyes widened in surprise, but this had gone unnoticed by Jonathan, who knew nothing of your relationship with Dio, and the man himself. The confusion swarming your mind remained even when Jonathan bashfully grinned and expressed his gratitude.

“Oh! Well, thank you, but this victory is all because of Dio,” he told you. You sighed, knowing that would stroke Dio’s ego, but the latter felt his heart stutter at the sight of your smile. If he didn’t despise Jonathan and plotted to take the Joestar fortune for himself, then he would have been grateful to Jonathan at the moment. That was not the case, but he took the compliment in stride with a boastful grin.

Unfortunately, his heart dropped when you dismissed it with a wave. “Nonsense! You deserve the recognition as much as he does!”

It felt wrong seeing you smile at Jonathan; the one that always reminded him of his mother. His blood simmered under his skin as his jaw clenched, teeth painfully grinding together. His heart hammered in his chest; mind screaming and urging him to lead you away from the spoiled, ignorant Joestar. He didn’t like this: how you and Jonathan are in the same space and breathing the same air. He felt those ghostly fingers grip his throat and prick his skin, the phantom sensation of nails scratching the sensitive area. Yet, he kept the polite smile and the pretense that he’s friends with his stepbrother. Dio Brando will get everything he wants soon. He can’t afford to ruin his carefully sculpted plan all because of a girl.

You are not worth the repercussions.

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“How many times has it been this week?” You smiled, but the disgust and spite associated with the expression disappeared in a sharp inhale from Dio.

Blood stained your dress, splattered over your skirt and apron, as your fingers clutched at the arm embedded in your torso. Drops of blood found their way to your boots, the worn leather speckled with scarlet dots. A cough sent a spurt of blood to dribble down the corner of your lips as a terrified cry of your name echoed in the hall. Jonathan—it was Jonathan’s voice, followed by the voices of his companions Dio didn’t even bother to acknowledge. The muted horror of what he had done registered in his mind, and the blond vampire immediately ripped his arm away from you. The force propelled your body forward, falling towards the stone floor of the castle, but an arm hooked itself around your waist.

“You bloody idiot,” Dio hissed, dropping to his knees from the momentum of capturing you. One of his hands cradled your head, fingers buried into your hair, while the other held your body flush against his chest. “You bloody fucking idiot.”

“How many times have you taken lives this week?” Your voice warbled, hints of melancholy in your teasing tone. Dio briefly barked orders for the zombies to attack Jonathan and his comrades before he returned his attention to you. His heart clenched, cracks starting to form at the unsightly hole in your stomach, but his rage at what you have done made his mouth run.

“Why?” One of his arms supported your back, gripping you closer in a futile attempt at clinging to your life. He had no warmth—no comfort to spare for your dying body. It was the first and only time Dio cursed the consequences of his immortality, but he couldn’t dwell on that now. Not when you, the girl he had known since childhood and the one he shared a strange bond with, were waning between the realm of life and death. You looked at him, and Dio’s rage grew at the soft smile still on your face. It spoke of promises and hope, the things Dio had forsaken ever since his mother died and his father began to further drive a stake into his future.

They were empty and meaningless, but not with you.

“Why?!” He demanded, visibly trembling at your silence. Dio didn’t need to elaborate. You knew what he wanted to know. He wanted to know why you jumped in front of Jonathan to take the hit. The light in your eyes began to dim, but you shakily placed a hand on his cheek. The same bruised cheek you had tended to before his father died and he had been adopted by the Joestars. The memory made Dio shudder and he moved to evade your touch, but you stubbornly clasped his cheek with the remaining strength your fragile, bleeding body had.

“Should there be a reason?” You rasped, chuckling a little. The gesture resulted in another harsh cough and more blood to spill from your mouth. The red coated your lips akin to the lipstick of those aristocrat beauties Dio observed during the parties George Joestar hosted. The color mocked him, taunting him for his dependence on the wretched substance. The vampire’s eyes widened, then narrowed into slits. The rage festering inside him threatened to break through his cool façade. He was about to snap at you for your foolish remark when your thumb ghosted over the skin under his eye.

"This is a first," you whispered, chest heaving and eyes flickering between dark and light. "I thought I'd never see the day you'd cry."

"Save your breath," Dio fumed, cursing once more for the obvious tremor in his voice. "Just save your strength. I can save you—just—"

"Silly boy," your smile grew as you looked into Dio's eyes, finding semblances of the bruised boy you had bumped into when you first met. "I wish you wouldn't look at me like that, or I might regret my decision."

Before Dio could say anything, scream at you for your audacity in your last moments, your lips brushed against his cheek. His breath hitched and his hold on you slackened the tiniest bit. He felt your lashes flutter over his pale skin, the receding warmth of your body, and the dainty caress of your hands on his cheeks. Faintly, in the back of his mind, he yearned for more. Dio yearned for more time with you—to relive the days when you two were nothing but gullible children in a world dominated by greed and power-hungry beasts lurking beneath beautiful masks.

The moment shattered when your body sagged against him; your head lolled to the side and unceremoniously bumped against his shoulder. The blood from your lips marred his skin, but he paid no mind to it. His hands scrambled to hold you—keep you close to him—as his breath came in short, panicked bursts. Dio didn't care if he looked like an idiot in front of his army. He didn't care if Jonathan and his parade of fools saw him in his moment of weakness.

He only cared about you.

He lifted a hand, shoulders shaking a bit, to take a look at your face. The soft smile you always adorned, one that lit your expression, now painted itself on your pallid complexion. Your eyes remained close, and you looked nothing but peaceful the moment you died in his arms. The blood on your clothes and the hole he created didn't deter nor ruin your blissful image. He hated it. He always hated that smile.

It was the same smile his mother gave him before she died.

The ghostly, spindly appendages found their way around his neck. They ruptured his skin and crushed his throat as the back of his eyes stung. A lone tear dripped down his cheek and landed on your own, devoid of the flush it once had when you were still alive. A silent, choked sob slipped past his lips and he brought you closer; his nails digging into your arm from how tight he gripped your corpse. He brought your face into the crook of his neck. Dio couldn't bring himself to look at you, knowing what you meant by your last words.

You wanted to die as a human. This thought made him curl his body over yours, shielding the ghastly sight of your corpse from the others, if only to provide him some sense of comfort that you didn't shun him. You never did, not when you saw him discard his humanity and not even when you decided to join Jonathan to search for him. Dio never understood why you'd follow him to the ends of the earth. He never understood why you didn't leave him when he chose to become immortal. He never found the answers to these questions. Although, he understood why he never left you—he saw himself in you, a girl abandoned by her family and scorned by society. Dio couldn't find it in himself to leave you; his pride prevented him from stooping to their level. There was another reason, but the crushing weight of this revelation only served to choke him in his guilt-ridden wrath.

He loves you.

#jojo #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo's bizarre adventure phantom blood #jjba #jjba part 1 #phantom blood #dio brando #dio #reader insert #dio x reader #angst all the way #enjoy your angst #there is no happy ending for this man #im sorry not sorry

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arcstral · 2 years

Note

waving chrom off too enthusiastically for her own good, sara sends him on his way through the billowing flaps of the tent so that she may enjoy a private audience with the hero-king. just as it had then, it does not occur to her now either that the small trinket in her possession could be a precious item. sara herself has no single belonging she values for any reason that is not personal sentiment alone and even her attachment to the kia staff is a fickle one at best, spoiled by the associations it will always carry.

searching the bustling ward for marth's face, the heart in her chest grows tight with anticipation to a degree that she almost does not recognize herself. to be caught wanting discomfits her and she ponders if somewhere he would truly be waiting to receive her so fondly as only leif does. for a split second she fancies keeping the ring for a memento of time cherished even if it had not been among her original designs. thankfully, his figure comes into view before temptation gets the better of her, and sends her racing off to the cot that he is perched atop upright, doubts forgotten.

"i borrowed this without asking," she informs him, all but flaunting her lack of self-reflection. through an opening in the side of her uniform, sara retrieves the jeweled band from the pocket she'd tucked it into for safekeeping. it appears, by all measure, in tact, small fingers protectively curled over the bauble as she extends it to its rightful owner in an upturned palm.

"i assumed you'd want it back. it did me no favors anyways." her face grows a touch distant yet thoughtful, mouth plainly struggling for the right words. there was never any doubt that she'd had fun. for a day to come that she would be able to accept loss with grace is a testament to the strange effects fodlan has had on her. even in defeat, she stands whole, alive and well enough to see tomorrow. "no, that is not the full truth. out there, today you gave me something more valuable than any triumph. you should know i come from a background where holding back is not an option unless one should like to forfeit their life to those who would do them harm, but you have shown me a different way. i won't soon forget the lesson you imparted to me⁠— and, in the future, i'd do it again. and i do not wish for this to be our last meeting. i wish to see you again... after... after i... rest..."

While the clerics attempt to guide him toward the process of healing, King Marth is in many parts a model patient. Sturdy yet docile at their poking and prodding, compliant in his suffering role as an invalid, and quiet at the itchy redressing of his wounds as new bandages are swapped in for the old. He complains very little, but this silence is also helped; his waking hours are filled with the curious thoughts of a girl he has known for only a day. Charming was not a word that could have described their encounter by any stretch of the imagination, but nevertheless there had been an impression. Most certainly, an impression.

His aching joints still remembered her talents, the spells that tossed him back with such force that all his teeth knocked together with the fearful illusion of shattering. The aftershocks of her final spell rattling his very bones. A most competent mage, to be sure, but also a competent gourmet of life as well. There had been such purity in the sound of her laughter... Joyful and childlike. Touching qualities he would not have previously dared to imagine on a battlefield, much less brandished for a man with no intentions of peace or surrender.

And so: recovering his strength in the infirmary, he could not help but wonder how Sara fared in the comparatively lawless jungles of Gronder Field. Not only whether she had seized another victory to carry her to the end, but also whether she’d found cause to laugh like that again. Marth would have liked to know that she did.

Soon there is a path to his answers. She approaches him on the tempest of eager footsteps, turning every head subject to the feeling of a small wind. He sits up to receive her, of course, as a king and even a friend ought to, a small smile crinkling his mouth at Sara’s frankness. A truthful messenger and an innocent thief, he anticipated her admission; however, there had been no signs to precede the confession that followed, so deep a trove of emotion as if Sara had kept him in her thoughts as soundly as she occupied his.

At that, the Hero-King’s eyes alight with thoughtful albeit motionless understanding, lips void of even a underlying mutter to betray any sound, until at last he reaches for her palm - the ring curled within it seemingly returned to its rightful owner as he raises it to the light. “...This ring, and all of its kind, are crafted to legitimize a king’s coronation. This one in particular was made to suit the measurements of a larger finger. Mine, to be exact.”

Crusted with a trillion-cut emerald, the golden band winked as if honoring the king’s narration, and continued to shimmer with the same charm even when he carefully took hold of the girl’s hand. Sliding it gently down the pole of her slender thumb to coil around the base. “In your case, it will fit better when worn here.” His touch fell away, signaling a heart confidently decided on its course. “Keep it, Sara. And consider it my redress. A cure for the guilty mind, you could say. I’ve done a considerable number on your clothes so I’ll be all the sounder of mind for it. There are no limits to the rings that can be made to replace it, anyhow.”

More importantly... A tenderness entered his gaze as he looked at her. Battered from head to toe, unkempt by the ugly holes in her sleeves, and with a weary lilt in the voice that signaled a due appointment with sleep. It did not escape his notice how urgently she ushered such a tired little body to move; not for the sake of herself, but for another. Behind her head, he nodded at a waiting cleric and did not take his attention away from Sara again until she was claimed by their greater authority.

“The connection I have with you, however, is irreplaceable. I’m glad that I could show you mercy, Sara... It wouldn’t have made me happy to know that I hurt a dear friend. After you’re healed, we can certainly meet again. You will always be welcome to me.” Reflecting his amusement, the delicate line of his smile inched into a grin. “You and your games, of course.“

#◜ ╰ ♕ ◦ › royal mandate ‹ ASKBOX. ◞#prayerwitch #toaboel2022 #the end of an arc and the beginning of a friendship :^)#thank you boel and sara... i have no words (sniffle)

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silenceofthecookies · 3 years

Text

Perona x F!reader - dream dress

Entry number 3 for @some-piece‘s sapphic challenge, this time for Perona! ❤

No warnings!

“Wait, Y/N, you mean that?!” Perona yelled, looking at you with an adoring sparkle in her eyes. “Yeah, I mean it.” “But I thought you said it would be too hard and that you didn’t have the right skills!” “Yes, that’s what I said last year. But I took some classes this year, and I’m pretty sure I can pull it off now.” “No way! You took those for me?!” “Of course.” “You are the best girlfriend a girl could ever want, Y/N!”

Perona tackled you to the couch and started peppering your face in kisses. What had you done to deserve such lavish affection and thanks from your girlfriend? Easy, you had offered to sew her dream dress for her. Last year, for her birthday, she had asked you to sew it for her since she knew you sewed. Your skills at the time were not nearly good enough to make the lavish gown Perona had described, but you had made it your personal goal to get better at sewing to make her dream come true. It was still months before her birthday, but you expected you’d need quite some time to make the gown itself, and you’d need Perona to fit it every now and again, and you were pretty sure you’d still make mistakes along the way.

After enjoying the affection your girlfriend was showering you in for a while, you sat up again.

“Let’s create a sketch of the dress first, so I can get to planning the thing out.” “Yes!”

The excited look on Perona’s eyes made you forget any doubts and worries you had about creating this dress. The two of you sat down at the table as Perona and you sketched out a rough idea of her dream dress, making little notes on the amount of layers and on certain details. To top it all off, Perona grabbed some coloured pencils and started colouring the sketch, making the dress feel even more real.

“So what’s the plan now?” Perona asked. “Well, I’ll be making an estimate of how much fabric we’ll need, and then next week we’re going to the fabric store.” “Eh?! Why only next week?!” Perona wailed, eager for you to start as soon as you could. “Because the owner is on a holiday right now and the shop is closed.” “Oh.” She still didn’t look happy with the answer, but it made sense. “Wait, you said we, right?” “Of course. It’s your dream dress, so you have to pick the fabric as well, and the best way to do that is to see it and feel it.”

The excitement returned to her eyes as she thought about it and Perona nodded eagerly. It was honestly cute to see her like that and neither of you could wait until the store was open again. You took the sketch the two of you made together and put it away with your sewing supplies so you wouldn’t lose it. After that, the two of you went back to the original plan for the day, being a day of self-care and Netflix.

The week flew by and soon enough, you and Perona entered the fabric store. She was almost like a little kid in a candy store, running around, feeling the different kids of fabrics, trying to figure out which one she liked most. An employee came and asked if she could help, and Perona didn’t waste a moment to tell her that you were sewing her the most cute and beautiful dress ever for her birthday. With her help, the three of you picked a fabric that was the perfect match between comfort, sturdiness, and weight. Perona was nearly jumping up and down as you paid for the fabrics and she was kissing you on the cheek every now and again. The employee already wished her an early happy birthday as you left, which Perona happily thanked her for. Her head was in the clouds and she was in the best mood you had seen her in in a good while, and you were proud to know it was because of you.

The next month passed by in a flash. Whenever you had enough patience and time, so usually the weekends, you’d work on the dress little by little. Every time you finished another step, you’d let Perona fit it to make sure everything was still good and comfortable.

She loved coming over to fit it. Slowly but surely, she saw her dream dress come together. Layer by layer, you made her dream a reality. Every time after fitting she’s smother you in hugs and kisses, showing you just how grateful she was for what you were doing. She didn’t even get mad or sad at mistakes that you made, saying that there was still more than enough time and that you could just try again. She was your motivation and your support as you made the dress and she was doing a perfect job.

Finally, it was done. A lavish, sleeveless gown, a voluminous underskirt and you had even created a little bolero in case she got cold. Everything was perfect. Perona had bought some new accessories to go with it like a hat, jewellery and shoes. It was time for the final fitting and everything was perfect. The dress hugged her body in all the right places and combined with the accessories she picked, she looked like a goth princess. Perona twirled around in front of the mirror, admiring herself from all sides, before she started frowning.

“Is something wrong?” you asked, worried if something was wrong with the dress. “Something is missing…” she trailed, putting her hand to her chin as she looked herself over. “Really? I think you look great. Maybe some gloves?” “No, not quite, but I know.” She pulled you in front of the mirror with her and wrapped her arms around you. “There! Now it’s perfect!”

#perona x reader #perona imagine #one piece x reader #one piece imagine #opfics #perona #one piece #cookie writes #scenario #one piece sapphic challenge #my idea #scheduled post

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shadlad24 · 3 years

Text

Hope Rising

The daughter of the light gave the reclining figure beside her a gummy grin. Her small palm patted the teenager on the cheek.

Gabrielle stirred in her sleep, her own hand unconsciously catching her child’s and pressing it tighter to her face. “Mm, Xena,” she mumbled.

Wake up, mommy! Let’s play! Hope called loud and clear in her own mind, not yet realizing the telepathy between them ran in only one direction.

Dahak took Gabrielle’s place and tarnished it. Try again, precious. Call louder. Scratch her! Strike her if you must!

His child hesitated. But I don’t want to hurt her, father.

Is she not hurting you by ignoring your cries? A good mother would not do such a thing. Punish her.

Hope and the evil god went back and forth like that for a few minutes until her trapped hand smoldered with her flare of temper.

The bard responded in an instant. Yelping, she flung her baby’s hand away to shield herself without barrier. Gabrielle even turned her back on her child. But still, she did not awaken or acknowledge Hope. Sturdy legs pulled toward a sore abdomen as Gabrielle cringed from the unbearable heat behind her. Releasing her smarting cheek to hug her knees to her chest she muttered, “No! Leave me alone! Don’t; don’t!” The final word got caught in her throat, and the girl choked on her grief.

Stunned and sorrowful but also uncomprehending and curious, Hope twisted to follow her mother. She crawled until she could smooth the teenager’s strawberry-blond bangs out of her face. Mommy? What’s wrong? What happened?

Gabrielle whimpered more desperately. No; go away! she cried without sound. Don’t touch me! A moment later, she hissed, “I hate you. I hate you, Khrafstar! You’ve ruined me!”

Her tiny daughter froze until she began to cry as well. What- Me? What did I do? I- I-

A warm presence wrapped itself around her. Oh, dear one. I didn’t realize- I’m so sorry…

Hope just cried. Once her father’s embrace calmed her to the point she could think again, she asked, Father? What-

It is an old word from a dialect known to commoners, Dahak easily lied to her. Smug satisfaction overpowered the feigned disgust emanating from him though his baby could not yet identify or differentiate either emotion, nor authentic ones from false ones.

Finally, Hope asked something she instinctively knew she couldn’t live without knowing and would never want to know as well. What does Khrafstar mean, father?

It means, ‘demon-child.’ She has disowned you.

That was all it took to send the infant into another downward spiral of heartbreak and yearning.

Neither parent truly soothed her; Gabrielle did not even notice Hope’s distress.

The daughter of darkness could take the terrible ache no longer. She could not be near to Gabrielle and rejected by her so, nor to be wrapped in intangible arms that offered very little comfort. Crawling on hands and knees, the newborn paused when she found her path blocked.

“Come here, sweetheart,” a kind voice she somewhat recognized cajoled her.

Then Hope was soaring as she had hours ago when Gabrielle played with her. The hazy memory mollified and hurt a black heart.

It bawled louder while the knight exclaimed, “Oh! What’s the matter? Can’t sleep?”

Put me down! the child ordered him. Things that want me are calling to me. I will go to them instead!

Screeching, inaudible-to-mortal voices urged Hope all the more irresistibly into their arms, promising to care for her and fulfill her every need; her father assured her the banshees were on their side.

“Oh, come here. Look; look. Look up; look up! Look!”

Hope yowled her discontent a second time upon being physically compelled to face Goewin. Leave me! I want them, not you! Not her!

“Come here. Come on,” he coaxed the baby anew as the pendant he was trying to show her glinted in the torchlight.

Disoriented for a second, Hope began to smile again. Pretty, she cooed.

Goewin grinned at her, practically beaming with goodness, as he had described Gabrielle.

Hope thought of her mother too. For not only did the necklace gleam like the bard’s hair did in the moonlight, Mommy looks at me like that. She pouted. But I did something she didn’t like, and she doesn’t want me anymore. Mother hates me! At a delay, the infant realized that the metal was cold, which cheered and repelled her. Then it gave Hope her own namesake. That’s it! I accidentally made my hand hot and hurt her! But this will make mommy all better!

With renewed vigor, her little body squirmed to get back to the floor so that she could crawl to Gabrielle. Mommy, mommy! I got the cure! Look! So you can love me again! More and yet less consciously, her hope and desire to do good drowned out Dahak’s voice in her head.

But Goewin did not give up his treasure.

Give it to me! Hope glared at him. It’s mine! And mommy needs it! A low growl bubbled in the back of her throat.

The knight went wide-eyed and dropped his jaw in shock.

His charge giggled. Oh, yeah. I remember you! You’re funny. Her chubby hand patted his cheek to make him smile again, and he did, but not for very long. Hope frowned, not understanding the man. She gave up on trying to make him happy after a few seconds and just yanked the medallion back and forth, ever closer to herself.

Goewin’s expressions became ever more comical and amused the baby greatly. When he toppled over altogether, Hope thought it was a terrific joke.

And the move got her back to the floor, so that lifted her spirits even higher. She held fast to the pierced heart as she began to make her way to her mother. Once her gaze locked onto Gabrielle, she had eyes for nothing else.

The knight flailing and choking beside then behind her was a mild annoyance and nothing more until his body got dragged upright. It would not budge from where he sat against the sword in the stone.

Hope rose up onto her knees but did not slow down. At last, the chain of Goewin’s necklace snapped, and she left his deadweight behind. Scooting along much more easily, she joyfully approached Gabrielle. Here, mommy. Little Hope presented the gift to her mother.

The bard jolted upon feeling the cold touch to her still-stinging cheek. Her head and body swiveled frantically as she tried to get her bearings. Then her eyes found bright blue ones. “Oh, hello, baby!” Her hand ruffled the sparse hair on her daughter’s scalp. “Are you being a good girl?” she teased besottedly.

Yes, mommy! Hope gurgled back, elated that her plan had worked.

“Aw! That’s my angel. Come lay with mommy. Let’s rest a little longer.”

Hope did not need to sleep but let her mother gather her up into loving arms and cuddle her close.

“Oh, my hope. My love,” Gabrielle murmured drowsily against her baby’s forehead. “Mommy’s sweet girl. Do you need your lamb toy? Here you are, beloved. Good night.” And with a final kiss, she drifted back into Morpheus’s realm.

Man, do I wish I had a competent, reliable beta reader! I wanna put my stories back up ASAP. I’m so lost right now. T_T ...Ahem. This excerpt, of course, is drawn from The Daughter of Duality, a companion piece to The Mother of Hope.

#xwp #xena #xena warrior princess #gabrielle #gabrielle fanfiction #xenafic #xena fanfiction #hope #dahak #gabrielle's hope #manslaughter #accidental homicide #accident #knight #good intentions

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okay-j-hannah · 4 years

Text

Summer Lovin’

The Marauders : Fic

Sirius x Reader

Word Count: 3567

Warnings: Just a lot of adorable banter over the beautiful Sirius and his constant denial over the fact he needs to let people in 😂❤

Request: “Can you write something with sirius where he meets a girl over the summer and they never really talk about Hogwarts so he doesnt know her house and when they go back he finds out shes a slytherin” - Anon

A/N: Unbeknownst to them, the two kids from seemingly different worlds had so much more in common than meeting during the summer holidays

She sat below the grand tree, leaning against its rough bark as she flipped through her book. The breeze made its way through her hair, ruffling the pages between her fingers; she could barely register the cool touch it fell on her nose.

Her mind was entirely too enthralled with the chapter written before her, describing wonderous tales of a quiet, simple life. One that didn’t hold so many frivolous magical duties or exuberant ministry bound parents.

A swift shift above her caught her otherwise occupied attention, sending her to gaze ahead instead of downwards. However that view was quickly taken up by a wavy-haired boy of sixteen, hanging upside down by his legs hooked onto a sturdy branch.

“Sirius!” she shouted, unable to jump back due to the tree she rested upon, but nonetheless pressing herself flat against it.

The boy hung there, a ridiculously impish smile on his face, “Good evening, (Y/N).” He dropped his arms, revealing a tiny maple seed in his hand.

“You about made me bend the pages of my book,” she scolded, placing the object neatly beside her, “I need it for school.”

In an instant Sirius was right side up again, very nonchalant about what he’d just done. Instead he held his palm up to her eyes, presenting the maple seed before blowing gently.

The little seed immediately became airborne, but not at all as you would’ve expected. It was almost as if the wings of the plant flapped ever so slightly. But (Y/N) knew that to be entirely impossible, Sirius wasn’t a wizard – just a newfound friend from the city over.

“What are you reading?” he asked, just as he always did when they met, planting himself beside her.

“Little Women,” she responded, instantly feeling the warmth come from him where their shoulders touched. “It’s quite good.”

He frowned, pulling a comical face, “You sure? It looks like a bunch of boring words strung together into agonizingly long paragraphs that’ve been extended into impossibly confusing pages.”

She couldn’t help but giggle, slapping his hand before he could fiddle with the novel, “What you’ve just described is called a book, Sirius. And you’d know that if you ever bothered to pick one up.”

The offended look he gave her was dramatically overdone, “I will you have you know I’m passing my classes with adequate grades!”

“Adequate?”

He bent his head side to side in thought, “Well, adequate enough to pass.”

It always made her smile when she was able to figure him out. It wasn’t at all that difficult though, once you broke through the initial barrier. Sirius was a boy that desperately did want people to know him, although those people had to be very select and definitive.

(Y/N) fit the description apparently.

“Have you gotten any word from your parents?” She waited patiently, letting that cool breeze draw them almost instinctively closer to one another.

Upon mention of his family, Sirius always grew a bit darker, his eyes down-turning to his fiddling fingers. “No – I don’t suppose they ever will. Seeing as they’ve already got their perfect son, they can leave me for the scrap heap.”

“Don’t say that,” she muttered, nudging into him, “From what I’ve heard it sounds like you don’t necessarily want to be associated with them anyway.”

It always did surprise him whenever she’d give negative feedback on a person. She was normally entirely against pointless gossip and ignorant bullying.

It also always made his heart pump a little bit faster.

“You think?” he mused, finding another maple seed on the ground and opting to pulling the leaves off.

She gave a rather vocal thinking cap, scrunching her face up in the way that amused him, “Do I think you’re a pompous, ever-livid, critic that shoves anyone you think is beneath you into the gutter? No I don’t.” She pushed him a little harder that time, making him fall over with his guard down.

“I hate when you compliment me so.” He whipped up to push her back, sending her a bit farther away with a squeak in her voice.

“Then you hate the truth,” she muttered, fixing her hair and spitting blades of grass from her lips.

He couldn’t help but stare at her as she did so, his knees drawn up to his chest and his gaze soft and dreamy. It was as if he was envisioning something far away and barely within his grasp.

“Besides, things are better now that you’re with your friend.”

He blinked his eyes rapidly to attempt to clear his foggy dream, “Yeah, James’ folks have been real delights.”

“Don’t say it so sarcastically,” she wriggled her nose feeling a sneeze come on. It only made him smile further.

“I wasn’t being sarcastic.”

She hummed, “I guess it’s just your natural tone of voice then.” That brought a laugh out of him – she loved it when she could make him laugh.

“How’s your family been, then?” he questioned, too worried she’d wonder about his considerably quieter demeanor that evening.

It didn’t phase her at all that he was being simple; she quite enjoyed when he didn’t feel like he had to be a clown all the time.

“Proud and defiant as always. Sometimes I wish I had a James I could runaway to.”

Very faintly she could have sworn those words made him flash with anger but thought it merely a trick of the eye. Things were never complicated with Sirius and they weren’t about to be now. Conversation always flowed between them as the breeze was through the leaves above them.

“In that case, you’re going to have to write me at least twice a month,” he decided, turning himself so he was facing her. “I don’t want to miss out on you finding yourself a James at your faraway school.”

She feebly punched him in the shoulder, sheepishly retracting it to fold her arms, “You know I’ve never been that popular with the boys.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

It was the first bout of silence they had in days, Sirius finding his throat growing dry. His eyes diverted to her hands rubbing up and down her arms.

“You’re cold.”

Still a bit stunned at what he stated before, she slowly nodded, cracking a small smile. Quite unlike him, Sirius shyly opened his arms to her, urging her to come closer. And without hesitation she inched forward, leaning into him with his arm wrapped around her shoulders, keeping her safe and warm.

(Y/N) always had a hard time discerning when Sirius was being truly sincere or not, normally when it came to more serious statements. In her gut she knew she’d rather have liked to believe most of them, but she would scold herself for putting faith in silly beliefs.

Sirius didn’t honestly feel for her in that way.

The problem was… Sirius felt completely and whole-heartedly in that way.

And as he skid home that night, he couldn’t help but feel a little lighter than before – secretly accomplished in himself for having held (Y/N) that night. He could almost remember the pleasant feeling of her leaning into his chest – the soothing touch of her hand in his.

A stupid smile was plastered onto his face as he rounded the corner and spotted his best friend lying on the front grass of his home. A glittering snitch was whizzing around his head as the sun faded still.

“Hey, well isn’t it lover boy coming back with a triumphant look on his face.” The wild-haired boy sat up, clutching the snitch in his hand, “Did he manage to steal a kiss from our little muggle friend perhaps?”

“Shut up, James,” he replied, plopping down on the grass beside him, “Just because I bunk with you now doesn’t mean I get to share every part of my summer.”

“No, that’s exactly what it means,” James stated, straightening his glasses, “Come on now, at least tell me you got a cuddle.”

Sirius drew his knees back towards his chest, wrapping his arms around them and resting his head on top, “Maybe just a little one.”

Punching him in the shoulder, James grinned, “Progress, mate. Now just you wait – soon we’ll see it in the papers: Double wedding with James Potter and Sirius Black, marrying their lovelies Lily and (Y/N).”

Sirius couldn’t help but snort, “The day Lily Evans accepts your date proposal is the day I face my parents with an apology and full allegiance.”

They shared a laugh, enjoying the company of having another to talk to, especially about things such as who they fancy.

“But I suppose it’s going to end soon,” Sirius muttered, gazing at the grass with that same drowsy stare.

James then became overly serious, “What you talking like that for? Just cause summer is ending doesn’t mean (Y/N)’s going to disappear forever. You can come back here next year, and she’ll still be living down the street.”

“That’s just it – what if something happens over the school year? You never know.”

It pained him to see his friend like that, so far away from the carefree expression he was accustomed to. All he did in that moment was give him a reassuring nudge, showing that he understood and would be there for him if it happened.

But as quickly as that silence enveloped them, it dispersed – James making a point to shove Sirius out of the way as he sped to the house.

“Last one to the room has to clean up the owl droppings!”

“By Merlin’s baggy y-fronts are you going to make me clean up after your ruddy owl!”

~~~

The school year was going by slower than she expected, the seasons falling into autumn with agonizing speed. As the days went on, all (Y/N) seemed to focus on was when Sirius was going to write her.

It was becoming detrimental to her declining grades as she dwelled on this wish throughout every class. Even Professor Binns mentioned the lack of participation as she was normally the only one who’d ask questions in History of Magic.

Professor McGonagall requested that she seek some extra tutoring before her scores became too steeply down.

It was just the overwhelming thought that Sirius hadn’t made any sort of attempt to contact her. And he promised he would.

Was it just a summer fling?

“You’ve got to eat something, (Y/N).” Her friend Gwendolyn shoved a breakfast plate her way, “Slughorn is going to be upset if you pass out in the dungeons because of malnutrition.”

She could only faintly smile in return, “I’m just not hungry.”

“It’s that boy you won’t stop thinking about. This mysterious boy you refuse to name,” Gwen bit her toast, eyeing her friend suspiciously, “Come on, you’re starting to look greener than your robes.”

(Y/N) snuck a feeble giggle, “McGonagall was saying something similar just yesterday.”

“I don’t think it’s right for you to be pining over a boy that isn’t putting forth the same effort.”

That created the frown that harshly etched (Y/N)’s chin, “I just don’t get it…”

A crash from the other side of the Great Hall made her pause, simply some surprise that halted her thoughts.

“He was so kind, so attentive – he was always there; cracking jokes and making fun of my reading and…”

“And being so secretive,” Gwendolyn concluded, extracting her wand to fiddle with it against the table. She eyed the commotion happening across the sea of students, “He told you even less about his life than you did!”

(Y/N) sighed, resting her chin in her hand, “I just thought maybe he actually meant it all.”

Another thundering disturbance hit the hall, a number of students standing from their meals to catch a sight of what was happening.

“Probably that Potter gang,” Gwen muttered, turning to console her friend once more. “Look, how about you talk to Professor Kettleburn about some owls that can find his house. Just write a letter explaining the circumstances, owls probably come as a shock to some muggles…”

But (Y/N) had turned her attention to the commotion Gwen pegged as being caused by the Potter gang. Not one too familiar with other social gossip of the school, nonetheless too observant to not know who Potter was, she was suddenly engrossed by the gang of boys surrounding him.

“(Y/N), I’m trying to help you in your stupid dilemma,” Gwen pouted, leaning forward, “The least you could do is try to listen.”

But she was too caught up thinking that one of the boys looked so familiar. Across the way, bombarding a hoard of first years in their wake, the four boisterous sixth years laughed and tossed rolls to one another.

The ringleader, obviously Potter, chucked a buttered piece of toast towards a young Gryffindor, clearly a frightened first year. The sticky bread hit his freshly bought robes, making the youngling cringe and run away with tears in his eyes, others following him.

A short blonde friend snickered, keeping his distance, but enjoying the company. A slender, scarred boy stood shyly away, a disapproving smirk on his features. And another wavy-haired boy was nudging Potter, a crazed laugh on his face as he pointed out the scampering first year.

He looked so oddly familiar. His demeanor beginning to dawn on (Y/N)’s memory.

But it couldn’t be.

“Where in the name of Salazar are you going?”

But all (Y/N) could do was walk towards the disturbance, almost in a trance-like way. Her eyes were quickly beginning to sting, her mouth falling into a look of shock.

The closer she got, the plainer it became that it was Sirius she was noticing. Her Sirius that claimed to be as innocent and clever as she. Her Sirius that portrayed such a charming façade that she completely believed he was the good guy she had always hoped. The good, simple boy she met over the summer – one that could take her away from the stupidity that the magical community gave her.

Only now she was realizing he was just another piece in it.

“Sirius!?”

At the sound of her voice, the quartet stopped their squandering, all suddenly motionless at being addressed by an unknown student.

Remus furrowed his brow, stepping farther away from the classic duo of James and Sirius. He wasn’t about to get in another one of their feuds – especially over a girl. Peter followed suit, sensing the danger and looking towards his cleverest friend.

“Merlin’s beard,” Sirius muttered, dropping the roll he had aimed for the Gryffindor Prefect leaving their food fight. “(Y/N)?”

“What are you doing here?” she fought back those angry tears, noticing sharply his red robes and the glasses clad boy beside him. “I can’t believe it.”

“You’re a Slytherin?”

She shook her head more fiercely, “You’re a wizard! All those months and you didn’t even have a clue that I was one too? God, Sirius, what are you doing?”

The only thing he seemed to be able to do was gap at her, “A Slytherin?”

“The James you were talking about was James Potter!? How could I be so stupid?” she threw her hands in the air, clearly just on the brink of an all-consuming rant, “And I thought I had a decent clue who you were. Oh my God, Black? Sirius Black? My father literally spends weekends at your house… oh my GOD!”

James finally started connecting the dots, “Holy… wait a minute – is this that (Y/N) chick you met over the summer?”

Sirius was still horribly consumed in his initial shock of the whole event that he could only slump where he stood, staring at her.

“I told you back then that I didn’t think you were cruel and indecent. I told you I thought you were incredible and a good person. And now…” she addressed the mess he and his friends had made of the table; the small group of terrorized students at the end of the hall. “You’re bullying first years! First years, Sirius?”

“(Y/N), wait – I…” Sirius was just starting to wrap his head around what was happening. “A Slytherin?”

She was beginning to reach her limit, a personality quite unlike her own snapping through, “Were you just pretending to be something you’re not? I think you’re one way and then come to find out that you’re best friends with the most infamously arrogant child of our year.”

“Hey, now wait just a second…”

“I thought you were better than that, Sirius,” she cut everyone off, “But you’re different, you’re worse, you’re just like those parents you hate.”

She began to back away as he tried to clear his throat, gathering his shocked thoughts, “Slyth…”

“Yeah, we established that, Black,” she shouted, turning around, “I’ve never been gladder that Slytherins and Gryffindors eat on opposite sides of the Great Hall! Don’t speak to me – ever. Got it?”

And as she stalked off; Sirius could feel his own blood growing colder. His thoughts fully back now, shock dwindling as James leaned into him.

“Woah,” he whistled, “You’ve got yourself a little snake now, don’t you?”

At his scoff, Sirius shoved him away, “Sod off, James. (Y/N)!” He ran from his friend group, chasing after this girl he realized he was about to lose.

And if there was anything truer to him in that moment, it was that he didn’t want to lose her.

“(Y/N), please, let me explain.”

She sped out of the hall and towards the adjacent corridor, going anywhere that was from him. “I don’t want an explanation, Black.”

“Please, come on…” he picked up his pace, chasing her in a sprint as she wavered in her steps.

Her eyes were full of tears and she was not in the mood to address them, “Leave me alone, Sirius. Didn’t you hear a word I just said?”

He reached her shoulder, tugging on her sleeve and gaining a glare from her flustered face, “But I don’t want you jumping to conclusions without the whole story.”

She swallowed hard, silently cursing herself for the tears in her eyes, “More stories? So you can lie to me more?”

Sirius bit the inside of his cheek, finding it difficult to let his guard down now that he was back into the grove of school. “(Y/N), you’re not even giving me a chance. Don’t you think I’m a little surprised to see you a student at Hogwarts? You’re clever – Don’t you think I’ve earned the right to be a bit shocked too?”

“You’re a bully.”

“And you’re a pure-blood.”

“So are you.”

“But I left my family.”

“And I despise mine.”

“Looks like we have something in common then.” He attempted a little smile, enjoying the banter a little too much despite the bad timing.

She gave him a harsh gaze, “You’re different.”

He felt his heart give way a little, that urge to open up to her becoming more of a reality. It was that feeling that initially got him to like her in the first place.

“(Y/N), I’ve never been more honest in my whole life than I have with you. You bring that out in me – the real me – the side that I don’t like others to see.”

He waited for her to explode more, but instead watched as she let a tear fall, her frown still in place and not contradicting what he was saying.

He decided it was safe to continue, “You know how school is – it’s hard to find your place and to show you’re not something to be taken lightly or made fun of. I come from a very infamous family, one that represents a lot of what I hate. I’ve tried to take every possible measure to show that I’m nothing like them.”

The look in her eyes was beginning to soften and he found more courage to speak up, “I’ve rebelled against a strict upbringing, I defy any sort of rulebook given to me, and I do the complete opposite of the expectations set for my life. I’m a Gryffindor for crying out loud! My whole family has been in Slytherin for generations.”

She sniffed, swiftly reaching to wipe away stray tears, “You’ve built a wall. And you’re too stubborn for your own good to let people into it.”

“Except James, Remus… and you.”

That made her chest hurt with a little more pride than sorrow, “Maybe I did jump to a few conclusions.”

“And maybe I’m a blithering idiot that said Slytherin one too many times.”

The smile he gave her made her giggle slightly, taking a step forward so they were closer as they once were those many months ago. “If you can promise me you try to avoid the bullying, maybe I’ll consider seeing you more.”

“Even with the distance between the tables?” he smirked.

She lifted her hand slowly to graze his fingertips, “If you make the trip worth it.”

It was like his whole body froze in place, a feeling like none other coursing up his arm and taking refuge in his steely heart.

“But of course,” she remarked much louder to the muttering she used before, “That means you’ll have to actually show you have a good heart every once in a while.”

And she walked away, heading back to her dorm as Sirius stood there with the biggest smile on his face – one he hadn’t felt in a long time.

~~~

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orangetail-works · 4 years

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A Phoenix and a Raven: Oblivious

Chapter: Oblivious

A/N: This prompt was a request off of Tumblr as well from @onceuponaminute16. Don't want to put much of the prompt in here as it would spell out the entire oneshot. I hope you will enjoy, and as always happy reading.

Peace had finally settled between the kingdom of men and the magical Moors. Queen Aurora and her husband, the now crowned King Phillip, ruled their blended people with compassion and righteousness. The Dark Fey who chose to rejoin the land of their ancestors made strides to understand the humans and their ways. There were always to be disputes and small scuffles between two meeting cultures, but for the most part, respect and a willingness to understand won out in the end.

In the Moors, Maleficent kept the peace with the tree sentries and those of the Dark Fey who wanted to protect their new home. Her days were spent flying over the large expanse of the Moors, talking over matters of discontent with all types of clan leaders at the Moor Palace or discussing the upcoming celebrations of Dark Fey tradition that she was yet again unaware of. She had grown up under the watchful eyes of fairies that were nothing like her. Her parents were the only other Dark Fey left in the Moors and when they perished in the war when she was a babe, she had no one to learn from. Her people were strangers to her.

At the moment, the Dark Fey Phoenix was perched along a sturdy tree branch as she looked over the group of children from Ulstead and Perceforest interwoven with the children of the Moors. They walked and talked with one another and shared stories of their own between them. Their parents and guardians stood a little way off, still in sight, but mingling much like their children.

The children ran after one another, taught each other their games they would usually play and some of the Dark Fey even try to lift the humans with them as they flew overhead. Maleficent was transported to the times of her own childhood where her and Stefan would tell each other stories and run around the Moor's woods and rivers, unaware of the large divide of their species. Such good memories that were tainted of the greed of the past.

Her attention was caught as a dark figure flew in between and around the children. The raven cawed after the small group that had chased after him as if he was laughing. He may just be. He stayed low enough that the human children could play along and the fey did not have enough height to use their wings as an advantage. He always made sure that everyone was on equal footing.

Her faithful servant still stayed with her, still an ever present constant at her side. He would tour the Moors with her as she made her rounds, he would insert well thought arguments in debates and was always there to be an ear when she needed to talk of any worries. She had told him that he was more than free to be who he needed and wanted to be with the peaceful reign of her daughter and his fledgling. He refused, as he stood by his vow to be there for whatever she may need, even if the debt had been more than repaid years prior. His heart had remained pure despite his constant company with someone who's heart was definitely not. Her hand went to her chest to feel her heart beat faster than normal as she kept her mind on him. Her dark heart would leap with the thought of the hope and light in his own. But her mind and mouth stayed silent and showed no affection while he was in the form of a man, when he had a hand to hold... or arms to wrap in... or even lips to-

She hissed at her thoughts and banished them back into her mind. There was no room in her life for that kind of hope and dreams. She tried to love like that once and the heartbreak nearly cost her another. She cannot let that happen again.

Diaval banked in the air as he turned with a flip in the air and let out a victorious caw. He was keeping a good pace with the children.

“That will not do,” Maleficent smiled to herself. Her hand flicked out in golden magic and suddenly the raven shifted in midair to the man.

Diaval squawked and hit the ground, flat on his front. Maleficent tried to hide her laughter, but couldn't stop an ungraceful snort that slipped passed. Not even a second after he hit the ground, the children were upon him. They laid their small bodies over his legs, his arms and a couple of them sat on his back. The poor creature was covered shoulder to toe in children of all races and creeds. He struggled to look up and directly at her tree. Her narrowed his eyes as he caught sight of her in the branches.

“You have caught me!” he said dramatically toward the children, “I will have to submit!”

“Then you are our servant!” one of the Dark Fey children of the jungle clans crowed from his back.

“I will give you favors, young lord, but I am servant to no one but the great phoenix herself,” he explained and the children climbed off of him so he could stand. Once he dusted himself off he knelt and looked at the children more or less eye to eye, “Though I am sure you would all do well to a handsome servant as myself, my life is linked to only one other. And that's the way it will stay for I would be found no where else.”

Maleficent heard his words and her heart beat faster in her chest.

He looked over the heads of the children to look at Maleficent who didn't move, but her eyes wide. He knew then that she could hear him as well as see him.

“You should never leave her?” a young boy asked with his arms crossed, “What would you do if one of us saved your life? What would you do then?”

“I would owe you a great debt, but my vow would still be to my mistress,” Diaval explained, “I am loyal to a fault as most ravens are. Honest. I would not and will not stray.”

“What if you were to find love?” a female Dark Fey child of the Desert Clan asked as her brown wings shuffled behind her in a bit of shyness, “I've heard that ravens mate for life, what if you should find a she-raven to nest with? What of your mistress then?”

“You mean to talk of love?” Diaval asked and the children all gathered around him as if he was telling a tale. His eyes flicked up to where she was still in the tree. She seemed to have leaned toward them to hear better.

'Maybe it was time to let her know without doubt...' Diaval thought to himself.

“Lord Diaval?” the jungle fey asked him and pulled at his sleeve.

Diaval cleared his throat and smiled back at the group of children, “I know well of love and it would not change anything between my mistress and myself. I love deeply, but I will never have want to leave my mistress.”

“So, you are in love with someone?” a human girl asked this time, her hands clasped together in front of her in a show of excitement. He could tell that the young one was a romantic.

He chuckled at her and rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment, “Have been for a while now, yes.”

Maleficent's thundering heartbeat suddenly stopped at his words. A cold washed over her being. He loved someone, has for some time.

How could she have not known? They spent many days and nights together, when had he even met such a radiant creature that they could steal his heart? Was it during the many and continuing Dark Fey celebrations? It must have been. It was true that many of Fey women were drawn to him as they described him as prime mate material, but she didn't think that any of them made more strives to grab the raven-man's attention and affections.

“OH! Who is it?!” the same romantic girl asked as she grabbed at his arm and shook him to garner his complete attention.

He chuckled quite amused at her excitement, “Isn't it apparently obvious?”

Maleficent felt like she would fall off the branch. It should be obvious? To children it should be obvious?

She shook her head and ignored the cold feeling in her chest. She stood on the large branch under her and took off into the sky toward her nest.

Diaval suddenly looked up at her departure and scrambled to his feet. He took a couple steps toward her retreating form with a furrow at his brow. He stood still for a moment or two trying for the life of him to figure out where he had gone wrong.

“Lord Diaval?” the jungle fey pulled at his hand, “What happened?”

“I don't know, little one,” Diaval frowned slightly.

“You love the Phoenix.”

Diaval turned quickly to see a couple of the mothers of the children approach. They must have been listening in on the conversation as well. He knew that some of the ladies of the courts and of the Dark Fey have expressed interest in him, but he was always careful to respectfully reject such advances. His heart, just like the rest of him, was spoken for.

“How?” Diaval asked.

“As you said, it was obvious,” another woman added on and saw the drop in Diaval's head in rejection, “But something tells me that she isn't as good seeing the obvious as others.”

He huffed a sad laugh, “That she is not.”

“So?” another woman from the hamlet stepped forward.

“So...” Diaval questioned in confusion.

“You're going after her, aren't you?”

“I have no wings,” he said as he flexed his hands to show the digits.

“But you have legs,” the original woman said, “And if I were to let the person that held my heart know that they do, I would use whatever I had to get to them.”

Diaval looked at the ladies and then the children in thought. He took a deep breath and nodded, “You're right. This form never stopped me before.”

Maleficent sat in her low nest in the Rowen tree, close to the Heart of the Moors. She saw the preparations of the celebration not too far away. She had unwrapped her horns and head to let her hair hang loose for the festivities. In the moment she was just finishing the wire wrap around her horns. She did not feel at all like celebrating, but she felt like she owed her people to at least try. Besides, she needed a distraction. If Diaval was in love and wished to pursue his lady, she would be seeing less and less of him as he did so. She would have to find other avenues to entertain herself- no, that wasn't right. He was more than entertainment.

He was her confidant, her closest adviser and friend. He helped her raise Aurora, he was as much a parent to the queen as she was. He was the voice that echoed in her mind when she thought of decisions that affected the Moors. He was the company that she sought out the most outside of Aurora. She took a deep breath and laid a hesitant hand on her chest as her heart began to ache just slightly. Then she turned a little angry at him. He didn't even think to tell her of his feelings? Didn't their friendship give him the leeway to talk of such things with her? Did he not think her worthy enough to meet this woman?

That was ridiculous. He trusted her with everything, even if he didn't agree with some of her choices. He always stood by them with her. Maybe it was as obvious as he said and she just chose not to see it. Maybe she needed to try harder with her own kind. Strike more friendships so his inevitable loss wouldn't sting so harshly.

“...mistress.”

Maleficent leaned out to look down from the tree to find a huffing Diaval, “There you are.”

“You left me with the children in this,” he gestured to his human form, “Had to trek half way across the Moors, I did.”

“Stop your belly aching,” she rolled her eyes and turned on her cold exterior, her heart locked away, “You seem just fine.”

“Easy for you to say with your glorious wings,” he pointed up at her.

Maleficent glided down from the tree, her horns decorated and her gown clean and in a bright yet deep green. She held her head high and looked him over. His clothing was a bit scuffed up from his trek.

Her hand swirled with gold magic as she cleaned him up and changed his clothing to something similar to her own. She thought that it may be the wrong thing to dress him to match herself, but she had done so before and if this woman was to have a problem with it, she could tell her herself. If she couldn't stand up to Maleficent, then she didn't deserve Diaval.

“Something is wrong,” he said suddenly at the lost look in her face.

“Don't be ridiculous,” she huffed and walked toward the Fairy Hill.

His hand quickly snapped out and gently took one of her own, his fingers entwining with hers, “There is. Please, talk with me.”

His eyes searched hers as she looked back at him. She waved her other hand not connected to his to turn him back into his raven form, “I don't want to talk.”

He beat his wings to keep airborne and caws fell silent at his beak. He knew something was troubling her. His own troubles would have to wait. He landed on her shoulder and she let him stay there as they made their way to the beginning of festivities.

As the celebration turned into full swing, Maleficent felt more and more out of place. Dark Fey of all kinds danced and cheered with the other Moorland fairies, but none of them really went out of their way to include the Phoenix. She was in a corner as she watched on. Her original thought of talking with the others only led to her confusion or boredom. She tried to make conversation about the Moors and their merge into with the other fairy kind around them. Even talked of humans and how they were with the new fairy kind from their observations. They participated in the 'small talk' as Diaval had once explained to her, but they didn't know how to really talk with her. They didn't know her passions and her skills. They know what they knew, and that was enough. She eventually turned to the outer ring to watch on as she always had.

Diaval stayed attached to her shoulder the whole time, never asking once to be changed to man to go partake of the Moorland buffet or wander around with the others. He stayed with her. Maybe his lady love hadn't arrived at these festivities.

A hour into her self appointed banishment to the outer ring of the festivities, Boora approached her.

“Good evening, Phoenix,” he greeted and bowed his head toward her.

“Boora,” she tilted her head back.

“Are you to sit away this blessed event with only a bird for company?”

Diaval's feathers puffed at Boora as a slight caw was huffed out.

“Diaval is splendid company,” she offered as explanation even though she had yet to say one word to the raven all night. She absentmindedly scratched under Diaval's chin, “I have not found another that has kept my interest as he has.”

“Maybe you were not asking the right fey,” Boora smirked, followed by a low rumble in his chest.

Maleficent looked at him a bit shocked, but then laughed at his attempt to tempt her, “No, Boora. I don't think so.”

“I am the strongest of my clan and the best fighter of the council,” he explained and flexed one arm and wing to show it was so.

Diaval cawed lowly as if he would be rolling his eyes if he were human.

“That may be, Boora, but that is not what I search for in a companion to take my time.”

“And what is?”

“Intelligence.”

“I have that.”

“If you had the right kind, you would take care of my rebuttal,” she warned him.

“Phoenix, you need not search, any of us would willingly come to you,” Boora took her hand and pulled her toward him.

Maleficent stiffened in discomfort. This is not where she wanted this conversation to go, “Come to me? I-I don't-”

“Yes, whatever you would want or need. We would do that for you. We would not shun you for company or even to mate.”

In a split second, Diaval was at Boora's face. He flapped his wings vigorously at the fey to blind him. He didn't use his talons, but he was close to it. Boora dropped Maleficent's hand and she pulled back fully and stood. Diaval cawed and pecked lightly at Boora's face and hands. Before blood would be spilled, Maleficent waved her hand and Diaval landed on the ground as a man.

“And another thing,” Diaval yelled at Boora as he poked his finger in the air at him, “She does not need anyone to do anything she needs, she has me for that. Always will. Come to her for friendship and understanding, not to- to mate her!”

Boora huffed at the raven-man and then looked to Maleficent to see if she would correct him. She did not in any way or form. He huffed again, straightened himself and then took off toward the main fairy hill.

As he left, Diaval brushed off his clothes and then his hands before he turned back to Maleficent, “A bit of wild card, that one.”

“Is it true?”

“Is what true?” he asked, his hands now on his hips.

“That you will always be with me?”

“We've talked about this,” he relaxed his shoulders and sat down on a root that she was lounging on before Boora came over, “Sit down, your wings are drooping. Usually means there is too much on your mind.”

She shook her head though she did as he asked. He knew her so well.

“Are you going to talk to me now?” he asked as she settled next to him.

“You knew that I heard you earlier with the children,” she said and kept her eyes on the lights around them and not on him.

“I did,” Diaval nodded and busied himself with his strange human hands.

Maleficent hesitated and then took a deep breath, “I just want you... you to be happy.”

“What makes you think that I'm not?” his brows instantly furrowed as he looked at her, “Do I make you think that I don't enjoy every moment with you?”

“I know there are times that you would rather be elsewhere,” she looked at the ground, “Or with someone else.”

“Someone else...?”

“Again, I want you to be happy,” she finally looked straight into his eyes, “Even if it is not with me. I feel ashamed that I don't even know the one that holds your heart so steadfastly.”

His eyes searched hers for a moment before he gave her the smallest of smiles, “You know her well enough. I just know her better.”

“I have no clue how you have hidden her from me. You spend much of your time with me,” she floundered in her thoughts as she totally missed the look in his eyes. An epiphany popped into her head, “Or with Aurora... is she a resident in Ulstead? A handmaiden, perhaps?”

Diaval shook his head, now a little amused at the guess, “No.”

“No, I wouldn't know a handmaiden. Is she part of the council?”

“She is,” he smirked at the new game that unfolded.

“Not many there, and it definitely is not Nanny Stout,” she shook her head and looked back out to the hills to try and understand, “Is it Shrike?”

“You know well that she is bonding with Percival,” he reminded her.

“That's true,” she took another breath in thought. He began to laugh lightly at her serious thought process. She suddenly frowned, but didn't look back at him, “This is frustrating, you miserable bird and yet you laugh at me. Do you hate me or something?”

“Not at all,” Diaval leaned toward her, his hand caught her chin. He pulled her chin toward him to make sure that he eyes were level with his. His smile caught her off guard, “I'm actually quite in love with you, really.”

“...what?”

He leaned forward further and captured her lips with his own as he had seen Aurora and Phillip do many times before. His lips pressed against hers steady for only a moment before her lips acted in kind. Her hand flew up to his hair and ran through the feathers and strands behind his ear. He felt her smile against his lips and he chuckled into their kiss.

Diaval pulled back, “You didn't stay around long enough for me to finish my talk with the little ones earlier. I love you, mistress. Having known that for as long as I have, nothing has changed. I will still never leave your side.”

“Silly raven,” she brushed her fingers through his hair, “I don't do guessing games. You must tell me such things, for I seem to be oblivious to the obvious.”

“No worry. I will remind you frequently,” he pecked her lips.

“... I will never want you to leave.”

“Good, because I will never want to leave you.”

“I will be harsh.”

“I will be understanding.”

“I will... I love you.”

He grinned widely, “I still love you. Always have.”

#maleval fanfiction #maleval #maleficent x diaval #orangetail-works #requested prompt

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diyunho · 4 years

Text

The Joker x Reader - “ What Death Tastes Like” Part 5

Scarecrow’s daughter might be only 22, yet the terminal lung cancer she was diagnosed with six months ago didn’t discriminate against her age; the young woman didn’t show worrisome symptoms until it was too late. Y/N always had a fascination for the much older King of Gotham and despite the consequences, maybe it’s finally time to do something about it.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

The Joker feels his face covered in soft kisses and although generally speaking he loves being pampered, this particular instance awakens his self-defense mechanism.

“What time is it?” J mutters.

“Let me see,” you stretch for your phone. “12:03 am.”

“I should go,” he lifts his head up from the pillow and you pull him back in your arms, yawning.

“Stay for a little bit longer, ok?”

“Why?”

“I wish to hold on to my birthday present for a few more minutes,” Y/N pleads with the man she senses doesn’t want to be there anymore. “Don’t worry, I’m aware it was a casual affair,” your sad smile prompts a completely out of context answer:

“If you noticed I fell asleep, you should have woken me up!” The King of Gotham complains.

“I fell asleep also,” you snuggle to him and since J is suddenly quiet you whisper. “It was amazing.”

He keeps staring which makes you wonder what the hell is going on in his mind right now.

“At least for me,” you underline after you grasp he won’t comment on the subject; you didn’t have a clue he’ll convert the night you spent together into awkwardness for no reason. “Get out of my tent!” you snap at his behavior, irritated. “Get out!” you shove him and The Clown Prince of Crime doesn’t budge.

“Why are you mad?” he finally addresses the annoyed Y/N.

“Because you’re a jerk!”

“Come again?!” The Joker frowns and Scarecrow’s daughter has a clever response; she doesn’t share his genes for nothing.

“I would but I guess you’re not a big fan of us having sex a second time!!!”

“Wow!” J bitterly scoffs. “You sure can twist a guy’s words, huh? If you really must pry into my personal life, I’ll have you know that I’m not used with small talk afterwards, understand?”

While you wonder if he’s bluffing, you can’t help offer the benefit of doubt served with a side of insolence.

“Well, maybe if you would give it a try with someone that actually cares, you’d have stuff to discuss.”

“Miss Crane, what makes you think Mara doesn’t like me?”

The Joker expects a feisty reply to his audacious remark yet he receives a piece of sturdy logic instead:

“If she was crazy in love, she wouldn’t agree and with this on and off relationship you two have.”

J is obviously displeased at your statement thus Y/N has to unleash her creativity in order to push him comprehend what she’s aiming at.

“The problem is you don’t approach anything important, you only shut down everyone. Even Emma believes she’s not yours.”

The King of Gotham was preparing to lash out but your latest sentence totally catches him off guard.

“What do you mean?!”

“You never talk about her mother granted she keeps asking so Emma presumes you probably stole her from an individual you consider your enemy and raised her as revenge.”

“Huh?!” The Joker gets on his elbow, appalled. “She is my daughter!”

“I say that to her when she panics, unfortunately random people do look similar…,” you twirl a strand of his green hair around your fingers. “Steering clear from issues we’re uncomfortable with doesn’t necessarily result in a positive outcome,” Y/N concludes and her partner is not excited at all.

“Are you psychoanalyzing me?!”

“I’m a Crane,” you peck his lips. “It’s in our blood.”

A lot of thoughts rushing behind those blue eyes and you’re confident his patience is running low; add a short fuse to the combo and according to your flawless instinct J will bite soon.

“Take me for example,” you attempt to cram in the main point of your dialogue before it happens. “I don’t care you’re older, I fancy your company nevertheless: you’re super handsome plus emotionally unattractive…”

“I’m what?!” The Joker interrupts.

“Umm… emotionally unattractive?” you hesitantly repeat while watching him jump off the pillows and start to collect his clothes in the semi darkness.

“Serves me right for sleeping with somebody half my age!” he growls at the young woman realizing she upset him with her rant.

“So you’re 46?” you struggle to joke at his affirmation.

“Listen here, Miss Crane!” J dresses in a hurry, angry at your stunt. “If you imagine you figured me out, you didn’t!! Nobody fucks with me!” he violently kicks the mattress and you can’t avoid it:

“I think I just did. Literally.”

The hate in his demeanor makes you regret opening up; your goal was to imply you like him no matter what yet the aftermath is way off what you intended.

“I apologize, OK?” you sigh and reach your hand for his.

“I hope you perish!” he strikes your fingers with such brutality it stings. “You’re dying anyway but hopefully the Cromyxillium kills you faster!” The Joker unzips the tent and leaves a shocked Y/N breathless at his hurtful tirade.

“That’s all you got? Stupid old man…” you whimper and cuddle under the thin blanket with his cushion.

Grief is not the correct term to describe what you experience for the moment: a perfect birthday turned into exactly the opposite in a blink of an eye simply because The Joker proved once more he has no concept on how to handle dynamite; fire suits him better.

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

Next morning, 10:14am

“Are you hot or cold?” your father inquires since your intravenous therapy commenced 10 minutes ago.

“No,” you gaze at the IV bag and Jonathan lingers by your bed, reminding his offspring about their plan.

“We’ll do 3 hours on, 3 hours off; I’ll monitor your vitals and if you feel strange alert me immediately, deal?”

You nod a yes and his perseverance in aiding you with your terminal cancer evokes a sincere confession:

“Daddy…Thank you for trying to save me…I’m sorry I’m a burden…”

“A burden?!” Scarecrow mumbles.

There are a million facts you should evoke, yet the predominant one keeps hunting you.

“You buried yourself in the lab because of me…and Evelyn left…”

“Evelyn and I broke up for various motives,” your parent grumbles. “Saying I immersed myself into working because of you hints that I was forced into it against my will which is not true. I did everything out of love… I can’t bear the idea of losing you,” he kisses your temple; you wrap your free arm around his neck, squeezing him tight.

“You’re the best dad; I’m lucky you’re my father. If I die… you think mom is waiting for me?...”

Jonathan Crane has the weird sensation he’s choking; his wife died after you were born due to leukemia, now their daughter is fighting for survival: she’s plainly the last fortress separating him from utter madness.

“I couldn’t save your mother, but I’ll be damned if I let you die kid,” he caresses your cheek. “She can wait; I bet she’s not eager to take you with her,” Scarecrow reassures his daughter. “Rest honey.”

“I will…” you consent and Emma barging in the bedroom with her duffle bag switches your attention.

“I’m here, I’m here!” she exclaims. “Traffic was horrible, bad accident on the freeway!”

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

11 am

“Are you comfortable?” Emma checks with her friend, not entirely certain how to bring up a very delicate topic clouding her usually bubbly disposition.

“Of course,” you smile and she wiggles in her recliner. “Are you?” you wink at her visible restlessness as you attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

“Y/N…,” she taps the fluffy carpet with her feet. “Mmmm… last night after we returned from the river I dropped by to see how you’re doing and… I came to your tent…,” Emma pauses seeing the stupefied expression on your face. “I…I found my father sleeping in there with you…”

You lick your lips and strain to keep your calm even if your heart is pounding out of your chest.

“Did my dad take advantage of you?” she lowers her voice and you can tell she’s torn apart by the horrible notion.

“He didn’t,” you shake your head.

“Dumb girl…” Emma admonishes without any trace of resentment; what else can she articulate in these circumstances regardless?

“I can’t believe I’m inquiring… Did you use protection?”

“No…It just happened…”

“Oh my God!” the concerned judgement pressures you to continue:

“It didn’t end well so it’s fair to assume we’re not in any danger of me becoming your stepmom,” your tone diminishes and she leans over to scold when The Joker passes by the opened door without bothering to peek inside your bedroom; you didn’t spot him but Emma did.

“I’ll be back!” she hisses and you’re confused at her desire to leave you.

“Hey, where are you going?”

She ignores your question and races after The King of Gotham, catching up with him at the end of the long corridor.

“Dad!” Emma shouts and he turns around.

“Yeah?”

“What are you doing?!” she interrogates the clueless Joker.

“I’m meeting Crane. Is he downstairs?”

“In his lab compounding the next batch of Cromyxillium for Y/N,” she fumes at J’s impertinence. “Didn’t you forget something?”

He seems puzzled and Emma is not tricked by his deceiving performance.

“My best friend is in her quarters, uncertain if she’ll survive the cancer treatment. Are you pretending she doesn’t exist?”

“Meaning?” The Joker sneers.

“I know you slept with her!” the accusation follows instantly. “Don’t deny it! How could you take advantage of her?!”

The Clown Prince of Crime straightens his shoulders, aware he can’t negotiate his innocence out of this complicated riddle.

“I did not take advantage of her! How dare you accuse me of such low move?”

“You didn’t?” Emma closes the gap between them. “You know she has a crush on you and she’s vulnerable; what type of man would prey on that?!”

J is not thrilled with the innuendos and cuts her off:

“She basically begged for some and I obliged out of pity!”

Emma slaps him and The Joker gasps, enraged she had the audacity:

“Do that again and I’ll neglect you’re my daughter!” he growls and the serious threat doesn’t faze her.

“Hurt her more and I’ll forget you’re my father! If you are indeed my father,” she emphasizes while stomping away towards the kitchen.

“I am your father!” J simmers at her impeccable strategy: Emma is retreating to a different corner of the house giving him the opportunity to choose.

Who the heck knows if she’s actually his?

One thing is undeniable though: they share the same despicable temper.

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

You discern The Joker in the doorway and your body stiffens; you stare at the TV screen wishing he’ll disappear.

“Where’s Crane?” J analyzes Y/N’s IV pole.

You don’t engage so his crankiness emerges.

“I suppose you didn’t flatlined yet!”

“Nope,” you grunt at the provocative declaration that served its goal: you did reply to The Clown’s rubbish.

“Where’s Crane?”

“I heard you the first time and I’m not sure why you focus your energy on a useless interrogation. You know where my father is!”

“Where?” The Joker’s vile attitude can’t compromise for less than instigating his fling.

“Please take your stuff that’s firm now but will get saggy in maximum 20 years and vanish!” the poisonous remark makes him groan.

“What stuff?!”

You check him out glaring at his mid-section before dismissing his presence.

“That’s the rudest fucking criticism ever!” The Joker barks and Y/N crabbily indicates:

“It’s not criticism, it’s reality! Gravity’s a bitch! Mara won’t mind, won’t she? After all, you two share a very special bond: on today, off tomorrow, hookup next week, take a break next month. Such dreamy relationship!”

“Do you have more derogatory references to my private life?!” J grinds his teeth ready to unleash several atrocities your way.

“No, too busy dying…” you show him the needle in your arm. “I don’t feel the pain from the medication burning my veins; I’m used with my sickness, with the ups and downs. What I do feel is the pain of being taken for granted.”

The Joker is not a fan of the insinuated context.

“You said no strings attached!” he stresses the lack of commitment consented the previous evening.

“You’re the one that came to me; I thought it meant you were accepting to be the center of my universe.”

J ogles the ceiling of Y/N’s bedroom and assembles a couple of harsh disclosures in his brain when her entitled smirk halts the project.

“You’re buying it, aren’t you?” you chuckle at his astonishment. “I’m just messing with you Mister Joker; who in their right mind would make you the center of their universe?! You have 10 seconds to leave, otherwise I’ll scream and security will come!” you shelter your head with the quilt so you don’t have to see his mug anymore.

No outpour of vexation from his part which is cool: means he bailed.

The blanket is slowly pulled until your eyes emerge; J hovers your face, pissed at the unwelcomed clash.

“I’m checking if you kicked the bucket; corpses are usually covered thus my dilemma.”

“Go away!” you advise. “Or I’ll scream!”

You inhale preparing to yell: The Joker didn’t predict you’d defy him and he swiftly kisses you in order to stop the sounds.

The door is cracked and Emma witnesses the scene, reckoning bizarre elements:

Her father holds grudges and was mad at Y/N earlier due to whatever happened yesterday; nevertheless he still kissed her.

On the other hand, you were definitely miserable after your escapade, yet you didn’t reject him.

Emma may not be informed about the entire story, but one detail is crystal clear: the future is far from being simple.

Also read: MASTERLIST

#the joker x reader #the joker fanfiction #the joker imagine #the joker jared leto #the joker suicide squad #the joker #joker #joker fanfiction #joker imagines #joker leto #joker suicide squad #mister j #Mistah J #dc #dcu

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akitokihojo · 4 years

Text

Enchanted - The Final Part

Kagome stared evenly at the letter in her hand, the castle official trotting further down the road toward the next house on his decorated horse. They’re invitations. The man had said. To celebrate the union of two people and two kingdoms. The thick paper of the envelope sat heavily in her fingers, making it feel like she was carrying a leather-bound book instead.

“Now I understand.” Kaede spoke after opening her own, generic invite and reading it through. The old lady turned her head toward Kagome, watching as her assistant’s chin gave a morose twitch. “You knew about this.”

She nodded. That was all she could do. She’d dodged the topic for over a week, coming up with excuses about not feeling well or putting in an extra amount of effort to avoid speaking in general. If she thought about it, it would only be a matter of seconds before she broke. So she kept as busy as possible until the very last moment of each day.

“That’s okay, child. We don’t have to talk about it.”

With a dragged inhale, Kagome feigned a smile, shaking her head as if it were that easy to push the problem aside, and turned to look at her mentor. “Thanks. I - uh - I think I left the axe in the clearing in the woods again. I’ll be right back.”

Kaede watched the girl walk off, the letter surprisingly still in hand.

•

Inuyasha stood in the large entry of the grand ballroom, watching the men and women hustle along to polish every inch of it. Decorating would soon follow, and he could only imagine the dreary ribbons and drapes that would embellish the place. He felt empty and powerless. He felt aggravated and restless. He wanted to scream at the entire staff to stop what they were doing as if preventing the decorating would prevent the entire goddamn thing, itself.

As each bit of the glossy floor sparkled in its freshly-cleaned glory, the ballroom only seemed to appear darker and darker. No longer did it look like an appropriate place to host every invited person in the country, but more a place hospitable to keep criminals locked up until their final days. The more he stood there and took the beginnings of the entire process in, the more unsettled his stomach sat in his abdomen. Was defeat this nauseating, or was this just the heartbreak he refused to acknowledge?

•

The pads of her fingers seemed to go numb against the textured envelope as she walked within the concealment of the trees, and she’d had to squeeze against it to make sure she hadn’t dropped it somewhere along the way. As soon as she’d made it onto the path, her body was quick to flash hot. They’d broken up for a reason, she knew this was coming, but it still seemed so surreal to her. What she hadn’t expected was a huge celebration, especially so soon. It was too soon. He never mentioned when his new fiancee would be coming or when the wedding would be held, so she'd hoped that some forgiving force of nature would give her a little time to digest it all. The day after he’d left her, she’d had to force herself to get out of bed. It was well into the afternoon, and after lying to Kaede by faking a minor head cold, she had to go into the shopping district to get some ingredients for soup. There were more people out and about than she’d seen lately, and it was only a matter of minutes before rumors reached her ear of a carriage surrounded by plenty of royal guards that had rolled through town just an hour or so before. She wasn’t sure if there was a word to describe the sensation that knocked on the inside of her ribcage, but it tumbled down each bone unpleasantly and nearly caused her to visibly shudder in front of a vendor.

Kagome’s overdress snagged on a dried branch of a bush, jerking her to a stop. She tried to pull it free but it wouldn’t budge, and quickly the unsettling nerves in her chest began to expand and flare, bringing her to groan loudly in frustration because all she wanted was her moment of fraudulent peace in the damn clearing. Reluctantly, she stomped back toward the offending branch to kneel down and wrestle the threads free, feeling almost overwhelmed enough to curl up right then and there.

•

“What are you planning?” Inuyasha melancholically asked.

“Oh, do you suddenly want to talk to me now?” There was acrimony laced in Sesshomaru’s tone.

Inuyasha’s eyes drifted to the desk the king sat at, then the carpet. He was too desperate to hold onto his pride. He heard the steady inhale his brother took as he set his pen down with a click.

“My plan depends on yours.”

“What?” Inuyasha met his even stare.

“You’ve been waiting on us to call it off or change our minds. I have yet to see you take matters into your own hands.”

If he only knew.

“Since when do you sit around and sulk until given your way?”

“Sesshomaru, I don’t -“ He was almost tempted to give their entire ruse away just for the sake of his defense, but that would betray whatever loyalty he and Kikyo had created, so he stopped himself mid sentence. Sesshomaru cocked a single brow, almost as if his plain expression slighted in interest.

“I can’t get you out of this, Inuyasha. So, what are you going to do to change your own fate?”

•

Kagome slid her finger within the wax-sealed fold of the envelope to open it, flinching away quickly as she felt the thick material slice through her skin. Great. The whole damn thing was out to get her. She watched as the thin cut just next to her nail produced a droplet of blood, mindlessly applying pressure to her finger with her thumb to get more to drip out.

Why would she even want to look at the invitation? To seal the deal even further than it already was? Would reading it through solidify the engagement and make it feel more real in her head, or was she just masochistic? Kagome dropped the envelope to her side, wiping her bleeding finger on the thigh of her chemise before hugging her legs closer and looking toward the sky. There was purple in the sunset. What once made her happy and filled her with hope now applied a weight to her stomach that sunk it far and low.

This wasn’t her. Only once had she ever wished for clouds to cover the glowing hues she always favored, but sitting there in the clearing, torn and heavy, she regretted looking up. She didn’t want to see it. She didn’t want to be forced to pretend she was hopeful, she wanted to save the purple for a different day since they were so few and far between. She came to the clearing so she’d have a few moments where she wouldn’t have to pretend; where she could take deep breaths in preparation to get her through the rest of the day after the invitation knocked her off course. What would help was a gloomy day that matched her mood. That way she could blame the clouds and the cold and the weather and whatever else that wasn’t her ill-tempered heart.

•

Inuyasha was drained. He was exhausted. He didn’t know what Sesshomaru was alluding to, and the man was never one to speak clearly when he wanted you to figure something out yourself. But he and Kikyo had both been trying to break the engagement. They’d both been putting in energy to fix the mess their families had created. What else could they possible do? He didn’t want to think about anything anymore. Not today. It hurt too much.

•

Kagome took a deep breath, coming out of the forest and onto the field before the apothecary’s shop. Her face was set, she felt more sturdy, and she had a few more chores to keep her distracted for a little while longer. There was a huff from inside the small stable to her right, hooves rustling back and forth, almost seeming restless. Kagome headed inside to settle Kaede’s horse, petting along his neck. Immediately, she checked the floor to see if there was anything slithering that startled him, but with how quickly the steed calmed down with her affection, she figured he was just a little agitated.

“You too, huh?” She said, leaning her forehead against the bridge of his nose. “Things will get better, I promise. We’ve just gotta ride this out.”

•

Inuyasha had been laying in bed for hours but sleep was far from attainable no matter how heavy his lids were. As much as he wished he could silence his mind, it raced too fast for him to catch up to. He stared at the ceiling, his hand resting on his bare stomach, feeling the unconscious flex of his abdomen as, once again, he thought of Kagome. It was painful. He never imagined the thought of her would be painful, but he missed her so goddamn much. What he wouldn’t pay to have her sleeping in bed beside him right this very moment. He’d happily stay awake all night just to feel her body there, hear her steady breathing, take in her scent and hope his comforter absorbed it just as well so he could continue to smell her every night after that.

He pictured his future, and it was her. He didn’t stand there alone, it wasn’t Kikyo at his side, nor any other face he had yet to meet. It was her. How cruel. At this point, he wasn’t sure if imagining the golden ring in her brown eyes when the light hit them perfectly, or the way her lips quirked crookedly when she was frustrated, the way her fingers were almost always cold, the way she put others before herself, the sound of her laugh, how she put his hands wherever she wanted them on her, the incredible trust she had in him from the start, her fearlessness, her compassion, or the gentle way she raked her fingers through his hair was a way for hope to build bolder in his chest or just pure torture.

Shifting his head, he glanced out the window. A part of him felt idiotic. Like, if he held onto the former he’d only end up crushed. In that same regard, how could he claim to deserve her if he cowardly let go? His fingers trailed up the ridges of his muscles, seeking out the golden heart that bunched with its chain and currently rested at the hollow of his throat. Even if everything worked out for the better, if he wasn’t fighting with everything he had to get her back all the while he’d have no right to look her in the eye and ask her to be with him again.

––

Kikyo walked through the garden, the brisk morning air awakening her senses as she read the novel in her hands, occasionally glancing up to make sure she wouldn’t walk into anything. They were two days away from the ball and she was growing antsier and antsier. She’d wake up every hour on the hour, and the anxiety of it all was progressively building so taut that she was afraid she would snap soon. This morning, to soothe her nerves before her father found her and dragged her to do god knows what in preparation of the wedding, she stopped trying for sleep and chose to walk the garden with a book. It had been hours already, and the entire castle seemed to be awake now.

She’d avoided the hedges to not risk turning herself around while mindlessly walking with a nose in a novel, sticking to the portion with fountains and roses. Heavy footsteps caught her attention, and Kikyo peaked over the edge of her story, noticing the prince storming passed the entrance. With just the quick flash of him, she could tell he was distraught. They hadn’t spoken in a few days, and she was sure the quick-approaching wedding was messing him up just as badly as it was she. Still, she was curious to see where he could possibly be going with such fervor. As far as she knew, there was nothing in the direction he walked.

Kikyo poked her head out of the garden, scanning the area to make sure no one was around to see them. When she deemed them safe, she turned to watch Inuyasha walking toward the formidably-built wall that sealed the castle grounds, making a sharp turn at the back of a shed. Her curiosity was too invested now not to pry. He was heading down a narrow area between the wall and sheds, pausing at openings and then quietly trekking forward. He looked like he was about to do something sketchy, and if it was marriage related in the least - which was farfetched at best but not absolutely out of the question - she wanted to know.

“What are you doing?” She asked in a hushed tone, catching him just as he neared the corner. The prince froze, a clenched groan releasing from his throat as he reluctantly turned around.

“Nothing.”

“This definitely doesn’t look like nothing. What’s going on? You seem upset.”

“I am upset!” Inuyasha whispered, though the rancor in his tone was still evident. “Nothing’s working, they’re decorating, I saw seamstresses showing up, and I just - I can’t handle it all right now!”

None of that explained what he was up to. Kikyo guessed he wasn’t about to reveal this great and well-thought-out scheme that worked to break the contract, though, and she swallowed the mild disappointment. “Okay, that’s fine. I get it. So, you’re just going to hide back here until you feel better?”

“No, I’m going for a walk.”

She gave a quizzical look in response.

“Outside.” Inuyasha hesitantly admitted. He watched the slight perturbation harden her features, lips parting slightly as she brought the closed book she held further into her chest, a finger wedged between the pages to hold her spot.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I have to.”

“Why?”

“I have to see her.” He turned to grab onto a protruding brick as leverage, hitching a leg up to climb just as the princess snagged onto the loose sleeve of his Bastian shirt.

“Inuyasha, you're not thinking rationally. What are you going to get from this?” He didn’t answer. His ember eyes were sullen and dull in shade, but his rough features didn’t match the emotion behind his irises. He attempted to mask it all with frustration, but he wasn’t as successfully guarded as his brother. The prince could pretend all he wanted, but he was deeper than anyone she’d ever met before. “I think I've been too prideful. I'm starting to get worried. You're right, nothing's working. We may end up losing this battle. And if that’s the case, you’re only going to make this so much worse for yourself by reopening that door.”

“I don’t care.”

“But what about her?”

A sharp twinge thundered in his chest, and he gripped the brick so hard that the pads of his fingers scraped against it. “I’m going crazy, Kikyo. I can’t think straight. I need to see her.”

“I don’t think this is wise.”

“I’m not going for wise, I’m going for sanity.”

"You think a single visit with her is going to fix the madness you feel? If only life were so easy. I understand where you're coming from, please believe me, but with the progression of things happening here, this wouldn't be fair to either of you."

"Stop trying to talk me out of it!" The prince gritted.

“Inuyasha -“

“Look, I’ll just be gone for thirty minutes. Tops. You can lecture me about how stupid I am then, okay? Let me go.”

Her brow crinkled sympathetically, and she wanted to try to prevent him from leaving again but this wasn’t her business. If he wanted to take the risk, found it so necessary just to think a little more clearly, who was she to force him to back down? If she knew of a way to get satiation from her own plaguing and terrifying situation, he wouldn’t be able to talk her out of it either. Kikyo let go of his sleeve, taking a step back while nodding as understandingly as possible, and he didn’t waste another second, scaling the wall and dropping over to the other side with a thud.

He ran through the woodlands, his heart beating rampantly as he knew he was getting closer and closer to her cottage and the general area of the forest he first met her in. He could only hope she was around these parts, because he wasn’t sure what the hell he’d do if she was in town. His chest heaved as he slowed, listening for movement, inhaling to catch her scent.

It was like everything in him jolted to an abrupt stop, his breath catching in his lungs alarmingly, chills spiraling over every inch of his body as her sweet aroma wafted into his nose. She was close. Really close. When he first dropped everything to come see her, he thought he’d run straight up to her without pause to relinquish the cloud that loomed over him, yet here he stood, his boots weighted to the earth as a nauseating feeling rooted deep in his core to communicate just how horrible an idea this actually was. She didn’t deserve this. She didn’t need to relive those emotions he saw vividly on her face that night when no matter what was said and done here, he’d still have to head back to the arranged marriage he was trapped in afterward. The sudden voice of reason reverberating through his mind sounded an awful lot like Kikyo, and he silently cursed the princess for providing logic when he least wanted it.

Inuyasha heard her footsteps traveling closer, and it took everything he had to bite back the aggravated grunt and step behind the thick trunk of a tree. What was he thinking? What was he doing here? She was a mere number of feet away and the distance was receding, the sound of cracking leaves beneath her shoes heightening his torment as she rounded a small bend so agonizingly close to where he hid. The least he could do was peak over to see her. Every night, he’d asked himself if she was okay. He was left with the sight of that devastated expression, and he needed it out of his head.

The prince inched toward the side, the back of his shirt catching along the bark as he leaned to see Kagome. Her back was facing him, but she’d stopped along the unmarked path, her head swiveling to the side but not far enough for him to catch a glimpse of her beautiful face. He stepped out further, desperate to see her features, the plush of her lips, the curve of her nose, anything more than the back of her dress and her long, black hair, but he’d bent too far and there was a noticeable knock against the tree from the scabbard of the sword dangling at his hip.

Kagome swiftly turned around, brown eyes scouring the area. She’d thought she’d heard something, like a soft rustle, and was just about to dismiss it as a small animal before she heard a distinct clank that didn’t seem to belong in a forest.

“Is someone there?” It was stupid, she knew, but her mind immediately pictured the prince appearing before her, his short, silver hair as tousled as usual while giving that typical grin he wore when he was happy to see her but didn’t like to be too obvious. Her stomach flurried at the thought, pulling her forward with a false hope she'd subconsciously created on her own.

Inuyasha held his sword firmly, hating every inch of the damn, inherited thing at the moment. She spoke and his muscles flexed uncomfortably. She stepped toward him and he held his breath. He could hear her coming forward and as carefully as possible, he followed the curve around the tree, avoiding anything that could crackle or make noise so he wouldn’t give himself away again.

As senseless and unreasonable as it was, it didn’t stop the disappointment from swelling thickly in her abdomen. The area she’d thought she’d heard the noise from was empty; not even a chipmunk sped away to tip her off. There was nothing. No one. What would he even be doing out here? It was just her imagination running wild again. Her torturous, unfair, hyperactive mind. Sighing unsteadily, Kagome turned around and headed back toward the route she was on.

He took the opportunity to look at her then. Her pace was hastened, strands of dark hair billowing behind her shoulders. As she made a small turn and he finally saw the side of her face, the warm hue of her cheek, the pink tint of her lips as she worried the bottom, Inuyasha felt a powerful sensation overwhelm his system. All at once, he was absolutely overcome with fury and passion. This wasn't how things were going to work out for him. He refused to pine for her explicitly in the shadows, wondering what his life would be like had this entire mess not occurred. It hardly even seemed like the arrangement benefitted their people, the only person winning being Onigumo. No. He was done with this game.

Since when do you sit around and sulk until given your way?

So, what are you going to do to change your own fate?

He was a valiant prince, he was undoubtedly the product of his father, and he'd be damned if he'd be seen as anything otherwise. Inuyasha could guarantee that there was no way in hell he was backing down from this fight.

After making sure the coast was clear, he hopped back into castle grounds, avoiding all attention as he made his way into the main household. The place was bustling and lively, everyone working to get the place ready for the event, and he nodded plainly to smiling caretakers as he bounded up the stairs two at a time.

"Where the hell have you been?" Miroku asked, running up by his side and keeping stride.

"Out."

"Nice. Figured. Where?"

"Miroku."

"Hey, look, I get it. You don't like what's going on, but stop taking it out on me. I'm on your side, remember?"

"Where's Sango?"

"In your study making it look like you've been working."

"Great, go join her."

"No."

"Mirok-"

"No." The aide grasped the prince's arm, pulling him into a nearby room for privacy and shutting the door. "We've been as patient as possible with you, but how long are we expected to keep this up? You're not acting yourself, Inuyasha!"

"Oh, god!" He groaned. "Look, I don't have time to hear how shitty I am right now."

"Why the hell not? What exactly were you heading to do? Because last I knew you've been avoiding your schedule, avoiding Kikyo, avoiding work, avoiding us -"

"I was heading to try and fix this!" Inuyasha hissed, shutting the knight up. "And that's all I'll tell you! I can't go into detail, and until it's handled, I need you to stay out of my way! Go with Sango!"

Miroku bravely neglected the order, giving a faint shake of his head. "I can't do that."

"I'm serious, Miroku."

"I'm perfectly aware, but so am I. You've said just enough to peak my interest. What's going on?"

"I can't go into detail!"

"Can't or wont?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes! Are you under specific orders not to, or are you -"

"Fine! Wont!"

"Why not?"

"Stop!"

"Tell me, Inuyasha! I'm your right-hand man! If there's anyone that should know what you're up to, it's me! Now what are we fixing and how?"

"No, I don't want you getting involved in this!"

"Oh, don't be so noble." Miroku rolled his eyes, lolling his head to the side. "If you're about to fuck some shit up, I want in."

Inuyasha flinched in surprise, registering his aide's determination.

"I may work for the crown, but my loyalty lies with you. Sango would say the same."

"You don't understand. This could potentially be borderline treason."

Miroku shrugged a single shoulder.

"Tell me now, are you sure?"

"Absolutely." The knight said without hesitation.

Inuyasha was still apprehensive about bringing his friends into this. If anything happened to bring him down, he'd always planned for Miroku and Sango to stay oblivious so they weren't at risk. The steadfast look in Miroku's indigo eyes was piercing him now, and there was no way he'd be allowed to leave the room without giving him something to go off. Logically thinking, the more numbers he had to help him see this through, the higher his chances of success. Miroku was now aware that something was up, so they may as well all raise hell.

"I don't have a definite plan yet, but hopefully by tonight I will. I'll discuss it then with you. Meet me in my office around eight-thirty."

"Yes, sir."

The prince brushed passed his aide, leaving the room and heading straight back on path, following his nose and marching toward the back staircase to the third level. Chances were, Kikyo was in the middle of something wedding-related. It would be impossible to meet in private right now to hash ideas out with how crazy everything was around the place, but he needed to at least let her know so she could try to sneak away at some point.

He followed his nose, coming up on a room where he could hear seamstresses complimenting her figure and discussing colors, multiple operatic voices ringing at once. How the hell was he supposed to get her attention without anyone else noticing? It wasn't so busy on this floor, at least, but that didn't mean he was clear to stop.

The door to the room they occupied was closed, and the brash part of him highly considered banging on it, throwing it open, and angrily demanding a moment with the princess as if he was ordered to spend time with her by the king. There had to be something a little more inconspicuous to attempt before escalating it that far, though. Before he could fully think of another idea, he caught the scuffle of footsteps approaching around the far corner. Swiftly, Inuyasha threw himself into the adjacent room, grateful that it was empty given he hadn't checked to see if he could hear anyone in here beforehand.

The prince took in his new surroundings. He was in a bedroom. A claimed bedroom. Kikyo's scent overtook the place, and he grimaced at the thought of how inappropriate it was for him to even be here. If anyone found him, the indecent rumors that would follow would probably kill him more gruesomely than a sword ever could. And he'd much rather go out by blade any day.

Boisterous laughter flooded through the walls, and Inuyasha turned toward the one the rooms shared, noticing a door that fortuitously adjoined them. He snuck over, carefully twisting the knob so the springs wouldn't be heard, opening the door a mere inch and a half and peaking through to the next room. He couldn't see anything from the angle, but the ladies' voices boomed through vividly, almost hurting his ears. Another inch, and he caught the sight of a larger lady. She held up some sheer, dark purple fabric, shifting the subject to the waistline she used to have back in the day. Another inch, and he glimpsed about half of Kikyo standing on a small stool in a short, white dress. She was facing him, though she hadn't noticed the parted door, her brown eyes - or eye, given what he could actually see - glazed over in annoyance. He poked his head out slightly, almost snapping his fingers to catch her attention but stopped himself before he risked catching the other women's, as well. He waved his hand once, twice, more aggressively the third time, and when she finally perked in bewilderment, he quickly put a finger to his lips to keep her quiet and then gestured for her to come over before shutting the door and tucking himself back into the quiet of her room.

"Excuse me, ladies." He heard Kikyo say through the wall. "I need to use the restroom real quickly."

"Oh, of course, Your Highness." One of them enthusiastically spoke, her tone high and dramatic. "We'll make sure to save all of our good stories for when you get back."

The princess feigned a laugh so obvious even Inuyasha snorted. "Can't wait."

She pushed through the door, shutting it quickly and leaning against it. It took only half a second for the prince to gather just how see-through the chemise she was wearing was, jerking his head to the side with a grimace. "Jesus!"

"What!? It's a fitting, Inuyasha, of course I'm not going to be dressed!" She hissed vehemently, smacking his arm with the back of her hand before hiding her chest behind folded arms. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"We need to talk." He said uncomfortably through clenched teeth, eyes trailing over the walls and ceiling.

"Now!?"

"Obviously not. Preferably when you're not in your underwear. When do you think you can get away?"

She took a moment to think, hunching her back uneasily to further hide herself. "Um - I'm stuck here for however long they need me. They're literally putting the majority of my ballgown together today. Hopefully, it should only take a few hours or so, but we just started like fifteen minutes after you left. How did that go, by the way?"

"It didn't -" He interrupted himself with a huffed groan, trying not to stammer as he stayed on subject. "We'll talk about it later. Try to be free around five and meet me in the closed-off library around the corner. No one's ever really around that area, so you should be fine. There's a room inside off to the left. I'll be in there."

She nodded promptly, waiting as he carefully snuck out through the main entrance of her room before mentally bracing herself for the seamstress' conversations to continue.

––

To Kikyo's surprise, Inuyasha was right. There was no one around to be seen as she cautiously sauntered up to the closed door. In fact, the lack of people threw her off so much that she'd passed up the library twice while looking for it, thinking she was in a restricted zone of the castle.

The hinges creaked loudly as she pushed through, only opening the door wide enough for her slender body to slip in before closing it as it was. The room was smaller than the library they'd spent days in, dimly lit in yellow and surrounded by shadows. The air was stale and almost musky, not a book out of place from where she could see. The entire area gave her the creeps, so she pushed herself to search the wall to her left for the room she was told to find. Kikyo stepped further, worried she'd ventured into the wrong library for a moment, traveling down the furthest aisle and sighing out when she finally found a door. Inuyasha was staring out at the land from his seat in the alcove inside, ember eyes meeting her as she entered the small room.

"You couldn't have picked a more ominous place?"

"Would you have preferred a place we could have been walked in on?"

"Well, no. But I don't mind meeting in non-haunted areas, either."

"It's not haunted." Inuyasha chuckled, shifting his legs off the cushion to sit forward. "It's my father's collection, so no one disturbs it. That's all."

"Good lord, is his casket out there too?"

"Actually, yes. They've mummified him and his body's in the third row. Want to see?"

"Absolutely not!"

"I'm kidding, you sissy! I didn't expect this side of you; your getup is like gothic central." He laughed, standing from his spot to offer her the only seat.

She dismissed the jab with a scoff, taking the alcove cushion and smoothing down the front of her dress. "So, what happened?"

"What do you mean?" He knew what she meant, but there was a huge part of him that hoped she was actually alluding to the urgency behind meeting up today.

"With her. I don't remember her name."

"Nothing. I - that's not what I wanted to talk about." The prince shook his head.

"Come on. Tell me. I've been dying to know since the moment you left."

"Literally nothing." He conceded with a begrudging shrug. "You were right, it wouldn't have been fair to her."

"Oh, so you didn't even see her?" The princess asked, sort of taken aback by the idea of Inuyasha defying rules just to casually turn around thirty seconds later.

"No, I saw her. She didn't see me. I didn't let her. I - I froze." Inuyasha leaned his shoulder against the nearest wall, avoiding Kikyo's curious stare. "It's fine. I mean, I hadn't even planned out what I'd wanted to say to her, I just felt this driving need to see that she was okay."

"Was she? Did she look okay to you?"

"I couldn't tell, I only caught a small look at her." He answered stiffly, refusing to go too deep into detail of everything that little glimpse did for him. That was his motivation. That was his fire. "But listen, if we're going to get out of this we need to act. We're running out of time."

Kikyo's brown eyes fluttered down, her mouth opening as she gave a small huff and shook her head, almost defeatedly. "Inuyasha, I already told you that there's a chance we aren't going to win this. As far as they know, we haven't spoken in days and they're perfectly fine with it! I broke a table for heaven's sake! What else are we supposed to do?"

Inuyasha tensed. He knew she was feeling at a loss from this morning, but up until then she'd been the queen of confidence. Quite frankly, it was disturbing to see her losing her spark. It seemed like Sesshomaru wanted them to break the clause just as much as they wanted it, as well. He couldn't help, he admitted that. It was up to them, and he fully believed that now that the king felt insulted, he wouldn't do a single thing to stand in their way. Sesshomaru was petty like that, which worked in their favor.

"Between you and I?" He asked steadily, ember eyes meeting her dark irises. Kikyo looked at him inquisitively, her brows furrowing minutely.

"Of course." She agreed, her tone soft.

"Sesshomaru's not happy with your father's deceit, and he's planning to get him back. It'll be even harder for him to do so unless we break the engagement."

The princess sat up straight, lurching forward slightly as her expression twisted in surprise. "He's not going to retaliate in a war, is he?"

"No." Inuyasha shook his head. "No, if he wanted that, he'd just rip the damned contract up in Onigumo's face. I honestly don't know what he's hoping to do, but I think it'll be more like pinning him the same way your father's pinned us. Which means, we've got one less obstacle standing in our way."

"You say that like it's supposed to be easier now or something." She slouched back a bit, temperamentally. "My dad is thirty times more manipulative than I am. So much so, that I'm ashamed my mind works remotely in the same way."

"Kikyo," Inuyasha stepped forward, the air of him undaunted as he kneeled in front of her to look at her evenly. "Do you still want to be royalty?"

She leaned away, somewhat uncomfortable with their close proximity and the unwavering determination in his eye. "No." She had to control her tone so the statement didn't sound like a question.

"Did you still plan to denounce yourself?"

"What are you getting at?"

"Do it at the ball."

Kikyo's shoulders slackened, brows raising astonishingly.

––

Kagome quickly ran across the small field dividing her home from Kaede's, ignoring the closed sign and throwing the door open then shut as she ran through to the apothecary's bedroom in the back. The door was open, and she grasped the doorframe when she stopped, poking her head through to see the elderly woman smoothing the top half of her grey hair back into a clip. She noticed Kagome in her aged mirror, turning to look at her as thin strands fell loose from her fingers.

"Help me." She pleaded, almost panicked.

"With what, child? Did a snake get into your house again?" Kaede asked half sarcastically due to her assistant's unnerved demeanor, dropping her hair.

"If there's ever a raging fire next door, you'll know the answer to that! Come on!" Kagome bounced on the balls of her feet. "I can't figure out what to wear! This is an emergency!"

The herbalist followed her out, unable to swallow her disbelief. "You mean you're going? You didn't seem so clear when I asked yesterday."

"Seems sort of mandatory to me."

"Kagome."

She slowed just outside her door, trying to ignore the weight on her chest that increased with the passing minutes. "It would be wrong if I didn't go."

"Yet perfectly understandable."

"But he's doing this for the country. For his people. It had nothing to do with me. At least, that's what I'm choosing to believe." Her eyes inadvertently drifted to the floor. "I know my status and all the glory that comes with it, but I also know that didn't matter to him. There are - there are bigger things than me, anyway! I should be supportive!" Kagome feigned perkiness, dismissing it all with a wave.

Kaede studied her for a moment. The girl had a huge heart and never liked to make her burdens anyone else's, but she could still see how hard it was for her to cover the pain of it all. Kagome was going to have to see the man she loved next to another woman. That was no easy feat for the boldest of characters. Having had a relationship with the royal family for years now, she could only imagine the prince's dismay if the roles were reversed. Nonetheless, if Kagome felt like she was up for the night ahead of her, she'd stand by the girl through and through.

"Alright, show me our options!" The old woman smiled, entering her assistant's cottage ahead of her. Kagome sighed nervously, crossing the room quickly to the two dresses that rested along her bed.

"So, I don't actually have any gowns of my own; these are ones I took from my mother when I moved out here, and I can't even tell you the last time she wore them." Kagome fiddled her fingers before reaching for one of the dresses, holding it before her body. "This one says I like maroon. That's it. That's all it says."

"Nonsense," Kaede approached, examining the looped design stitched around the bateau neckline, and gliding her fingers down to bring the cuffs of the long, slender sleeves up to see the similar pattern. Along each forearm, a black string laced up, starting at the inner corner of the wrist and expanding to twist all the way up to the middle of the upper arm which she imagined would hug in a very simple yet beautiful manner once she actually filled it in. At the bottom of the gown, the same design outlined the edging, bringing the plain and solid dress to look elegant. "This detail is gorgeous. Did your mother make this?"

"No, I think this is my grandma's work. It bodes well that you like it because -" Kagome laid the dress back on her blanket, switching out for the light pink one next to it. Unlike the first dress that had a natural waistline and fell and dragged with its own length, the one she now held had a few ruffles to spare. "This one says my mother went through a bedazzling stage."

The apothecary grimaced, her entire face contorting as she extended out one of the bell sleeves. It wouldn't have been so bad if the bodice wasn't decorated in gaudy, cheap jewels of different shapes and colors. "Oh, dear no. The color can't even save this dress."

"Maroon it is." She sighed raggedly, dropping the gown back where it once was, not even minding the crumpled heap she set it in.

"You're anxious." Kaede pointed.

"Me? No." Kagome shook her head, loosening the front ties of the dress she currently wore to slacken its hold around her waist. She knew she had very obvious isms that gave her feelings away; fidgeting hands, avoided eye contact, a higher notch in her voice. The only way to hide them was to keep herself busy. If she stood still, it was like everything that was going through her mind was plastered on a poster board for everyone to see.

Kaede turned the maroon gown over to make sure the lace that scaled the back would be loose enough for the girl to slip into, not needing to do anything when she realized it wasn't made to be tightened. "It's okay, you know? I think I'd be more worried if you weren't."

"He wont notice me, will he?" She asked, stripping her clothes over her head. There was a battle raging in her mind, one of the many reasons for her distress, showing her how scared she was of the entire ordeal but also turning around to tell her how self-absorbed she'd be to think that he'd notice her in the sea of people that will be there to support this arrangement. "No, of course he wont."

"Kagome, you're in your own head. Relax. It's going to be fine."

"No, you're right. I know. You're right."

The elderly woman bunched the ends of the skirt up a bit, holding the gown in a way that would be easier for the girl to put on. She fit into it rather easily, the dress falling beautifully along her body and to the floor, hugging her waist innately. "Just stick by me the whole night. If you're ever uncomfortable, we can leave."

"Oh, I wouldn't bother you with that."

"Please, child, I've got old bones. My ankles are swelling just thinking about the shoes I'm about to wear. I would not be disappointed in the least if you wanted to head home." Kaede laughed, successfully bringing a chuckle from Kagome. She observed as the girl adjusted her sleeves, the cuff of them falling to cover the majority of her hands and only leaving her fingers exposed. In an effort to help, she pulled the neckline up, noticing it was a bit loose in the chest and it wasn't hooking around her shoulders as snug as it should have.

"Uh - yeah, mama is a bit more well-endowed than I am." Kagome said, grinning sardonically while she took over to struggle with the way it landed on her. Finally, with a minor shift of the dress around her breasts, she managed to get the bateau to hold at the very edges of her shoulders. Only minor adjustments needed to be done to the lacing around her arms, and she smoothed her palm over some of the wrinkles that had long set into the fabric.

"You look beautiful." Kaede smiled, gently guiding her to sit on her bed. She ran her fingers through Kagome's hair, pulling it to the front. "I say we leave your hair down. What do you think?"

"It's not too messy?" She grimaced.

"It's not messy at all. You've got a little volume, and it looks good on you, lass." Kaede replied, scrunching up the thick waves further to allow them to fall as they pleased.

"Kaede -" Kagome scoffed.

"Hush. Now, to top it off, do you have a necklace you can wear?"

A tingle fluttered through her stomach as she thought of the golden heart hanging loosely from the chain around the prince's fingers, a mild smile curving her lips. She shook her head. "No, I - I think I misplaced the one I had."

"Just as well. You don't need it. I think you're ready, but if there's anything else you'd like to add, you have time. I'll just go finish up myself and we'll head off." The old woman headed out the door, shutting it behind her.

Kagome walked over to the small, worn mirror on her dresser, trying to get a good look at herself. She was unbelievably nervous, her fingers beginning to tremble, and she worried about her face going pale with her sickening nerves. With more pressure than normal, she pinched the sides of her cheeks to add some pink to her skin, hoping the flush would last all night. It wouldn't, but it was nice to pretend. To go along with it, she pressed her lips together, sucking and nibbling a little to ripen the color of them too. That, she knew she could keep up for as long as necessary; it happened to be something she did when she was awkward.

After slipping on her boots, she left to wait for Kaede next to the road, grateful the length of her dress hid her feet. She wouldn't necessarily say they clashed, and she knew she could easily get away with them if they were seen, but boots would never be described as elegant and she didn't need anything else to disturb the edge she stood on. The two of them walked toward the castle in near silence, the weight on her chest progressively getting heavier and heavier the closer they got. The sun was mostly set, the lights shining through the windows of the tall towers glistening, and her lungs clenched to make her exhale shakily.

They followed the mass of people, dressed to the nines to appear as wealthy as possible, through the front gates, all of them greeted by guards on duty. The designated path was illuminated by torches on posts, all aligned perfectly straight in two rows to guide them all toward the steps to enter the castle. To the left, large double doors were open, symphonic music playing to attract their direction to shift, a huge and spacious room welcoming them in to dance and roam and mingle with every invited person.

"You doing okay, dear?" Kaede politely checked in, her attention not too obvious as she lightly patted Kagome's forearm. She'd been playing with her sleeves to keep her fingers busy, trying to distract herself enough to dwindle the pressing against her lungs.

"I'm okay." She nodded, following the apothecary toward a couple that had hailed her over. Her brown eyes drifted over the crowd of people as the other three fell into small talk, slowly gliding over the wading waters of heads, and gowns, and tuxedos, searching, seeking, sinking, rising, then finding.

Inuyasha stood facing Miroku next to the thrones on a makeshift stage at the very far end of the ballroom, his heart giving a thunderous beat against his ribcage as the familiar and wonderful scent met him. His core clenched incredibly tight, unable to help his instincts as ember eyes scoured the crowd to find her, almost homing in immediately when her own landed on his gaze. What sort of torture was this to have a distance he couldn't cross to meet her? And yet, through the dense clouds of his longing, he watched her smile warmly at him and it was like the light of the moon began to shine through.

His brother's voice tore him back to his remorseful reality, making him shift his attention away and filling his chest with the brutal ache of incompletion. "What?"

"Where is Kikyo?" The king asked, his tone low to not tip off Onigumo whom was speaking with a guard of his own several feet away.

"I don't know." Inuyasha responded, the answer genuine.

"Go find her. She should be with you." Sometimes it was hard to tell if Sesshomaru was actually on his side with the way he still tried to push them together. He may not know their plan for her to step down tonight, but for someone who wanted them to succeed so he could, in turn, make a move on the king opposite him, he never seemed to show a similar agenda. Still, Kikyo should have been with them all by now, he was right, but it was like his feet were too heavy to carry him out of the room just yet. "What is it?"

"I didn't know she'd be here tonight." The prince admitted in a whisper.

Sesshomaru hardly reacted, knowing full and well who his brother was talking about. "Ah, yes. Consider it incentive." He said as Inuyasha and his aide finally walked away.

At just the mere collision of their sights, she felt a heat spread through her body, like she was being served an ill-suited reminder of the sensations he's always provided her with. Even when she knew she wasn't allowed to love him anymore, her entire being rebelled against the plot and caused an erratic drumming within the cavity of her chest. She loved him. She loved him. And for that, she smiled. Because who could say they were lucky enough to experience the depth of emotion that currently swelled in her heart? And as the king came to speak to the prince, she still couldn't bring herself to look away, the dance of golden iron molded around Inuyasha's head becoming more evident as he turned. It was a simple design, metal waving in a thin line until the swirls became more elaborate at the temple and the front, easily hidden by his silver hair. A part of her felt bitter for his brother's role in separating them, but she swallowed the salt and told herself to forgive him. His intentions were bigger than her. This entire thing was bigger than her, and she'd humbly tell herself that until the day she was able to move on. Inuyasha left and Sesshomaru almost immediately found her stare, slanted eyes falling over her. The magnificent crown atop his head shined beneath the twinkling lights of the ballroom, creating an ethereal glow from the gold and jewels. It was impossible not to be intimidated. The uniform he donned was similar to his younger brother's - black and lined with golden accents, but his chest was decorated in metals galore. Two braided ropes looped over his shoulder - whereas Inuyasha had one - and a purple sash that the prince didn't share embellished across his chest, all of which was completed with a matching, black and gold belt. With a face as smooth and straight as stone, the king nodded at her, turning away to go about his business.

“Incentive.” Inuyasha grumbled, marching through the halls of the empty floor. “What the hell do you think he meant by incentive?”

“Hell if I know. I mean, you both pretty much want the same thing now, so I think it’s fair to say he’s had a change of heart.” Miroku said, stalking along at the prince’s side while fighting to keep his eyes off his partner. Sango had joined them just outside the back ballroom doors, walking up in a dress she couldn’t stop fiddling with - clearly uncomfortable and impossible to ignore. In Miroku’s opinion, the gown was a godsend. It squeezed her torso perfectly, accentuating her breasts in a way their uniforms never could. Even when she went around without the coat of it, the black shirt she usually donned still never did her justice.

“Change of mind.” Inuyasha corrected. “The guy doesn’t have a heart.”

“Alright, maybe he changed his mind. It may be possible that he’s not going to stand in your way when it comes to Kagome anymore.”

“I want to believe that, but it might be too good to be true. He only changed his mind because Kagura ripped him a new one and Onigumo took advantage of him. He hasn’t done anything for me.” They turned a corner, quickly approaching Kikyo’s room.

“Who cares?” Sango shot. “The facts stand. He wants out, you’ll get out, and Kagome is here. Why don’t you stop overthinking everything and just roll with it? I can guarantee that from this point on, you’ll mostly be improvising anyway.”

He huffed, annoyed that she was right, but before he could retort, he noticed that Kikyo’s scent didn’t end at her door. It extended down the opposite half of the hall, attracting Inuyasha to follow it through, guiding them toward the back stairs instead of the front that everyone usually took. All the way down and out the rear of the castle, Inuyasha’s pace hurried, his concern building. Where the hell had she gone at a time like this? Her scent carried them toward the stable house, and he jogged the rest of the way, giving a curt order to his knights to keep watch outside.

Quietly, he slid through the entrance, ember eyes instantly landing on the distracted princess clumsily attempting to climb aboard a horse. She was dressed in her ballgown, dark purple beginning boldly at the highest point and fading to lilac with a gradient effect by the bottom, the full and thick skirt making it an evident struggle for her to even shove her foot through the stirrup of the saddle.

Inuyasha cleared his throat. “What are you doing?”

Kikyo whipped around unsuspectingly, the small tiara on her head falling loose, her hands barely catching it in time to keep it in place. The bodice was tight on her, the neckline shaped like a heart and accentuating the swell of her breasts as her chest heaved up and down from her efforts. Thin straps held over her shoulders while the sleeves hung off the sides of her arms, the fabric of them sheer. Light pink flowers stitched the bottom of the bodice, white specks resembling baby's breath scattering the surrounding area and vanishing as they spread further down the skirt. The length trained behind her, the top, light purple fabric transparent while paler colors layered beneath to give the gradual effect, the translucency shifting to satin the closer it all got to her legs.

"I'm - uh - I'm leaving." She sputtered, tossing the strands of long, black hair that curved over her shoulder to the back.

"What!?"

Frantically, the princess shushed him, dark eyes highlighted in eyeshadow glancing toward the door then back at him.

"What do you mean you're leaving!?" He questioned, lowering his tone while the edge kept its incredulity.

"Just what it sounds like! Think about it, I'm going to have to leave anyway. May as well get a jumpstart."

"Think you can spare five fucking minutes to do the job first?"

"No, Inuyasha listen." She glanced at the door again, paranoid that someone would come in and interrupt. "I was up all night thinking this through, and I don't think denouncing myself will matter to my father. He said he wanted a marriage to his daughter to be the ties of the alliance, word-for-word. Princess or not, I'm still his daughter. The only way to beat that loophole is to take me out of the equation entirely."

"So, you're just going to run!?" The prince couldn't help how worried he increasingly felt. As far as he knew, she had no experience on the streets alone. This was going to be the biggest culture shock she'd ever experienced, and she'd be lucky if the only thing it did was knock her on her ass.

"Until my face is unrecognizable and my name means nothing." Kikyo said with a confident grin.

This was what she'd wanted for years. He could see the light in her eyes burning with a thousand fires, ferocity shining through vividly. She was terrified and excited all at once. He felt his own spirit calming, a passion stepping forward to help her see this out.

"Do you support me, prince? I'm going to be setting us both free."

"I couldn't stop you even if I tried." He chuckled. Kikyo turned to attempt and mount the horse again, kicking multiple times to free a foot from the heavy supply of her gown. "Okay, wait. That's not going to work. There's no way you can ride like that."

"I've seen it done before." She grunted.

"Not only are you going to break your neck trying, but you're going to be a dead giveaway. You need to lay low. Take off the dress."

"Pardon?"

"Seriously. It's not worth the effort, and your guards will easily track your scent." Inuyasha stepped back, giving two heavy knocks to the sliding door. Miroku opened it far enough to poke his head in and Inuyasha flicked his hand to order them both inside.

"What's up?" The knight asked, shutting the door.

"We need to get Kikyo something more suitable for horse riding; preferably clothes that don't belong to her. She's leaving."

"Oh, thank god." Sango sighed, stepping forward and turning her back to her partner. "Unlace me."

Miroku looked unsurely towards the prince, his shoulders stiffening before hesitantly reaching to untie the knot at the back of her hips.

"You can have my dress, Your Highness." The knight offered. The material of her gown was much thinner and more flexible. Otherwise, Sango would have never have agreed to wear it in the first place.

"And what will you wear?" Kikyo asked, not wasting a second by reaching back and loosening her own bodice. "It might be too obvious if we switch."

As soon as the reins holding the dress against her were loose enough for her to slip through, Sango peeled herself out of it, revealing the thin chemise blouse and tight-fitted pants she donned beneath. "Don't worry." She smiled, hanging the dress over the side of a stable wall as she crossed the area to help the princess out of her clothes.

"Do you always wear full attire under your dresses?" Kikyo inquired peculiarly, taking full breaths as the bodice lessened its grasp on her.

"Believe me, when you work for Inuyasha you learn to always be prepared."

"So, that's a yes." Miroku nodded, hastily following Inuyasha's lead and turning toward the wall as she got further indecent. He lowered his voice as he spoke directly to the prince, letting the girls get situated in private. "What, exactly, is the plan here?"

"She's running. There's nothing more to it."

"How does she expect to get out? Guards are stationed everywhere with especially high security on all gates."

"Shit!" Inuyasha hissed. How had he not thought of that? There was no way she'd have a fair chance of escape with knights galore quickly on her trail. If they witnessed her running, they'd chase after her without a moment's notice. They needed to free the nearest exit. They needed to get her a head start before her kingdom raced to bring her back. He racked his brain, his mind continuously flinging back to the dozen torches illuminating the front path. Fire. "Miroku, the garden is closed off, right?"

"Last I saw."

"Set it on fire." Inuyasha said, making sure he was loud enough for the girls to hear too.

"I'm sorry, what?" The aide blinked, inching his ear closer to the prince in question.

"Set it on fire. The guards will run to check it out and the ones staying behind to stand post will be too distracted to see Kikyo coming. Sango, I want you to get her to the border as safely as possible; with her in your dress, your scent will be dragging anyway. After she gets you to the border, Kikyo -"

“I’m on my own. Got it." She nodded, adjusting the long sleeves of her new dress over her arms.

"With all do respect, sir, I'd feel most comfortable accompanying Sango. If they're slowed down or caught, she's standing alone against a handful of Naraku's guard's, if not more. She's my partner."

"Miroku, I'll be fine."

"No, I understand." Inuyasha agreed, furrowing his brows as he heard his aide out while kindly holding a hand up to silence Sango. "Get the spark going so enough smoke will attract the noses, then get your ass back here. I'll prepare your horse."

"Ah, arson. There's no sweeter way to go down." The knight smiled blissfully, slipping out the door where Inuyasha heard his boots quickly lead away.

"One more thing, Kikyo."

The princess glanced over at him after throwing her dress over the side of the stable, the weight of the skirt pulling it to almost fall but the splinters of the wood snagged and held it up.

"My horse is faster." He said, gesturing to his mare at the far end of the stables with the flick of his head. She smiled, the brightest he'd ever seen from her, and he led her down the stalls. She was a calm horse, only slighting away a little as he opened the door to her nook. Immediately, he grabbed the saddle and began to dress her, securing it in place while Kikyo became acquainted with the animal. "Give her a name. She's yours now."

"She doesn't have one?"

"Nah, I've never really called her anything."

"Your sword has a name but your horse doesn't?" She giggled, pointing to the weapon secured to his hip.

"My father named the damn thing, not me." He laughed, backing away once he was done. "Come on, let me help you up."

"No. Tell me how, I need to learn for myself." She objected. He conceded, giving her the reins to guide the horse out of the stable.

"Sango, show her. I'll get Miroku's horse going."

The knight responded quickly, her steed dressed and ready to go when she swapped places with the prince. Her directions were given politely but straightforward, instructing the princess on how to hold the reins as soon as her leg was thrown over the saddle. Inuyasha peeked over the animal's back as he set it up, watching the princess wobble slightly, clearly never having ridden a horse alone before. She was in for quite the ride tonight, and he wished he could see her complain of how sore her ass would be in the morning.

The prince froze, catching the feint whiff of smoke in the distance, adrenaline kicking into high gear. He alerted Sango with a gruff voice and she wasted no time to back step and hop on her horse, steadying the animal with a pull on its reins.

"Wait, what happens now?" Kikyo questioned, her nerves vibrant in her tone. Her mare picked up her anxiety, dancing forward and back and she tried to mimic Sango's assertion by pulling on the rein in her hand, not quite sure how much force was or wasn't enough.

"Calm down, you're gonna be fine." The prince approached, petting down her horse's neck to calm it. "You need to be smart about everything you do from this point on, understand? You're not royalty anymore, and you'll have to lay low for a long time. You're leaving here with next to nothing, so you'll need to learn a trade of some sort as soon as you feel you're in a place you want to settle down. You'll need money, you'll need shelter, you'll need food and water, and you need to protect yourself however you can. Do not let your guard down. The world is unforgiving, especially to wandering women."

"I'll sell my necklace as soon as I can find a vendor." She stated, her fingers grasping the silver adorned in jewels around her neck. "And I'll figure everything else out from there."

"She'll get my knife before I leave her at the border." Sango assured.

"Good. Get a cloak and keep your head down. Hopefully, you'll never have to use that knife, but it's better to have it just in case. You're intelligent, remember? You can handle this."

Kikyo gave a wane smile in response, trying as hard as she could to fight off the sudden doubt she had in herself.

"Your tiara." Inuyasha held his hand out, and with an air of apprehension, Kikyo pulled the crown free from her hair. She gave it a grateful smile, breathing out and passing it to the prince. Despite how small the tiara was, it seemed she sat up straighter, a weight finally lifting from her shoulders.

"When I open the door, I want you to head straight to the gate on our left as fast as possible. You know which one I'm talking about, right?" Kikyo nodded. "Give her a kick and she'll race off. Sango will be right behind you."

She was unbelievably anxious, her fingers unsteady as she skimmed them over the horses groomed hair. She could do this. She was seconds away from the pursuit she'd yearned for, moments away from freedom, and soon she'd be miles away from this lost life. There was uncertainty riddling her mind and she could have backed down, but that wasn't the nature she was willing to be known for. This was it. The moment of truth.

"Inuyasha," Kikyo smiled, her voice betraying her attempt to feign conviction. The prince looked at her from his spot at the door, a fist gripped around the handle to open it at any given moment. "Thank you."

He grinned, wanting to return the gratitude as it was her that was brave enough to set him free, but the timing was clear. The sound of guards flooding toward the garden in the distance stampeded passed and as they faded farther, Inuyasha yanked the large, sliding door out of the way, watching as the former princess ran through the opening and away from the crown. Sango followed closely, the galloping from the steeds growing further, and his heart pounded ruthlessly, staying put while his other knight came jogging in to board his horse and follow them out.

"Hey, Kagome." A deep and familiar voice caught her attention as she stood alone, adjusting the shoulders of her dress as nonchalantly as possible and watching the couples move in the center of the room. Kaede had somehow been swindled into dancing, and every now and again she'd look over to Kagome with a wary stare, sometimes grimacing or mouthing in pain if her foot was stepped on by the old man with his arms around her. She glanced to her side, smiling at the knight.

"Hi."

"Would you like to dance?"

"Oh, please don't make me. I'm not graceful in the least and this is the last place I'd want to be seen stumbling everywhere."

"Don't worry, I wouldn't force you." Koga chuckled, nudging her arm with his elbow. "I'm expected to offer at things like this. I honestly cant stand these events."

Kagome laughed. Of course he had no choice but to be here; he worked for the crown and he literally lived on the grounds. She wondered how often the brute man was forced to dress up and play nice when he was naturally rough around the edges, one of the leaders of their troops, and Inuyasha’s main guy for missions.

It was eerie how the music in the ballroom faded away, some strings being plucked but dying off as just about every demon in the room shifted uncomfortably. She looked about curiously, the dancing stopping, people murmuring, the man beside her going undeniably rigid. His blue eyes were focused sharply, aimed at the stage where his king and queen had frozen, the little girl between them looking just as put off as she, herself, felt. Kagome watched the foreign royal on the stage - another king, she presumed; there hadn’t been introductions yet - hissing vehemently at Sesshomaru, words she couldn’t make out over the growing rumble of the crowd. Then he made a forceful order to an obvious demon dressed in his land’s colors, the demand respectfully acknowledged, and the angry king stormed out the back in the same direction Inuyasha had left a while ago.

He’d yet to return. She hadn’t failed to notice.

“Please, everyone, remain calm. Stay put. There’s nothing to worry about.” Queen Kagura held her hands up cautiously, speaking to the guests politely but sternly. Sesshomaru picked up his daughter, holding the nervous child close to his body as he pointed to a nearby, built guard and ushered him over. The knight didn’t hesitate, pushing through the crowd until he could climb on the stage with his leaders. The king spoke to him, then clearly whispered to his princess before safely handing her over to the protection of the soldier.

“What’s going on?” Kagome asked the man beside her.

“Smoke.”

“Smoke?”

The king and queen left through the back, the murmuring grew a little louder, Rin tucked her head in the crevice of her guard’s shoulder, other’s circling them to ensure her safety from whatever may happen, Koga grabbed onto Kagome’s forearm, and a slew of foreign soldiers crept in through the two entrances - some of them sauntering through the crowd, some of them lining the far walls, all of them blocking them in by closing the doors. Koga tucked her slightly behind his body, his grip never leaving her as he assertively kept her glued to him.

“Kagome, I want you to stay very close to me. Understand?”

The fear stacked inside of her. Something was wrong. Especially if the knight was so quickly alert, his free hand braced on the hilt of his sword. She hummed the affirmation he was waiting for, gasping as a man slowly made way behind her, smiling menacingly as his fingers dragged across the small of her back. Koga turned slightly, keeping her shielded by his protection as he stared down the passing guard who continued to taunt women he passed.

“What’s going on?” She tried again, tone a little more unsteady, clutching the hand he held her arm with.

“I have no idea. But something tells me it isn’t good.” He replied, eyes shifting back and forth over the crowd.

“Where’s - where’s Inuyasha? Shouldn’t you be with him?”

He didn’t respond.

“Koga.”

The knight finally gave a shake of his head, his long ponytail hardly shifting with how slight the movement was. “You want the blunt answer, or the simple one?”

Her stomach flurried, and she worried her bottom lip, tucking herself a little closer to his back as he broadened himself when another guard passed before him. “Blunt.”

“He’d kill me if I left you.”

Onigumo stormed into the courtyard, angered by the billows of dark smoke that cascaded upward, a furious orange glowing against the contrasting grey. “Where’s my daughter!?” He shouted. “Where’s Kikyo!?”

No one answered him, fighting the fire that was blazing in the garden.

“Kikyo! Kikyo!”

Nothing. He couldn’t help himself from growing frantic, seething, worried, angry, panicked, fearful, outraged. He hadn’t seen his daughter in hours, she hadn’t shown up at the ball, according to that damn Sesshomaru, the stupid prince was sent to find her, and now there was a fire burning in the yard. He suspected foul play immediately, but the pressing question of his daughter’s whereabouts weighed him down.

He staggered away from the unhelpful men and women, all of them too preoccupied with the show of flames to pay attention to his more important demands. The insolence. The smell of smoke filled his nostrils and overpowered any other scent that could possibly lead him to her, making his way around the grounds. As another knight ran passed, Onigumo snagged his arm, pulling him back to face the fury of his red eyes.

“Where is Inuyasha?” He asked steadily, his tone as menacing as he willed.

“I - I saw him just around the corner, Your Majesty. Near the stable house.” The man answered. The king immediately dropped his grip, stomping toward the large establishment, his scowl deepening as he soon spotted the untrustworthy scoundrel.

A groundskeeper was explaining how the fire could have possibly started, explaining quickly that it was already dwindling and under control, and Inuyasha nodded gratefully, his relief believable. He sensed the rage, heard the footsteps approaching, and glanced over to see the ridiculously-dressed king of Naraku trailing over, his cheeks a blustering red to match the irises behind his dangerously-slanted eyes. The prince excused the groundskeeper, turning fully to Onigumo, fighting the smile he so badly wanted to give.

“Where is she?” He growled, halting so quickly the large crown sitting on his head tilted. It looked heavy and expensive, the metal black and twirling high to resemble tentacles. Each leg was decorated in sapphire jewels, the color deepening in the darkness they stood in.

“Who?” Inuyasha asked, feigning innocence.

“You know damn well who I’m talking about, you half-blooded freak! Where is my daughter!?”

“I haven’t found her yet. I came out -“

“Liar!”

“- looking for her, the fire somehow started, and my priorities shifted!” He finished heatedly.

“You fool!"

"She's gotta be around here somewhere! If you're so worried, you can help me look."

"Where is she!?"

"I don't know! The only thing I can think of is she got nervous about the announcement and went somewhere to hide!"

"Bullshit!"

"You know Kikyo better than any of us; is there a sort of place she feels most comfortable when she's anxious?"

"Yes! Next to me!"

Inuyasha's facade broke then, a slow grin growing on his face. "Apparently not."

Onigumo grabbed the prince by his coat, the man surprisingly strong as he shoved Inuyasha back against the outer stable house walls. The crown had fallen off the king's head, rolling on the cobblestone until it caught in a crack, and Onigumo braced himself a mere inch from Inuyasha's nose. "You arrogant prick! How dare you pretend to know the relationship I have with my daughter? You want to know how I know you're so full of shit? Because a fire just so happens to coincidentally break out on the day of one of the events the two of you dreaded so outwardly, and now Kikyo is nowhere to be seen. You think you're so clever; I can see the conceit written all over your face, but your brain isn't as quick as mine. You can't get out of this arrangement, even by hiding my daughter. Did you think the two of you pretending to like each other in order to work together would get me to back down? The announcement will be made tonight no matter what, so tell me where she is!"

Inuyasha laughed, fighting the quiver in his muscles to push the king away, his fingers flexing at his sides to restrain his control. "I'm not lying, I don't know where she is. By now, she could be anywhere."

Onigumo's eyes widened, a sear of heat racing through him as he pulled Inuyasha forward just to slam him forcefully against the wall again. "Where is she!?"

"Are you worried about her safety or your deal, Your Majesty?"

"I demand you tell me!"

"Your orders mean nothing here!"

He paused, chest heaving up and down, his grip on the prince's uniform tightening. "What have you done?"

"What makes you think I've done anything? Maybe it was all Kikyo?" Inuyasha smiled, loving Onigumo's reaction to twist his glower more emphatically. "Did you ever stop to think maybe she wanted out even more than I did? Maybe she lit the fire to distract everyone. Maybe she's made some grand escape."

The king lifted a fist, throwing it against Inuyasha's face as powerfully as he could manage, the circular, purple jewel adorning his middle finger shattering against his mouth.

The prince staggered to the side, fully released by the foreign king, and it took everything in him not to turn back and retaliate with a punch of his own. Instead, he recovered with a dragged hiss of breath, the taste of copper filling his tongue, hiding how enraged he was with the same grin that got him decked. Onigumo marched toward him and Inuyasha didn't flinch, his fist raising again but before his assault could be made, he was grabbed by the crook of his arm and yanked backward.

Sesshomaru stared down the opposite king, venom swirling in his glowing, ember eyes as he used the palm of his hand to shove Onigumo even further away, hitting his sternum with a force that knocked some air from his lungs with an audible wheeze. "You dare throw a hand at a prince!?"

Onigumo scoffed, the sound dramatic and raspy. "To a king, he is nothing but beneath me!"

"You not only offend royalty in a land where you have no authority, but you impudently think being a king gives you the right to attack my brother! You are not immune to punishment here, Onigumo! Not where I'm concerned!"

"Your brother has overstepped so many grounds, yet you stand there and raise your voice to me!? He accuses Kikyo of desertion! He offends royalty just as crudely, and he deserved -” A sudden realization dawned on the foreign king's face and he whipped around, pulling the stable house door open. Stepping in, his jaw dropped wider and wider, observing the empty stables, a leadening sensation sinking through his abdomen as he neared the wall her ballgown was draped over. Her tiara rested on the sheer fabric at the crest of the skirt, the single jewel in the center holding no sparkle.

"Oh, no." Inuyasha said, his tone sounding calm and overly rehearsed. "My horse is gone."

"What have you done!?" Onigumo bellowed, setting the remaining steeds on edge.

The prince slowly dragged his thumb along his bottom lip to wipe away the trickle of blood, smirking as he gave a shrug.

"What is the meaning of this!? Was this all a ruse to break the contract!? Nothing has changed, do you hear me?" The king stomped toward the prince again, his long, obsidian hair swaying enthusiastically back and forth. "You all belong to me! Now more than ever!”

"Actually," Sesshomaru spoke, enunciating every syllable of the word clearly. Kagura stood just behind him, and it was like he could physically feel her unwavering support returning from the dead, strengthening his power move all the more. Time and time again, over the years and even more so recently, she forcefully reminded him that he was too blinded by his need for control. It was bold of her to speak to him in such a manner, but that was the reason he respected her so tremendously. Kagura was infuriating and outspoken. She fought for justice fearlessly - no matter who her opponent was. Long nights, they’d spent working out every minor and minuscule detail of this alliance, from ambiguity to the fine print, and as he put forth more effort to see her point of view, no matter how badly he still stood by his decision to help his brother mature like royalty should, she finally began to warm to him again. She provided balance. She was the true essence of a queen. "Quite the contrary. We held up our end of the bargain. Inuyasha is here and ready to be married, but where is his bride? Without the wedding, it seems we have no contract."

"You signed, Sesshomaru!"

"I did, and you fail to realize that without your princess present, your terms have been dismissed.”

“Don’t pretend this is on me when this was clearly a ploy! Inuyasha has just as much to do with this!”

“I don’t see it that way. He is here and Kikyo is not. What I find interesting is the threat you held over our heads if we pulled out."

"Oh, please." Onigumo laughed. “I don't think it would be wise of you to threaten me. You wouldn't stand a chance against my forces."

"I think we'd be just fine." Sesshomaru scorned. "Especially considering that the odds of us being backed up by your other allies looks to be in our favor." When the foreign king only responded with a deep furrow of his brows, Sesshomaru continued. "I find your plot to trick us into an alliance very detailed and well-executed. I'll admit, you almost had me. You attacked our fort to make it seem like a test of strength, and offered your forces to us with hardly any second thought. All to say you had, what did you call it? A notch in your belt for allying with The Great Dog Demon's Kingdom, and a pocket to our money? What do you think your other allies would say if word got out of your scheme? Do you think they might be skeptical you may have played them, too? On top of that, imagine how easily they'd turn on you if they knew our forces would be there to back them up. At that point, they’d only gain.”

Onigumo stared at the mighty king incredulously, his chest inflating with the offense he'd been served. Somewhere mid-speech, his body had shifted to fully face Sesshomaru, the scowl on his features creased profoundly and trembling with the amount of righteous fury boiling through his veins. "That's preposterous. You can't prove I did a thing."

"Maybe. But I'll give you thirty seconds to try and prove you didn't. Go." The foreign king said nothing, his expression twisting from shocked, to audacious, to insulted, the hollow of his neck emphasizing from the tension climbing over his body. "That's what I thought. I'm willing to let this go for new terms. There's no need for war. I'd hate for your attention to be distracted when you're obviously so torn about your daughter being missing. Clearly, you'll want to put all of your effort into finding her. Am I wrong?"

"New terms?" He finally gritted.

“Of course. You didn't think we'd just shrug this off, did you? No, you've proven to be deviant and untrustworthy, so from now on we'll be keeping a very close eye on you." Kagura smiled, stepping forward with her shoulders broadened.

“We will have say over your army, we will contribute to your important decision making, and we will have access to the information and conditions to the other kingdoms you ally with. You will not have reciprocation in those departments. Don't worry though, you'll still have your notch in your belt, an alliance you can brag about, and your obnoxiously-inflated ego. In return, we'll generously keep our mouths shut and you wont be punished for your deceitful manipulation or striking our prince. If you object, you'll be stripped of your crown. With or without force.” Sesshomaru stated, a hint of venom lacing toward the end.

“This is blackmail! You have no jurisdiction!"

"Hence, the force. Believe me, Onigumo, you do not want to make more of an enemy of me. Our military is just about as lethal as yours, but you knew that already, didn’t you? The difference here is unlike you, I ride to battle with my soldiers and I've taken heads."

"An outright threat on my life!?"

“That is completely up to you. You should consider yourself lucky I’m not directly jumping to challenge you. You’ve definitely earned the retaliation, but I am not completely innocent here either, and I know it. I was unwise and irrational. Therefore, I’m willing to work out the kinks in our agreement to work in both of our favors. Do we have a deal?” Sesshomaru cocked a light grin.

“You will regret this, Sesshomaru.” Onigumo absolutely seethed.

“So reject the offer and see if that’s true. The alliance was for precautionary purposes. We need nothing from you. Be peaceful and back down, or see how quickly the world will turn against you. Kikyo already has.”

“You bastard!”

“Do we have a deal?”

Onigumo's chest rose and fell heavily, smoke practically leaving his nostrils with his temper, his entire face red and defeated. It was a moment, a long moment, before he notched his chin upward, and hissed a clenched, "Yes."

"Wonderful. We'll have the contract written up immediately and it will be signed in front of our audience tonight." Kagura said. "Pleasure doing business with you."

"Sesshomaru." Inuyasha stopped his brother as the three of them began to walk towards the castle, the king sauntering back his way so their voices could hang low. "You know what I want to hear."

"You set my garden on fire. I don't owe you a thing."

"Sesshomaru."

"I thought it'd be obvious that the wedding is off what-with your fiancee being M.I.A.. I didn't think I had to tell you."

Inuyasha rolled his ember eyes, shaking his head as his aggravation climbed. "Stop dancing around the subject."

The king paused, sighing out as he turned to walk away. "She's here, isn't she? Do whatever you want."

The air was incredibly stiff, guests almost completely quiet in the ballroom, and Kagome was ready to throw an elbow at the next soldier that touched her. If it hadn't been for Koga's attentive guard over her, she probably would have lost her temper by now. She'd heard mumbling from passing knights about someone being missing, but nothing was clear. Not even Koga could make out exactly what was being said, and as many times as she urged him to go find out, he refused to leave her side. Even when she offered to go with him, all he did was shake his head and flex his grip along her forearm - a gesture, she gathered, was telling her to be quiet.

His blue eyes flickered to the larger entrance of the hall just before the double doors were opened, alleviating some of the pressure in the room. Koga's hold on her gradually slackened until she was fully released, and she followed his attention, noticing how the crowd began to part like a slowly receding sea, heads lowering in timely curtsies and bows. Sesshomaru entered with his own held high, leading the group as his wife walked just inches behind him - a proud and beautiful curve on her lips. The tiara she donned was gold and small. It spoke much of her power without having to dominate the scene, her demeanor doing the rest of the work. Behind them walked the foreign king, his expression flat but his eyes more menacing than she remembered. He made a vague gesture toward a nearby guard of his, and Kagome noticed them all begin to recede to the sidelines. She guessed he'd instructed them to stand down. At the tail of the pack walked Inuyasha, and her stomach instantly leapt into her throat. His face was straight, but even from the distance she stood, she could see his head seemed to sit an inch taller. Maybe it was just how he presented himself during ceremonies; she'd never witnessed it before. He was royalty, after all. He wasn't going to look anything less in front of a crowd. He looked proud. Brave. Handsome. Stoic. It was unfair.

They made it to the stage and her heart was beating horribly. Her brown eyes unintentionally kept flashing toward the doors. Where was his fiancee? If she didn't walk in with them, did that mean she was getting some sort of grand entrance? She looked at Inuyasha and he stood off to the side, eyes on his queen as she began to speak but Kagome wasn't processing her words. She wasn’t interested anymore in an explanation for the events of the evening nor the planned speech she could have very well been giving. Her fingers were trembling and she bit her bottom lip hard. Her breathing was rapidly becoming unsteady and her cheeks felt warm as she continuously thought of the princess walking in and taking her place beside the prince. Her eyes flashed to the door again. To Inuyasha. To the door. It was unbearable. She couldn't do this. It was too damn hard. She'd shown face; he knew she was there. She'd given her respects and it was time to take her leave.

Steadily, Kagome stepped back and as Koga glanced over, still as alert as ever, she could only communicate with the brisk shake of her head. He didn't try to stop her, didn't follow, didn't say a thing. The knight nodded understandingly, and she turned to inconspicuously make her exit, the weight never leaving her chest as she was freed from the ballroom, or freed from the castle, or even freed from gates. She imagined it should have gotten easier by then, but the cheering and clapping was loud enough to be heard outside and it intensified the density. Breathing was difficult and she tried to lessen the restraints on her lungs by taking tedious inhales and drawn out exhales. Her hands shook worse than ever as she fought off her onslaught of emotions, and she tried to busy them by fidgeting with the cuffs of her sleeves, pulling the other to cover her fingers as her nerves barely began to die the further she walked through the darkened and quiet town.

Running footsteps approaching caught her attention, and as they came close behind her, Kagome glanced back to see who was coming, turning completely around in surprise as Inuyasha stopped. His chest rose and fell erratically, ember eyes glued to her as the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

"Hi." He breathed.

"Hi." She hesitated, heart thumping so powerfully against her ribcage she feared he'd hear it. Just his unexpected presence had her legs feeling wobbly and light.

"You left."

Kagome sighed out whatever breath was left in her lungs as her eyes drifted to the floor. She honestly didn't think he'd notice. “Yeah. I - I was tired.” She poorly lied.

It was impossible to hide the sad quirk in his brow, and he swallowed thickly to try and keep his nerve about him.

Of all things for her mind to travel to, she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d get in trouble for coming after her, or if he’d snuck away like all the times before. Either way, why? “What are - what are you doing out here?"

It was extraordinary, the amount of self control he found he had. She was so close, ten feet away maybe, nothing but air dividing them, and he was managing to solidly stand in place. A new feat for him when he was desperately aching to resolve this with some sort - any sort - of physical touch. That wasn't the way he would do this. There was so much to tell her. So much she deserved to know, and he’d be damned if he even let himself get in the way of that right now. "I needed to talk to you."

“About what? Is everything okay?”

“I want you to know how sorry I am about this entire ordeal. You didn’t deserve it. Any of it.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” Her voice had died off as she shook her head, her whisper enough to convey her sincerity.

“Yes, I do.”

“You really don’t. I don’t bl-”

“Shut up.” He said half defeatedly. “Let me. It’s important that I start off with that because I know I let you down. And you’re gonna say I didn’t - yeah, I know you - but I did. You’re also probably gonna say it wasn’t my fault, but that doesn’t matter. Not to me. I was the one that made you cry. I was the one that broke your heart. It was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. And I am so desperately sorry.”

She shied her eyes away for a very brief moment, brown irises meeting him again with a mild guard. She didn't know where he was going with his speech, her core giving an unstable tremor from the plea in his voice. Was this his reason for running after her in the middle of the celebration? To apologize again just to turn around and walk away one last time? The thought was unpleasantly cold, and if that was the case, and solely the case, she wished he'd just go. “Inuyasha -”

“I’m not done.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I’ll get to that. Just give me a chance, alright?”

There was conviction burning vividly within his gaze, and as he took two steps forward, her heart gave a thunderous pound. He seemed so bold, so eager to say what was on his tongue, his tone reaching her with direct intention - not a quiver to be heard. There was still evidence of trepidation in his body language, Kagome noticed, his breathing remaining slightly heavy and fingers twitching at his sides, and she couldn't neglect the intensity he was portraying with just the part in his lips. She yielded, throwing all her thoughts away, now wanting to hear what was on his mind just as badly as he apparently wanted to speak it.

“Why’d you actually leave?”

"Because it was too soon." Kagome apprehensively admitted, her voice involuntarily weaker than before. "I thought I could handle seeing you with her, but I was wrong. I got scared.”

There was a painful twinge in his chest to know the thought of him with someone else hurt her so much. It shouldn't have been equally as satisfying, he knew, but god it was so gratifyingly good to know. He exhaled some heat, a small smile coming from it.

“The engagement’s off.” Inuyasha said. “You didn’t get to hear that part.”

Kagome's lungs hitched, her shoulders dropping their tension. Words evaded her, the news completely and entirely enrapturing her thoughts. She didn’t know what to feel, how to react, when to give up and close her mouth. The engagement was off.

“It’s over.” He assured.

“Really?” She feebly asked.

“Really. You have no idea how hard I’ve struggled just to get to this point. Right here. In front of you. I couldn’t do what they wanted. No matter what steps I took, it was always in your direction. Everything I did from the moment you left that day was to find my way back to you. I’ll never regret it.”

“What - what, exactly, does this mean?” Her voice was strengthening with her hope, he could tell, and as he leaned a little more weight to one side, the shadow of his body moved off of her and he witnessed the distant castle lights creating a heavenly glow on her cheeks. It attracted him like a moth to a flame, easily persuading him to walk the rest of the way to her. He ran the backs of his fingers over the smooth cloth of the gorgeous gown on her arms, feeling her shudder beneath his touch.

“That I’m so irrevocably weak for you. From the moment I pictured my life without you in it anymore, I crashed and burned. It only made me fight harder. You've not only captured my heart but my soul as well, and it's a gut-wrenching punishment from one rebellious act in the woods so long ago that I hope to never recover from. Kagome, I am so unbelievably enchanted by you. I love you. And nothing’s ever getting in my way of that again.” Finally, finally, Kagome touched him, her fingers fumbling with the edges of his coat. It was such a meager hold she had that increased and grew stronger with each passing second. Her breathing grew unsteady and her expression began to fold, but it was such a beautiful proclamation of happiness. Inuyasha caressed a thumb just beneath her eye, her smooth skin chilled from the night air, and he felt the push of her cheek as she smiled. “I choose you.”

She crumbled in the most wonderful way, bouncing to her toes to meet him in a sweet and blissful kiss. He clutched her beneath the crook of her jaw, his fingers molding around her ears and threading through her dark hair. The world around them quickly vanished. To her, it was nothing but him, the warmth of his pressing body, the tenacity of his wanting lips. Even through his clothing, his skin, his muscles, his frame, she could feel his heart beating against her own chest, the sensation growing more powerful to match her own as his arms wrapped around her waist to pull her closer against him. And as Inuyasha softened, his kiss slowing and parting away to hover and graze against her mouth, Kagome shuddered of pure contentment. He'd come back.

Epilogue: A little over a year later

An accident, some curiosity, a thought that sparked like the kindling she carried that day, oblivion followed by acceptance, and an intense desire to experience more. They liked to say it was fate and not luck, yet the two unconditionally felt like the luckiest beings to ever walk the Earth.

"Don't get mad." Inuyasha approached with a wary smile as Rin excused herself from their interrupted tea party with a little more sass than was necessary.

"What did you do?" Kagome slighted, standing from her spot.

"Nothing yet." He chuckled. "But I have to leave for a few days."

"Leave?"

"Routine check-in with a fort."

"For a few days?"

"Something like that."

She braced herself, crossing her arms over her chest as she felt the skeptical twitch of her own lips. Kagome knew too well that Inuyasha's time management skills were nothing to be bragged about. "How long is a few days?"

"Like, six or seven." The prince bobbed his head back and forth while he estimated.

"Six or - Inuyasha, our wedding is next week!"

"I promise, I'll be back in time!"

"You freaking better be, because I'm getting married with or without you!"

"It might be a little hard without me."

"Bet."

"Kagome, I'll be here. I promise." Inuyasha insisted, stifling his laugh as he stepped forward to cup her cheeks in his palms.

"For the record," She mumbled. "Few means three."

"Noted."

"When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow. First thing in the morning."

"Alright, your time is up!" Rin stormed back through the door, curving right around her uncle, wedging her small body between them, and shoving his legs backward toward the exit. "It's tea time, I'm thirsty, and I don't remember inviting you!"

"You used to be so sweet to me. What happened?" The prince asked, stumbling as he turned around and pretended to resist her push.

"During tea, the only thing sweet here are the cookies. No boys allowed, you know better."

Kagome fiddled with the silver band on her finger, feeling the four leaves along their thin, metal branch twirl around the tiny diamond perfectly. No matter how many times Kaede attempted to convince her out of the shop, Kagome kept finding something to help with, preventing her success and bringing Sango to laugh from the corner she observed from. Ever since their relationship was made known and she was moved into the castle, the knight accompanied her everywhere. Being engaged to the prince made her vulnerable, and it was definitely something she had to grow adjusted to, but it helped that Sango felt more like her friend than her bodyguard.

"Kagome, for the last time, would you go home?" Kaede chuckled, pointing toward the door. "Your wedding is tomorrow! Do what you need to do to prepare; you know very well that I can handle things around here!"

"My wedding gown is fitted and ready, the general plans were decided on weeks ago, it's cute that you think they'd actually allow me to help put the decorations together, and I'd like to keep busy here since my fiancee has yet to return, anyway." Kagome responded, dropping her fidgeting to grind the plants harder in the stone bowl before her. "And even if he does get here on time, I give you no guarantees he'll make it to the ceremony once I'm done with him."

"Now, now. You know very well only the strongest of importances would hold him back, lass."

She rolled her eyes, continuing her overly-aggressive grind until the apothecary snagged the pestle from her grip and shoved her out of her stool, continuing to guide her toward the door.

"Hey - wait - hey!"

"You've done more than necessary. The shop is closed."

"It's not even three!"

"I'll see you tomorrow!"

"Kaede!"

"Sango, lock her in the bathhouse until she -"

"Alright, alright! I'm going. I'm fine. I'm going. No need to lock me anywhere." Kagome huffed, holding her hands up cautiously. Sango giggled, opening the door for them. As she wandered out, she tensed and froze, her prince standing just to the side with an amused and knowing expression on his face.

"I heard you. Was that a threat?" Inuyasha laughed. He loved the way her face shifted from shocked, to happy, to a forced pout of annoyance where she still had to fight off her smile.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She said, brushing passed him as she notched her chin an inch higher, her smile inevitably winning over her scowl.

"Excuse me, where are you going?"

"Taking the woodland path back."

"Oh," Inuyasha chuckled. "Is that how it is? You're just gonna pretend you're not happy to see me?"

"Who's pretending?"

The prince ran over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and snagging her back to reset her in the general direction of the main road. "Nope, I'm taking you through town where you'll have to walk holding my hand or else everyone will know you're mad at me! And we wouldn't want that, would we?"

"You must think you're so cunning, don't you?" Kagome mocked, laughing.

"As a matter of fact, I do. Get going." He gave her a shove and she continued as he wanted, sauntering toward the side of the shop to get to the road and spinning around to walk backward as she gave him a grimace.

"Fine, you can hold my hand. But I won't smile."

"I would never ask you to." He followed, grinning arrogantly.

"You're late, Inuyasha."

"By a day."

"Our wedding is tomorrow."

"I haven't forgotten."

"I should have known you were going to do this."

"I love your confidence in me."

"You really cut it close."

"For good reason."

"And that would be?" Inuyasha gestured for her to turn around with a nod of his head, and all she did was deepen her grimace.

"Temper still as hot as always, I see." A boy's voice rang, and Kagome swiftly glanced over her shoulder. A tall teenager with trimmed, black hair stood smirking about twelve feet away, shorter than her by an inch or so but resembling their father in more ways than she'd ever imagined. Just beside him, her mother cocked her head, the smile on her smooth and ageless face bringing Kagome's breath to silently hitch as she fully processed exactly who was standing before her.

It was astounding how quickly a prick stung at her eyes, her cheeks washing over in heat, and she turned completely around to face the two people she'd least expected to see; dumbfounded, speechless.

"Look how much you've grown." Her mother teared, brows crinkling as she lost her composure. Kagome ran to her, embraced in her mother's hold for the first time in so many years. She happily cried as she switched back and forth from her to her younger brother, gathering bits and pieces of their story of how Inuyasha found them and brought them out for the wedding. When she turned around to see the smug look she was sure was on her fiancee's face, she noticed he'd snuck away, most likely through the woodland path, leaving Sango to observe and walk back with them when they were ready.

––

Kagome leaned along the railing of her suite's balcony, staring out at the darkness of the forest, too excited to sleep. She'd already expected tomorrow to be such a perfect day from the moment Inuyasha had proposed. Now, with her own family included as well, she'd be walking on cloud nine toward her soon-to-be husband as opposed to the carpet that was carefully laid out. The breeze of the quiet night couldn't even chill the warmth still coursing through her veins.

A brisk rasp on her door brought her back to her room, her attention flying behind her as she wondered who could possibly be visiting her at a time like this. Figuring it was her mother, Kagome welcomed them in, stepping back to the carpet and shutting the balcony doors. The prince slowly entered, poking his head in first before sliding all the way through. She didn't even hesitate, her squeal of elation semi-hushed as she crossed the floor and sped to him, knowing full and well he'd catch her.

"I've been looking for you all day!" She said after a long-overdo kiss.

"I didn't want you to feel obligated to share your attention with me." He stated, keeping his voice down. It definitely wasn't the first time he'd broken the rules and snuck into her room late at night, but it was absolutely the last time he could and he'd be damned if he passed up the opportunity. That didn't mean he wanted to be caught and torn away. "You deserved your time with them."

"I never got to thank you, though."

"Well, I guess you can just thank me now." Inuyasha kissed her, his lips growing more greedy as he fervently backed her up, his hands around her waist to support any stumbling. She matched his enthusiasm, her fingers threading through his short, tousled hair, showing so much trust in his hold on her. Slowly, steadily, he leaned her back onto her bed, never ceasing the tempting dance of their mouths while he carefully situated his body over hers, hovering more towards the side as he carefully lowered himself down, one of his legs draped over her to rest his knee between her thighs. She followed his frame, curling to fit him as perfectly as possible as her hands wandered beneath the collar of his shirt and her leg hiked to rest over his.

"You're incredible, did you know that?" Kagome whispered, dragging a single finger along the thin chain that hung around his neck. "I don't know what I did to deserve you."

"So, you're not mad at me anymore?" Inuyasha teased.

"No, you're safe for now."

He'd spent time grazing her skin, laying with her, telling her about his trip to find her family with minor detail as he knew she was comfortable against his chest and getting sleepy, yet forcing herself to stay awake so she could hear every word. So he coerced her to crawl to the head of the bed with him, tucking them both beneath the comforter because she had a grasp on his shirt that told him he wasn't allowed to leave yet. She'd missed him and he'd missed her. The trip was entirely for her surprise, but it was still a bout of separation and this was how they coped. Every time.

Kagome's eyes were closed but she wasn't asleep yet. Her fingers were finally warming after she bravely pulled his shirt from the tuck in his pants and gently rested them against the muscles of his sides. Her breathing was evening, and he softly raked his fingers through the smooth hair at her temple. She seemed so peaceful at his side, tucked into his body like it was where she was naturally meant to be.

"Are you happy?" He genuinely asked, never stopping the glide that soothed her. She opened her eyes, her fingers gripping him just a little firmer as she smiled.

"In a few hours, I get to call myself your wife and you my husband. I get to spend the rest of my life like this with you. Inuyasha, I am so far beyond happy."

#THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING #I loved writing every word of this ding dang story #I don't think I've ever been so invested in something I've written before and this was just jdhlkjdhfgkjhdf #Like I really poured my heart into this one!#inuyasha #kagome #kagome higurashi #inukag #inuyasha fanfiction #inuyasha fanfic #inuyasha fic #inukag fanfiction #inukag fanfic #inukag fic #inuyasha au #royal au #enchanted #my writing #akitokihojo

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jmflowers · 4 years

Note

3, 15, 17 for the fanfic ask 😊

3. Do you prefer canonverse or AUs?

I think for reading, I always lean more towards canonverse. I like those fill-in scene fics and being some place in a story that is ultimately really familiar. Canon fics are the ones I most often go back to and read again.

As for writing, I find myself much more drawn to AUs. I was always very, very driven by character development when in school and required to write my own creations, but I never really felt like I got good at world-building or plot lines. I started writing fanfiction specifically because it gave me established characters and, as such, forced me to get better at the other stuff.

15. Post the last line you wrote without context.

A lighthouse, guiding Charity home to safe harbour.

17. Describe a fic that is still in the ‘ideas’ stage.

I wish this one was more than just an idea because I love the concept so much and it was so cathartic to write the first two parts, but I’ve been stuck on it for months and I’m not sure where to go with it next.

It’s called Hell & Back, inspired by the song of the same name by Maren Morris. I wanted to write something in second person that had an actual plot, as opposed to the usual character analysis style I typically do in second person POV. So far, I have written two interactions: the first and second times Vanessa meets Charity.

I don’t know how to talk about this one without giving it all away… I’m just gonna post part one here and we’ll see what happens...

You meet Charity on a Thursday, when the sun has finally given way to the storm clouds that have been creeping closer all morning. The rain pelts down in cold, hard slaps as you bend over a sheep that looks about as miserable as you’re starting to feel, examining its hooves for what you’re certain might be the start of foot rot in the herd. Moira won’t be pleased, not in the slightest.

“Shouldn’t you be ducking for cover?” someone calls over the sound of the rain, their voice slicing through the rising crescendo to reach your ears.

You twist, startled, looking up quickly to find the source. It’s a woman, stood about four yards away, watching you with her arms crossed atop the fence. There’s a fog that seems to hover around her, rising slowly like the steam above a hot cup of tea. It’s something you should look at closer, you’ll realize later, but in the moment, it flits away from conscious thought in the passing breeze.

You shiver, the rain well and truly soaked into your coveralls now, bits of hair plastered to your forehead in such a way that you’re sure isn’t flattering. Not like in those movies Tracy keeps making you watch.

“Shouldn’t you?” you retort, already turning your attention back to the sheep struggling in your hands. Fickle creatures, them; smart enough to recognize each other but not to see that you’re only there to help. You pull it harder onto its hindquarters, rendering it unable to escape and earning a pathetic bleat in response.

“Really rather be torturing sheep than cuddled up warm and dry?” It’s the woman again, her voice suddenly closer than it’d been before. You look up just in time to see her leaning over the side of the pen you’re in, pulling a face at the animal in your arms. Your eyes flick to the gate she’d been stood beside before, the chain still wrapped securely around the fence post just as you’d left it.

“I’m not torturing it,” you murmur, eyes dragging back to her face. Did you miss the sound of her hopping the fence? Are you so tuned out that you wouldn’t be aware of someone approaching like that?

She laughs, the green of her eyes almost sparkling as she tips her chin up into the air. “Don’t know that he’d agree with that statement, babe.” She’s near enough now that you can count the freckles trailing down her neck, guiding your eyes to the dip at the top of her jacket.

“She,” you say without thinking, always just a breath from correcting. Like your mother, that; a habit you’d always hated when you were on the receiving end.

But she doesn’t scrunch up her nose like Tracy does when you do the same to her, voicing annoyance louder than her words ever could. No, Charity just tilts her head and hums out one of those noises that sounds like a question, as though she’d rather you explain further than shut right up.

“This is a ewe, not a ram,” you offer, trying to pull back that prim and proper tone that seems to appear whenever you’re clarifying something. It’s like a flashback to being sat in the front row at school, pretending you didn’t hear the girls snickering behind you. “Male sheep have horns, females don’t.” Even Rhona’s teased you for it, mimicking after she’d overheard you giving directions to a client.

“Huh,” Charity says, dropping her gaze to the animal once more, “Guess that’s why everyone always assumes the devil’s a man.”

It’s a funny thing to say, odd enough that you freeze for a moment before you manage to come up with a response. Later, you’ll understand why she did, when you know her well enough to grasp the twists and turns of her mind. But not right now. No, the first time you meet her, you just think she’s a strange one.

“Male and female goats both have horns,” you sputter when the quiet between you has stretched on for too long. You want to kick yourself the second her eyes flick back to you, her gaze so clearly telling that it is you – not her – whom she thinks is odd.

“Is that right?” she asks with a smirk, “Always did like them better.”

You, too, though you don’t say. Not normal conversation, is it, to tell a stranger that you’ve always preferred that gentle knowingness hidden behind a goat’s eye? Be a vet, Vanessa, if you must, your mother had said, But, don’t be one of those people who only speaks of animals.

The prim and proper comes from her, you know, all the things you’d been poked and teased for stemming from the ideal daughter she’d tried to craft you into. Not like your father, who laughs when he shouldn’t and smiles when it’s impolite and says the sorts of things you’d never dare to. You wonder, often, how they ever got together long enough to have you.

“So, what are you doing then?” she asks, lurching her body further over the pen until you can feel her breath beside your head. It’s hot, much hotter than you’re prepared for when the cold is so busy burrowing into your bones. She keeps her eyes trained on your hands, trying to get a good look at the hoof you’re clutching – not a pretty one, either, not the sort you’d ever show anyone other than Paddy or Rhona. You tuck it a little lower, trying to hide the swelling beneath some wool.

“They’re sick,” you mutter, your brain spiralling backwards to the game plan you’d been formulating before she’d interrupted. You’ll need one, before you head up to the house to tell Moira what’s going on. It’s likely the field, you think, all this low-lying ground and the abundance of rain in the past few weeks has surely not helped the situation.

“With what?” Charity presses. Her breath feels like fire where it meets your neck, scalding the gooseflesh beneath your ponytail as she speaks.

You lean away, lowering your arm enough that the sheep squirms hard in your grasp, knocking you off balance. You fall back against the fence, hands grappling behind yourself to grab onto something sturdy. The sheep takes its opportunity, tipping to the side before scrambling to its feet and taking off towards the others. They bleat at the new arrival, corralling themselves into a bunch beneath the only tree at the far edge of the pen.

You huff, frustrated instantly and unsure where to lay the blame. You can feel your brow furrowing when you turn to meet her eye, catching the twinkle and the smirk that you assume are present at your expense. “Foot rot,” you mutter, pushing away from the fence angrily. Won’t be easy to catch that one again, now that it’s had a taste, especially not when the field’s gone slick with mud.

“Sounds gross,” she says, dropping down off the fence to follow as you stalk across the pen to your bag. The rain has sent splatters of mud up the side of it, a match to the boots on your feet. “You a farmer, then?” she asks.

The laugh comes before you can decide whether you mean to or not, a breath bursting across your lips at the notion of you in Moira’s shoes, depending on animals for your livelihood in a different sort of way than you already do. No, you’ve never quite managed to imagine a clean picture of yourself with a farm, always something just slightly off that made you shy away.

“’Fraid not,” you chuckle, “I’m a vet.”

She nods knowingly, stepping back out of the way when you open the gate to the outer laneway where she stands. “They’ll be okay, then?” she murmurs, eyes shifting over your shoulder to the herd.

You shrug, because it’s not a guarantee of course – none of these things ever are – but you’ve caught it early enough that you don’t anticipate too much damage. Some zinc sulfate baths to start, a round of vaccinations if it comes to it, and the sheep will be good as new in no time. “They’ll be fine,” you answer, “Though I might not be, when I tell Moira she’ll have to spend the next few weeks coaxing them into a few feet of solution to stave off the infection.”

Charity laughs, the sound lighting something low in your belly. The rain feels distant when you’re stood so close to her, the wet of your coveralls barely a blip in your mind though you’ll be desperate for a hot shower the second she’s gone.

“Well, best be careful, then,” she suggests, the remnants of her smile softening the edges of her words, “Wouldn’t want to miss seeing you again.”

She turns away before you can formulate an answer, strolling down the laneway toward the open fields at the back of the property. You have half a mind to call after her, to invite her inside for a cuppa and a towel, but she’s over the hill before you can find the courage to shout.

It’s not until much later, when you’re laid in bed replaying the day in your mind that you realize she hadn’t much seemed like she’d needed a towel. She hadn’t much seemed like the rain had touched her at all.

#janelle’s asks #fanfic asks #ask game #justusandlove #minefic

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elizascarlet · 4 years

Text

Part I- Spring

“Happy Easter!” Anne gave her bosom friend a hug, sitting down beside her in class.

“To you too!” Diana returned.

Anne brandished a posy of wildflowers, giggling. “For your table, Madame.”

“Oh Anne,” Diana breathed. “The trilliums are blooming! I do wish I could go with you to pick more of them, but Mother wants me to come home right after school. We’re going to Carmody tonight to spend it with my cousins.”

Anne’s countenance fell. “You mean, you’re not coming to Easter dinner?”

Diana glanced around and lowered her voice. “No. And you should’ve heard the things Father said. It made me so angry I had to go to my room to scream into my pillow.”

“They won’t allow you to come?”

“No.” Diana sounded so dejected.

“I want this Easter to be perfect for Mary. She’s made Sebastian so happy! I just wish you could make it.”

Diana squeezed Anne’s hand. “Perhaps next year things will be different.”

Miss Stacy called the class to attention and their conversation ended.

Easter morning dawned bright and clear, with the crow of a rooster and the lowing of milk cows. The Snow Queen finally sprang forth her blossoms, showering Anne’s gable room full of starry white petals.

“Happy Easter to you, dear Snow Queen!” Anne called out her window, finishing tying her braids.

Down below she noticed a horse trotting up the drive. It was Gilbert Blythe. Anne took a quiet moment to really assess her rival. He was really quite handsome, having left boyhood behind, and looked all manly at the moment astride his horse.

Gilbert dismounted, and, noticing Anne in her window, waved. Ashamed at being caught, Anne drew back and slammed her window closed.

As she made her way down the stairs she could hear Gilbert’s voice.

“I’m here to retrieve whatever foodstuffs you are providing for Easter dinner.”

Marilla answered him back. “The shepherd’s pie isn’t quite done, so we’ll bring it along when we come over later. Anne,” Marilla said, spotting the latter as she entered the kitchen. “Will you fetch that pie I made last night? And a few of those fruit preserves, please.”

Anne did as she was bid, and quick as naught, had an old sturdy basket filled with food looped over Gilbert’s arm.

“We’ll be over there after church. Now get, get, or you’ll be late!” Marilla shooed Gilbert out the door goodnaturedly. “Are you ready for church, Anne?”

Anne twirled, showing off the new dress Marilla had made her. It was green-- a dark green like an evergreen tree-- with accents of gingham at the wrist, hem, and yoke. “I love it, Marilla.”

“I’m glad.” Marilla sighed, glancing out the window. “There’s Matthew with the buggy now. Let me pull the shepherd’s pie out of the oven and we’ll be off.” Marilla set the dish on the warm stove, covering it with a cloth. “There, that will keep it warm until we return.”

“Is it alright if I go over early to help Mary?” Anne asked.

“After church, mind you. Now grab your coat and let’s be off.”

Anne walked with Gilbert to his home. “Lovely service. I’m sad that Bash and Mary couldn’t make it.”

Gilbert glanced aside at her. “You know that it’s just an excuse, right?”

Anne raised an eyebrow, scoffing. “I remember that first Sunday. I thought the minister would die from apoplexy there on the spot! I think it so shameful that some folks discriminate. And especially a minister who preaches we’re all equal in God’s eyes! Being banned from the church just because the color of their skin... Oh and don’t get me started on Diana’s parents.”

“They sent a note declining Mary’s invitation.” Gilbert added, glowering and shaking his head. “Within all the flourishing and fancy language, it wasn’t hard to detect the real reason. We all know they won’t come because Bash and Mary are black. It’s disgusting.”

Together they trudged through the mud in the path. A silence fell on the pair, but while in the past it would have made Anne uncomfortable, right now she felt at ease. Was their rivalry truly at an end? Could they perhaps, be friends?

Somehow, that word wasn’t adequate enough to describe her relationship with Gilbert. Her and Diana were friends , and her and Ruby were friends as well in a similar way. Same with Cole and Aunt Jo. Kindred Spirits and friends all rolled into one.

She and Gilbert were friends not in that way. They were different but she couldn’t put her finger at how...

Anne, frustrated at how the right word eluded her, wasn’t watching where her footsteps were landing, and she stumbled over a hidden branch.

“Careful,” admonished Gilbert with a little laugh, catching her elbow to steady her.

“Thanks.” He let go and, strangely, Anne mourned the loss of his touch.

Soon, they made it to the Blythe-Lacroix house, which was already a-bustle with activity. Mary met them at the door.

“Gilbert Blythe! You will stay outside. I want no bad luck of yours to interfere with my cooking, you hear me? You take one step inside this kitchen and your curse will rain down and ruin all my hard work. You can clean yourself up in the barn and enter in through the other door.”

“Aye aye ma’am.” Gilbert gave a goofy salute and headed off round the back.

Anne smiled at Mary. “Would you like some help?”

“I believe I’m all about finished, but thank you for your offer. Maybe you could set the table? There’s Marilla and Matthew now. Oh! And the Lyndes right behind them.”

Soon they were all gathered together, and Sebastian said Grace.

Mary cleared her throat. “Thank you all for coming. You’ve made my heart good. It’s so nice to cook for a large gathering again.”

“Thank you for having us, Mary.” Marilla smiled over her glass.

“What did you put in your chicken Mary? It is absolutely scrumptious and divine.” Anne sighed, in raptures over the blend of spices on her tongue.

“Let’s see, paprika, cumin, tarragon, pepper, and a hint of lemon. I’m glad you like it.”

“Like it? It’s the best chicken I’ve ever tasted!” Anne caught sight of Marilla and hastily amended her statement. “After Marilla’s, of course.”

“Yes, Marilla’s fried chicken is always wonderful,” Rachel Lynde chimed in. “But your chicken, Mary, well, has an… unusual taste, that’s for sure.”

Anne glared at Mrs. Lynde, annoyed.

While the adults changed the subject and chattered about someone’s new cow or other, Gilbert nudged her arm. “Here, you can have more of mine.” He said quietly, gesturing to his plate.

Anne turned the glare on him. “Why? Do you not like it either?” She snarled.

Gilbert raised his hands to ward off her ire. “Relax, Anne. I enjoy Mary’s cooking just swell. But since I’m full and still have some left, perhaps you’d like to finish it, since you seem to like it so much.”

Anne felt chagrined, as though he’d just chastised her. “Sorry. Yes, thank you.”

Gilbert slid what was left of his piece of chicken onto her plate.

Anne quickly bit into it, half moaning at the taste. Finished too fast for her liking, another piece found it’s way into her mouth. This time, she caught Matthew’s eye over the table. He warily shook his head, reaching up and flipping his nose with his index finger, sublty pointing in Mrs. Lynde’s direction

Anne, confused, looked over at the woman.

“Oh my goodness!” Mrs. Lynde gasped, her hand clasped to her chest, her eyes large with scandal. “I cannot believe such a thing.”

Suddenly, all eyes were on Anne. She swallowed quickly, utterly baffled.

“Anne Shirley Cuthbert! I thought you knew better than that!” Marilla admonished, adding her two bits.

“What? It’s just chicken.”

“Yes, but to eat after Gilbert has already partaken of it is such a shameful thing. And you, young man,” She added, turning to Anne’s companion. “You ought to know better as well.”

Anne rose to his defense in indignation. “He offered because I enjoyed Mary’s chicken so much, nothing more. And besides, Matthew shares his food with me all the time. How is this any different?”

“Matthew is your guardian dearest, that’s understandable.” Mrs. Lynde coaxed.”But to share food with a man you’re not related to…” She shuddered, shaking her head.”How utterly shameful.”

Anne narrowed her eyes defiantly and, holding Mrs. Lynde’s gaze, took another bite of chicken.

The entire table erupted.

Mrs. Lynde and Marilla started shouting, Anne glaring while she finished her bite, then stood, hurling words back as good as she got.

Meanwhile, Matthew and Mr. Lynde exchanged looks before escaping out the door, and Mary hurriedly started cleaning up plates. Gilbert, seeing this, seized his chance to escape as well and jumped up to help Mary. Sebastian was frozen in place, his head whipping back and forth between the two opponents as though following a game of shuttlecock.

“I don’t see why it’s such a big deal--”

“Anne Shirley-Cuthbert you will not talk to your elders this way--”

“Teenagers! Didn’t I warn you Marilla that she would be nothing but trouble, her and her red hair--”

“Why are we bringing my hair into this? It’s not like I can change it! Oh wait, I already tried that!--”

“I am not discussing this further. You have behaved rather shamelessly and now--”

“If you had just listened to me, Marilla she would’ve been brought up right but no, you listened to Matthew and now look what’s happened--”

“Nothing happened! I do this all the time! I don’t see what’s shameful about it at all--”

“We’re leaving right this instance--”

“I won’t stand for it--”

“Argh! Enough, fine!”

“Fine!”

“Fine!” Mrs. Lynde left in a huff the door slamming shut behind her.

Marilla, cross with Anne, grabbed the girl by her shoulders and planned to march the girl straight to the buggy for an uncomfortable ride home.

Just before crossing the threshold, Anne turned back to Mary.

“I’m ever so sorry I ruined your dinner. It really was lovely.”

Mary shook her head, smiling. “Anne, it was in no way ruined. In fact, there was always a tussle or an argument anytime I held dinner at the Bog. Felt like home.”

Anne smiled and allowed Marilla to steer her outside.

As they descended the steps, they could hear Bash raise his voice. “You know better than to feed a woman off your plate. What were you thinking!?”

“I wasn’t! I was just trying to do something nice for her! I…” The rest of Gilbert's response was muffled and lost to the ears.

Anne smiled a little. At least she wasn’t the only one getting a scolding tonight, that’s for sure.

(Read the whole thing on AO3)

#shirbert #shirbert fics #gilbert blythe #anne shirley cuthbert #awae #i'm doing this differently

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trinidother · 3 years

Text

Mommy Minerva's Blacked Afternoon

For single house-mom Minerva Grimsly, life was a damn constant battle between boredom and bliss. Nothing really satisfied her. She became pregnant at 17, then later took to raising what ended up being two daughters all on her own. Was she going to settle though? Hell no. If there was one thing Minerva knew she wanted, it was everything.

She wanted everything. She wanted a good job, a nice house, and happy, healthy children. That was easy, and something she always flaunted. She was a successful, refined, classy, self-made woman in all respects. Miss Grimsly, at the tender age of 35, owned her own house, 4 cars (two for her daughters, one grocery-getter, and one for fun), and had the best dress sense of any woman in the neighborhood. Some even said the city.

Her curves, a lot like her rich, raven hair and endless ocean mist-gray eyes, were what some might call excessive. She had a huge, round, and perfectly form-fitting ass. The same could be said for her perfect breasts, which sat round, bouncy, and 100% real on her toned torso with a visible rib cage and soft tummy. If it wasn’t for those curves, her striking eyes and fashion sense would’ve landed her on catwalks for billion-dollar italian luxury brands. But it seemed she was much happier with her life now.

Because she got everything she wanted.

And that wasn’t like most people in her upper-class neighborhood, who’s external success hid some secret pain inside. Oh, Minerva had secrets, sure, but not the painful kind.

Her main secret to success? Along with being an absolute bombshell with enough explosive punch inside to flatten a good city block, she was also a massive hypocrite.

Minerva Grimsly was an outspoken moral woman. Her business would donate plenty of it’s ample revenue to charities, she always made her daughters promise to never date a guy they wouldn’t marry, and, likewise, to promise not to flaunt their wealth at school. And she did a great job at all that. As for when she was alone, in secret?

Let’s not mince words; perfect mom Minerva Grimsly was also a whore who liked getting fucking railed by massive cocks. The bigger, the better. The blacker? The way better.

That’s what she was doing right now, in fact. Well, that’s not true; she was actually in her bathroom, wearing some lingerie black as her hair, throwing away a pack of condoms. It was full. Was she throwing it away because she knew the mandingo stud she had waiting in her bedroom was way too big for those little condoms, or because she wanted the feeling of his gargantuan black cock erupting against her cervix? We may never know.

But what we can know is that Minerva wasn’t stupid. She never bought condoms that weren’t XXL. Of course, this is a black guy we’re talking about. Even if the condoms were max size, that doesn’t exactly give credence to either possibility. Minerva sure knew how to pick ‘em though.

She looked at herself in the mirror. She looked lovely, of course, but that much could be said about her 24/7/365. Minerva had no delusions about her appearance, even when she wasn’t in perfect makeup, with her glasses perfectly even, black opal earrings on, pearl necklace around her neck as tight as a teenage girl with daddy issues’ choker, and of course, that lingerie. She looked nicer now, to fuck some random black guy in her bed, than she did for 90% of business functions. Why shouldn’t she? This was the most important part of her day.

The time when she got to feel satisfied.

And make no mistake. Just as Minerva knew as she puckered up her red-lipsticked lips, you should know that ‘part of her day’ wasn’t figurative. She brought home a new fuckbuddy every day almost. Sneaking around her daughters was stressful, sure. It would be horrible if she was caught fucking a man she barely knew, especially a black one. She would be totally exposed as a hypocrite, and her relationship with her daughters that she worked so hard to perfect would be ruined.

But on the other hand, big, hard, nigger cocks drilling deep into her soft, pliable, white MILF holes? Yes fucking please.

So she indulged. She got her daughters on their merry way, leading the active, healthy lives of physically fit white suburban teenagers, while she got her pussy impaled by some oversized black man she picked up while zipping around in her convertible. A hypocrite and a liar. And a happy one.

Today, her daughter, Maddie, was out on a date with her boyfriend. He was a sweetheart, a nerdy, academic little white kid. He also ran track, did extracurriculars, and was generally liked. The perfect little white boy for Maddie to date. The sort who bought a 10 year old economy car with his own money for a summer job. The sort who asked for books for christmas. The exact sort of unassuming boy Minerva would like her daughter to marry and be happy with.

Minerva, of course, could never do that. That sort of boy was what she called a wimp, the sort of loser who she wouldn’t look twice at, ever. Not just because he was white, but because he was so bookish, so polite. It was rude of her to admit, but white guys like him? All they did to Minerva was make her panties dry right up. And Minerva never liked feeling dry panties.

Still, Maddie liked him, so Minerva genuinely wished them the best. Just like she genuinely couldn’t wait for the hung black stud she had waiting for her to make her fucking sore in the morning, only to have her do this again next afternoon.

“Alright,” she breathed, looking herself over in the mirror. She spun around and pushed a finger up against the underside of her soft, round butt. Barely a jiggle. “Good!” she breathed. Her body was more than good. It was fucking perfect. She was sure her daughters were happy she didn’t wear revealing clothes in public (much), or every boy in school would be drooling after her bountiful tits and plump rump.

She slid open the sliding door connecting the master bedroom and the bathroom. And struck a pose too, with her arm on the doorframe, hips cocked to the side, and of course, chest hanging out. “Sorry to keep you waiting, stud,” she said, able to fucking taste her thick, cherry-red lipstick.

On her overpriced, over decorated, TempurPedic-matteresed bed was her ‘friend’ Tyrone, totally naked, relaxing back without a care in the world. If there was a word to describe him, it’d be ‘full’.

Minerva was curvy, with a tiny waist (though not as tiny as it used to be…) and pillowy assets, but all of her was fucking dwarfed by Tyrone. If that was even his real name.

He had big, full pecs, with equally rounded shoulders. His thighs? Just as massive, along with that big belly, a sign of a good diet and hard work. It even had defined abs. Everything about him looked stuffed to the brim. To call Minerva’s ass plump next to this superior man would be criminal. She was happy she had enough to please him. There was a reason she only fucked black.

“Took you long enough babe. I was almost thinking you were trying to trick me.” He said. His lips were just as full and plump, with the sort of cruel sneer that made every white boy shrink in fear and every white girl’s panties wet. As you know, Minerva lived to feel her inner thighs get soaked.

And we didn’t even describe his cock.

Flaccid; or, as flaccid as that thick, sturdy hunk of dark brown meat could get, it was still a tough slab of flesh that was halfway as long as his thigh, and fittingly fat. “Sorry babe, I just wanted to make sure I looked perfect for you. After all, you already do.”

“Hah!” he grinned with large, white teeth. Even if he was a toothless hobo, Minerva would have still probably fucked him. She’d tell herself she wouldn’t, but when there was a stream flowing out of her panties, she couldn’t resist. “Well, I’m happy to look so perfect for a beautiful lady like yo-self,” he boomed. He looked over his prize proudly.

“You flatter me,” she said smuggle. Of course, she also bobbed her shoulders up and down, just so Tyrone got a view of those double-d’s bouncing. With a poofy sound on the fluffed covers, Minerva got to her work fluffing this bulls massive cock. Sure, it was as big and fat as her head, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t try to blow it.

“Ahh fuck yea,” he moaned as her lips went around his cockhead. He pushed her head down on that massive cock. She drooled all over it, which made his dark, ashy cock gleam with the afternoon light from her windows. “I was waiting so long this thing got cold.”

She pulled up. She was used to cocks being so big she gagged on them, but this one was so thick that she couldn’t even get his head to touch her uvula. The big veiny shaft got real fat real fast. Too fat to actually fit past her lips. It hurt her cheeks to even try and stretch that much.

“What’s wrong? Can’t deepthroat it?”

She pulled off with a loud, wet gasp. “Ah- heh- I’d give twenty grand to any girl you can find that can fit this fucking moooonster down her throat,” she laughed crazily with her head by its side. She sucked her juices of his veiny shaft loudly. The big black cock lived up to its name and was far longer than the length between her ears.

Tyrone laughed boomingly. “Hah, no, not really. But I like to think one day some bitch’ll managed.”

After a long, loud, slurrrrrrrrrrp!, Minerva managed to tear her hungry lips off his cock. “Fuck it’s huge,” she whispered. She honestly couldn’t blame some white girls for not acting attracted to black guys. This was a chore to get off, even if she loved it. “Well, sorry honey, but that girl isn’t me.”

“Yeah, I know bitch. But you’re going good, just keep sucking.”

“Yes, sir,” she smiled with that devilish grin of a bad mommy before going right back down to serve her man for today’s black dick. She sucked down the head good, like it was one of those massive lollipops way too big for a little kid’s mouth. Though she was a tall, busy business woman, just trying to suck this black dick, even with all the experience she knew she had, made her feel like an amateur. A little girl against a real man.

At least her tongue still knew what to do. She gave him the massage of his life right on his cockhead, sure to tease the most sensitive zone on a man’s body while she looked up at him with those sharp gray eyes. She got on her knees, sticking up her curvy ass for him to see all of.

A few minutes of that felt like an eternity. She wanted it to last longer.

“Fuck baby- aw fuck yeah bitch, I’m gonna cum.”

“Yethhhh,” Minerva gasped with lust that did not fit her name. Her tongue was still glued to the tip of his tongue, tasting the precum he leaked. She forced herself to put it back in her mouth. It felt strange there; like it belonged on a black dick. “I’ll fucking swallow it all, babe.”

“Naw, naw,” the black bull huffed. He grabbed a fistful of Minerva’s raven hair, pulling her face right below his stone-hard cock. “Imma but all over your whore face.”

Those words made her ears tingle and her cunt gush. She was a whore. Respected businesswoman, mother, and neighborhood association member, was really meant to be here. She was a slut, a whore, a hole to please big black cocks. What else could Minerva Grimsly need?

She stared up at his god cock, her ass still sticking up. It began flowing. That beautiful, thick, pungent cum poured out of his dick. Fat spurts and twitches sent it flying. He cummed on her face, coating her red cheeks with his seed. His filthy, sexy semen could’ve drowned her and she would die happy. It smeared her makeup and got in her glasses. Fuck, that was hard to clean. Maybe she wouldn’t even.

“Fuck,” he huffed, dropping his head back down into the pillow, “you like that, bitch?”

“Yessir,” she breathed. Minerva licked the dripping cum off her lips as she thought of how she’d threaten to call the cops if anyone called her a bitch in public. She’d probably make a scene, like your typical spoiled suburban white work mom.

Of course, cock like this was what she really spoiled herself with.

She rested her head on his thigh, stretching her tired neck and jaw. All that work, and she barely got that monster cock into her mouth; and it was still so amazing to look at. With her face on his thigh, through just a little bit of his thick, manly hair, she got to smell that beautiful, hot aroma from his sweaty, churning balls. When she raised her eyes, she could see his black dick standing like a monolith. She wanted to get it inside of her. No way it wouldn’t turn her into a screamer.

“It’s still hard,” she muttered, more in awe than actually thinking about it. Minerva always turned her brain off when she melted into the throes of interracial pleasure.

“Yeah bitch, it is,” snorted her man, “All y’all white bitches can’t believe it,” he reached down and ruffled Minerva’s sleek hair. She accepted. “Prolly ‘cause y’all’s men can’t muster that shit, huh?”

“Please,” scoffed Minerva with a wicked grin she knew her daughters never, ever saw, “I haven’t been with a white guy in years. I went black and I’m never, ever,” she rolled over to take a long, pregnant lick at his balls, “going back.”

“So I was right?” he cocked an eyebrow. Cocky bastard. Huge-cocked too. Minerva would kill herself if her daughters brought home a man like this. She was about to cream herself.

“Wanna keep going?” she asked. The bed creaked as she climbed up onto it. She was rather desperate to distract her body, or she’d start fucking squiritng without even touching herself. How embarrassing. It happened more often than you’d expect, thanks to black guys.

“Fuck yeah bitch, you know I’m up n’ ready.” He bared his teeth. It looked like a grin, but Minerva saw it as an animalistic display of power. To tell her that he was about to rut into her and strip away what made her her. After all, she really didn’t act like she cared about it. Her money? Her career? Her family? If she really cared about that all, she wouldn’t be fucking a hung black bull every day of the week. And here she was.

“Yes, yesss,” Minerva muttered under her breath as she tossed her leg over his pelvis and straddled his dark, sweaty body. She grinded against him with enough force to strip a lesser cock to the bone. To squirt all she had to do was hump her needy pussy, shaved for ease of use, against his godcock. She did. “F-fuck- ah- ahh, fuck-”

“Shit babe, you fucking-”

“Fuck- yes I’m fucking cumming- aw!” She tossed her head back and her black hair swung. Her breasts and huge tits heaved as she panted. Was she shuddering? Probably. This guy’s name was fucking Tyrone, of course he gave her good orgasms.

“Damn, that fast?”

“Fuck,” she swore again and dropped forward over him. She stretched her neck and her arms. “I mean- yeah? But don’t let it stop you, big boy. No refractory period for us ladies, remember? I’m expecting eight or nine orgasms before the sun goes down.”

“No rubbers?”

“Hell no!” she smiled a little wildly, “I through those stupid things away!”

“Aight, you crazy bitch,” he grinned again and lifted his huge, two-toned hand to push his fat cock up against her. It pushed just a little into her slight tummy fat. “Let’s fuckin start.”

Minerva’s face grew into a crazed smile. A whole 24 hours without riding black cock, and a white woman was bound to go crazy. She bit her lower lip, held on to his strong belly, pushed up, and eased her white pussy onto that black dick.

Except she didn’t ease it. She was so slippery and wet, and her pussy had been so stretched out by constant hookups with horse-hung black strangers, that Tyrone barely had to push to shove his BBC balls deep into her cunt.

“Fuck!” they said, in perfect unison. Black career woman, ghetto thug? Perfect combo. Their hips rotated and moved. Sometimes they bounced up and down and against each other. That black dick in her white MILF body made a noticeable bulge from inside of her. She drooled, with fat glops of her saliva hitting his body the same time her thighs did. Her feet, still in heels, were on the bed, and her knees were up. Much more of this, and she would go limp, and he’d just have to thrust it into her until she had enough orgasms. His cock stretched her pussy out as far as it could go. Yeah, by tomorrow, her hole would return to its normal state for some other black man to satisfy himself in. And her, of course. She was always satisfied.

“I’m cumming!” She yelled. Thank god the house was empty. “I’m cummmmmmingggg I’m cumming I’m cumming!” From behind his girthy dick, her asscheeks clenched as tight as her pussy as she finally orgasmed. Again.

He slowed, courteous. When he fucked white women in neighborhoods like this, they were usually nervous, cheating on their good husbands and taking huge dick for the first time. He had to be kind to them, reassure them, make sure not to hurt them. Minerva was a different breed. She had none of that.

“Don’t fucking stop, are you fucking stupid?!”

Without hesitating, Tyrone raised his hand and slapped her right across the face. “Don’t you fuckin say that shit to me, white bitch. I don’t tolerate that.” He scolded as he held her face roughly.

“Yes sir,” Minerva squeaked through her pinched cheeks and puckered mouth. “Y-you can punish me for it, stud. You should- gulp- do that right now.” Her eyes were wide. Her pupils were dilated.

“Mm… I think I will bitch.” He relaxed again. Her legs slid down to the bed with her knees facing him. Easy access to slap her thigh; or spank her ass. And spank he did. That big, strong, black arm reached over, with Minerva just as scared of it as any other woman in the neighborhood. He brought his hand down again with a powerful SLAP!

“Owwww,” whined Minerva. Unbecoming for such a woman. Reduced to a horny little kid for big black cock, as usual.

“Fucking take it,” he slapped her again. Her back stiffened. SLAP. SLAP. With those, as her thick ass rippled, she started moving back. And forth.

Back and Forth. SLAP. She winced, but her juicing pussy showed how she really felt about the pain. As she went forward she lifted up a little. Her red ass now clapped on his dick again.

10 seconds later, they were going at it like animals. “FUCK YEAH FUCK YEAH FUCK YEAH” reverberated throughout Minerva’s Hobby Lobby-decorated house. She was so fucking happy to have her insides rearranged by that massive black dick. Maybe she’d bring Tyrone over for a second playdate, she almost never did that. She didn’t have time to think though. Only time to get fucked.

But then, there was what you call the twist.

She couldn’t hear it over the sounds of herself getting railed, but, downstairs and to the left, the Grimsly house’s front door was unlocked. A half a second later, as it opened, her overpriced security system sent a BEEP BEEP BEEP. Throughout the house. That she heard.

Part of living a double life was changing personas fast. When you were the most respectable woman and the biggest whore on the planet, you got good at that. So sure, Minerva Grimsly did just drop down a whole foot to take in Tryone’s BBC, but the second she heard that alarm in her ears, she jumped up, and all the chemicals in her brain triggered by their hot sex seemed like they were gone. And she didn’t like it.

“What is it?” asked Tyrone, “Someone home?”

“You heard it too, right?” Minerva was standing on her heels on her TempurPedic. Her back was hunched over to not hit her head on the ceiling fan. Her hair was a mess. Her pussy was still dripping. It wasn’t a great look.

“Yeah?” he said.

“Aw fuck, she wasn’t supposed to be home this early!” Minerva jumped on the bed and landed unsteadily on her heels to hobble over to the door, all the way praying to herself please don’t be Maddie please don’t be Maddie please don’t be Maddie; and Minerva wasn’t even a religious woman.

She opened the door and looked. Thankfully, ish, the hallway gave her a clear view straight down to the front door. And, there clear as day, was cute, well-raised, polite little Maddie Grimsly, with her perfectly milquetoast boyfriend.

And Minerva still wanted to orgasm 7 more times today.

That was gonna be an issue.

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