#Free Standing Flower Tower

[ichorai]

xerox ; robert reynolds ; part three.

part one. | part two. | part four.

pairing ; robert (bob) reynolds x reader, thunderbolts & reader

synopsis ; you had one last job before you were free. no more splitting, no more deaths. unfortunately, that job seemed to rope in four other assassins and a... a man in hospital-wear?

words ; 4.3k

themes ; action, angst, slowburn, fluffy near the end, the beginnings of romance

warnings / includes ; violence, reader has the ability to split into multiple bodies (think dupli-kate from invincible), the void is hot unfortunately, foul language, everyone's mental health sucks but they're actually getting better now!

a/n ; this chapter is a bit shorter than the other two just because it only covers the very end of the movie PLUS a little bonus scene to get you guys excited for future avengers tower moments :) thank you again for all the support! also did you guys catch the mutant mention wink wonk

main masterlist. read on ao3!

listen to a xerox playlist on spotify / youtube music! xerox's face claim :)

Bob’s first room had an angry, middle-aged man standing in the very center, veins protruding out of his neck as he yelled gibberish. Flecks of spittle fell from his slurring lips. Bob, whose warm hand was intertwined with yours, flinched at the sudden volume. 

Walker didn’t hesitate to strike him down with his taco-shaped shield. 

“He seems nice,” Ava said.

The room gave a massive rumble, as if upset that things weren’t going its way, and the walls began to close in. 

“This way!” Alexei bellowed, ushering everyone forward into a wooden wardrobe full of clothes. 

“Narnia?” you asked as you shouldered through moth-eaten coats, giving Bob a quick glance over your shoulder. 

Bob gave you a nervous smile. “It was one of my favorites as a kid.”

The floors gave out beneath you, and you found yourself free-falling for a few seconds before landing on the rough ground with a resounding thud. The new room smelled of gasoline and burnt rubber tires.

You helped Yelena up to her feet, only to be whacked over the back of the head with a sharp plastic sign that read ALFREDO’S BAIL BONDS! in a hideous shade of red, by a chicken mascot that had equally hard-on-the-eyes yellow feathers. With a low moan, you started crawling away from the crazed chicken, who had turned to attack Ava and Alexei. 

“Oh, God!” Bob exclaimed, scrambling over to give you a hand. “Are you okay?”

“IF YOU DON’T STOP HITTING ME WITH THAT SIGN—!” Alexei gruffed from across the room, now bleeding from the nose.

“I was on meth!” Bob shrieked apologetically right before grabbing your head and shoving you down just in time to duck away from another sign-swing from the high chicken. 

Whilst lowered, you spotted a stack of wooden vegetable crates across the street. There seemed to be no other exits from the room. Ava kept the chicken occupied and distracted by repeatedly phasing through him, so you took the opportunity to break open the bottom of the crates, which smelled faintly of rotting tomatoes.

“Through here!” you called. “Crawl through the crates!”

Past-Bob made a bee-line for current Bob, the sharp end of the sign aimed straight at him like a crude stake. With a stinging cheek and a clenched jaw, Bucky stepped in between them and punched the chicken square in the face (beak?) with his metal arm. 

As you made your way through to the new room, you distantly heard Walker gagging behind you. “I hate tomatoes.”

Through the crates was a cleaner, more sterile space. The new room looked… clinical. You immediately tensed, eyes darting back and forth. There were beakers, needles, and measuring devices everywhere—all the marks of a science lab. You had to suck in a deep, painful breath to remind yourself that this wasn’t your room—it was Bob’s. A few meters away from you, there was an operating table. Big surgical lights looming over it like curved, robotic flowers. And on the bed sat past-Bob, shoulders hunched into himself. He looked the very same as the Bob right beside you, holding your hand. But his eyes were sunken and empty. Tired.

“I’ve been here before,” Yelena whispered. “Malaysia.”

Bob bit down on the inside of his cheek. “It’s where it all started. I was roaming Southeast Asia. Thought I’d figure something out. A way to find more drugs. And there’s this guy… he started talking to me about a medical study. A trial drug that can make me stronger and not feel like… me anymore. It was like a miracle.”

You felt your face fall with sympathy. You squeezed his hand, and Bob met your gaze with pursed lips. Slowly, the group began to advance towards Past-Bob. At least he wasn’t swinging a sign at all of your heads in a chicken suit this time.

“I thought I would get to show everyone that I was more… that I was something,” Bob told everyone, shame tinting each of his words a melancholic blue.

Past-Bob, now shrouded in shadow, finally straightened. 

“And look what you unleashed,” the voice purred, echoing in your head as if he had managed to worm inside and tapping at the very base of your ear drums.

That wasn’t Bob, you realized with a heavy pit in your stomach. It was the Void. He hopped off the surgical table, turning to face the team, face dark, but eyes glowing.

“How could you possibly think you could be worth anything?” he said, calm as untouched waters. You could feel your skin prickle.

Yelena stepped forward. “We’re leaving.”

The Void stayed silent for a moment, scrutinizing the ragged team of misfits and criminals with an empty expression. Then, he shook his head in miniscule movements. “No,” he simply said.

Behind him the surgical table rose into the air and flew across the room at a startlingly rapid speed, crashing against Yelena and Alexei, pinning them against the wall behind. The long strips of buzzing, artificial lights above were torn from the ceiling and wound around Bucky, keeping him to one of the lab’s counters. Several metal frames from a window came whizzing across the room to bury into the edges of Walker’s suit, keeping him stuck on the ground. Ava was sent flying into the other side of the lab when a crumbled garbage can wound about her midriff. She would have phased right through it, but there was a force weighing her down. 

You managed to dodge the door that was coming at you, having to relinquish Bob’s hand to do so, but missed the heavy metal shelf used to store plastic pill pots heading toward you from the opposite direction. It slammed into your stomach, knocking the wind from your lungs, and you were left struggling fruitlessly against the wall it lodged you up against. 

“Stop,” Bob pleaded to the Void with wide, watery eyes. “Let them go.”

“You think they care about you?” The Void stepped closer until he was right in front of you, close enough that you could feel it—the cold darkness. The dread. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes. The weight of all you’ve done wrong, all the people you’ve murdered and maimed, all your deaths, all your lies—resting right on top of your sternum. You gasped for breath. You felt something cold touch your face, so cold it felt blistering hot. You simultaneously wanted to pull away and lean in closer. The Void’s fingers were caressing your cheek ever so gently, and Bob did nothing but watch. He felt frozen to the floor, paralyzed with fear and uncertainty. 

“Xerox… lovely, sad Xerox…” crooned the Void, almost sing-songy. “Bob’s got a fixation with you, you know. It’s pathetic. He’s like a sad mutt begging for scraps from the table.” There was an amused hum from him before he continued, this time speaking to Bob. “Xerox doesn’t want to help you. None of them do. They’re all using you. Deep down, you know they despise you. You’re a burden.”

“That’s not true!” Yelena screamed from the opposite side of the room. IV drip wires wrapped around her throat so tight her eyelids fluttered and her words were caught on her tongue. 

“Isn’t that right, Xerox?” said the Void, his cool thumb slipped beneath your chin to tilt your head up as he regarded you with those cold, blank eyes. “You chose the darkness. You chose me.”

“I came…” The weight was growing stronger. The words felt like thorns in your mouth, painful to speak. What was he doing to you? “I came to help him.”

The Void tilted his head. Then, you felt the coldness close around your throat. The edges of your vision darkened. If your hands weren’t pinned back, you would’ve been clawing at your neck for breath.

“I told you… he doesn’t want your help. He’s pathetic. Why would he deserve it? Deserve you? Now tell him. Tell him the truth. It’s what he needs to hear… some tough love.”

When you opened your mouth this time, words spilled out that weren’t yours. “I don’t want to help you,” you found yourself saying. Not to the Void, but to Bob. Your Pal. You gasped, a cold tear slipping down your cheek. The words came out grated, as if someone had forced you to swallow razors. “I never liked you, Robert. You’re nothing. In fact, worse than that. You’re an active hindrance. A thorn in everyone’s side. I wish… schkk—I wish you had stayed dead when they shot you down.”

“That’s right,” murmured the Void. “Good.”

“Please stop,” Bob ground out. You weren’t sure if he was saying that to you or to the Void. 

His dark counterpart laughed a deep, rumbling noise. “Robert the Hero. Doesn’t sound right, does it? Fake. Like a comic book story. What a joke.”

Walker was close to prying himself out of his confines. 

The Void flicked his wrist. All the glass from the beakers and volumetric cylinders in the lab exploded. Crystal shards scratched at the team’s face, leaving everyone with stinging, bloodied cuts. The Void’s hand slipped away from your throat to pull out the piece of glass that had embedded into your skin. 

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he said, almost a whisper. It would’ve sounded sincere if it hadn’t sounded like an automated message. “You do enough of that to yourself. Did you enjoy what I showed you? The darkness has been kind to you, hasn’t it? The only one you can trust is yourself.”

“Yes,” you choked out, and your head bowed into a nod even though you hadn’t wanted to. “I deserve to relive it all. All the worst parts of me. I’m just as bad as I thought I was.”

Bob was breathing heavily, expression twisted into one of pain. The Void was hurting you. He was hurting you. 

“I’m stronger than you,” Bob told his alter-ego, trying to sound more confident than he was. “I can beat you.”

The Void grinned. It was a terrifying sight. Wolfish. Predatory. “Let’s see.”

The shadowed figure finally stepped away from you, and you seemed to lean forward, as if chasing his touch. Once the Void was far enough, Bob watched you recoil with a trace of disgust to your expression. At yourself or at him?

“It wasn’t me,” you croaked, misty eyes now glued to Bob. Not the Void. Just Bob. “Palindrome. It wasn’t me.”

And Bob believed you. He trusted you. With a determined nod, he ran forward and swung a punch to the Void. The dark mass hit back with equal ferocity, sending Bob sprawling to the ground. Glass dug into his skin.

“Get up, Bobby,” Walker gruffed. “Get up!”

“You thought you would be some great man? Some savior?” taunted the Void as he kicked at Bob. “You can’t even save yourself.”

You watched in horror as the Void picked Bob up by the scruff of his sweatshirt, and struck him three more times. 

“We will always be alone.”

The room began to shift, elongating. The entire group was pulled further and further away from Bob and the Void. Bob watched the team go—his friends grow smaller with the distance—and blew out a choked breath. Alexei was bleeding profusely from his head. Yelena’s face was turning blue from the cords cutting her airway. Ava, Bucky, and John were still working against their bonds. Bob glanced at you hanging limply behind the shelf, staring at nothing in particular with glazed eyes. No doubt that was the Void’s doing. 

Bob turned. His lips curled angrily. Then he launched himself at the Void with a mangled cry. He began punching the figure with all his might. To his fury, the Void only smiled, unhurt.

“There we go,” the Void whispered in a mocking manner. “Show them how strong you are.”

The room began to crack and crumble. Darkness began to eat away at Bob the more he struck his darker self. His shoes were swallowed first, now beginning to crawl up his shins. 

“This isn’t right,” Bucky gruffed. 

“Bob, stop!” Yelena coughed out. Having had enough, Alexei strained as much as he could to push the weight off of them. Just enough to let Yelena wriggle loose. She slipped out with a pained groan, tore the IV off her, and began running towards Bob. The room shifted to try to stop her—throwing cabinets and beakers and tables at her, but she lithely dodged each one. 

By the time she got to Bob, the darkness had seeped up to his neck. 

“I’m here,” she said, wrapping her arms around Bob from behind, trying to hold him back. Bob kept hitting the darkness, relentless.

“It will always be just us,” the Void told him, almost comforting. “I’m the only one you can rely on.”

Yelena held onto him tighter. “I’m here, Bob,” repeated Yelena. “You’re not alone.”

Finally, Bucky managed to tear himself free. He helped Walker get free, and Walker then stalked over to push the shelf off of you with a grunt. You collapsed with a dizzy intake of breath. Ava and Alexei were quick to free themselves afterwards, bonds slightly loosened—it seemed that Yelena’s words of comfort were actually helping. 

The rest of the team ran towards Bob, Yelena, and the Void. 

“We’re all here,” Yelena told her friend. “We’re here for you, Bob.”

You kneeled down beside him, hand wrapping around the wrist that led to a now-bloodied fist. The team piled together, all holding Bob—and each other. In the tangled mess of limbs and arms, Bob began to weep. His head knocked against yours as he sobbed, and you held him all the tighter. 

“Let it out, Pal,” you said. “We’ve got you.”

Then the entire group fell backwards. Your spine hit the rough surface of a broken road. After blinking several times and adjusting to the sudden onslaught of light, the city of New York came back into view. The shadows were slowly but surely melting away. 

The team slowly struggled to their feet. People were gradually but surely returning from the Void’s realm.

You sniffled, wiping an errant tear with your sleeve. The Void’s hold on your mind was still fresh, and you certainly felt a little worse for wear. You felt Bob’s concerned hand on your shoulder, and you turned and enveloped him into a sudden, tight hug, yanking him close. He emitted a noise of surprise, but his arms wound around you out of instinct. 

“I’m so sorry,” you said, breathing shallow and rapid. “I don’t wish you died. I don’t think you’re a burden. I think you’re really sweet and cool and—” Your words were spoken so quickly and pretty muffled into the fabric of his sweatshirt that Bob didn’t really catch them.

Bob held you until your breaths mellowed out a bit. Even patted your back a few times for good measure. There were no complaints on his end for the hug, but he wasn’t very sure why you were giving him one. 

“This is nice,” he started, uncertain.

“Sorry, I didn’t ask if I could hug you,” you whispered once you pulled away, cheeks flushed.

“You don’t need to ask,” he said, almost too quickly. There was a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks. “You don’t ever need to ask to hug me. It’s nice. I like it.”

Walker came to stand beside you, having done a quick survey of the premise. “You were great in there, Bob.”

Bob blinked at the bearded man and smiled. That was probably the nicest thing Walker has ever said to him. Too bad he had no clue what he was talking about. “Thanks, Walker,” he said, still smiling goofily. “In—wait, in where?” Finally, Bob took a glance around. There was wreckage everywhere. Had the Avengers totaled New York yet again? “Woah. What happened here?”

“You don’t… remember?” you asked, eyeing him with kinked brows.. “Did you hit your head a bit too hard?”

Bob patted down his skull. “Feels normal.” He laughed a bit—a nervous, knee-jerk reaction. “Sorry, I’m a bit confused.”

“Are you okay?” Yelena asked, looking at him with nothing but concern. 

Bob’s brows twitched, still completely lost. “Yeah. I’m fine. Why’s everyone looking at me like that?”

“Are you serious?” Alexei deadpanned. “We were in crazy rooms of despair and misery and—”

“Thanks, Alexei,” you cut in, giving the giant of a man a pointed look. “You did good, Bob. I can explain the details later. For now—”

Your reassurance was cut off by Valentina shrilly speaking into a phone, only a few yards away. You could feel anger twist your insides just from seeing her. 

“I’m going to kill that woman,” Alexei gruffed.

“We can’t kill her. We have to take her in,” Bucky said with an exasperated sigh. It was clear that he had plenty of experience being the voice of reason. 

“What happens when he regains his memory?” Walker asked. “Will we have to go through that all over again?”

Yelena shook her head. She took Bob by the elbow and began leading him towards Valentina. “Okay. Come on, Bob.”

“I’m going with you guys?”

“Of course you are,” you said as you walked alongside them towards Valentina, nudging Bob with a soft smile. “We’re a team now.”

Bob returned your smile easily. “That sounds nice.”

Yelena nodded. “We stick together from now on.”

When Valentina spotted the Thunderbolts coming towards her, she began to hurry backwards. “Hello, team! I know we’re all dealing with very big feelings right now, just give me—give me half a second—!”

She disappeared behind some wreckage. 

As you rounded the broken pieces of construction, you were met with the blinding flashes of about fifty cameras. There were news trucks, reporters, microphones, the entire shebang. Even a podium for Valentina to stand behind as she hushed the audience. A small part of you thought about all the dried blood on your face and body—it was a relief your suit was dark, or it would’ve looked like you were mauled by a bear. Or, more likely that you were the one that mauled the bear. 

“What’s going on?” Bob leaned closer to whisper to you.

“No idea,” you whispered back.

“Cool.” The smile that appeared on his face was boyish and lopsided. “It’s nice not being the only one who’s confused.”

“Are we live?” Valentina asked one of the cameramen. Once he nodded, she began speaking with a shiny, rehearsed smile. “For years, I have been working secretly to develop a new age of protection. Today, the citizens of the United States need that protection. Thanks to my hard work, they got it. Ladies and gentlemen… meet the new Avengers.”

Avenger? You? That didn’t sound quite right. The Avengers were heroes. They were a beacon of light and hope and occasional destruction of city-folk. You were… 

Just a person trying to do better.

The Thunderbolts stared at each other in a mixture of disbelief and disdain. Bob began to clap loudly, but you put a hand on his, forcing him to lower them down. 

“What?” he asked, still completely miffed, and you shook your head with an I’ll tell you later look. Bob nodded solemnly and put his hands behind his back, which made you hold back an amused grin. The snaps coming from the cameras seemed to flare with every tiny movement you made, so you weren’t too keen on giving them anything to pick apart. 

Yelena strode up to Valentina. She covered the microphone, leaned down, and said, just loud enough so she and the rest of the team could hear. “We own you now.”

This time, you didn’t bother trying to smother your smile. The cameras went crazy.

“Have you seen the news?” Bob asked you, settling down next to you on the couch. He handed you the steaming mug of tea, made just the way you liked. His knees knocked against yours. 

You glanced away from your crossword puzzle and took the mug with a warm smile. “Thanks. Seen what? I haven’t checked ever since news of mutants broke out.” You were still waiting for your own test results to come back. The memory of the clinic drawing your blood made you shudder. It did, however, make you feel slightly better knowing that the entire team was squashed in the tiny waiting room right outside the door for you. Even Bucky, who swore up and down that he was busy that afternoon still showed up. You made a mental note to get him a smoothie from that juice shop he liked so much. 

Bob gave you an awkward grimace. “They’re writing about us again.”

This made you roll your eyes. “They’re always writing about us.”

Just yesterday, Ava had shown you an article that said: THE HEROES NOBODY ASKED FOR! IS NEW ALWAYS BETTER? 

Which, to be fair, was a completely valid article. However, counterpoint, none of you asked to be on the Avengers. Except Alexei and Walker at some point, you suspected.

“No,” Bob said, clearing his throat. “Not us like the group, but us us.”

“Oh?” You quirked a brow. “What are they saying this time?” Last week, they were convinced Bob was a special secret agent of sorts. 

Bob handed you the rolled up newspaper he was holding. 

SPOTTED: BOB WHO? MYSTERY MAN SEEN WITH NEW AVENGER ‘XEROX’ — ROMANCE BLOSSOMING IN THE TOWER?

Though you were wearing a baseball cap, that clearly wasn’t enough to hide your identity. Beneath the article title was a grainy image of you and Bob in the park, feeding the ducks. The two of you were wearing identical, fond grins; but you were looking at the ducks, and his eyes were trained on you. There was another photo beneath where the two of you were sharing a milkshake in one of your favorite diners. You let out a sigh—you supposed you couldn’t be going to that diner as often anymore.

“Oh,” you muttered, reading through the first few lines, which turned out to be a whole bunch of speculative nonsense. “They’re always doing this, aren’t they? Making something out of nothing.” 

“Right,” said Bob, nodding. “It’s nothing. You’re right.”

When you caught his eye, noting the slightly crestfallen look on his face, you shook your head, assuming he was just upset about the whole ordeal. You could understand—losing your privacy overnight wasn’t something you were very keen about, either. “Try not to pay too much mind to the news people. I guess we just have to lay low for a while. It’ll die down. They’ll move on to the next big trendy thing in a minute or two.”

“Yeah, of course,” Bob said. He fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “Does this mean we have to stop going to the park together?”

“No,” you reassured. “We just have to put on some better disguises. I’m sure Valentina could scrounge up the money. After all, she kinda has to do whatever we want now.”

Bob smiled, all awkward and endearing. “Good. Yeah. I… I like the time we spend together.”

“I like it, too,” you said, lips upturned. Bob had to force his eyes away. It was nothing. Right.

You patted his leg and returned to your crossword puzzle. You were about halfway through the crossword book that Bob had bought for you from the musty cornerstore two blocks away. It was the first gift you’d ever gotten from someone. 

Yelena walked into one of the Tower’s many common areas an hour later to find you and Bob leaning against each other, dozing away. Your puzzle book was discarded to the side, pencil sticking out one of the pages to mark your place. Bob’s mouth was slightly agape and he looked about two seconds away from slipping and face-planting painfully into the boniest part of your shoulder. Your legs were intertwined with his in a position that certainly couldn’t have been comfortable. Yelena regarded the two of you with a downturned smile. 

“Okay, you sleepy lovebirds,” she muttered, grabbing a neatly folded blanket from the corner of the long couch and draping it over the both of you. You stirred ever so slightly, mumbling something under your breath, then settled back closer to Bob. “Sweet dreams.”

The two of you were startled awake just as Yelena was leaving and Alexei stormed in, loudly complaining about how this lady in the grocery store wouldn’t buy the Avengers Wheaties cereal box even though he’d explicitly recommended it to her.

You rubbed your eyes tiredly, standing up to stretch upwards like a feline after a long nap. Bob watched you with a sleepy grin. “Ooh, that just reminded me. I need to go pick up some ingredients for soup night tomorrow. Walker hates tomatoes, so tomato soup is off the menu.” 

With no hesitation whatsoever, Bob asked, “Can I come with you?” 

You thought distantly to the news reports. Let them think what they want. Whatever you had with Bob, you liked it just as it was.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’d love that. We can stop by the library afterwards, too. I’ve heard they’ve got a new copy of…”

Alexei and Yelena watched the two of you head out, animatedly discussing some sort of new mystery book, shoulders practically pressed up to each other. 

“Are they—” Alexei sent his daughter a pointed look. “You know?”

“I’m not speaking about this with you,” Yelena curtly said, turning on her heel. “But no, not yet. Ava and I have a bet going on.”

This made a devilish grin spread over Alexei’s face. “He makes it obvious, the way he looks at Xerox. I give them a week.”

Yelena scoffed. He was such an optimist. She gave them three months at the very least. “You’re on.”

[merakidoll]

artistic connie ★ ·

other than art, artistic!connie had other hobbies that quickly turned into talents, and photography was a big one. like art, connie found a love for capturing you. mostly the most intimate parts of you that was only saved for him. coco jones played in the background of his large studio. a white backdrop making the room seem much lighter than it was. you sat in the middle, the white making your smooth brown skin pop. you were naked, curves and everything free just how connie enjoyed.

“stand baby, and touch your toes for me” you followed his instructions quickly, the tall stripper heels making you tower over connie just by an inch. but it made you feel even sexier; powerful in a way. he watched you follow instructions but not the way he wanted, walking close his toned muscles looked sexy, with the camera over his neck. he had on light pants that were baggy, purple flower hair fresh and looking so beautiful, but honestly anything looked good on him. “aht aht, other way” he grabbed your hand guiding you to turn around, you back towards the set up.

he could see the question in your eyes, but instead gave a reassuring nod making you bend slowly. “perfect” connie mumbled bitting his lip, “fuckin perfect baby.” connie bent to be on the tip of his toes, his camera in hand as he captured the the spread of your ass cheeks. your cunt fat, and slimy in wetness that made his dick bob in anticipation. you bit your lip feeling the hot flash of the camera light on the most intimate part of you. you could hear the soft click sound at the repeated camera clicks; yet you loved it all.

connie just always knew how to make you feel special, like a queen. a shocked gasp came from your mouth as his thumb rubbed from your hole to your clit spreading your fat brown lips apart and getting his hand wet. “fuck mama” connie now had his camera on recording mode, he allowed the camera to get the beautiful view of his pussy, the pink insides that were begging for pleasure. “c-connie!” you whined as he pressed his thumb into your hole, letting your walls shape around his thumb. you moved your ass back to reel in it needing more. “more baby! please” you weren’t a begger, and connie didn’t like hearing you do it. you were a queen, and he needed to give you what you needed then and there.

so, with two quick moves connie slid his curved longness into your walls groaning at your tightness that sucked him in like a glove. the camera that hung around his neck was angled above you both. the view of your back, and ass smaking aginst his lower stomach while you touched your toes being a picture connie was gonna print and put in his wallet. “s’fucking deep” you cried breathlessly pushing back to meet connie. in the camera view it could see how be fucked your walls, going in and out of you. his hand coming down to slap your cheek giving you a hard pump and nasty groan.

“f- fuck i love you ma” connie’s eyes shut momentarily as you squeezed him hard making his lips part. he could feel his cock become soaked in your cream. his words wouldn’t come out of his mouth, his cock jerking inside of you and letting out his own essence stuffing you full and it going deep. “fuckkk” you both said together, connie from being sucked dry, and you from feeling so full. connie’s hand were shaky that he couldn’t hold the camera anymore. it fell on his neck, its view a mess, but a small corner got a bit of connie pulling out of you and cum leaking from your cunt. while you both moaned.

now cuddled on his couch, you laid on connie’s chest giggling at your new movie that just so happened to be your favorite. he removed the hard drive, and put it in a colorful disk case, and putting it on his display with the rest of the disk that was hard drives of movies you and connie made! but no one had to know, that was you guys secret

[beloveds-embrace]

Until the Last Loop: Familiar Faces

(Days spent with them making new memories- a silent attempt at forging a new life before it will be ripped away once more)

Poly mercenaries 141 x princess reader

Part One

The castle breathed with life and the scent of burning tallow, but to you, it might as well have been a tomb. Its towering walls and narrow corridors, carved from cold stone and lined with faded tapestries, had grown too familiar over the cycles- prisons that wore different faces but caged you all the same, and you were the bird locked within it each life, merely with different feather each time.

You sung the same melody, regardless. A melody that would soon be snuffed out.

You moved through the halls like a shadow, your impending doom hanging over you like clock that never stopped ticking until its last moments. Servants parted for you without meeting your gaze, and although whispers followed in your wake, they no longer stung the way they once had. You had long since grown used to the weight of their words, their gazes full of pity and disdain. They had become just another layer of the endless loop, a reflection of your precarious standing with the royal lineage.

But the men- the four who trailed in your footsteps, sent by your father to report all your moves back to him with the excuse of protecting you- were different.

They were a presence you couldn’t shake, no matter how many lifetimes passed. Always close, always steady, their shadows filled the empty spaces others left behind. And unlike the others, they weren’t afraid to look at you.

In some lives, you despised them. What comfort could four men give you when all you wanted was your father’s love? Your people’s adoration? Friends your age? None whatsoever.

In other lives, you had been distant. You kept them at arms’ length, unwilling to even converse with them. They were of no use to your desperation to free yourself from this cursed cycle.

You’ve lost count of how many loops you’ve gone through. Even now, you do not know how it started; who started it. A cruel curse, that’s what it was, and you were its constant victim. It was inevitable, so why… keep away the only people willing to be near you?

And so this time, you let them close.

Soap was the first to slip past your walls, an unsurprising fact.

It was late when you found yourself sitting in the gardens, the air sharp with the chill of night. The roses were dying, their petals curling inward as frost crept along the edges, and you wondered- just for a moment- how many times you had seen them bloom and wither like this.

Too many times.

You were alone with him; no maid or lady-in-waiting was willing to accompany you, though rather than saying that, they jusy boldly lied and said they had prior arrangements to the king.

The king. Your father. It was always him. You wished he’d hate you a little less, just enough to not rob you of the care you’ll always long for like a child stumbling through the cold for a flicker of fire, of warmth.

Wistful dreams.

Soap sat down beside you without invitation, though his presence didn’t feel unwelcome. His easy smile was softer in the moonlight, and when he offered you his cloak, you didn’t refuse it.

“You look like you’re waitin’ for somethin’,” he said, voice low but steady, starting the conversation. By now, they’ve come to understand that you are… so different from whatever everyone said of you. You were quiet, your presence squeezed and molded into a tiny nook of the castle so easy to forget.

You didn’t answer right away, letting the silence stretch. The words came slower, heavier now- weighted by too many winters and too many deaths.

“I think it’s waiting for me,” you breathed out, fingers brushing the edge of the cloak. The flowers fluttered when a breeze blew by, bending in the directionaway from you; they pitied you, too, for not even they’d be placed upon your grave once you were dead. “… My end, I mean.”

Soap didn’t flinch. He didn’t try to deny it, either. He did not have any loyalty to the king or keeping his secrets; no mercenary would bother even if they’d lifk the king’s hand for his gold and coins.

Snakes, all of them. And yet- they were the ones who got to live, so the last laugh was theirs.

“Well,” he said instead, leaning back on his palms, “if it comes knockin’, ye just let me know. I’ll handle it.”

You almost smiled. Almost.

Soap didn’t leave right after that, like you expected.

He stayed, stretched out beside you on the stone bench like he had nowhere better to be, his broad shoulders relaxed but his eyes sharp as they roamed the shadows pooling in the corners of the garden. The scent of dying roses lingered in the air, sweet and cloying, and you wondered if he noticed the way your hands trembled when you smoothed the cloak over your lap.

If he did, he didn’t say anything.

Instead, he tilted his head back and gazed at the stars, his voice softer when he spoke again.

“Ye know, my mum used to say the stars are just folk lookin’ down on us,” he said, accent curling thick around the words. “Watchin’, guidin’… makin’ sure we dinna wander too far off the path.”

You blinked at him. “And what if the path leads… nowhere?”

Soap turned his head to look at you then, eyes dark. “Then ye make yer own.”

It was such an earnest thing to say, so full of conviction that it made something in your chest twist painfully. You couldn’t tell him how many times you’d tried to do just that- tried to fight and claw your way toward a different ending, only to be dragged back to the start again.

Soap didn’t know. None of them did.

And yet, as you sat there with his warmth seeping through the cloak and his words lingering in the air like a promise, you found yourself wishing- just for a moment- that he was right.

That you could carve your way out of this nightmare and leave the endless cycle behind.

But that was foolish.

So instead, you leaned back against the bench and let your eyes drift shut, pretending not to notice the way Soap’s hand hovered near the dagger at his side, ready to draw at the first sign of danger.

Pretending you didn’t feel safer for it.

Ghost was harder to pin down. He lingered on the edges, silent as your grave, but his presence was impossible to ignore.

When the nightmares came- and they always did, another constant- you found him at your door. He never asked questions, never pried. He simply stood guard, silent, until the trembling stopped.

One night, when sleep refused to come after a day of listening to awful, false whispers of you, you found yourself seated on the rug in front of the hearth, staring into the flames. Ghost leaned against the wall, his mask a stark contrast against the flickering light.

“They won’t hurt you.” He said suddenly, rough and low.

You didn’t look at him. You watched the flickering fire, and was rewarded with whispers of the lives where you’d been burned at the stake. “They always do.”

“They won’t.”

And maybe it was foolish, but for once, you almost believed him.

You pulled your knees closer to your chest, eyes fixed on the flames as if they could burn away the memories pressing in from all sides.

Ghost didn’t move from his place against the wall. He was a silhouette in the firelight, broad shoulders and sharp angles, the hollow black of his mask turning him into something almost otherworldly.

You didn’t ask why he was there. He never explained himself, and you never pushed.

After a while, he broke the silence again.

“They’re scared of you.”

His voice was quiet, still rough like gravel, but it cut through the room as sharply as any blade.

You swallowed, your gaze still locked on the fire. You couldn’t look away. “No. They hate me.”

Ghost didn’t argue. He let the silence stretch, his eyes never leaving you.

You weren’t sure why that bothered you more than words would have.

“They’re scared,” he repeated finally, slower this time. Firmer. “And scared people do stupid things.”

You let out a short, bitter laugh. “Like cutting off my head?”

Ghost tilted his head, and something about the way he looked at you made your chest tighten.

“They won’t get the chance, princess.” He said, and there was something cold in his voice that sent a shiver down your spine.

You turned to face him then, finally meeting his gaze. Or at least, what you thought was his gaze beneath the mask. It was impossible to tell, but you felt it- heavy, unflinching.

“You can’t stop it, Ghost.”

Ghost didn’t flinch. Didn’t waver. “Watch me.”

The words shouldn’t have meant anything. They shouldn’t have mattered when you already knew how this would end- how it always ended. Those words were treacherous to whatever the king wanted and expected of him.

But as the fire crackled and the shadows danced along the walls, you let yourself believe him. Just for a little while.

Because Ghost wasn’t the kind of man who made promises.

And yet, when he spoke, it sounded like one.

… yet you knew, not all promises can be kept.

Gaz was gentler than the others. Thoughtful. Attentive in a way that made your chest ache, because it had been so long since anyone had looked at you without seeing the stain on your birthright first and you second.

He helped you practice with a dagger one afternoon, though you both knew it wouldn’t be of much use to you. The sharp clang of metal rang out against the training yard walls as he corrected your grip, his hands warm against yours.

When was the last time you’d been held like that?

Far too long ago. Far too many lives ago.

“Careful,” he said, guiding the blade down in a smooth arc. “Keep your stance steady.”

You frowned. “What does it matter?”

Gaz tilted his head, eyes searching yours. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

And wasn’t that the cruelest part? That no matter how many times you died, you always woke up again?

You didn’t answer, and Gaz didn’t press. Instead, he let you lean into him when the weight of it all grew too heavy, when the weight of more than just the training pressed down on you.

Gaz stayed close after that- close enough that you started to notice the small things.

The way his eyes lingered on you just a little longer than they should, watching for signs of exhaustion or the fear you tried so hard to hide. The way his touch was always secure but never overbearing, grounding you without demanding more than you were willing to give.

He made you feel… safe.

It was dangerous.

Foolish.

But you let him stay anyway. You stayed with him anyway.

The dagger gleamed in the sunlight as you practiced another strike, the blade slicing cleanly through the air. Gaz nodded approvingly, stepping back just enough to give you space, though his presence was still a solid weight at your side.

“Better,” he said, his voice warm but firm. “You’re getting the hang of it, princess. Maybe you’ll give us a run of our money, eh?”

You lowered the blade, breathing hard as you wiped the sweat from your brow. You couldn’t find it within yourself to be humorous “I’m not sure it’ll matter in the end.”

Gaz frowned at that, stepping closer. “Don’t say that.”

You almost laughed. Almost. “You don’t understand.”

His hand came up then, gentle as he tilted your chin to face him. The look in his eyes knocked the breath from your lungs- steady and sure, like he was trying to hold you together with sheer force of will.

“Maybe I don’t,” he admitted, voice low. “But I do know this- every time you get back up, it matters.”

You didn’t realize you were trembling until his hand dropped to your shoulder, grounding you with the warmth of his touch.

“Don’t give up yet, princess,” he murmured, softer now. “Not on yourself.”

It was almost too much. Too kind. Too hopeful.

You wanted to tell him that hope had no place here- not in this endless loop of death and betrayal and grief. Not in this damned castle- but the words wouldn’t come, caught in your throat like fish in a net.

So instead, you let him take the dagger from your hands, let him press it back into its sheath before leading you toward the shade of the courtyard’s edge.

And when he sat beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed, you didn’t pull away.

Because for once, it didn’t feel like a burden to be seen.

Price was the hardest to read.

He was steady, commanding- his presence filled the room like the smoke of chimneys, lingering long after he was gone. He carried himself like a man who had seen too much and lost too many, and sometimes, when he looked at you, you thought you saw the ghost of something more.

He didn’t speak often, but when he did, his words stayed with you.

“Do you ever wonder, princess,” he asked one evening, standing by the window with a wooden cup of mead in his hand. You didn’t know how he’d even snuck it in, but you weren’t going to snitch. “if we’re all just pieces on your father’s board?”

You blinked at him, startled by the sudden question.

“All the time.” You said.

His gaze lingered on you a moment longer, and there was something unreadable in it.

You wanted to ask what he meant, why the sudden question, but he turned away before you could, leaving you to sit and stew with the thought.

And stew you did.

Because Price wasn’t wrong, was he?

You already knew your father had lied- about these mercenaries, their orders, everything.

They weren’t here to protect you. Not really.

No knights would take you, no nobles wanted you, and no one in the kingdom would lay down their sword for a bastard-born princess whose only crime was existing. Yet here they were, these hardened men, mercenaries paid in coin and silence, assigned to watch your every move.

Not guard you. Watch you.

Keep you until the day you were dragged to your death once more.

You’d known it the moment Price first stepped through your door, his eyes sweeping the room like he was cataloging exits instead of protecting them. The others were subtler- Soap with his easy charm, Ghost with his patient silence, Gaz with his careful words- but Price?

Price didn’t even try to hide it.

And maybe that was the worst part.

Because he didn’t look at you the way others did. He didn’t sneer, didn’t pity, didn’t hate. He looked at you like he was waiting.

Waiting for what?

For you to run? To slip up? To hand him the excuse he needed to drag you before your father in chains, so he could take the money and leave?

The thought made your stomach twist.

Because no matter how much you told yourself it didn’t matter- that the loop would end and begin again, and none of this would last- it still sank its claws into you.

And the next time Price caught you watching him from across the room, you didn’t look away.

Not at first.

He held your gaze, steady and unreadable, but there was no malice in it- no sharp edges or hidden teeth. Just something quiet. Something that almost felt like understanding.

When you finally turned away, you expected the weight of it to linger, to drag down your shoulders and settle in your chest like an unwelcome puff of smoke.

But it didn’t.

Instead, you felt the faintest flicker of warmth- barely there, fleeting as a dying ember- and hated how much you wanted to hold onto it.

Days turned to nights, and the hours slipped away like sand through your fingers. The loop pressed closer with every tick of the clock, and yet…

You didn’t feel so alone this time.

They were there- in the quiet moments, in the chaos, in the shadows of your worst fears- and though you knew it wouldn’t save you, you still let them stay.

Because this time, you didn’t have the strength to keep them away.

This time, you… wanted to have fond memories before your death.

Masterlist | Part Three

I hope everyone’s been enjoying this so far! Any guesses on why reader is in a time loop and who might be responsible? :3

[sparrows4bats]

Thinking about Street Artist Damian.

A Damian who rebelled by becoming a doctor. That believes Gotham can be better.

That writes his love letters to the city on brick and stone.

That tries to fill it with more colour on the nights he misses being out on rooftops, and nightmares won't let him sleep.

He paints tributes to his family, portrays the city's strength on towers and gargoyles

At first, not many people notice. The people of Crime Alley appreciate the art but doubt it'll last long. The richer gothamites ponder it as a new installation.

Damian keeps going. Pours his love into artistic representations of the heroes.

Batman, in his characteristic black on a background of wild blooms.

Spoiler, in bright purple, watching the alleys protectively.

Signal, bright, and foreboding on the wall of a shelter.

Orphan is a silhouette among the figures of happy people, guarding them.

Nightwing flips and flies on bridges and overpasses.

Red hood stands over housing estates and apartment blocks.

Red Robin is painted on the roofs and alleys granting safe passage.

The street children count the pretty drawings, they soon realise they appear where it's safe to sleep.

The downtrodden follow blue birds to shelters and food banks.

The injured follow red bats to free clinics and hospitals.

If you find a yellow bird, it usually means there is a box of food, blankets, and cash nearby. They refill every few days, and people take what they need.

There is a code painted on Gotham streets if you care to learn it.

Damian watches it all with a secret smile.

He paints flowers on lampposts and park benches. He draws cats outside the windows of the children's hospital.

When he has a bad night, he paints for the city he can't fight for anymore but protects all the same.

When Jon catches him one night, years after he starts his murals, the Super just smiles and helps him reach higher spots.

Superman flies through the city and tries to find each piece of art.

There are dogs with capes now outside the children's hospital.

Jon kisses Damian for the first time when he sees the giant portrait of Superboy watching over the Gotham library. Damian holds his hand with spray paint covered fingers

[cece693]

Just an idea that suddenly came to mind. What if you (the reader) have to fight Bucky during his winter soldier programming? What if something similar occurs to you guys as it did with Vision and Wanda? I plan for this to be divided into two parts since I don't have an ending in mind and this post isn't doing it for me. Hope you enjoy!

I Forgive You

pairing: bucky barnes x gender neutral reader tags: bucky can't catch a break, you are strong (power and skill wise), takes place during infinity war, open ended

You perch on the edge of the facility’s rooftop, the evening breeze ruffling through your hair as you stare off into the distance. The compound below you hums with activity—footsteps, clanging metal, distant voices—evidence of the Avengers preparing for the battles to come. You’re one of them now, and not just any member: you’re often dubbed the “strongest Avenger.” Some might say that’s an exaggeration, but you know what you’re capable of. You’ve trained in every form of combat you could get your hands on—hand-to-hand, swords, firearms. And to cap it all off, you possess powers that make you a formidable force, even among Earth’s mightiest heroes.

Still, when you’re alone, your thoughts drift to him. James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes—your friend, your partner, the man you fell in love with. You think back to those frantic days when you found yourself on opposite sides in the battle between Tony and Steve. You were forging your own path, torn by loyalty and your own moral compass. Bucky was caught in the crossfire of past sins and present accusations. Through the chaos, you discovered each other and headed to Wakanda for Bucky to finally heal and escape the ghosts of his past. But things never were that easy.

The last 'normal' day you had with him you'll treasure for eternity. Bright golden rays washed over the Wakandan horizon the morning Shuri completed Bucky’s deprogramming. The moment felt surreal, the two of you standing among those tall grasses and budding flowers, watching the sun’s first light spread across the sky. Bucky’s hand tentatively found yours, his metal fingers brushing your palm. Despite all the horrors you’d both seen, despite the fracture lines left in his mind, he looked at you like you were his anchor to a life without darkness.

“You okay?” you asked him quietly, lacing your fingers with his.

He gave you a lopsided smile. “I’m not sure I deserve to be, but for the first time in a while, I feel almost free.”

And you believed him. You had to—he needed that belief.

Of course, that's when Thanos appeared, drawing you and Bucky into the largest battle Earth had ever faced. Battle lines were drawn in Wakanda, where countless outriders of Thanos’s army threatened to overrun the nation.

During the fray, you unleashed the full extent of your powers. Energy crackled around you, turning each of your blows into seismic shockwaves. You were almost unstoppable. At your side, Bucky fought with lethal precision, his vibranium arm glinting in the sunlight as bullets whizzed past. The synergy between you two was remarkable, like a dance choreographed through countless training hours and mutual trust.

But trust is fragile in the face of unimaginable power.

Suddenly, you felt a colossal presence. Looking up, your gaze locked onto the towering figure of Thanos. He stepped through the remnants of the battlefield, the Infinity Gauntlet glowing with stolen Stones. Even from a distance, you saw his gaze flick over your form, and something sparked behind his violet eyes—recognition. Fear, perhaps. The Titan raised his armored hand. A wave of twisted energy arced in your direction. You braced yourself, arms crossed in front of your body, channeling every ounce of power you had to shield your allies from the blast. Still, the force knocked you back, sending you tumbling across the ravaged earth.

When the shock subsided, a chill shot down your spine. You stood, shaking off the impact, and found the battlefield too quiet. Your eyes landed on Bucky just in time to see him freeze. His face contorted; his pupils dilated. It happened in a split second.

Hydra’s trigger words, carried on a faint, telepathic echo you couldn’t hear but Bucky could. An alien whisper from Thanos’s cosmic manipulations. And just like that, the Winter Soldier emerged once more. His steel-blue eyes turned ice-cold. The gentle man you loved disappeared behind an all-too-familiar mask of lethal focus. He turned away from the outriders, ignoring Thanos for the moment. His sights honed in on you.

“Bucky?”

He didn’t respond. Instead, his lips parted, eyes dark with an unspoken mission. This time, the programming was crystal clear: Take you out. Kill the one threat that even Thanos couldn't account for. Your greatest strength had painted a target on your back. You raised your hands, glowing with the power you wielded. But your heart pounded. Could you really fight him at full strength? Bucky—your Bucky—was somewhere behind that cold stare.

“Stand down!” Steve’s voice cut through the chaos, but Bucky didn’t listen. He pivoted, leveling his gun at Steve, forcing the Captain to dodge.

“Barnes, snap out of it!” Natasha shouted, but her attempts to get close were cut off by a brutal strike from Bucky’s vibranium arm. Everyone else was busy trying to fend off the onslaught of Thanos’s forces. Your team needed your power, but now you were pinned in a conflict of your own.

Bucky lunged at you, knife flashing. You parried with your forearm, each metallic clash echoing in the war-torn field. You had no intention of hurting him, so you held back, turning your power inward, using just enough to keep him off-balance. His movements were a lethal dance—calculated, relentless, unstoppable. Blow after blow, you deflected each strike, trying to talk him down. “Bucky, it’s me!” you cried, voice cracking. “You don’t want to do this!”

For a heartbeat, his eyes seemed to flicker, memories surfacing. The time you both sat under the Wakandan sunrise, the moments you’d shared—everything hung between you. Then the programming crushed it back down. His knife sliced through the air again. You twisted, sidestepping, but you were too concerned with not harming him, too torn by love and heartbreak. The blade found its mark.

A searing pain tore through your abdomen. Your eyes went wide, and a gasp tore from your throat. One heartbeat, two—time slowed. Your hands flew to the wound, crimson blooming across your fingertips. The world started spinning.

Bucky stood over you, knife still gripped in his metal hand. His expression was empty, but the second he saw your blood pooling on the battlefield, the mask began to crack. His breathing quickened; panic gripped him. Something deep within those blue eyes shattered.

“No,” he murmured, voice barely audible. “No, no, no…”

You collapsed to your knees, desperately trying to keep pressure on the wound. The pain was staggering, and your vision wavered at the edges as you fought against the darkness creeping in. The din of the battlefield—roaring explosions, clashing metal, and desperate shouts—faded into an echo, leaving only the trembling sound of Bucky’s voice. The knife clattered to the ground from his shaking hand, the cold light in his eyes replaced by raw horror.

Bucky dropped beside you, arms sliding around your body. Another wave of agony made you cry out, yet you clung to the faint relief of his warmth—even if it was stained by regret. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. His vibranium hand cradled your cheek as though you were made of porcelain. “I’m so sorry.”

The Winter Soldier façade seemed to shatter then, peeling away like a final layer of armor. What remained was Bucky Barnes—the man you loved, tears tracking down his face in heart-wrenching clarity. Meeting his gaze, you rallied the last of your strength, silently conveying what words couldn’t: You forgave him. You loved him.

In the distance, Thanos lumbered toward the heart of the battle, where your fellow Avengers continued to fight, unaware of the private tragedy unfolding. The war raged on, but in that moment, time felt suspended—for you, for Bucky, for everything else that mattered.

With trembling fingers, he pressed down on your wound, desperate to stop the flow of blood. “Not you too,” he pleaded, voice tight with fear. “Please don’t leave me.” You forced a weak smile; you refused to let your final expression be one of despair. You wouldn’t let Bucky’s last memory of you be filled with nothing but tears and regret.

Bucky’s grip on you tightened, as if he could anchor you to consciousness by sheer will. Each breath you took felt like shards of glass in your lungs, but you clung to awareness, swallowing down the pain.

“Stay with me,” Bucky begged. He looked up frantically, searching for help that was nowhere to be found—Shuri was likely in the labs, the medical units were overrun, and Wakanda’s defensive lines were collapsing under Thanos’s onslaught. “I’ll—I’ll get you to someone. We’ll find a healer—”

“Bucky.” Your voice trembled, but you forced each syllable past your dry lips. You reached up with a shaking hand, brushing aside a strand of his hair matted with dirt and sweat. “Don’t…don’t blame yourself.”

His eyes squeezed shut as tears rolled freely, wetting the blood-streaked dirt beneath you both. The regret in his gaze was heartbreaking. “I wasn’t in control,” he rasped, “but it was still my hand. And I—”

You pressed weakly against his cheek with your palm, stopping him. You didn’t have enough breath to argue, so you let your eyes speak your truth: He had been a pawn once again, manipulated by Thanos’s cruel plans. You forgave him—truly. He held your hand against his stubbled jaw, turning his face into your touch. His vibranium arm remained clamped over your wound, red seeping over silver. Every passing second felt like a lifetime.

Above you, the sky lit up with another shower of blasts, the barrier around Wakanda flickering under the assault. Your teammates were fighting valiantly—Steve, Natasha, Sam, Wanda, T’Challa—all risking their lives to push Thanos back. But you knew the Titan’s power was immense. If even your strength might not be enough to stop him, how could anyone else stand a chance? In your heart, you felt a pang of guilt for not being out there, protecting the team as you always had. But there was no denying your body was failing, and Bucky’s terrified eyes told you he could feel it too.

“Help!” His cry rose into the chaos, ragged and desperate. “Somebody help!”

[kirlicues]

The Old Country Church | CC-Free Sims 2 Community Lot Download

The old, 1800's style country church has weathered the test of time and, despite it's age, is still is as solid as the messages that have been shared from the pulpit. It's built on a 5x5 community lot.

It's over-all simplicity stands in stark contrast to more ornate architecture, but it is this humble structure, reminiscent of a purer time of faith, that stands as a testament to scriptural truths.

Let's take a tour of the place!

Joy. Laughter. Tears. Weddings, funerals, picnics on the lawn, and baptisms in the lake--all the memories that have meant so much--have happened here in this peaceful country setting. It's a place for friends to gather, caring words to be spoken, and a base for larger community outreach.

This landmark is surrounded by trees, and old nature trails that meander through the woods. It's the perfect place to hear the birds sing, sit by the water reading the Good Book, and to remember where the true meaning of life comes from.

Right now the old church is dressed up for a wedding, but you can remove the arch and flower decorations for a more authentic feel.

This lot is CC-free which is why the podium is one of the career reward objects. You can find a buyable version without the cringy teleprompter screens in this set over on Mod the Sims because being a minster should never be about the money or charismatic personalities.

Congregational singing with instruments was just starting to become popular in the 1800's. Many old churches did not have a piano or organ, but I've added the piano and violin to this lot to give some more interest to the front platform.

The balcony is a lovely place to sit and listen to the beautiful acoustics, and appreciate the rustic beams that make up the upper part of the roof.

The bell tower is empty since there is not anything comparable in the game. You can find a very simple bell at the end of this thread on Mod the Sims if you'd like to put one in.

I built this lot based on historical pictures of churches from the 1800's. This version is a bit larger than most of that era. A lot of the churches at the time did not have anything more than a main sanctuary area, but I've included bathrooms for convenience's sake.

1st Floor: On this level there are bathrooms, and the main sanctuary.

2nd Floor: There's a balcony near the bottom of the image, the rest of the level is open to the sanctuary below.

The Old Country Church MF | SFS

This lot is CC-Free, but All EPs and SPs are required.

I’ve run this lot through the Lot Compressor so any random references to sims that aren’t there should be removed. I have also run it through the Lot Cleaner to remove any bits of buggy code. This lot comes with a shiny custom thumbnail so it has even more curb appeal in your Lots and Houses bin! 😄

Default Replacements Shown: Purple Lupin shrub from @peppermint-ginger If you don’t have these in your game your Lupin will be blue.

I ALWAYS recommend using the Sims 2 Pack Clean installer to install lot files.

[smileysuh]

send in the clowns

🌙 staring. Hyuck & Mark & Jaehyun x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “She’s not the reason we’re dressed as clowns,” Hyuck is quick to insist. He’s such a good liar. Jungwoo would almost believe it, if you hadn’t told him your Halloween clown plan. It’s no secret to you that your three frat friends all have crushes on you, so you’d decided to tell Jaehyun about wanting to fuck a clown, just to see who would actually follow through with the costume. You’d expected one, maybe two- but here are all three men, dressed as exactly what they are: clowns. And it’s obvious to Jungwoo that they think this is their own idea. As if you’re not the puppeteer behind this all. God, Jungwoo loves having you as a best friend, even if your bucket list includes a frat clown Halloween orgy with three of his best friends.

tw/cw. clown kink? orgy, foursome, unprotected sex, semi-inexperienced reader, oral, blow jobs, pussy eating, cum eating, squirting, fingering, masturbation, guided masturbation, spanking, choking, spit-roasting/Eiffel tower, cum/filling kink, praise, dirty talk, first time anal, cock warming, double penetration, triple penetration, multiple reader orgasms, dacryphilia, overstimulation, deep throating, face grinding, etc… I pet names: (hers) barbie, babe, baby.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 10.6k

🍭 aus. Halloween, frat au, friends to lovers, Joker!Jae, Buggy!Mark, Pennywise!Hyuck, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I'm not sure I can even explain this one tbh

1: Mark

Mark loves drunk karaoke nights. He loves the way the alcohol calms him down, making his skin tingle and his lids feel heavy. He loves how easy it is to smile and laugh while his friends make fools of themselves. He loves watching Hyuck and Jungwoo be silly goofy chaos demons, choosing duets and ballads that make them sink to their knees and belt out songs so loud that they get noise complaints from other frat boys walking by their room. But most of all, Mark loves watching you sing, watching your hips sway to the music as you lose yourself in the energy.

It has taken a year of being friends with you before you opened up and started really relaxing with Mark and his frat brothers. Mark has enjoyed every moment of watching you bloom into the flower you are now. He’d thought you were cute when you first met, but these days, he thinks you’re one of the most beautiful girls he’s ever had the pleasure of getting to know.

He feels downright lucky, sitting on his bed, a beer in his hand, watching you stumble your way through a rap verse. Karaoke is never about being good at singing, although, Hyuck does often get a one-hundred-point score and boasts about it by running down the halls declaring himself the best singer in the frat. 

No, drunk karaoke is simply about friendship. It’s about the way Mark feels able to be truly himself when he’s with you, his roommate Hyuck, and his two other frat brothers Jaehyun and Jungwoo. You’re a fivesome Mark had never expected to feel so at home with, but now, he couldn’t imagine anything else.

It’s getting late, and your energy is rapidly deteriorating, especially as you finish up your song and collapse next to Mark on his bed. He knows you well enough to see that when Hyuck and Jungwoo complete their next duet, you’ll be heading back to your apartment across campus.

Mark does his best to appreciate the time he has left with you, scooting closer so your thighs are just touching. He offers you his beer but you shake your head, still trying to catch your breath from the excitement of getting a score of ninety-eight.

In the confines of Hyuck and Mark’s small room, the two most extroverted of the fivesome pour their hearts out into ‘Greased Lightning,’ complete with flamboyant choreography and more giggling than Mark’s tired abdomen can even handle. 

Even Jaehyun is laughing, standing by the window with a joint. His cheeks are flushed red, ears matching, and Mark swears he’s never seen Jaehyun as free as he is during nights like this. 

As the song finishes up, you let out a deep sigh, standing. “I should really be headed home.”

Mark rises to his feet, pulling you into a hug that never lasts long enough. “Thanks for coming,” he murmurs, offering you a small smile as he does his best to conceal just how much he enjoys your company.

“You guys know I never miss karaoke night,” you grin, sending him a wink before you head over to hug Jaehyun.

Mark watches the way his hyung’s eyes close as he holds you, his embrace lingering around your smaller form.

“I’ll see you in class tomorrow, Jae,” you nod, pulling away before your gaze shifts to Hyuck. “And I’ll see you and Mark at the Halloween party tomorrow night.”

“Not if we see you first,” Hyuck teases, pulling you into a hug that looks a little too tight for Mark’s liking.

“God, you’re such clowns,” you laugh, pushing at Hyuck’s shoulders to prompt him to release you.

“Is that a song request?” Mark’s roommate asks, jumping on the chance to sing another. “I would crush Sinatra’s ‘Send In The Clowns.’” 

You simply roll your eyes, going to join Jungwoo at the door. “Goodnight, guys.”

Jungwoo has been your longest-standing friend since first year. He’s the one who introduced you to Mark, Hyuck and Jaehyun. He’s probably the only person in the room who doesn’t want to fuck you, and he’s the one you always walk home with- leaving the frats at night can be dangerous for a pretty girl like you, and your six-foot golden retriever bestie always insists on making sure you get back to your apartment safe.

With one last goodbye, you leave, and there’s a noticeable shift in the energy of the room. All three men let out small sighs, and Jaehyun turns to the window, clearly intent on watching you walk away. 

Hyuck, meanwhile, collapses onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. “She’s great.”

“She is,” Mark agrees, sipping his beer. 

“You know, I’ve got a great idea,” Hyuck says dreamily.

“Let's hear it,” Jaehyun sighs, biting the bait while still looking out the window.

“I’m thinking- now don’t immediately shut this down, but I’m definitely thinking Halloween orgy.”

Mark chokes on his beer, sputtering and trying to clear his throat.

“Jesus, Mark, don’t die-” Hyuck sits up, staring at him while Jaehyun simply shakes his head with a smile. “I’m serious.”

“Yeah, but why are you serious?” Mark asks, swallowing thickly. “Why do you think that’s a good idea?” 

“Not just a good idea, a great one,” Hyuck smirks. “Listen, we’ve all been into her for ages, and what's the one thing stopping us from making a move? Each other.”

“I wouldn’t say that’s the only thing stopping us,” Jaehyun muses. 

“She wants us,” Hyuck states.

“She does?” This is news to Mark.

“A hundred percent… like my karaoke score. I’m sure of it.” Hyuck nods to himself. “It’s in the body language.”

Jaehyun turns away from the window to asses Hyuck, crossing his arms over his chest. “What body language?”

“Just trust me.”

Jaehyun shakes his head. “No.”

“Your loss, don’t join the orgy, Mark and I will show her a good time,” Hyuck’s eyes shift to the Canadian, “Won’t we, Mark?”

Mark’s throat goes dry. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about this scenario. As roommates and best friends, he and Hyuck have shared girls before- this wouldn’t be too out of the ordinary…

“I mean…” Mark sighs.

“You’re both crazy,” Jaehyun insists. 

Hyuck scoffs loudly. “As if you don’t want to join!”

“I’m not saying I don’t, I’m just pointing out that there are multiple reasons none of us have taken a shot at her.” Mark appreciates Jaehyun’s level-headed thinking, it’s a sharp contrast to Hyuck’s chaos. The Hyung in the room is good at voicing what Mark isn’t able to. “If she’s not interested, you’ll ruin karaoke night. You’ll ruin the friendship. If she is interested, who’s to say she wants all of us? Most girls are monogamous- who’s to say she’d even want to be part of an orgy with three guys? Who’s to say we could all actually handle sharing, given who she is to us? Hyuck, can you honestly say you wouldn’t get jealous watching her suck Mark off?”

“Not if I was balls deep in her pussy,” Hyuck grins.

Jaehyun only sighs, rolling his eyes and shifting his attention out the window again. “This is a bad idea.”

2 : Jae

The only class Jaehyun arrives early to is the one he shares with you. He can’t help the feeling that rushes through him as he takes the amphitheater-style stairs two at a time, joining you in your seats at the back of the massive class. 

“Hey you,” you grin, already turning in your seat to smile at him.

“Hey.” He puts his bag down, also angling to look at you. “How’s it going?”

“Going good,” you nod, taking in his onesie. It’s Halloween, so you’d both agreed to come in Pokemon outfits, and Jaehyun feels a lot more comfortable than a few other students in more restrictive costume attire. “You look good as Charmander.”

“Thanks, Pikachu.” God, he likes you way too much. Sometimes it’s hard to tear his gaze away from you, hard to make conversation instead of just staring at your lips. “You know, I’m a little surprised you actually came as a Pokemon.”

“What?” You cock your head to the side. “Why? We promised we would!”

“I don’t know,” Jaehyun shrugs. “I know you have that thing about clowns, guess I thought maybe you’d come as one today.”

“My thing about clowns,” you laugh, “says the clown.” You reach over, squishing his cheek, and it makes Jaehyun grin so hard it almost hurts.

“Tell me I’m wrong!”

You sigh. “Okay, you’re not. I like clowns a weird amount. But everyone has their kinks right?”

“I’ve always wondered what you like about clowns.”

You stare at him and Jaehyun leans back in his seat. He waits for you to elaborate, reaching up to play with the rim of his baseball cap.

“Honestly?” You swallow thickly. “I don’t know, there’s just something about the smile makeup maybe? The crazy aspect? I just feel like, when people dress up as clowns, it’s about having a good time. They can’t judge you because they’re the clown- it’s kind of freeing, a nice freeing energy, if that makes any sense.” 

“I suppose that makes sense,” Jaehyun admits. 

“Can I be extra honest with you about something?” you ask, scooting your chair closer and lowering your voice.

“Of course.” Jaehyun also moves closer, his knee butting against yours. You look so pretty, especially up close. There’s no way the Pikachu onesie should be hot, but you’ve gotten the buttons undone just enough that he can take a peek down at your bra at this short distance, and it makes him swallow thickly, trying to get a hold of himself.

“I’m this close,” you hold up two fingers almost touching, “to fucking anyone dressed as a clown at the frat party tonight.”

Jaehyun’s heart lurches abruptly in his chest. His mouth goes dry and his palms feel sweaty. He can only blink at you for a moment before he’s able to find his voice again. “R-really?” 

“Uh huh,” you nod, looking absolutely determined. 

“Anyone?” 

“Anyone.” 

“Fuck,” Jaehyun whispers, forcing his gaze forward. He has no idea how to play this situation- no idea how to act nonchalant about this. Jaehyun prides himself in being good in any situation, his technique is staying calm through breathing, but he can hardly take a breath right now. 

“Do you know anyone planning on dressing as a clown?” you ask.

“Uh…” he licks his lips, mind still reeling. “Maybe a couple of the guys.”

It’s a lie, and he feels bad saying it… but at the same time, he doesn’t want to shut the door on this opportunity. He knows at least two men who would dress as a clown at the drop of the hat upon hearing this information- and Jaehyun is quick to wonder if he could somehow go to the party as a clown without it being glaringly obvious that he wants to fuck you stupid.

“What did you say you’re going as again?” 

Jaehyun can hardly look at you. “I uh… hadn’t really decided yet.”

“Okay, Mister Secrets,” you tease. “Don’t tell me, I’ll find out tonight.”

The teacher enters the class, and Jaehyun shifts in his chair, trying to focus. 

It’s impossible to get what you’ve just said out of his head. In the corners of his mind, Jaehyun almost feels like it had been a challenge. He thinks about what Hyuck had said, about your body language- had this been you dropping a hint? 

Do you want him to fuck you?

3 : Hyuck

“Excuse me,” Ten’s voice makes Hyuck freeze, “what, exactly, are you doing?”

Hyuck and Mark slowly turn toward the angry frat boy standing at the door of his room. Ten looks pissed- and he has every right to be. 

Hyuck can see Mark open his mouth in the periphery of his vision, and it causes him to grab his friend's arm to silence him. “There you are!” Hyuck exclaims. “We were looking all over for you!”

Ten’s not convinced, and he raises a brow, crossing his arms over his chest. “Your charm doesn’t work on me, Haechan. What are you two doing with my makeup?”

“Oh, this?” Hyuck looks down at the eye shadow pallet in his hands. “Funny story actually-”

Ten scoffs loudly. “Spit it out.”

“We need to borrow some makeup,” Mark states. “I mean, if that’s okay with you.”

“You know, out of all the guys who could be stealing my eye shadow set, I never expected it to be you two losers.”

“We’ve got a very good explanation for this-” Hyuck begins, only for Mark to cut him off.

“We’re trying to be clowns for Halloween.”

“As if you need any makeup for that, you’re both already clowns,” Ten sasses. “Besides, I thought you guys were going to the party as superheroes or something.”

“We changed our minds,” Hyuck says simply.

“As if,” another eye roll from Ten. “What’s the real reason?”

“Well, y/n has this thing for clowns-” Mark mumbles.

“I should have known this was about y/n,” Ten sighs. “But wait, you’re both going to dress up as clowns and try to what? Fuck her on Halloween?”

“Well, Jae said that y/n said she’d fuck someone dressed as a clown tonight-”

Hyuck groans. Mark needs to learn to keep his mouth shut.

“So we’re talking about a full-on clown orgy?” Ten asks, and shockingly enough, as disgusted as he looks, he also seems almost impressed. “You two, Jae and y/n?”

“Jae might not join,” Hyuck is quick to point out, and in the corners of his mind, he sort of hopes he doesn’t. It will be annoying enough as it is vying with Mark for your attention, let alone Jaehyun too.

“Jae will a hundred percent be joining,” Ten sighs. “If you can convince her, that is.”

“What makes you so sure?” Mark asks, cocking his head to the side.

“Have you seen the way that guy looks at her? He’s whipped. But I guess all three of you look at her that way, maybe you don’t notice your friends doing the same thing.” Ten approaches them, taking the eyeshadow pallet from Hyuck. “I’ll help you with clown makeup. If you’re going to do this, you’ll have to do it right.”

“Really?” Mark beams. “Thank you!”

“You run and get Jaehyun, and I’ll start on Hyuck,” Ten says, looking his target up and down. “We’ll also have to decide which clowns you three are going as.”

“Can’t we just be generic clowns?” Hyuck asks, allowing Ten to lead him to sit on the bed.

The man from Thailand scoffs. “As if a ten out of ten like y/n is going to fuck just any clown, you three have to be recognizable.”

“Who do you have in mind?”

Ten grins slyly, reaching for his makeup kit. “I can think of a few clowns that girls wanna bang.”

4 : Jungwoo

“Hey Ten, I’m here for my…” Jungwoo pauses in the doorway, the word “glitter” leaving his lips as an afterthought while he stares at the scene in front of him.

Jaehyun is leaning by the window, a joint between his fingers. His purple outfit is jokeresque, but it’s his makeup that makes it clear who he is. With a white face, a jagged red overdrawn smile and dark eyes, he looks as stunning as Heath Ledger did in the role, but prettier, which isn’t that much of a shock considering this is Jaehyun.

Hyuck, meanwhile, is in a white shirt and jeans, his face done up in a matching cream shade. His nose and smile are red, with the colour on his lips curving up as slits through his eyes. His hair isn’t orange, just its normal shade of brown, but he’s a dead ringer for Pennywise, even without a good costume. 

Mark, meanwhile, is sitting on the bed. He’s not a clown that Jungwoo recognizes, especially not as Ten combs blue temporary dye through his bleach blonde hair. There’s something like white crossbones across his forehead, and he has the messiest red patch around his mouth, with blue slashes through his eyebrows and eyelids-

“Who is Mark supposed to be?” Jungwoo can’t help but ask, staring at his friend in confusion.

“I told you no one would know who I am!” Mark groans loudly, looking up at Ten.

“Do any of you even watch anime?” Ten sighs. “He’s Buggy The Clown from One Piece, there’s even a live-action of it on Netflix that came out two months ago- I swear, do you all live under a rock? I promise, if y/n actually likes clowns, she’ll know who Mark is.”

Ten’s words make Jungwoo realize what’s happening, and he lets out a laugh, crossing his arms over his chest while he stares at his karaoke friends. “So that’s what this is about.”

“She’s not the reason we’re dressed as clowns,” Hyuck is quick to insist.

He’s such a good liar. Jungwoo would almost believe it, if you hadn’t told him your Halloween clown plan. It’s no secret to you that your three frat friends all have crushes on you, so you’d decided to tell Jaehyun about wanting to fuck a clown, just to see who would actually follow through with the costume. You’d expected one, maybe two- but here are all three men, dressed as exactly what they are: clowns. 

And it’s obvious to Jungwoo that they think this is their own idea. As if you’re not the puppeteer behind this all. God, Jungwoo loves having you as a best friend, even if your bucket list includes a frat clown Halloween orgy with three of his best friends. 

5 : Barbie

The first words that Jungwoo says to you when he meets you outside the frat are, “You’re going to die.”

“What do you mean?” you laugh, linking your arm with his as he helps you up the house steps, being mindful of your sparkly heels.

“Just wait till you see, I don’t want to spoil it for you,” your best friend grins.

“Did one of our boys dress up as a clown?” you ask, skin tingling at the prospect.

“Something like that.”

“Two?” Your heart is already beginning to thunder in your ribcage.

“I told you, I’m not telling!” The two of you enter the large frat living room and makeshift dance floor. Your eyes immediately scan the location, looking for clowns.

At first, you almost miss Mark, but as your gaze narrows in on the blue hair you realize your first clown is none other than your favorite Canadian. “That’s Mark?” you ask in shock, looking him up and down from twenty feet away.

“Yeah, he’s supposed to be Muggy or something-”

“Buggy,” you correct.

“At least you know what the fuck his costume is,” Jungwoo sighs. 

“That’s such an odd choice for him- I didn’t know any of you even watched One Piece.”

“Ten suggested it I think,” Jungwoo admits. 

“That’s why he looks so good!”

“I mean…” your best friend gives you some major side eye, “if you’re into that sort of thing.”

Then you notice who’s standing next to Mark. his back had been to you, but as he turns and scans the crowd, you catch Pennywise makeup and you practically shiver at the realization that it’s Hyuck.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, clinging to Jungwoo even tighter. “I got roommates.”

“You’re so weird,” Jungwoo laughs. “Wait, I uh… think someone wants to talk to you.” Your friend is looking over your shoulder, and when you turn, you find Jaehyun standing there.

He looks as awkward as you’ve ever seen him, decked out as The Joker.

You can’t believe it. 

You’re three for three.

“Hey,” Jaehyun says, reaching a hand up to rub the back of his neck. “You look good.”

He’s scanning your Barbie costume, and you notice the way he tries to skip over your breasts… and fails. 

“You look good too,” you grin, already feeling a little overwhelmed with how many clowns are at the party. 

“I mean…” Jaehyun swallows thickly, “You said you like clowns-”

“I said more than that,” you tease.

“Okay, I’m getting a drink,” Jungwoo announces, unlinking your arms. “Have fun.”

“Don’t worry, I intend to,” you grin, watching him dart away before you turn your attention back to Jaehyun. You open your mouth, intent on flirting- on getting down to the business at hand, but before you can, someone grabs your forearm and you find Hyuck standing there.

He looks out of breath, and you realize he must have just run through the crowd to get to you, with Mark still trailing behind him by a few feet.

“You’re here!” Hyuck smirks. When he looks you up and down, he doesn’t bother hiding his attraction to you. “Nice dress.”

“Nice makeup,” you laugh, feeling like a kid in a candy store. 

“Well, we all know you’re a sucker for clowns.” It feels like a perfectly harmless statement, but by the way Hyuck’s smile widens, you can see the innuendo behind his words and it makes your stomach tie into knots. “Come on, Barbie,” his hand slips from your forearm to your wrist, and he tugs gently, “dance with us.”

 Your gaze shifts back at Jaehyun, he looks like he wants to say something- but you find yourself being dragged into the crowd.

Hyuck positions himself behind you, and Mark slots in front, hands finding your hips to steady you amongst the moving sea of bodies. “Hi,” he says, leaning in so you can hear him over the music.

“Hi, Buggy,” you grin, taking in the details of his makeup. Ten really did a number on him- you’ll have to thank him some time for making your dreams come true. 

“Thank God you know who I am,” Mark laughs, relief flooding his clowny features. 

Hyuck presses his body against your back, hands slipping around your waist- his breath on the nape of your neck cuts off any words you’d planned on saying to Mark, and it must be clear, because he leans in again, “Is this okay?”

You swallow hard, nodding. “Yeah, I think- I think I’m just surprised.”

“Why are you surprised?” Hyuck asks, his voice hoarse as you rub your ass back against him. 

“I mean- when I told Jaehyun I wanted to fuck a clown tonight, I expected one of you, maybe two, but not all three,” you admit.

“You can take all of us,” Hyuck says smoothly.

“If you want to,” Mark corrects. 

“Do you all want to?” you ask. “You’re not going to make me choose?”

“Mark and I are used to sharing,” Hyuck informs you. “I’m not sure about Jae.”

All three of you turn to look at the joker still standing off the dance floor, his gaze is fixed on you- God, it feels good to be pressed between Mark and Hyuck while Jaehyun watches. 

“How long…” Mark leans close again, and his lips brush over your ear, “How long have you known we’re all into you.”

“You’re not great at hiding it, Mark,” you laugh.

“And you really don’t have a favorite?” he asks, pulling away to look you deep in your eyes. 

“Do I seem like I have a favorite?” you counter.

“It’s obviously me,” Hyuck says loudly, pulling you back even tighter. “I’m everyone’s favourite.”

Mark ignores Hyuck, his gaze dipping down to your lips then back up. Even in a sea of bodies, with Hyuck rubbing against your ass, something about being pressed to Mark’s chest while he stares at you like this feels intimate. He’s so pretty, especially with the clown makeup and the blue hair- it gives him this dangerous edge, but below the layers of red, white and blue, this is still Mark, one of the softest men you’ve ever met.

You can’t help yourself, you lean forward, reaching for Mark’s shoulders-

He practically smashes his mouth against yours, and you realize how eager he is by the way his tongue immediately swipes a lick at your lower lip. His fingers dig into your hips, tugging you closer and away from Hyuck-

A second mouth finds your skin, with Hyuck groaning against your throat. The sensation makes a shiver run through you, and you part your lips for Mark, who dips his tongue inside. 

You truly can’t believe your luck tonight. As you cling tighter to Mark, enjoying Hyuck’s rough hands on your body, you almost forget about Jaehyun- but as soon as he pops in your mind, you pull away from the roommates, turning to look for your Joker.

He’s no longer standing by the dance floor, he’s walking away, and your heart lurches in your chest.

“Jae-” you say, tugging away from Mark and Hyuck to chase after your favorite classmate. If you’re being really honest with yourself- you’d told Jae about wanting to fuck a clown because out of all three, he’s the one you could see yourself really going the distance with.

Jaehyun has two years on Mark, and three on Hyuck- he’s the most mature of the three karaoke fratboys you’ve been thirsting over. There’s something about him that’s always made you feel calm- in contrast to the chaos Hyuck brings, and the warm fuzzies Mark gives you.

You like them all in different ways, you suppose, and you can’t stand the idea of losing even one of them from your hook tonight.

“Jae!” you call again, louder this time as you follow him- catching up just as he makes it to the stairwell door. He turns to look at you, and you blink. “Where are you going?”

“Needed a stronger drink,” he muses, scanning your face. “You’ve got a little something, here-” he reaches, cupping your chin and brushing his thumb over your lips, “And here,” his fingers smooth across your neck.

“Oh-” you go to wipe at your skin, only to find white and red makeup on your hand. 

Mark and Hyuck have just caught up to you, and when you turn, you see their makeup all smudged around their mouths. God, you hadn’t thought about actually fucking a guy in clown paint- this is going to be messier than it already will be fucking three men.

“What’s going on?” Mark asks, looking worried.

“Just getting another drink,” Jae sighs, pulling his hand away from you.

“Can we come?” you question.

“Sure.” Jaehyun reaches down and interlocks your fingers, guiding you up the stairwell while Hyuck and Mark lurch to follow.

You can hear them, two steps behind you, but two becomes four, and they begin to whisper. You makeout the words “serious,” “fucked,” “crazy,” and “sober.” it sounds like an intense conversation, but your mind is more pleasantly occupied thinking about Jaehyun and the way he’s holding your hand.

“Are you enjoying the party?” you ask.

“I was.”

“Looked like you wanted to say something to me earlier,” you point out.

“Maybe I did. It’s out of my head now.”

You’re not sure you believe him, but you don’t press Jaehyun as you make it to his floor. He’s roommates with Jungwoo, and you know the route to their little shared room like the back of your hand. When you get to the door, Jaehyun takes out his key to unlock it before allowing you inside first.

You head toward the shelf they keep their booze, rifling through it for your drink of choice while Jaehyun comes to stand next to you, grabbing the Whiskey.

“How much are you two planning on drinking tonight?” Mark’s voice makes both you and Jaehyun turn to stare at the Canadian.

He looks serious, but it’s hard to take him seriously while dresses as Buggy the Clown.

“Excuse me?” Jaehyun lets out a small laugh.

“I uh…” Mark shuffles awkwardly as Hyuck closes the door behind them, locking you into Jaehyun’s room with your three clowns. “I just… are you two planning on getting drunk or…?”

“I just want a shot,” you explain, finding a tiny glass to fill.

“And I’m just doing a double,” Jaehyun says, pouring whiskey into his red solo cup.

“Since when are you two all about being sober?” you ask, lifting your gaze to assess the two clowns by the door while you raise your glass to your lips.

“We’re usually not,” Mark admits-

“But tonight, we have a good reason to be,” Hyuck finishes.

“Yeah?” Jaehyun sips his drink. “And what reason is that?”

“Well…” Mark’s ears are turning red, and it’s a funny contrast to his blue hair.

“Let’s not play around,” Hyuck sighs. “We all know why we’re here.”

All their eyes shift to you, and you quickly take your shot, grimacing at the taste. “Someone better spit it out,” you prompt, although, you already know where this is going. Mark and Hyuck had already broached the subject with you on the dance floor.

“Fine, I’ll just say it,” Hyuck throws his hands up in defeat. “Clown orgy.”

You let out a small laugh. “Clown orgy?”

“A foursome,” he clarifies. “You told Jaehyun you’d fuck someone dressed as a clown tonight, and you’ve got us three here, in a room, with the door locked. So let’s do this. Don’t pretend you weren’t ready to take your panties off on the dancefloor five minutes ago.”

“We have to talk about this first,” you sigh, looking over at Jaehyun. “They’ve already said they’d be up for it, but I don’t know how you feel yet.”

“I don’t really know how I feel either,” Jaehyun admits, taking another larger swig of his drink. 

“Maybe we need some ground rules?” you suggest.

“That would be nice,” Mark nods.

You take a deep breath, knowing what you want to say. “The first rule should be that no matter what happens tonight, we should stay friends. I don’t want to give up karaoke night or make things weird just because I’m attracted to all three of you.”

“That’s fair,” Jaehyun agrees. “What else?”

You consider it for a moment. Part of you wants to say no marking, but at the same time, you kind of hope they leave their brand on you- you want a reminder of tonight, however fleeting, signs of teeth grazing your skin, of hands on your ass and around your throat- 

“This isn’t really a rule but uh…” you swallow thickly, “I mean… I’ve told you guys before that none of the dudes I’ve slept with have ever made me cum.”

“Wait,” Hyuck’s smile drops. “Are you for real? I always thought that was a joke.”

“I’m being dead serious,” you admit, feeling your skin heat with embarrassment. “But I can make myself cum, so I know my body can get there-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Hyuck shakes his head, reaching out to put his hand over your mouth. “You’re telling us, that no guy has ever made you cum before?”

You nod.

Hyuck’s hand stays fixed over your lips and he simply stares at you for a few moments. You see Jaehyun and Mark exchange a look.

“Well, that changes tonight.” Hyuck’s hand drops to his side. “Get on the bed and show us how you like it.”

“Will you please get on the bed and show us what you like so we can learn your body better,” Mark corrects, flashing Hyuck a look that says ‘be gentle.’

“You guys want me to… touch myself in front of you?” 

“Here,” Jaehyun moves to his bed, sitting against the headboard and spreading his thighs, patting the spot between them. “Come sit with me.” 

You’re hesitant at first, but after taking a deep breath you move to join him, watching as he sets his drink down on the bedside table, giving you his full attention. You slip out of your heels, joining him without another thought.

It’s a little odd to sit back against Jaehyun’s warm chest. Even though you hug him often, this position isn’t one you’ve experienced with him- and the promise of what’s to come is heavy on your mind.

“Are you okay with this?” Jaehyun asks, his breath hot on the nape of your neck while you settle. 

You nod, licking your lips as your gaze shifts to Mark and Hyuck. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

“If you want to stop, just tell us,” Jaehyun says softly. You feel him move closer, and then his lips are pressing to the side of your throat.

Your body reacts, a deep sigh escaping you as you tilt your head, giving Jaehyun more space while leaning back into his embrace. He’s so gentle, and it sets your skin alight with pleasurable tingles. His hands smooth down your bare arms, and when he smiles, you think it’s because he can feel your goosebumps.

“You’re sensitive, huh?” Hyuck asks, coming to sit on the foot of the bed, his eyes fixed on you and Jaehyun.

“Very,” you admit.

Mark is staring at your chest, and when you look down, you find that your nipples have hardened. Your dress has a somewhat built in bra, so you hadn’t bothered with another layer, but now, your sensitive buds are pushing through the fabric, betraying just how much you’re enjoying Jaehyun’s touch.

Your legs are closed, but soon, Jaehyun’s hands are slipping down to your thighs, gently prompting you to spread yourself for the awaiting eyes of the younger frat boys at the foot of the bed. Hyuck and Mark are like dogs with their gaze focused on their favourite toy, Hyuck even licks his lips, staring at you with pupils blown from lust.

You’ve never seen clowns look this serious.

“Are you going to touch yourself for us, barbie? Or do you want me to do it for you?” Jaehyun asks, his lips teasing past your throat with each word.

“I can…” You swallow thickly, “I can show you, but… You’ll take over soon, right?”

“Anything you want,” he assures you.

You want them, and it’s taking every ounce of self control to stay focused on what Hyuck had asked you to do. You suppose there’s a good reason to show them what you like first, and you hope that by doing this, it will only build the tension. When you all finally snap, something tells you that these next few minutes will make a difference in how well they please you.

Your hand is shaky as you bring it to your core, panties exposed by the dress you’re wearing, which has slid up to reveal most of your subtle thighs. When you drag your fingers over your panty covered core, you find a wet patch, and it makes you bite at your lip, stifling a whimper.

“How’s it feel?” Mark asks. When you look up, you find he’s assessing your face, watching you carefully. You realize he’s actually concerned for you, and it only makes you wetter.

“Feels good,” you tell him, rubbing small circles over your clit while relaxing back against Jaehyun’s chest. 

The clown behind you has his hands on your thighs, but they shift up, to your hips, then your rib cage- you release a breathy moan when he cups your boobs, thumbs stroking over your nipples. Jaehyun’s lips are on your neck again, and each swipe of his tongue has your core practically throbbing.

You close your eyes, leaning back against Jaehyun, resting your head on his shoulder while you rub yourself even harder. Your knees are bent, feet flat on the bed, and you can’t help the way your hips buck toward your hand.

“Are you close already?” Hyuck asks, and you can pretty much hear him smirking.

You can only nod, focusing on the feeling building in the pit of your stomach. It’s incredibly erotic to be touching yourself while pressed to Jaehyun’s strong chest, to have Mark and Hyuck watching you-

The man behind you pinches your nipples through your dress and you cry out, core pulsing desperately. “Please,” you whimper, although, at this point, you don’t even know what you’re begging for.

Jaehyun’s hand slips down to join your own, cupping your smaller fingers and applying more pressure, helping you work your clit closer and closer to an orgasm-

“Oh my God,” you gasp, hips bucking toward his hand.

His mouth is hot on your neck, his other hand still worshiping your breast. It feels absolutely amazing- this is a position you’ve never been in before. You can feel Jaehyun’s cock straining against the small of your back, but he’s entirely focused on you. Your pleasure is what matters most, and it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever experienced.

“I’m gonna-” You can’t even finish your sentence, your orgasm washes over you like warm waves, pussy clamping down on nothing, convulsing desperately-

Something moves on the bed. All of the sudden your hand is being pushed away. Your panties are slipped to the side, and you open your eyes to see Mark laying between your thighs, his face pressing up to your pussy so he can lick a stripe at your wet folds. You release a strangled whimper when his tongue flicks by your sensitive clit, your walls still fluttering around nothing.

“Mark-” you whisper, reaching down to tangle your hand in his blue hair. You pull him even closer, shifting and opening your thighs wider for the man that begins to devour you. He licks up every drop of your orgasm, moaning loudly when his tongue dips in to stroke your weakly convulsing walls.

One orgasm has just dwindled out, but it’s clear Mark has the intention of giving you another.

Jaehyun’s hand wraps around your throat, squeezing gently at first, but when you grab his forearm, prompting him to go harder, he concedes. His fingers press on either side of your neck, impeding blood flow and making your head even dizzier.

Mark’s lips suction around your clit, and your body practically short circuits. You tighten your grip in his hair, making him groan, and the vibration through your clit has your legs shaking.

“You gonna cum again?” Hyuck asks, watching you from the foot of the bed. “Markie’s good with his mouth, isn’t he, barbie?”

“So good,” you whimper, grinding against Mark’s face as he brings you closer and closer to the edge with shocking speed.

Mark’s tongue circles your clit, tiny circles, like you’d done with your fingers. His pace is increasing, like yours had- He’d really taken what you’d shown them about your pleasure, and learned it.

Jaehyun’s still gripping your throat, swallowing is hard, but everything feels so good. 

Mark wraps his hands around your thighs and he pulls you further down the bed. Your head is now resting against Jaehyun’s chest, and he lets up on your neck, opting to grab your breasts. He pushes your dress down just far enough to release your sensitive nipples, and then he captures them between his fingers.

Jaehyun’s hips rut ever so slightly, his hard length dragging between your shoulder blades while you wiggle against him. Mark’s tongue dips into your pussy, nose rubbing your clit-

“Please-”

The clown between your thighs wraps his lips around your sensitive bud again, sucking as harshly as ever, and it’s the last bit of stimulus you need to fall over the edge.

You throw your head back against Jaehyun’s chest, eyes clenched shut. Your legs try to close around Mark but he holds them open, lewly lapping you through your high while you struggle and cry from how much pleasure is coursing through you.

Your abdomen almost hurts from how intense your orgasm is, and each convulsion of your walls reminds you how painfully empty you are. With three cocks in the room, you can’t believe you’ve already cum twice without being stuffed-

Can’t believe Mark made you cum with his mouth alone.

Your friends really know what they’re doing- and it’s a shock that Mark Lee, the sweetest boy you know, is an absolute menace with his tongue.

As you come down from your high, Mark pulls away from your pussy. You’re panting hard, and you look at him from under heavy lids. His makeup is a complete mess, and when you gaze down between your legs, you find your inner thighs coated in red, white and blue.

You can’t even bring yourself to care.

“So who are you fucking first, barbie?” Hyuck asks nonchalantly. 

You swallow thickly, mind racing. 

Mark’s the first guy to really make you cum, and your gaze shifts to him. You feel bad not choosing Jae, who is practically throbbing at your back, but Mark looks just as uncomfortable in his pants.

You don’t even have to say his name, it’s obvious who your choice is, and Hyuck sighs loudly.

“But…” you lick your lips, turning in Jaehyun’s embrace to meet his gaze, ���I want you in my mouth too.”

He cups your jaw, kissing you for the first time. The only thing gentle about this is his hand on your face, but the kiss is hungry. His tongue invades you, and you shift in his arms, turning to face him. You’re on your knees, wrapping your arms around his shoulders while you press your chests together, needing to be closer to him.

His hands smooth down to your hips, and then you feel another set on your skin, pushing your dress up to your waist. Someone rubs against your pussy, then fingers hook in your panties to drag them down to your knees. 

“Condoms?” Mark asks.

You break your kiss from Jaehyun to shake your head, his lips eager against your cheek and throat. “I’ve got birth control, and I’m clean- are you guys all clean?”

“Dirty minds, clean cocks,” Hyuck assures you distantly. 

“Good,” you groan, reaching down to grasp Jaehyun’s thick length through his jeans. He groans loudly against your throat. 

Mark’s hand smooths against your back, and then you feel his bare cock at your enterance, teasing up and down your slit. He bumps by your clit and your legs shake with anticipation. “You’re dripping,” Mark tells you.

“So fuck me?” you suggest, feeling daring, and very needy. You’re tired of waiting, tired of pretending you don’t want to be split open on multiple fronts.

“Shit,” Jaehyun groans, pulling away from you so he can sit up on his knees, hands moving to his belt buckle. 

Mark slips the tip of his cock into your tight hole and you both groan at how easy it is. Your walls flutter around him as he pushes deeper and deeper, until his hips are flush with your ass. “Oh my God,” Mark practically whimpers, his fingers digging into your hips. “You feel so fucking good.”

Mark’s not the biggest cock you’ve ever had, but it fits just right inside of you. As he begins to thrust into you, his balls start to smack against your clit, which is still extremely sensitive from two orgasms. Your toes curl, and you practically begin to drool as Jaehyun finally gets his own dick out, immediately presenting it to you.

You waste no time wrapping a hand around him and bringing him to your mouth. You lick a stripe along the underside, earning a groan from the man above you, and when you wrap your lips around him, Jaehyun actually shivers.

“Holy shit, you look so good like this,” he tells you, reaching down to cup your head.

Mark thrusts particularly hard behind you, and it sends your mouth further onto Jaehyun’s cock, your throat clenching as he hits the back of it. 

“Fuck-” Jaehyun groans, tightening his grip on your hair.

You’ve never been spitroasted, never been in an Eiffel tower, but God, it feels good. 

Mark’s pace is building, his moans and whimpers like music to your ears while you try to focus half your attention on sucking off Jaehyun-

“Are you into anal?”

Of course Hyuck’s not about to just sit this out, and his question makes you groan. Jaehyun pulls you off his cock, watching intently as a string of saliva keeps your mouth connected to his throbbing length. You swallow thickly, licking your lips before you can answer. “I’ve never tried it,” you admit.

“We should try it tonight,” Hyuck insists. “Lots of girls cum super hard from a bit of anal.”

At this point, you’d agree to anything they suggest. It’s clear that the three men fucking you know what women like, and you’re willing to give yourself completely to them.

“Anything you want,” you say, voice shaky as you bring your lips back to Jaehyun’s cock, sinking down on him again.

“Fuck,” Mark groans loudly behind you. One of his hands moves from your hips, and then you feel a lubed up thumb begin to circle your other hole. Your pussy clenches tight around Mark, and he lets out another sound of appreciation. “Relax, barbie,” he tells you. “It will be better if you relax.”

You do your best to relax your entire body, and it prompts Jaehyun to begin fucking your face now that your throat is more open. Mark’s thrusts have slowed down a little, his attention transferred to the thumb teasing your virgin hole. 

You whimper as he presses the tip of his digit inside of you, working you open. It’s a foreign feeling, but as he begins to stimulate you, fucking you onto his cock, you realize Hyuck’s right about it feeling good.

Another orgasm is building in the pit of your stomach. You don’t even know where to focus- Jaehyun sounds so pretty with his cock burried in your mouth, and Mark feels snug with your pussy clenching tightly around him, his thumb slowly thrusting in and out of your ass-

“Shit,” Mark moans loudly, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass cheeks. “I’m gonna cum- this is way too hot- I can cum inside right? You want it inside?”

You let out a sound of affirmation, sucking harder on Jaehyun’s cock. Mark begins fucking you faster again, keeping his thumb burried in your ass while his balls hit your clit with each rough thrust of his hips. 

You’re gasping around Jaehyun’s length, muscles pulling tight as Mark works you closer and closer to the edge-

“Fuck, oh my God, shit, Barbie- Can you cum with me?” Mark’s free hand slips around your front, seeking out your clit-

There’s no way this man has his cock in your pussy, his thumb in your ass, and his fingers on your clit- Mark truly said lemme fuck this girl absolutely stupid- 

All you can do is whine, sounds muffled by each thrust of Jaehyun’s cock past your lips. You teeter on the edge, core clamping down on Mark-

“Shit, I’m cumming, fuck, cum with me, barbie, holy fuck-”

Mark’s words make you truly tip over the edge. Your entire body convulses and you pull off Jaehyun’s cock, gasping loudly while your other holes clench and unclench desperately around Mark. You rest against Jaehyun’s thigh, reaching up a weak hand to pump his cock through your orgasm, waves of pleasure nearly consuming you.

Mark’s thrusts slowly come to a stop, and you listen to him pant behind you, his breath trailing over your shoulders and making you shiver.

“My turn,” Hyuck announces.

Mark pulls out of your core and you whimper at the loss. You can already feel cum begining to drip out of you, a mix of yours and Mark’s. As much as you miss Mark in your wet, needy cunt, you kind of miss him in your ass too, and it’s a surprising feeling.

“Think you can take something bigger in here?” Hyuck asks, landing a gentle spank to your bum that has you whining desperately. 

You can only nod, blinking up at Jaehyun through teary lashes. “Can I fuck you too?”

Jaehyun’s lips part at the notion of double penetration, his cock twitching in your hand. “Yeah, anything you want.” 

It’s a quick shift for Jaehyun to lay down on his back, pulling you into a straddling position. You all remove your clothes, and then Jaehyun guides his cock to your wet hole, using the cum as lube, which makes it easy to slide into you. You both release groans when he bottoms out, and your hands find his chest.

You simply cock warm him for a moment, appreciating the stretch. He’s longer than Mark, maybe not as thick, but the tip of his dick hits a spot deep inside of you.

“Bend over,” Hyuck instructs, moving behind you. His hand is gentle on your shoulder as he pushes you down, and you take the opportunity to press your lips to Jaehyun’s, kissing him eagerly.

You roll your hips and Jaehyun groans beneath you, fingers digging into your thighs.

You hear Hyuck spit, and a moment later the feeling of something wet meets your back hole. Hyuck spreads open your cheeks with one hand, using the other to circle your tight ring of muscles with a finger. “Fuck, I can’t believe I get to be the first one inside you like this.”

“It was worth the wait, wasn’t it?” Jaehyun teases, and you know you’ve tested Hyuck’s patience by making him last to touch you.

“So worth it,” Hyuck agrees.

He sinks a finger into your hole and you moan loudly, burying your face against Jaehyun’s throat. “Relax,” he reminds you, smoothing a hand along your spine. “Hyuck’s good at this sort of thing.”

You have to admit, Hyuck does know what he’s doing. He toes the line between rough and gentle, as if he knows exactly what you’re able to take. He twists his hand so you can feel the ridges of his knuckles as he works open your ass, and soon he’s adding a second finger. “You’re a natural, barbie,” Hyuck praises you. 

Your core twitches and Jaehyun moans, throwing his head back against the pillow when you begin to kiss his throat. “She likes it,” Jaehyun announces.

“Most girls do, they just have to feel comfortable enough to open up,” Hyuck explains.

So he’s some sort of anal genius, apparently.

You honestly don’t even mind.

He works your ass expertly, and the feeling has you tingling with anticipation. If this is what two fingers feels like, you can’t even imagine having his whole cock.

“I hate to rush you,” Jaehyun says, “but… If we don’t start moving soon, I might die.”

“Yeah, yeah, she’s ready for me,” Hyuck breathes, pulling his fingers out of your ass to land a smack against your skin, “isn’t that right, baby? All ready to be filled?”

You nod. “Please!” 

Hyuck spits on your hole again, but then you hear Mark say the word “lube” and you look to find him holding a bottle.

“How did you even know where to find this?” Hyuck asks, accepting the lube and popping open the cap to squirt a line on his cock.

“Most of us only use our bedside tables for one thing,” Mark breathes, meeting your gaze. “How are you feeling?”

“Good.” You lick your lips, eyes dipping to bulge forming in Mark’s jeans. 

“Are you looking at his cock, barbie?” Hyuck laughs, rubbing himself along your hole, getting you lubricated.

“Maybe.” Your skin heats with embarrassment.

“Is two cocks not enough?” Hyuck teases, landing another harsh smack to your ass.

“She wants the full experience,” Jaehyun smiles good naturedly below you. “Isn’t that right, barbie?”

“I just-” you swallow thickly. “How often do you end up in a foursome? It would be… irresponsible not to try it to the fullest, right?”

“Our little barbie likes being full,” Hyuck groans, sliding the tip of his cock into your ass. “Trust me, you’ll be full by the time this is all over.”

You can’t even respond, your mind much more pleasantly focused on the feeling of Hyuck splitting you open. You’re doing your best to breathe, to relax, but it’s a difficult feat as Hyuck sinks more and more of his thick cock into your virgin hole.

“Oh my God-” you whimper, tangling your fingers in the sheets. 

Jaehyun’s hand is smooth along your back, reassuring, and he draws your lips to his again. He eats up your sounds of pleasure as Hyuck bottoms out, releasing a deep groan. His fingers dig into your hips, and he allows you to get used to the feeling of being completely stuffed.

“Good?”

“So good,” you breathe.

“Can I start fucking you stupid now?” Hyuck asks. “Or do you need a moment?”

“Fuck me silly.” 

“Don’t mind if I fucking do.” Hyuck’s grip tightens on your hips, and his first thrust makes you cry out, gasping into Jaehyun’s mouth. The man below you lets out a grunt, the force of Hyuck’s motion pushing you further onto his own cock.

You feel Jaehyun adjust, anchoring himself so he can begin to fuck up into you. 

They’re holding you steady, hovering over Jaehyun so they can both be the ones moving to meet your holes. Skin slapping against skin, it’s an erratic sound as they both struggle to find a pace that works. You’re clawing at the bed when they both thrust at the same time, so Jaehyun adjusts again, pistoning into you as Hyuck draws back.

Now this feels like heaven. 

“Fuck,” you moan, burrying your face against Jaehyun’s throat. “I’m gonna cum- I’m gonna cum so fucking hard-”

“Do it,” Hyuck says, spanking you roughly.

Your entire body clamps down on them from the sting of the hit, and you gasp, teetering on the edge-

“Cum for us,” Jaehyun whispers, his lips teasing your ear. “We’ve got you.”

You feel a tear slip down your cheek, and you explode- but instead of letting up, Hyuck fucks into you even harder. You let out a loud squeal, shivering with stimulation- The clown behind you laughs loudly.

“That’s it, squeeze our fucking cocks! Bet you want our cum so bad- barbie wants to be full, but not until you take all three.”

You lift your head from Jaehyun’s shoulder, body still convulsing around Hyuck and Jaehyun. Mark’s standing next to the bed, cock in hand. “You don’t have to,” he tells you weakly, fist gripped tight around his throbbing length, the head dripping with precum. 

“Come here,” you say, practically blind with lust. 

Shifting off of Jaehyun’s chest, you plant your hands on the bed, leaning over so you can accept Mark’s cock into your mouth.

He releases a strangled groan, immediately cupping the back of your head so he can begin to fuck into you. It’s not like you can move while held between Jaehyun and Hyuck, no, you’re simply a girl with three holes, getting fucked by three clowns.

You’ve cum three times? Four? You’re not even sure anymore. All you know is nothing has ever been like this, and nothing ever will be again.

It’s like you’ve been transported to an entirely other planet, where orgasming with men is easy and you’re just some needy cock whore desperate for cum.

“Fuck, you just got so tight from sucking on Mark,” Hyuck groans. “You really love our cocks, don’t you, barbie?”

You can only moan around Mark, hallowing your cheeks harder around his length, while he practically whimpers, fucking your throat even harder.

“I don’t know about you two,” Jaehyun breathes, “but I’m about to fucking bust.”

“Me too,” Mark grunts, tightening his grip on your hair.

“I can cum.”

You let out a meak groan of affirmation.

All four of you are going to cum together, and nothing has ever felt so right, so correct. 

“On three?” Hyuck suggests.

“On three,” Jaehyun agrees, reaching between your bodies to rub at your clit.

You practically scream, walls shuddering around the cocks pistoning relentlessly in your tight, abused holes.

“That’s it,” Jaehyun coaxes you. “Hold it just a little longer.”

“Three,” Hyuck lands the harshes smack of the night against your ass. “Two-”

“Fuck,” Mark grunts, “One!” 

The tension in your stomach snaps as Mark shoots his load down your throat. Your entire body feels practically numb, awash with waves of pleasure that blank out everything else in the entire world. 

You hear Jaehyun cuss loudly below you, fingers digging into your hips. Hyuck fills up your ass with his hot cum, groaning as loudly as you’ve ever heard from him while your walls contract with more force than you’ve ever experienced.

You’ve never orgasmed this hard. It’s completely all consuming, wracking you with shivers and something akin to sobs as you pull of Mark’s cock, gasping and burrying yourself against Jaehyun- which is when you realize his cock has slipped out of your core, and he’s jacking himself onto his chest, coating both your skin with white ropes.

“Fuck, barbie, you fucking squirted,” he groans. “Pushed me right out-”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry-” you whimper, tears filling your eyes at how overstimulated you are.

“No, babe, that was hot as fuck,” Jaehyun assures you, finishing and pulling his hand away from his cock, cupping your face to pull your lips to his.

“I wanna see that again,” Hyuck says from behind you, pulling out of your ass only to release a sinful sound at the sight of both of your holes dripping-

“She’s done,” Jaehyun’s voice is as stern as you’ve heard it so far, and he tucks you against his shoulder, stroking your hair.

“She can do one more, I wanna make her squirt-”

“No. She’s fucking crying, Hyuck. Give her some rest.”

“She’s crying?” Mark and Hyuck ask at the same time, but the latter sounds much more happy about it than the former.

“I’ve never cum that hard, or that many times,” you admit weakly. 

“Lemme get a towel,” Mark suggests immediately, and you can hear his soft footfalls as he runs across the room. 

“You did good, baby,” Hyuck tells you, stroking your back. “Took us all like a fucking champ.”

You can only shiver at his words, your pussy throbbing as an echo of the highs they’ve just provided you. 

“Here, can you sit up for us?” Mark asks.

Hands gently help you up, and you look down at Jaehyun’s body, shocked to find his skin glistening with squirt and cum. Jaehyun takes the towel from Mark. He starts by wiping at your face, “clown makeup,” he explains. Then he swipes the cloth along the front of your body, you shiver when he traces over your nipples. He cleans himself last, tossing the ruined fabric to the floor.

“I feel like we all still need a shower,” Jaehyun sighs. 

“In the middle of the Halloween party?” Mark’s eyes widen. “The bathrooms are full of people!” 

“And barbie probably can’t even walk,” Hyuck points out.

Your legs do feel shaky, even while sitting on top of Jaehyun.

“Mark, can you go grab us a few more towels from your room?” Jaehyun suggests. “Ten probably has makeup removing wipes-”

“We should just move to our room,” Hyuck interrupts.

“Like you said, barbie can’t even walk. We’re staying here.”

“Isn’t your bed ruined with cum?”

“Actually, most of he squirt landed on me,” Jaehyun says, looking at the bed sheets under him. “It’s fine here.”

“You’re being selfish,” Hyuck’s nose scrunches up with distaste. “Mark and I share a room, you’re here with Jungwoo, it’s two against one.”

Except, Mark has already left in search of towels, so at the moment, it’s one versus one. Without the Canadian’s support, Hyuck’s easily beaten by a harsh glare from Jaehyun.

“Well, I guess I’m sleeping here too,” Hyuck sighs.

“No you’re not, the bed hardly fits two.”

“Not my problem.” Hyuck shrugs, walking to Jaehyun’s closet to pull out some clean clothes. “It’s called aftercare Jae, cuddles come with the package.”

Jaehyun only groans helping you move to lay next to him. 

Hyuck practically jumps on the foot of the bed, looking up at you with a shit eating pennywise grin that’s completely smudged. “Did you have fun, babe?”

“The most fun,” you smile back, curling close to Jaehyun’s side.

“Best Halloween ever?” he suggests.

“A hundred percent,” you agree.

Your body is sore, and you’re more tired than you’ve been in a long time, but you feel comfortable. You always feel comfortable with these guys. Sure… you’re laying on a towel with cum dripping out of two holes, but… you still feel at peace.

Mark returns quickly, with more cloths and makeup remover. The boys help you out first, with Jaehyun cleaning your face while Hyuck deals with the cum and makeup between your legs. Mark finds you a spare set of sweats and a hoodie from Jaehyun’s closet, and soon you feel more comfortable than ever.

It’s kind of sad watching your friends take off their clown colours, but you’re sure you’ll have the memory of this etched into your brain forever, so that’s something you can lean on at least.

“How are you feeling now?” Mark asks, reaching for your hands to pull you up onto your feet.

Your legs are a little wobbly, but you’re doing okay, and you flash him a smile. “I think I’m alright.”

“Do you wanna run to the bathroom with me? I read somewhere that uti’s happen easier if you don’t uh…” Mark swallows thickly, skin turning a pretty shade of pink that contrasts the blue in his hair, “If you don’t you know, go to the bathroom after.”

He’s adorable, and so caring. When you agree, Hyuck jumps to his feet, and just like that, it becomes a group trip, with even Jaehyun tagging along.

The hallway on this floor is pretty clear, but you run into Jungwoo exiting the bathroom. He stops in his tracks, looking you up and down, then he begins to beam. “Looks like you guys had fun.”

“Stop it,” you push at his shoulder, skin heating with embarrassment. Sure, you’ve told him for a while that you’d love to partake in a clown orgy, but it’s another thing entirely to run into him after getting three holes stuffed by his best friends.

“Are you staying over tonight?” Jungwoo asks.

“Yeah, she’s with us,” Jaehyun responds, hand finding your hip to tug you closer as Hyuck and Mark enter the bathroom to wash the last pit of clownery off their skin. 

“As in… she’s staying in our room?” Your best friend’s eyes light up. “Oh my god, sleepover!”

“Hyuck and Mark are joining too,” Jaehyun sighs, tightening his grip on you.

Jungwoo’s smile grows. “Karaoke night!?” 

You and Jaehyun exchange a look and he laughs. “I’m not sure any of us have the energy for that, Woo.”

“Right, cuz you all just had hot nasty clown orgy sex. I’m the only one who hasn’t gotten laid so far.”

“You can still change that,” Jaehyun says, giving his roommate some much needed encouragement.

“Nah, it’s sleep over time,” Jungwoo grins. 

You love how excited he is to spend time with you and the three men you’ve just fucked. Jungwoo doesn’t have a care in the world- it’s a good sign. Maybe this little clown orgy really didn’t change much in the relationships, or at least, as a group it still feels like things are strong.

You have no idea what tomorrow will bring, but something tells you that everything is going to work out.  

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! Another year, another Halloween, another weird clown fic from user smileysuh

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview.  In the months you’ve been dating these three men, you’ve tried a lot of different sex positions. But you’ve never tried being stuffed full of cock while both of your tits get sucked on and your clit is played with… you should have tried this ages ago.

cw/ tw. Threesome, unprotected sex, breast worship, biting, Mark/Hyuck worshiping her breasts at the same time, cum/filling kink, douple penetration, blow job, oral, deep throating, overstimulation, pussy slapping, messy sex, painting her skin with makeup, etc… I pet names: (hers) baby, babe.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.5k I teaser wc. 250

🌙 staring. Jaehyun & Hyuck & Mark x afab!Reader  

bonus

“Why are we doing clown makeup again?” Mark asks, looking at the eye shadow pallet with distaste. “It’s a Valentine’s Day party, not Halloween.”

“Exactly,” Hyuck says, brushing crimson around his eyes. “It’s Valentine’s Day, which means she’s going to be more focused on Jaehyun. We have to do something to even the playing field- besides, it’s not full clown, it’s just… a few red hearts, a bit of makeup- you know how much our baby loves getting messy.”

“I guess you’re right,” Mark sighs. It’s been three and a half months since that first night you all fucked, and since then, they’ve learned a lot about you and your… tastes. You definitely like having your skin painted, in makeup as well as cum.

Hyuck’s gotten particularly good at clown makeup, and tonight, even Mark has to admit his roommate looks good. He’s gone for a lighter cream coloured base, with a red glittery heart around one eye, and his mouth done up in the same glittered scarlet colour- it’s clear to Mark that Hyuck intends on getting you nice and messy tonight.

Mark, on the other hand, isn’t very interested in makeup. Hyuck had insisted they do different colours, and after you’d revealed how much you liked his blue hair at Halloween, he’s since dyed his strands a soft, steely, sky shade. 

Instead of going full clown, Mark does a few glittery blue hearts along his cheekbone. He doesn’t mind if Jae gets to be the main attraction in his romanesque cupid outfit, it is his birthday afterall.

☀️ to read the full 3.5k bonus, subscribe to my Patreon, then click here

👹 or check out what else is on my patreon here

🔮 see what’s already available to read on my m.list

general taglist: (send me an ask to join either tag list:)

@gotshinct - @subhyuck - @fraechan - @learnthisfeeling

@runahways - @d-abin - @milkteade - @woogyuhae 

@anothershorthuman - @nihxxy - @vantxx95 - @bangshii

@poutypoutybin - @notbeforelong - @creepybakeoven

@ninetechculture - @yungiland - @suhsfam - @binchangf

@chogiwapadada - @librarian-stacks - @meowniee

@learnthisfeeling - @gigilame - @cumtrov3rsy

@mocha000 - @darthlunaa​ - @just-here-to-read-01​ - @shiningnono

@lovelyhan - @grilledbananas

✘ nct taglist

@milkyway-vxm - @nctsawrus - @shiningdery - @freezerandfame

@fairieblog - @fairybr3ad - @peachyjaemin - @chemaistry

@sehunniepot

thanks to those who interacted with the teaser :)

@multislut - @ohmyhuenings - @mitzoa - @goquokka

@sugarsspread - @hyuckpdf - @automarktic - @jsuhsweet

@thebubsz

[daydreamingoveracupofcoffee]

Pro-Heroes as flower

Toshinori Yagi (All Might):

Sunflower

In my view, sunflowers capture Toshinori’s radiant, uplifting spirit. Their towering height and bright yellow petals reflect his commanding, hopeful presence as All Might, standing tall as a beacon for society. In hanakotoba, sunflowers symbolize “adoration” and “radiance,” aligning with how he’s revered and his ability to shine even in dark times. The flower’s sturdy stem mirrors his enduring willpower, persisting through injury and weakness to pass on his legacy.

Shota Aizawa (Eraser Head):

Lavender

I see lavender as Aizawa’s flower for its understated elegance and calming essence. The flower’s soft purple hue and soothing scent reflect his quiet strength and ability to defuse chaotic situations with his Quirk. In hanakotoba, lavender symbolizes “devotion” and “silence,” fitting his unspoken loyalty to his students and subtle heroism. Lavender’s association with rest also nods to his constant exhaustion, tying into his sleeping bag moments, while its resilience in tough conditions mirrors his tenacity.

Hizashi Yamada (Present Mic):

Marigold

Marigolds feel right for Present Mic because of their bold, fiery colors and lively presence, matching his energetic, attention-grabbing nature. Their vivid orange and yellow petals echo his bright hair and flashy style. In hanakotoba, marigolds symbolize “passion” and “creativity,” reflecting his dynamic performances as a hero and DJ. To me, the flower’s warmth captures his ability to energize others, while its protective connotations in some traditions align with his heroic duty and steadfast loyalty to friends.

Keigo Takami (Hawks):

Hawkweed

Hawkweed, a vibrant yellow flower with delicate, feather-like petals, feels perfect for Hawks. Its name and appearance echo his bird-themed identity and winged Quirk, while its bright color matches his lively, confident persona and striking eyes. In hanakotoba, hawkweed can symbolize “freedom” and “sharpness,” reflecting his soaring independence and keen perception. The flower’s ability to thrive in varied environments mirrors Hawks’ adaptability, whether he’s charming the public or navigating dangerous undercover missions.

Enji Todoroki (Endeavor):

Red Camellia

Red camellias capture Endeavor’s fiery, complex nature. Their bold, flame-like petals align with his Hellflame Quirk and intense personality, while their elegance reflects his status as a top hero. In hanakotoba, red camellias symbolize “love” and “perseverance,” fitting his relentless drive and his evolving efforts to rebuild familial bonds. The flower’s fleeting bloom also hints at the fragility of his redemption, as he grapples with past mistakes while burning brightly to prove himself.

Taishiro Toyomitsu (Fat Gum):

Dandelion

Dandelions feel like the ideal match for Fat Gum’s warm, resilient spirit. Their round, golden heads evoke his bulky, cheerful presence and love for round foods like takoyaki. In hanakotoba, dandelions symbolize “cheerfulness” and “resilience,” reflecting his upbeat attitude and ability to bounce back from attacks using his Quirk. The flower’s ability to spread seeds far and wide mirrors his role in nurturing and inspiring young heroes, while its unassuming strength aligns with his deceptively powerful, protective nature.

Rumi Usagiyama (Mirko):

Red Poppy

Red poppies strike me as Mirko’s flower for their vivid, untamed beauty and fiery spirit. The bright red petals match her intense eyes and fierce energy, while the flower’s wild growth reflects her free-spirited, independent nature. In hanakotoba, poppies symbolize “fun-loving” and “passion,” aligning with her thrill-seeking, battle-hungry personality. Poppies also stand tall yet sway freely, mirroring Mirko’s strength and agility as she leaps into fights without hesitation.

Kugo Sakamata (Gang Orca):

Blue Iris

Blue irises feel right for Gang Orca, evoking his aquatic nature and dignified character. The flower’s deep blue petals and sleek, upright form mirror his marine-inspired design and commanding presence. In hanakotoba, irises symbolize “courage” and “trust,” reflecting his heroic resolve and reliability as a mentor. The iris’s association with water and its ability to thrive near it align with his orca traits, while its quiet elegance captures his underlying honor beneath a fearsome exterior.

Tsunagu Hakamada (Best Jeanist):

Cornflower

Cornflowers resonate with Best Jeanist for their subtle elegance and denim-blue hue, which matches his stylish, fabric-focused identity. The flower’s smooth, structured petals reflect his precise control and polished appearance. In hanakotoba, cornflowers symbolize “delicacy” and “refinement,” fitting his sophisticated demeanor and attention to detail. To me, the cornflower’s understated strength—blooming vibrantly yet simply—captures his ability to wield immense power with grace while guiding others to refine their raw potential.

[hey-iam-fire-ghost-but-i-write]

tragically earthbounded 002

Lord Morpheus x Fem!OC (Ophelia) 002: the way things are > CHAPTER INDEX

not my gift, credits to the owner.

English is not my first language, sorry for the mistakes but be nice about it!

Summary: The Dreaming is restored, although your heart craves for the old ways of things. And maybe you're not alone in this.

Warnings: Talks about imprisonment (or the lack therefor) and Morpheus being well, Morpheus.

Word count: 3.1K

previous: 001

next: 003

—

Hopes rising up, stronger than those who tried to bring them down.

It started with the library, as if Morpheus was gifting it back to Lucienne. 

Healing.

He wasn’t even back yet and things were already changing. 

The Royal Library was back at it’s place in a blink of an eye, which was amazing and encouraging when his absence and the lack of news from him left you restless as you pace around the palace.

But then, there was work to do, for Morpheus did not mind the library as well as Lucienne would’ve liked and plenty of books were misplaced. 

Which made your theory of exhausting feet all the more real after long periods of time taking books from one shelf to another following Lucienne’s instructions closely.

Your dear friend was actually smiling.

Tiredness more often than not made you fall asleep, which was a new and existing thing to do now in the Dreaming for the dreams and nightmares were returning to their home. No dream was spared for you yet, but everytime your eyes closed there was a small hope to see Gregory soaring through the sky again.

Then, it was your tower.

Well, not exactly yours— but close enough to your heart for you to call it that.

It stood tall in the highest place of the palace— new and shiny. It was the one you would perch yourself on every dreamfall to watch the stars move around the dark sky after a long day of straying after Morpheus.

And it came with gifts. 

Rising up on the armchair, you try to not let your body crack at the uncomfortable position you slept on for hours— snuggled on the cushion, cheek squished against your hands as you rest on the arm of the chair. 

The morning light was glorious in the Dreaming, it fill your heart with a sweet but pressing sense of melancholy. You suspected that this burning longing was for something that you used to have that, when given back, doesn't feel real.

Your home was setting course to restructuring, to rebuilding. The palace was already being nursed back to health, and the drought was giving into a flood of flowers and ivy. It was incredibly moving to see everything growing back into place.

You never really minded the room at the top of your tower: it was rather simple, filled with an old astronomy study. Telescopes scattered around, quills and pamphlets. It was where the astronomers of old used to dream themselves in, where Morpheus would inspire their dreams of studying the stars.

Your eyes look quickly towards the tall mirror in front of you, hanging from it was a brand new dress.

Chuckling, you look at your sitting form through the mirror, sleep still on your face. Standing up, you walk up to it and touch your hand to the beautiful and thick fabric. It was bloodstained red, with the cut made for a princess— a new color in your growing collection. 

When you tried it on, it was a perfect fit. Hugging all your curves and the length just enough to cover your mid-calf.

Which for some reason, made you chest flush and your hands tremble in a shameful kind of excitement.

Morpheus didn’t often spoil you.

One approving up and down look from Lucienne was enough to make you feel incredibly good about yourself, once down at the library to fill your free day with a workload of arranging books and furniture.

Turns out arms were just as exhausting.

You spent hours already carrying books from one shelf to the other, cataloging dreamer books with Lucienne's method. She had a particular way of distributing the thick numbers: she did it in geographical order. Political geographical order.

You voiced that it was a funny way, a bit unpractical, for the mortal dreamers where in constant change when it came to their borders. In constant conflict. She would have to change the shelf order way too often.

The librarian just shrugged and then you realized: she liked rearranging the books just as much as she did reading them. So she looked for the most impractical way of catalog possible so she could rearrange them often.

Walking towards the shelf of the African continent, you went straight to the A's to look for the right place to the three books you were hugging. Placing two of them on their place, you chew on your lip looking for the right place of the third.

And then, you feel the slight change around you. The atmosphere felt suddenly charged with electricity, smelled like stardust.

“There you are” you hear in your ear, which makes you spin around in your place as a rush of warmth crawls up your neck.

Morpheus, tall but bending closer to you, looks back at you with inquiring eyes and a soft glint in his eyes. The ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth, like a promise.

Back already from his quest to find his artifacts?

And before you can ask for it, the answer shines through in a warm toned palpitation from the ruby against his chest, calling for your attention. Then, your eyes go to the helm under his arm.

Through hell and back, then.

“My Lord” you croak out, nerves fried at the sudden interruption of your serenity.

Clad in black leather, “Have I startled you, little bird?” His tone was— hard to pinpoint. But then, a cheeky and mischievous grin creeps in.

Finding yourself smiling back, you hug the book of the Angelian dreamer “My Lord won’t be smiling as brightly when he sees Lucienne again, your library’s layover is all over the place”

“A lack of attention on my part, for sure, but then again—” he looks around for a second “I haven’t seen this place in over a hundred years”

How brute. How much you would've liked not saying that.

The disorganization of the Library was another of the consequences of Morpheus' imprisonment.

He had no idea what's happened in the waking world for the past decades.

You look around his face, lightness and easiness shining through “She won’t find it in her heart to fault you for that” you smile kindly at him.

Days of separation shouldn’t make you as anxious as one hundred years of it.

And still.

When he looks back at you, he purses his lips “I was looking for you” he nods, fingers flexing at the end of his hands— his magic tingling and demanding to burst through.

“I’ve been here, my Lord” you nod “How was the—”

“This is not the lady” a voice startles you once again, and you need to look down at it’s source “Boss lady doesn't wear dresses”

A rather big black raven was looking straight up at you. His head tilted to the side so his dark right eye could focus on you. 

You have no idea who this raven was.

Morpheus's expression grows serious as soon as the raven speaks, his gaze flicking from you to the bird on the ground. 

He takes a step away from you, placing his helm on a nearby table "Silence, Matthew" he commanded, his voice firm and authoritative as his eyes travel around the library.

You look between them both, "Your majesty has taken a new raven" you let out, suddenly dry of any amusement.

Oh, how you wished you could be far less affected.

Morpheus's gaze shifts back to you, his expression hardening further as he hears your words. If he finds offense in them, he doesn't show “No, I have not taken a new raven” he rasps out, his tone growing sharper “He was sent to me— I thought it was your doing”

You frown, looking back at Matthew “Who sent you, friend?” you ask the small creature— confused about how he ended up in Morpheus service as well.

He ruffled his feathers, looking between you and Morpheus, before clearing his throat in a way too humanely manner “The nice lady of the books summoned me here, uh, yesterday? I’m pretty sure it was a yesterday, yes—.”

“Lucienne” Morpheus and you answer at the same time— both of you guessing the answer to your own questions.

“How much time have we spend in hell, anyway?” And Matthew looks at you with curiosity “You know her? Boss lady, I mean”

You can't find in your heart to stay bitter in his presence for long.

You chuckle, leaving the book on a shelf as you crouch down— regarding the raven closely “You're utterly confused about your situation. Aren't you, my friend?” you ask softly.

He cocks his head in curiosity as he looks at you, his gaze fixed on your face. “Yes, I am” he affirms, his tone low and soft.

“You've been chosen for a great purpose, Matthew” you offer your hand for him to jump on it “You've been chosen to be the companion of Dream of the Endless” this much he knew, but you were ready to course him on his new duties.

Matthew cocks his head again, his dark eye locked on your hand. He seems slightly cautious, but the words you speak pique his interest.

He glances at Morpheus's expression, noticing the displeasure in his eyes, before looking back at your hand. He spreads his wings and hops onto your palm, his talons gently gripping your skin.

You stand up once again, looking back at Morpheus as you take Matthew closer to your body— as if he was your own.

“If he made it this far— is because your majesty accepted him” you point out to Morpheus, who still seemed a bit apprehensive to the new companion Lucienne chose for him.

Morpheus's expression remains guarded, his eyes fixed on you and the raven perched on your hand— awfully aware of the implications of his presence.

He takes a shallow breath, “Undecided” he states plainly, his tone unenthusiastic and uninterested.

You purse your lips, “I can make sure Matthew is ready to taken onto his new duties” you nod at Morpheus, “I'll mold him for you, my Lord”

It felt strange, the fact that your replacement was holding onto your hand— looking at you with dark curious eyes.

Morpheus's expression softens slightly at your offer, a hint of realization in his eyes.

You wondered what he saw.

He looks at you for a moment, his gaze flickering down to the raven on your hand before returning to your face.

“Very well” he nods, his tone gruff but not unkind.

You give him an easy smile, looking down at Matthew “We have much to do”.

Matthew cocks his head, your smile making him a bit more at ease. He seems to perk up as you speak, ready and eager to start his new duties “Let's get started then” he croaks.

You chuckle, walking away. Your task long forgotten.

Morpheus watches as you make your leave, his expression unreadable— this was it, then.

Another opportunity for his heart to dwell on the old way of things.

—

It amuses him— you’ve come to realize— how much he can startle you now that your eyes can only see so much in your periphery. It’s a small indulgence he gives into.

One second you see him perched at his throne and the other he’s behind you when you turn.

“Never thought I would see the day when festivities fail to amuse you, Ophelia” he rasps out, smirking when you jump in place and need to lightly stumble back.

“Lord King,” you let out, almost scolding.

The great hall of his palace is filled with his subjects— a banquet in honor of Dream, one that was insisted upon by Lucienne and Taramis, the royal cuisine.

You're looking from upstairs, on the railed gallery that connected to the rest of the rooms.

Dancing, drinking and singing was doubtfully encouraged but overseen by the Dream Lord. He would usually choose to lurk in the shadows, not giving into the insistence of his staff to bring him food or sweet treats.

Morpheus doesn’t eat nor sleeps, he doesn’t need it. 

In all the millennia you’ve spent by his side, it was a very few times you’ve seen him actually indulge in such activities— eat more so than sleep.

When a banquet was thrown in his honor and he was a guest in a foreign court he would accept the plates offered to him.

And when he took lovers, he would bury himself in them until his eyes refused to open up for a good amount of time.

It was rather disorienting to see him in such positions.

“I am enjoying the festivities” you defend yourself.

“Lurking in the shadows when you have two good feet” He walks away from you, standing in front of the railing as he looks down. 

“Feet are exhausting”

“So I’ve heard”

You tilt your head, pursing your lips as you look down at your friends and neighbors. Harmonizing, celebrating and enjoying their homecoming.

It amazed you quite a bit.

You walk away from him too, your feet guiding you towards a column that seemed pretty similar to the one you were stepping on a few days ago. As you hug it, you look straight downwards— to the spot on the dance floor where a dream called Miel was spinning another dream around, Reha. 

Miel was a tall human like dream, he had long white wings— catholic children loved to dream of him while they were young, as he posed as their guardian angel. His skin was pinkish, and his hair was a raven-like kind of dark. He complimented you a few minutes ago, the small cape on your shoulders was filled with dark feathers and he ruffled his own right there in front of everyone but just for you.

He was one of the few who actually kept attending to his responsibilities as a subject and as Dream’s creation even when his majesty was long lost. 

You decide to look away, not entirely sure what you were looking for in the angel-like dream anyway. Sighing dreamingly, you plant your feet as you sway by holding the column to get to the other side so you’re besides Morpheus once again.

“Accusing me or lurking in the shadows when your majesty’s doing exactly the same” you scoff lightly, putting on your tiptoes to rest your chin on his shoulder from behind him— like you used to perch yourself on it when you were a raven.

“I do not wish to be down there among my folk,” he rasps out “you can not use the same excuse”

Oh, he knew you. Even after all these years, he still knew you.

Humming, you step away once again to rest against the railing right beside him as you look down again “Dream folk and Nightmare folk” you breathe out “I’m neither” you shrug softly, the feathers on your shoulder ruffling at the movement.

“I’m glad” Dream nods, without even looking at you “There’s not one of them who’s eyes don’t water upon seeing me” his voice rumbles, deep and hoarse.

It was true, the people of the dreaming all came to see him and bask in the presence of their creator. Their parent. 

One would think he would be happier.

“Oh,” you breath out softly “to be loved— ain’t that the worst thing that’s ever happened to any sovereign” it’s sarcastic, and cutting.

And when you look back at him, he’s giving you a warning look.

You look between his eyes before looking away again.

“There’s something troubling you,” Morpheus rasps out, still looking at your profile, deciding to ignore your biting comment “and I wish to discuss it”

You turn back towards Miel once again, his wings encircling Reha now.

“None of the matter” you let out, still turned away from him.

You feel him part from the railing, and then you have him right behind you— mouth close to your ear as he mirrors your past position “Should you go down there, little bird?” he rasps out.

“This dress is too long for dancing” you let out, weak but dry. The claim lacked any kind of strength since your lace black dress was long but not to the point of being an inconvenience. His gift, his creation “And I do not know how to”

“How to?” 

“How to dance”

He hums next to your ear, then you can tell he straightens up— but doesn’t move away from behind you “You have always been able to share your mind with me” he insists, returning to topic.

“I’m afraid is not my place anymore”

“Nonsense” he lets out quickly, not giving you time to rest in your declaration.

“Everything has changed, has it not?” you turn to him now, looking at him over your shoulder.

He looks down at you, his frown deepening “You are still the same to me” 

It feels like disrespect, to turn away from him— but his eyes bare to much emotion for you to hold them “I do not wish to burden you with my sadness”

“And instead you burden me with your silence”

You don’t know exactly how to continue after that, but you try “Everytime I try to talk to your majesty I have this sinking feeling—” you whisper softly.

He stays silent, and you know you’re wearing his patience thin. You know that after this, he would be hard as a stone to you for some time— resentful of how you shut him out when all he wants to do is for you to return what he lays upon you: camaraderie, companionship.

“The feeling that you’re drifting away” 

Morpheus’ face hardens, and you know you’ve said the wrong thing.

“I do not wish to speak of it”

Your lips tremble slightly as you look away.

You know he doesn’t. You know some things are just too hard to talk about. But this feeling of separation comes from how superficial your encounters have been— how fleeting his feelings would lay bare for you. 

He used to lay on you so much, and now he’s not even able to look at you without you two feeling like a million miles away.

“I do not want to press,” you nod.

“Then don’t” it’s cold, and sharp as he lets you see just how disturbed Roderick Burgess has made him.

His pride was wounded.

The only part of himself that makes him show his teeth.

“Pardon me,” you nod, looking up at him again “it is not my place” you nod “just like I stated before” 

So your wings stay hidden, your replacement stays hidden, his closed heart stays hidden— all the things that are hurting you stay unvoiced although you suspect not unknown by him.

Truth is, you can be just as cold.

You’ve spent millennia with him.

You know how to bite the hand that feeds you.

So you walk away and marvel at how now you had yet one more thing to be angry for, and hide from him.

-

Ask to be tagged!

[idkyetxoxo]

Daeron Targaryen - The Rose and the Dragon

Summary - She struggles to find her place in the world of dragons and politics, doubting whether she is strong enough. Courtly whispers threaten to unravel her until he reminds her of the quiet strength she possesses. She may be a flower among dragons, but she will not wilt.

Pairing - Daeron Targaryen x Tyrell reader

Warnings - None

Word count - 2168

Based on this request

Masterlist for Daeron • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

I have known the scent of roses since I was a child. It clung to my skin, my hair, the silks of my gowns. It was the fragrance of home, of Highgarden's endless gardens and golden fields. 

Even here, in the cold stone halls of Oldtown, I carry it with me. 

A lady of House Tyrell never forgets her roots, even when she is sent away to wed a dragon.

Daeron Targaryen, my husband, is kind. He is not the sort of man who needs to raise his voice to command a room, nor does he seek conflict where there is none. 

But he is also a Targaryen, a prince, a dragon rider. 

I see the way the people of Oldtown look at him—with awe, with reverence. 

And I see how they look at me. Not with hatred. Not even with disdain. But with doubt.

She is too soft. Too sweet. A Reach girl, a lady of gardens and poetry. How could she ever be a match for a dragon?

I try to ignore it. I tell myself it does not matter, that the approval of a court is nothing compared to the vows Daeron and I exchanged. 

But doubt is a creeping thing, and once it takes root, it is difficult to pull free.

It begins to show in small ways. I hesitate before speaking in court, my voice quieter than it once was. I second-guess my choices in council meetings, watching Daeron for any sign of disapproval. 

He never gives one—his patience is endless but I cannot stop the gnawing feeling that I am... lacking.

I am no stranger to courtly life, to its expectations and its demands. I was raised to be gracious, to be charming, to smile even when my heart was heavy. 

But here, I feel as if I am playing a role I do not quite fit into. 

The women of Oldtown, the highborn ladies who have lived their lives in the shadow of the Hightowers and the Citadel, are not unkind, but there is a sharpness to them that I do not possess. 

They speak of politics with an ease I envy, their words edged with wit and wisdom. They know how to navigate this world, to wield influence like a blade.

And I? I know the language of flowers, of songs, of whispered promises beneath blooming trellises. 

What use is that in a city where knowledge is power, where dragons decide the fate of kingdoms?

I have begun to wonder if they are right—if I am too soft, too delicate, too much a creature of summer to withstand the fire of dragons.

Even Daeron, as gentle as he is, belongs to their world in a way I never could. I see it when he speaks with the maesters, his brow furrowed in thought, or when he rides his dragon, the wind in his hair, his smile fierce and unshaken. 

He is of the air, of the sky, a prince of fire and blood.

And I am of the earth, of roots and rain, of things that grow in sunlight but wither in the cold.

How could I ever hope to stand beside him without being overshadowed?

And then, one evening, the whispers turn into something more.

It is late when I find myself wandering the halls of the Hightower, the heavy silence of the evening broken only by the distant crash of waves against the cliffs. 

The towering stone walls, so different from the warm, golden gardens of Highgarden, seem to close in around me, the flickering torches casting long shadows across the cold floors. 

I tell myself I am simply taking a walk to clear my mind, but the truth is harder to ignore—I feel adrift here, out of place in a world of dragons and steel, where roots do not take hold as easily as they did in the fertile soil of my home.

And then, I hear them.

The voices drift from an arched alcove just ahead, hushed yet sharp, each syllable cutting through the air like the point of a dagger.

"She is lovely, yes, but fragile. A flower among dragons—how long before she wilts?"

A soft hum of agreement follows, then another voice, silkier, more confident. "She will never be a queen. Not truly. Not like his sister would have been."

"She is not one of them."

The words sink into me like thorns, sharp and insidious. My breath catches, my feet faltering beneath me. I know I should turn away, pretend I did not hear, pretend it does not matter. 

But my body betrays me. I remain rooted to the floor, my pulse thrumming in my ears, my hands curling into the silk of my skirts as if bracing for a blow.

They do not know I am here. They speak freely, their laughter hushed but cruel, their voices filled with the quiet certainty of those who believe themselves above reproach.

And then, one of them notices me.

Lady Meredyth Bulwer turns first, her head tilting ever so slightly, dark eyes glittering with something sharp beneath the pretence of politeness. 

She smiles a slow, saccharine thing that does not reach her eyes. "Ah, my lady," she coos, her voice honeyed but insincere. "Forgive us—we did not see you there."

The others turn as well, their amusement barely concealed behind lowered lashes and pursed lips.

My throat tightens. I feel the heat of humiliation creeping up my neck, burning at my skin. I should say something. 

I should lift my chin, meet their gazes head-on, remind them that I am not just some soft little flower plucked from the gardens of the Reach—I am the wife of a dragon, a Targaryen prince, the blood of House Tyrell, the daughter of lords and ladies who have ruled for centuries.

But the doubt, the same insidious thing that has lingered in my heart for weeks, takes hold once more.

My voice does not come.

I stand there, frozen, while their laughter echoes in my mind, their words twisting themselves into something uglier, something I have feared all along.

They are right. And then—

"You overstep."

The hall, once filled with whispers and amusement, falls into a stunned silence.

I feel it before I see him—the shift in the air, the weight of his presence pressing down upon the room like a storm on the horizon. Slowly, I turn, my breath catching at the sight of him.

Daeron.

He stands at the far end of the corridor, clad in deep green, his silver hair catching the dim torchlight, his violet eyes dark with something I do not often see from him—cold fury.

He moves toward us with slow, deliberate steps, the quiet grace of a man who knows his presence alone is enough to command a room, to turn whispers into silence, to send fear into the hearts of lesser men. Or, in this case, lesser women.

Lady Meredyth's bravado cracks in an instant. She lowers her gaze, her lips parting slightly as if to speak, but no words come.

"My prince," she finally manages, her voice softer now, cautious.

But Daeron does not look at her. His gaze is fixed on me, searching, assessing. I see it in his eyes—the quiet way he pieces together the scene before him, the understanding that settles in his features, the faint flicker of something almost pained.

He does not ask if I am alright. He does not need to.

Instead, he turns his gaze back to them, his voice steady, quiet—but there is steel beneath it, unyielding and sharp.

"My wife is not a subject for your idle gossip." The words are not loud, nor are they spoken with anger, but they carry a weight that is impossible to ignore. "Nor will I allow her to be made to feel unwelcome in her own home."

Home.

The word lingers in the air, wrapping around me like a shield, like something solid and sure.

Something tight in my chest uncoils.

The women say nothing now. Their faces are pale, their amusement long gone. They do not apologize—they are too proud for that—but they do not need to. Daeron's presence alone has shamed them into silence.

And then, without another word, he holds out his hand to me.

I do not hesitate. I place my hand in his, letting him guide me away, away from the whispers and the doubt.

We do not speak until we are alone.

The silence stretches between us as we make our way through the corridors, the only sounds the distant crash of the sea against the cliffs and the faint echo of our footsteps on the stone floors. 

His grip on my hand remains firm, steady—never demanding, never forceful, but present, grounding me in a way I desperately need.

When we reach our chambers, he closes the door behind us with deliberate care, as if sealing us away from the rest of the world. 

The fire in the hearth crackles softly, casting flickering shadows across the walls, filling the space with a golden warmth that does little to chase away the chill that lingers in my chest.

I do not need to look at him to know that he is still angry. It is there in the tension in his jaw, in the way he exhales slowly through his nose, as though he is reigning himself in. 

Not at me. Never at me. But at them. 

At the world that looks at me and sees only a delicate thing to be pitied.

"You've been quiet," he says at last, his voice careful, measured. "For some time now. And not just tonight."

I hesitate, my fingers curling slightly against his palm. My instinct is to deflect, to offer some easy, meaningless reassurance. I am merely tired. It is nothing. Do not worry for me.

But he has already seen too much.

"You heard what they said," I murmur. My voice is thin, stretched taut.

"I did." His thumb brushes over my knuckles, a gentle, soothing motion. "But I want to hear what you think of it."

The question unravels something in me.

I had been prepared for him to be angry on my behalf, to speak of duty or honour or the foolishness of courtly gossip. 

But not this—not his unwavering focus on me, on the way their words have settled beneath my skin like splinters I cannot remove.

"I do not know," I admit, barely above a whisper. "I thought... perhaps they were right."

Something shifts in his expression, something subtle but unmistakable. His grip on my hand tightens, not harshly, but with a certainty that steadies me.

"They are not." His voice is quiet, but there is no room for argument in it. "And I will not have you believe them."

I shake my head, swallowing down the knot in my throat. "They think I am not fit to be your wife." The words taste bitter as they leave my mouth. "That I am not... strong enough."

Daeron exhales slowly. When he speaks again, there is steel beneath the softness of his voice.

"I did not marry them."

I look up, startled by the quiet force behind his words. His violet eyes are unwavering, filled with something fierce, something resolute.

"I married you." His tone is gentle, but there is an edge beneath it, something immovable. "Do you truly believe I would have taken a wife who was not my equal?"

I open my mouth, then close it again, my breath catching. I do not know how to answer that.

Because I have doubted. But he never has.

Daeron reaches for my other hand, threading his fingers through mine, anchoring me. "You are my wife," he says, voice softer now. "And not because of duty. Not because of alliances or expectations." 

His thumb brushes over my knuckles again, his touch reverent, as though he is memorizing every curve, every ridge of my fingers. "Because I wanted you."

I swallow hard, my chest tightening with something too vast to name. "But I am not—"

"You are everything," he interrupts, his voice suddenly fierce. "You do not need to be loud to be strong. You do not need to wield a sword to be my match."

His grip tightens, just slightly. "And if they do not see it, then they are blind."

I blink rapidly, my vision blurring. I want to believe him. Gods, I want to believe him. But the words from earlier still linger in my mind. She will never be a queen. Not truly.

I force myself to meet his gaze. "Do you believe I belong here?" I whisper. "Truly?"

He does not hesitate. Not even for a moment. "You belong anywhere I am."

The words settle deep—not just in my mind, but in my heart.

He means them. He has never doubted me, not once.

And perhaps... I have spent too much time listening to those who do.

A slow, unsteady breath shudders through me. The doubt does not vanish entirely—it may never—but it is quieter now, buried beneath something stronger. Something steadier.

Daeron lifts my hand to his lips, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to my fingers, his breath warm against my skin. "You are mine. And I am yours."

I close my eyes for a moment, letting the words settle.

I am his.

And that is enough. No—it is more than enough.

I am the wife of a dragon.

And I will not wilt.

A/n - I hope it's how you imagined sorry it took so long!

Daeron tag list - @alyssa-dayne

[plumbieyt]

Planting Plums Legacy Challenge by Plumbie and The Plum Family

Do you enjoy wholesome family gameplay, storytelling and the cosy side of The Sims 4? If so, the Planting Plums Legacy Challenge is for you.

My Inspiration For the Challenge:

My favourite aspect of The Sims is the family gameplay and all the stories that can arise from it. I love using the game as a vessel for telling stories, with that in mind, I thought I would create a legacy challenge built around all my favourite things in the game.

Each generation will have a focus on cosy and wholesome gameplay, primarily focusing on big families, but this doesn’t mean it will shy away from drama. It wouldn’t be realistic if I weren’t to include some sort of tension, so in each generation there will be conflicts but they will be mild and used in order to add depth to the family.

What Makes it Different:

One thing that separates this legacy challenge from the usual one is that I’ll be writing it one generation at a time. I’m doing this because I want to build this legacy with my community (the Plum family) on YouTube so that the Sims and stories will be a joint effort, making it a unique legacy due to the many inputs. It also means the story will grow organically, as it won’t necessarily be planned. This doesn’t mean you can’t take part in this legacy until we’ve reached the final generation because I’ve created the first generation, and we can play alongside as we grow the legacy.

The goal for this legacy challenge is to create a beautiful family that you’ll fall in love with and cherish all the members, even the troublesome ones. If this sounds like something you’d want to be part of, you can always comment, email or DM me your ideas for the legacy, as this is a community effort. So, let’s begin growing the family that will be known as the Plumtrees. 🌱🌸

General Rules & Packs Needed:

There won’t be any rules for this legacy challenge, as I want storytelling to be the focus point of it, but I’d recommend only using cheats if you absolutely need to use them, as sometimes, there is more fun and imagination in the limitations.

As of right now, you’ll need Cottage Living, Seasons and Get to Work. But if you don’t have these packs, feel free to adapt the challenge in your own way so that you can participate. Keep in mind the list of packs needed will grow bigger once the third generation is born.

Generation I: The Plum Seed

Some of your earliest memories were of running around your grandmother’s bakery, helping her bake all sorts of treats. You always said you’d take over her business when you were older, but sadly, when you were a child, she passed away, and your family couldn’t afford to keep the bakery.

As you became older, your passion shifted from baked goods to flowers. You found great comfort in creating all sorts of bouquets and writing down the different varieties of flowers, as they gave you the purpose you lost after your grandmother passed.

Growing up in a city meant nature was scarce; you spent time after school wandering around botanical gardens and finding wildflowers in the concrete, but this wasn’t enough, so the moment you became a young adult, you made the daring decision to move to an old cottage in Henford on Bagley.

Towering buildings and busy streets have been all you’ve ever known, so living in the sticks is going to take some getting used to, but as you stand on the doorstep of a new life, with baskets full of flowers, notebooks, baking ingredients and a dream to open a florist in the heart of the village, you feel that a slip in the mud won’t bother you a single bit.

Aspiration:

Best-selling Author: You want to write nonfiction books about your interest in flowers and bouquets to share your passion with the world.

Traits:

Love the Outdoors

Creative

Ambitious

Hobbies & Skills:

Baking

Gardening

Writing

Career:

Florist & Author: You own a florist business and sell your books.

To-Do's:

Move into a small cottage (it can be in any world, but preferably Henford or a countryside world)

Build from scratch a florist shop

Reach level 10 of the flower-arranging skill

Grow every type of flower in the game (or every flower in your game. For example, if you are missing a pack with a certain flower in it, you don't need to buy the pack just to grow that flower)

Reach level 5 of the writing skill

Write and publish 5 non-fiction books

Complete errands

[akixa]

FLOWER || GunxF!reader

Hahaha idk.

⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄, ⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂

⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁˚⊱🪷⊰˚⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄, ⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂

Your father is a close associate of Yamazaki Shingen, who is famously known as the "Demon Tiger" and leads the powerful Yamazaki Clan in Japan. As the trusted right-hand man of the Yamazaki syndicate vice president, your father often brings you along to their meetings. However, due to your young age, you are not permitted to be present in the room with them, as there are concerns about your safety. Upon arriving at Yamazaki's residence, you immediately sense the solemn and foreboding atmosphere that permeates the surroundings. You instinctively clutch onto your father's arm, feeling a sense of unease and fear every time you visit this place, particularly at the thought of encountering the president once more. The first time you laid eyes on him, you were overwhelmed with an intense desire to vanish, hoping to avoid ever seeing him again.

As you stand alone in a single room, eagerly awaiting your father to finish his meeting, you find yourself overcome with a sense of restlessness. In the past, you would have simply whiled away the time, but today is different. Boredom nags at you, urging you to break free from its grip. With a determined push, you slide open the door and step out into the quiet hallway, the sound of your footsteps echoing around you.

As you tread forward, you find yourself emerging into a lush backyard, enveloped in a sea of vibrant greenery. The gentle caress of the wind against your skin brings a sense of peace, grounding you in the present moment. With each step, you can feel the earth beneath you, the soft blades of grass bending under your feet as you explore the tranquil expanse of the yard.

As you strolled around, you caught a glimpse of the vice president engaged in a conversation with the man beside him. You swiftly ducked behind a towering tree, ensuring that you remained unnoticed. Peeking cautiously, you noticed they were still engrossed in their discussion, so you shifted your position to get a better view of what had captured their attention. To your surprise, you witnessed two brothers and a young boy engaging in a combat exercise. While you recognized the two brothers, the young boy was unfamiliar to you.

Perhaps he was a new trainee? You had never seen him before, not even during your initial visit. You observed him as he executed punches and kicks, while one of the brothers corrected his form. As the boy paused to catch his breath and wipe away his sweat, your eyes unexpectedly met. Startled, you quickly retreated behind the tree, hoping to remain unnoticed.

You let out a slow, heavy sigh and begin to walk away from where you were standing, deliberately avoiding the gaze of the boy who is still watching you from behind.

You find yourself in Yamazaki's residence once again, opting to stay put in the room while your father wraps up his meeting. Thankfully, you brought along a Kendama, a classic Japanese toy, to keep you occupied. The only issue is that you're not particularly skilled at it. After a few unsuccessful attempts, you set it aside and settle in to wait.

Suddenly, you pick up the sound of footsteps approaching from outside. You assume it must be your father, but how could the meeting have concluded so soon? The footsteps come to a halt outside your room, prompting you to grab the Kendama, ready to defend yourself. The door slides open slowly, revealing the boy from the previous day.

The room falls silent as the boy begins to question you, but you're uncertain about whether or not to respond. You don't know him and don't want to jeopardize your father's safety. You choose to remain silent as the boy moves closer, attempting to engage you in conversation. When you refuse to engage, he seems dejected.

While observing the boy, you notice his striking eyes. Such a odd eyes. As you study him, he notices the Kendama in your hand and inquires if you play. You nod and hand it over to him. To your surprise, he plays the game with remarkable skill, effortlessly executing various techniques. You're captivated and can't help but watch him play.

After some time, you finally introduce yourself, and he responds by introducing himself as Park Gun. You chat as he continues to play, and before you realize it, it's time to depart with your father. As you bid him farewell, you detect a trace of sadness in Park Gun's expression as he holds the Kendama in his hand. He quickly brushes it off and heads towards his mother's room.

After that day everything went downhill.

Few days later, your father went to meeting without you bringing to him. You ask him why you can't come along with him and he respond that the business is getting out of hand and for your safety you need to away from that place as he ruffle your messy hair making your worries for him go away before he leave you alone in your house.

You gaze at the window seeing the sakura tree start to loose their leaves. A sudden pang on your chest make you feel deep emotion. Confusing but you brush it off and just do your chores and do nothing once again. You wonder, will you see Gun again? Hopefully he will be fine. Hope so.

Years later. You feel sad that you didn't see Gun for years. Trying to convince your father you want to come along but he keep declining it and leave you. Now is your first time studying in daycare. Finally something entertain you while your father is gone. After daycare time, you and other start to walk towards to parents, except your father weren't there. He seem very busy that he don't have time to pick you up in daycare. You bid farewell to your teacher before you walk alone to home. During you walking adventure you notice a lutos lake on the way. You decided to go there and have peaceful moment all by yourself. You watch the water move the lily pad as the lutos flower floating around. While sitting on the wood of bridge you feel a water drop top of your head as you look up to see the sky is getting cloudy and yet you didn't bring umbrella with you. Good thing you see a huge Lilly pag near you and you grab to it making snap sound of separating the top from the root and hold it like umbrella while the clouds start to rain down to you.

Out of nowhere you feel someone is standing behind you watching at you. You turned to see Gun looking at you as he get wet from the rain.

“Why you standing there? Come over here.”

As you pull his hand towards you, you guide him to sit next to you, moving the lily pad to the middle so that Gun is also covered with you. You were overjoyed to see Gun today. Both of you just sat there, enjoying the peaceful scene of raindrops falling on the lake. Lost in the moment, you didn't notice Gun reaching into his sleeve to pull out a small flower, which he then gave to you.

“You know? Since the day you didn't come to visit. This flower reminds me of you. So innocent, pure, and pretty.”

Your eyes widen when he softly spoke at you. You look at the flowers on his arm, it those look pretty. A tint of red appeard on your cheek as you smile at him.

Your so glad that you went there in raining moment with Gun before you two not see each other again.

As a teenager, navigating through school has become increasingly challenging. Gun, a figure who was once prevalent in your life, has now become a rare sight, even to your own father. You have gained a deeper understanding of Gun through the conversations your father has with others, revealing that Gun is the son of the Yamazaki clan president and the future head of the Yamazaki family. His sole purpose is to avenge the humiliation his father endured at the hands of Garpyong Kim fist gang.

Pity.

It's a pity to see someone so young burdened with such responsibilities; he should be enjoying his youth like any other child his age. Fortunately, your father has made efforts to keep you away from anything associated with the Yamazaki clan. However, a challenge arises as you find yourself interacting with Gun whenever the opportunity presents itself, all while keeping this information hidden from your father.

Here you are on the street walking back to home. Deja vu? Kinda. You find yourself walking down a dimly lit alley, seeking solace from the cacophony of the outside world with your earphones in, lost in the depths of your phone's music list. Oblivious to your surroundings, you inadvertently step on something, or someone, causing you to jolt out of your reverie. As you look down, you are met with the sight of an unconscious body beneath your feet.

Startled, you quickly retreat, only to realize that the alley is littered with more prone figures, each bearing the brutal marks of a physical assault. The grim scene before you sends a shiver down your spine as you grapple with the harrowing realization of the danger that surrounds you.

“holy…” you whisper as slowly remove your earphones on you.

As you gazed at the scene in front of you, fear gripped you. Suddenly, a heavy rain began to pour down, and you realized that you had once again forgotten to bring an umbrella. As you hurriedly made your way through the area, being careful not to step on any of the unconscious bodies strewn across the ground, you caught sight of a pair of familiar eyes gazing up at the cloudy sky.

“Are you having a moment, Gun?” you approach him while you use both of your arm cover your head.

“moment? No, I'm just admiring the rain.”

“you will get sick ‘future head of Yamazaki’ ”

“stop talking nonsense and your the one who will get sick easily”

As you two continued to exchange bitter remarks and playful jabs, you reached into your bag and retrieved a towel. Gently, you began to wipe the blood from Gun's face as he leaned down, allowing you to reach his face more easily.

“you should stop whatever you doing, Gun… I don't care if this your phase or something but this is not fine at all.”

“Why?”

“You hurt others that lower to you and you shouldn't done that. You hurt them, you hurt yourself more.”

As you finishing up wiping his face to his neck. Once you done you feel a hand before your head and pull you toward just to feel a soft kiss on your forehead before it pull away. You look up to him just to see his eyes looking at you, eyes locked together in romantic trance. He walk away from you with small wave to bid farewell to you. He even put a small flower on your ear.

“go home. You will get sick”

“Your the one to talk!”

As his figure slowly fades from your sight. It's the last time you will see him before you and your father move away to Korea, leaving behind memories of the past. The thought of leaving him behind feels like a heavy weight pressing down on your heart. The raindrops mix with the tears on your cheeks as you realize that your childhood romance is coming to an end. New chapter to you will begin soon as you step in to the Korea.

Did you know? Gun have garden of you everytime he doesn't see you, he would go there and sat thinking you with him because [your favorite flowers] reminds him of you. :)

[violentvaleska]

𝑴𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝑬𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒔

ᴛᴡᴏ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉᵐᵖᵉʳᵒʳ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴇᴍᴘᴇʀᴏʀ!ʟᴇᴠɪ × ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇss!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴀʀᴅᴇɴs, ᴀ ʙᴀɴϙᴜᴇᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴠɪsɪᴛ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴇᴛʀᴏᴛʜᴇᴅ ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴʟʏ ᴍᴀʀᴋ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴀʏ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀʟᴀᴄᴇ sᴡᴇᴇᴛʟʏ. ʏᴇᴛ ʟᴇᴠɪs ᴄᴏʟᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴀʀsʜ ɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ʜᴇʟᴘ ʙᴜᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴜɴsᴇᴛᴛʟᴇ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴇsᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟʟʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴡ ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴛ ɪɴ ʜɪs ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ. "ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ɴᴏ sᴀɪɴᴛ."

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ᴀɴɢsᴛ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs: ᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ғᴏᴜʀ ғɪᴠᴇ sɪx

ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3

ᴛᴀɢɢɪɴɢ: @xiernia @fangsgrr

ᴀ/ɴ: ᴜғғ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏs! sᴇᴇɪɴɢ ᴀʟʟ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴏsɪᴛɪᴠᴇ ʀᴇᴠɪᴇᴡs ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴʟʏ ᴍᴏᴛɪᴠᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ғɪɴɪsʜ ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ sᴏᴏɴᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ɪ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ^^ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴇᴅ ᴛʜɪs ᴏɴᴇ, ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴀʀᴇɴ'ᴛ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ᴀs ᴄᴀʟᴍ ᴀɴʏᴍᴏʀᴇ...

The palace rises before you, a masterpiece of stone and shadow, its jagged towers clawing at the heavens like silent sentinels of Eldia’s dominion. Sprawling gardens embrace the marble paths below, their symmetry a deliberate contrast to the wild vastness beyond the walls. Statues of past emperors stand as unyielding guardians, their cold, unseeing eyes carved with such precision that you almost feel their judgment as Emperor Levi leads you forward.

His stride is deliberate, sharp, the echo of his boots against the marble floor breaking the silence like a metronome of authority. He extends his arm to you at the gate; a gesture as distant as it is dutiful. You hesitate only for a moment before falling into step beside him, learning quickly to match his measured pace. Behind you follows Sasha and Reiner, both of them leading a casual conversation. Another, ridiculously tall man walks a few steps behind them. He appears to be a guard himself, Levis personal one that is.

“This palace.” Levi begins, his voice low, clipped, and as unyielding as the statues surrounding you.

“Is a fortress. Every archway, every hall serves a purpose. Security here is absolute. You’ll find no frivolous extravagance, only precision and function.”

Your gaze sweeps upward, drawn to the soaring vaulted ceilings, the intricate tapestries that narrate Eldia’s triumphs, and the chandeliers that pour golden light over polished stone. If this stark grandeur is “efficient” you can scarcely imagine what indulgence might look like in comparison.

“This-” Levi continues, gesturing to a corridor branching off to the right.

“-Is your wing. The Empress’s quarters. You’ll have your own staff, your own guard, and the privacy you’ll require. Use it wisely.”

There is something foreboding in his choice of words, though his tone leaves no room for curiosity. You glance briefly at Sasha, your maid, who offers a smile as if to reassure you that all will be well.

He moves on, leading you through a labyrinth of halls and rooms that whisper of restrained opulence. Finally, he stops before a pair of tall doors and pushes them open, unfolding the gardens before you.

They are a masterpiece of cultivated beauty; a labyrinth of roses, flowing fountains, and hedgerows carved with geometric precision. Yet amidst this calculated order, one element breaks free. At the center, an ancient elder tree towers above all, its gnarled branches stretching wide as though reaching for the heavens. Its delicate white blossoms glow even against the biting chill of winter, their tenacity a quiet rebellion against the cold.

You notice now the elderflower’s image embroidered onto your gown, stitched in silver thread as if to remind you of its importance. The national tree and flower, you think, its symbolism worn even by a stranger to this land.

“It is beautiful.” You whisper, unable to stop the awe from spilling into your voice.

Levi halts, his gaze following yours to the elder tree. For a fleeting moment, his expression softens, but the vulnerability vanishes as quickly as it appeared.

“It’s a reminder.” He says, his voice an icicle cutting through your reverie.

“A reminder of what?” You ask, unable to stop yourself from marveling at the harmonious melding of human hands and nature’s chaos before you.

He hesitates. “My mother.”

The weight of his words shatters the fragile tranquility of the scene, replacing it with a somber chill. You’ve heard the stories; how his mother was struck down by an assassin, a pawn in the machinations of one of your father’s advisors. Grisha never encouraged that cruelty, though you know the man responsible for the command never got away with it either. The reminder hangs heavy between you, and your admiration for the garden withers into something bittersweet.

“I am sorry, Your Majesty.” You murmur, bowing your head. Your voice carries both sadness and shame, though you know any protest of your father’s innocence would be futile.

Levi’s gaze lingers on you for a moment too long. The storm in his silver eyes is unreadable, an amalgamation of grief, anger, and something softer that he seems determined to bury. Finally, he turns away, his expression hardening once more.

“Come.” He hums, his voice colder now. “There’s more to see.”

He doesn’t look back, and you follow in silence, unsure if he leads you through the palace or the unspoken battlefield between you.

The tour flows onward, drawing you deeper into the heart of Eldia’s grand fortress. Libraries spill over with ancient tomes, their spines etched with the wisdom of ages, the scent of parchment and ink heavy in the air. Grand halls stretch endlessly, their polished marble floors mirroring the wavering glow of torches. Outside, training grounds resound with the clash of steel as soldiers spar with flawless precision, their movements sharp and disciplined, like a deadly symphony in motion.

At every stop, Levi’s voice cuts through the air, outlining your duties as Empress with unyielding clarity.

“You’ll host foreign dignitaries here.” He says, gesturing to an immense hall where banners of Eldia hang like solemn witnesses.

“Your composure reflects the strength of the empire. Any sign of weakness, no matter how fleeting, will be seized upon.”

His words settle heavily over you, the weight of expectation pressing against your chest. It isn’t that you resist the responsibility, far from it. But his tone, so devoid of warmth, carves no space for error, no space for humanity.

Finally, you arrive at your quarters. The room greets you with a subdued elegance: deep green curtains drape from high windows, framing a view of the sprawling gardens below. The muted crackle of the fireplace fills the space, its gentle heat a reprieve from the chill that seems to follow Levi wherever he goes. The furnishings speak of restrained opulence, luxury tempered by purpose.

He halts in the doorway, his gaze sweeping the room before landing on you with a weight that seems heavier than the silence.

“Tonight-” He starts, his voice as precise as a blade.

“-There’s a dinner in your honor. The court will be watching, their judgment swift and unforgiving. Make an impression, but tread carefully. Too bold, and you risk their ire.”

You open your mouth to reply, but before you can find the words, he calls sharply to your maid.

“Sasha.” He commands, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.

“Prepare her.”

Sasha dips into a graceful curtsy, her voice light but unwavering.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I will take good care of her grace!”

“Stop calling her ‘your grace’ Sasha. The Princess of Marley is your ‘highness’.” Levi demands of her. Sasha blushes a deep red, instantly apologizing to her Emperor and you with a deep bow. Poor girl.

With a single nod, Levi pivots and strides away, his departure as abrupt as his arrival. The faint echo of his boots fades into the distance, leaving you alone with Sasha and the flickering warmth of the fire. The stillness in his absence is almost startling, as though the air itself relaxes the moment he is gone.

Sasha works with quiet precision, her deft fingers weaving your hair into an intricate braid that cascades like a waterfall of silk down your back. The gown selected for the evening is nothing short of breathtaking; a deep sapphire silk masterpiece, adorned with delicate silver crystals and embroidery that glisten like stardust against the heart-shaped neckline. It clings to you in a way that speaks of both elegance and authority, a garment meant for a woman of your stature.

Her craftsmanship is impeccable, yet the braid is unlike anything your beloved Pieck would have fashioned. Still, you find yourself appreciating the change. It complements the gown’s regal aura, framing your face in a way that feels strangely fitting for the role you must now play.

“You look stunning, your Highness.” Sasha says softly, her voice warm and genuine.

“Thank you.” You reply, offering her a faint smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “You have done beautifully.”

A blush rises to her cheeks, her pride unmistakable.

“I’ll be nearby during the dinner, should you need anything.” She assures you, her tone brimming with loyalty.

“And… if I may, don’t let them intimidate you. You belong here as much as anyone.”

Her words are meant as comfort, but they settle uneasily within you. How can you feel as though you belong when everything about this place feels foreign? The ornate halls, the unfamiliar faces, the stifling expectations, they all serve as reminders of how far you are from home. You nod silently, unwilling to voice your doubts. Sasha seems sincere, but trust is a luxury you cannot yet afford.

You glance at your reflection in the gilded mirror, the shimmering fabric of your gown catching the flickering light of the fire. For all the finery, you can’t help but feel like a stranger in borrowed splendor. The cruel stories of Eldia that shaped your childhood linger at the edges of your thoughts. What do you truly know of these people, aside from their disdainful gazes and whispered judgments?

The Emperor himself remains a mystery, a man carved from stone, his cold demeanor offering no glimpse into his thoughts. You are bound to him by duty, not choice, and though the weight of this alliance presses heavily on your shoulders, you know it will take far more than a gown in Eldian colors to win their favor.

Doubt gnaws at you. How can you prove your worth in a court where every glance feels like a test, where every word spoken is carefully weighed? You were never one for grand speeches or commanding rooms with your presence. From a young age, you avoided gatherings like these, preferring the solace of quiet moments over the scrutiny of others. Now, thrust into the center of this glittering web, you feel exposed.

No crown, no fine gown, no practiced smile can erase the perception they have of you; weak, timid, unfit to rule. And yet, here you stand, the Empress of Eldia in name, but far from accepted in truth. The thought of the Emperor’s expectations, his demand for strength and poise, only deepens the unease coiling in your chest. You know your role demands more than bearing his children or offering a warm smile. It requires a strength you’re not sure you possess.

Your thoughts drift to Princess Mikasa, the proud and formidable woman who is now bound to this court as you are. You wonder if she, too, feels the weight of this alliance pressing against her spirit. Her confidence seems unshakable, but there is something in her eyes, a flicker of unease, that mirrors your own struggles. Perhaps, beneath her composed exterior, she wrestles with the same uncertainties.

“Sasha.” You say suddenly, your voice quiet yet laced with a fragile hope.

“Do you think I could write to my family sometime?”

The words leave you before you can second-guess them, and you glance at her reflection in the mirror. Your eyes shimmer with unshed tears, the weight of the day finally pressing too hard to ignore.

“Of course, your Highness!” Sasha responds, her cheerful tone unwavering as though the answer were obvious.

“Anytime.”

Her reply is simple, yet it means everything. For a moment, your chest tightens, and you blink rapidly to hold back the tears threatening to fall. The thought of reaching out to those you love, a connection to the world you left behind, feels like the first sliver of solace you’ve found in this strange and unyielding place.

“Thank you.” You murmur, the words barely above a whisper.

Sasha beams, oblivious to the depths of your gratitude, and returns to arranging the folds of your gown. You watch her in silence, her steady hands a comforting presence in a moment otherwise filled with turmoil.

The crackle of the fire fills the room, blending with the rhythmic hum of Sasha’s work. But the quiet does little to still your racing mind. You know the dinner ahead is not merely a celebration in your honor; it is a stage upon which you will be judged, every glance and word scrutinized by a court eager to find fault.

And somewhere within the vast expanse of this palace, the Emperor waits. Silent, exacting, and watchful. You wonder if he, too, weighs the risks and rewards of this alliance as carefully as you do. Or perhaps, for him, this is merely another move in a calculated game of power.

You take a steadying breath and rise from the seat, the heavy skirts of your gown whispering against the polished floor. Whatever awaits beyond these doors, you cannot falter. You may feel like a stranger here, but tonight, you must wear the mask of an Empress.

The banquet hall hums with an intoxicating energy as you enter, the space alive with the mingling of voices and the glittering elegance of the Eldian court. Nobles drift like shimmering specters, their laughter and whispered intrigues filling the air. Servants move gracefully among them, trays of wine and delicate hors d’oeuvres balancing as if by magic. Above it all, magnificent chandeliers cast a golden haze, their light spilling over polished floors that gleam like liquid gold. Tapestries hang from towering walls, weaving tales of Eldia’s triumphs in rich, vivid hues, and elderflowers, pale and ethereal, adore every table, their fragrance a faint, bittersweet reminder of tradition.

Levi sits at the head of the table, his posture as sharp and unyielding as the gaze he sweeps across the room. His small stature contrasts with the commanding presence of the man beside him, Commander Erwin Smith, whose calm, charismatic demeanor feels as heavy as steel. You know of him; your father’s correspondent and a trusted architect of this uneasy alliance. Smith was the one proposing the marriage to Levi, the one who gave him the idea to buy peace by you and Mikasa. His piercing blue eyes seem to see everything, even your hesitation as you cross the threshold.

Your every step toward the Emperor feels like a trial. Whispers ripple in your wake, each one a thorn against your composure. Some voices are cruel, their words cutting deep.

“How dare she wear our colors?” One spits.

“She looks…unique.” Another murmurs, the faintest lilt of disdain tainting the remark.

The walk to Levi’s side stretches endlessly, your presence like a flame drawing every gaze. Their judgment is suffocating, and you can’t help but wonder if Princess Mikasa endures the same venom in Marley.

Levi’s eyes meet yours briefly as you approach, his expression carved from stone. His gaze flicks over your gown; a silent appraisal that leaves you unsure if you pass his standards. With a curt gesture, he indicates the seat beside him. You exhale slowly and sink into the chair, hoping against hope for his attention, some sign of acknowledgment.

Instead, Levi leans toward Erwin, his voice a low murmur almost swallowed by the din.

“She’s too shy.” He remarks, his tone matter-of-fact, his silver gaze briefly cutting to you before returning to his advisor.

“Too emotional. She’ll struggle in court.”

Erwin chuckles softly, his amusement reflected in his calm demeanor.

“Perhaps you should engage with her, Levi. A little charm might go a long way.”

Levi frowns.

“I’m not here to charm her. She needs to adapt.”

Erwin smirks, swirling his wine.

“Adaptation works both ways, my friend. A marriage is a partnership, after all.” Not that Erwin would know anything about marriage. The only woman he ever felt a spark of interest in has run into the arms of another Lord Commander years ago.

Levi doesn’t reply, though his gaze lingers on you for a moment longer before dropping back to his plate.

“Is the capital of Eldia to your liking, your Highness?” Erwin’s question startles you, and you flush under the weight of his attention.

“Mitras is wonderful, Lord Commander.” you reply, your voice shaky yet earnest.

“It is a truly astounding city.”

Erwin’s smile deepens, though his next words cut deeper than you expect. “It must be daunting, marrying into a court of devils. Surely, it is not what you dreamed of.”

“Oh- uh, no, it’s not like that…” You stammer, the words catching in your throat. His sharp amusement only heightens your discomfort.

Before you can falter further, a gentle hand settles on your shoulder. You turn to find a woman of quiet grace, her presence a balm to your frayed nerves. Her dark hair gleams under the candlelight, and her features carry the unmistakable traces of Mikasa’s lineage.

“Come now, Commander.” She says, her voice soothing and warm.

“The Princess is overwhelmed. Do not add to her burdens.”

You recognize her at once; Mikasa’s mother, a foreigner like yourself who must have endured her share of icy receptions. Her kindness feels genuine, her touch grounding you in the chaotic swirl of the banquet.

The two of you talk, her voice like a soft current carrying you away from the storm of judgment. She speaks of her children, her younger son Prince Yamato, and her daughter Mikasa, whose stoic strength she clearly admires. You notice Mikasa’s father nearby, a quiet man with a kind smile, though his eyes hold a glimmer of resentment toward Levi. It’s easy to see why.

As dinner ends, the guests scatter, some to the dance floor, others to corners thick with whispered conversations. Levi approaches, his presence a shadow that draws your attention. Without preamble, he offers his hand.

“I would like you to meet someone.” He says, his voice as cool and steady as ever.

You follow him, weaving through the room until you reach a young woman with golden hair, her delicate crown catching the light. Her white gown, accented with gold, radiates regal simplicity.

“Historia.” Levi says, his tone softening just enough to signal respect.

The queen’s eyes brighten as she smiles, dipping into a graceful bow.

“Your Majesty.” She greets, her voice light as a song.

Levi gestures toward you.

“This is the Princess of Marley.” He says. He hesitates for a breath before adding: “My betrothed.”

“Welcome!” Historia cheers warmly, her gaze meeting yours.

“You must feel overwhelmed.” You nod, grateful for her sincerity.

“I do.” You admit softly. She smiles knowingly. “I felt the same when I came to court. But you will find your footing. It just takes time.”

Levi drifts away, leaving you in the queen’s company. Her kindness seems to extend to you effortlessly, and for the first time, you feel a glimmer of hope. The daughters of lords soon join your conversation, their initial wariness melting as the evening progresses.

“Have you chosen a name yet, your Highness?” One of them, Lady Marie Louisa Dok, asks with genuine interest.

“A name?” You repeat, confused. Queen Historia steps in, her voice soft yet clear.

“In Eldia, queens and empresses take on new names as a symbol of their roles. My mother named me Krista, but I became Historia when I ascended the throne.”

The tradition feels both strange and symbolic, a shedding of the past to embrace the future.

“Popular names for Empresses are Maria, Rose, and Sina.” Lady Dok explains.

“But you could choose something more unique. A name that reflects your own story.”

You nod, a faint smile touching your lips.

“I’ll look into the history books tomorrow. Thank you for the suggestion.”

And for the first time that evening, you feel a small thread of connection, not just to the court, but to the history and traditions that you are now bound to.

The banquet winds down into soft murmurs and fading melodies as you excuse yourself, retreating to the sanctuary of your chambers. The day’s events weigh heavily on you, and the quiet solitude of your room feels like a balm to your frayed nerves. Though the conversations with Historia and her ladies were unexpectedly pleasant, the prospect of being alone offers a sense of relief.

You settle by the window, the moon casting its silvery glow over the sprawling gardens below. The faint laughter and music drifting from the banquet hall remind you of the life you’ve been thrust into, a world both foreign and suffocating. As your gaze lingers on the elder tree standing proud at the garden’s heart, your thoughts drift to the unsettling revelation of having to change your name. It feels like more than a tradition; it’s a shedding of identity, a quiet severing of everything you’ve known.

A knock disrupts your musings. Before you can respond, the door creaks open. The figure that steps inside is none other than Levi.

“Your Majesty.” You murmur, rising to greet him, unsure of the protocol for moments like this. He waves a hand, dismissing the formality with a quiet authority.

“Sit.” Hesitating briefly, you lower yourself onto the cushioned ottoman by the window. The tension in the room shifts when Reiner appears in the doorway, his expression taut with vigilance. Behind him, in the dim hallway, the imposing silhouette of Levi’s personal guard looms.

“Leave us.” Levi orders, his tone clipped. “You too, Mike.” Mike is the first to respond, saluting wordlessly and turning on his heel. Reiner lingers, his eyes flickering from you to the emperor, reluctant to abandon his post. But the unspoken finality in Levi’s command leaves no room for protest. With a stiff bow, your guard withdraws, the door clicking shut behind him.

Levi strides toward you, his movements deliberate, like a predator approaching its prey. He stops a few paces away, arms crossed, his sharp gaze unwavering.

“You handled yourself well tonight.” He begins, his voice low and measured.

“The daughters of my lords seemed fascinated by you. Foreigners always do have a way of capturing attention.” The comment, hovering somewhere between a compliment and an observation, takes you by surprise.

“Thank you.” You reply cautiously, unsure whether his words are genuine or strategic.

But Levi’s approval is short-lived. His gaze hardens as he continues, his tone sharper now. “Don’t mistake their curiosity for acceptance. There’s still much for you to learn.” The faint spark of warmth you’d felt quickly fades, replaced by the familiar chill of his critique. You bite back a retort, knowing it would do no good to argue.

“The court watches you.” He presses on, each word deliberate.

“Every gesture, every word is weighed and judged. You can’t afford to appear weak or uncertain. If you’re to survive here, you need to be stronger.” His words cut deep, yet they carry a truth you cannot ignore. The court’s scrutiny is relentless, and you have no choice but to rise to its demands.

“I will do my best.” You promise, your voice steadier than you feel.

Levi studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable. When he finally speaks, there’s a trace of something softer in his tone, perhaps approval, or perhaps something else entirely.

“Good. Because failure isn’t an option. The futures of both our empires rest on what we build here.” His words linger in the air, heavy with implication. You nod, though a storm brews quietly within you.

Then, as if to soften the blow of his earlier harshness, Levi adds: “Consider your name carefully. Choose one tied to a former Empress or Queen, someone well-regarded. It could help with the court.” You’re about to thank him, but he turns toward the door. His hand lingers on the handle, and he pauses, glancing back at you. His eyes, dark and enigmatic, meet yours.

“And one more thing-” He speaks, his voice dropping into something almost intimate, yet disconcerting. “-I would prefer it if you didn’t choose one of the names tied to our three ‘holy’ walls. You’re no saint.” Before you can even process his words, he’s gone, the door closing softly behind him. You sit frozen in the silence that follows, your thoughts spiraling. His parting remark churns in your mind, heavy with unspoken meaning.

What was that supposed to mean?

[witchofhimring]

Under the shadow of the Crown

Synopsis: Your life as Princess Baela's lady-in-waiting is ripped apart. Queen Rhaenyra decrees that you marry her younger half brother Aemond. Terrified, you are in no position to object. Such are the lives of those in the shadow of the crown.

Pairings: Aemond x Y/n

Part of my Dynasty of Blood AU series, built of this concept.

You had never payed attention to the second sulky son of Alicent Hightower. If fact you had not even come to mainland Westeros to marry him in the first place. Of course marriage had always been in the cards. As heir to Blackhalt, your families ancestral seat just off of The Reach. A great match had always been in store for you. Lord Cregan Stark and Jeoffrey Velaryon had both been put forth. Only Lord Stark's had been seriously considered as the third born son of Queen Rhaenyra was not yet ten. It was only a pity the eldest two of her boys were to be wed. Well, Lucerys and Rhaena had not been wed at the time you arrived at Kings Landing. Crowned Prince Jaecerys had already taken Baela Targaryen to wife by then. Your role, until it was time to take up the mantel of ladyship, was to serve the royal family and cultivate whatever ties you could.

You were placed in the service of Princess Baela. She was around your age, born within the same year. Admittedly you were more than a bit intimidated. Use to being the second highest ranking lady in the room it was strange to be standing in front of the third greatest lady in the land. Not only that but Baela rode a dragon. Her beauty was intimidating as well, with thick silver hair and wide violet eyes. Her skin was dark and smooth, the scars she obtained in battle only giving highlighting her features. Normally scars could not be considered pretty, but Baela seemed to wear them as one would their jewels. Clad in black and red the princess looked almost like one of those Valyrian gods. Not that you had ever met one before. But perhaps this was how they were depicted.

The two of you would forge a friendship. A combination of personal liking and ambition. However it was with Rhaena that you first became friends with. The younger of the two, Rhaena was less assuming compared to Baela. That did not mean, as many mistakened her for, a wilting flower. She simply preferred to be more guarded and taken to court etiquette more easily. The two of you had much in common, a love of fine dresses, music, poetry and an ability to connive when the situation so called for it. When you were free of duties the two of you would hide under the Weirwood and read poetry.

Two years passed and a new year was upon everyone. A New Years ball was to be arranged and it was up to a team of ladies (including yourself) to organize who was wearing what. It was already agreed upon that Baela would be wearing a high collared red gown with rubies sewn into it. Not that she knew it yet. The rest of you would wear colours representing your houses to show a symbol of unity. "I think everyone should wear a red ribbon to symbolize the princess." Rhaena pulled out a silver box from underneath a tall tower of various items. Let it not be said this was an easy job. A new years celebration was nothing to scoff at. Especially as this one would be a pre-celebration to the marriage of Rhaena to Lucerys. Rhaenyra's second son had been off to learn what it mean to be a lord. This had been to the great distress of Rhaenyra. But she finally relented, unusually, and allowed Daemon to teach her son everything there was to know about being Prince of Dragonstone. Now that he had experience and was a man it was high time Lucerys married.

"Oh dear." Lady Cassandra stifled a laugh as she held up a pair of ludicrously high heels. Lady Cerelle of Casterly Rock paled and looked to Rhaena. She would find no security in her look as Rhaena sighed. "Let me see." You took the pair from her hand and examined them. They were exquisite in design and any woman would be thrilled to have them. Except this was Baela who would likely be as friendly as Vhargar when it came to overly constraining dresses.

Rhaena sighed and slumped in her seat. She looked up at the ceiling, exasperated. "Baela is going to kill me." You looked up at her. "Why you?" Rhaena sat up and stooped down to gather loose fabric. "Because I was the one who commissioned Panella to make the dress. And I swear I told her to make the dress to Baela's tastes. But the Queen ordered her to make it luxurious as possible." Queen Rhaenyra was well known for her expensive tastes. Just a glance at her dresses was enough for anyone to know. This had worked in your favour when the Queen gifted you a dress of pink silk and pearls. You had yet to wear it but the dress was truly magnificent. However, at this moment, was it worth it if Baela ripped your head off?

Deliverance came in the form a knock. One of Dowager Queen Alicents handmaidens entered. She first curtsied to Rhaena and then turned to you. "Lady Y/n, the Queen Dowager has requested your presence." Getting up you bid the ladies farewell before leaving. Hopefully you would be kept away long enough to avoid Baela's terror.

Lady Alicent had settled in the Hands Tower, much to the annoyance of the actual hand Ser Corlys Velaryon. The moment you entered green clouded your vision. On the steps of a dais sat the women serving Alicent. They mostly hailed from the Reach and Westerlands. Sitting on a throne like chair was Alicent. She looked older than her thirty and four years, a statue of regality and sternness. Had you done something to incur her ire? There was nothing you could think of. So you curtsied, hoping that if she was upset a show of supplication (even if it irked you) might mollify her. To your surprise she smiled, or at least it looked like a smile. This unsettled you to a degree.

"Lady Y/n, the Queen, your father and myself have chosen a husband for you." Several things went through your mind, excitement, anxiety and hope. You had been endlessly curious as to who would become your husband and the future lord consort to Blackhalt. "You will be marrying my son Prince Aemond. Everything dropped out from beneath you. Not literally, but it felt like someone had just hurled you down a dark tunnel. Out of everyone why him!? You could not say Aemond was well known to you. Only the stories and the looks he gave anyone attached to his elder sisters house. As you were a member of Baela's household his dislike over spilled into you as well.

Was this your fathers idea? Or your mother, who despite not being the ruling lady held great sway. Always you had known you'd marry, such was the duty of every lord and lady. Never had you though as you did now, that this was all some great mistake.

You curtsied to the third most powerful woman in Westeros and said how honoured you were. An honour it may be, but not one you cherished.

"Absolutely not!" If one though Baela had been angry beforehand it was nothing to her tirade over Aemond taking one of her handmaidens. "My Princess, I can still serve you, surely." You held her hand in your own. In the greatest state of anxiety Baela hardly seemed to notice. Suddenly she bounded to her feet. Cerelle leapt back in fright and Cassandra rose to her feet. Baela seized your hand and headed out the door. She strode forward with such a great fury you nearly tripped. You could hear the other two following, also having difficulty in catching up. It was only when you entered a staircase lined with red tapestries did you realize where it was Baela was taking you. Before there was even time to protest Baela waved the guards aside and burst through the door. Queen Rhaenyra lounged on a plush chair, surrounded by her three youngest sons, little Princess Visenya and four ladies. As usual she was bedecked in the finest robes imaginable. Jeoffrey came to his feet and rushed towards Baela. Despite the animosity between Baela and her good-mother she was fond of her husbands siblings. Once they broke apart Jeoffrey rushed back to his mother. Tention filled the room was two Targaryen Princesses stared each other down. Baela may not be Queen yet, but she had enough spirit to outdo almost any other. Rhaenyra may have been older, but the fire dwelling within her blood was no less furious. Despite their differences they both had something starkly similar. They were the very blood of Old Valyria.

"Princess Baela. Please take a seat." Baela simply stood there, not budging. Nervously you stood there. While Baela might get away with this you may suffer the brunt of Rhaenyra's anger. She was quick to anger and slow to forgive. So you hung your head in hopes that she might consider you unworthy of her anger. "He who bends may rise again", it was a Greyjoy saying, yet your mother mentioned it had a great deal of merit.

Lady Cassandra quietly entered, paid her respects to the Queen, then stood there. "Lady Velaryon, please take my daughter to her room." Lasfy Velaryon, a cousin of Baela, rose and took the hand of little Visenya who had only recently celebrated her third name day. With some fussing the princess was spirited away. Rhaenyra waited until her daughters little footsteps disappeared. When Rhaenyra focused her attention back onto Baela she looked as gentle as a dragon. They said the Queen was quick to anger, slow to forgive. You prayed her anger did not fall on you.

"Your impertinence is noted, Baela. Remember I am Queen so watch your tongue." The subject of Queenship had always been a tense, provocative one. When King Laenor died the crown passed to his wife. At the time Prince Jacaerys was only ten and considered too young to rule. Fearing a war over regency as had happened in the time of King Jaehaerys they had the boys mother become Queen. It was all wrapped up in a neat little bow. No boy kings and the succession going down the natural path. Or it would be so if it were not for the face Rhaenyra's sons were not Laenor's. Whispers floated down the halls that it was the former Captain of the City Guard Ser Harwin Strong who had fathered the boy. If the succession had gone down the true legitimate line then it would have passed to Laena's line. Baela was Laena's eldest child. But Rhaenyra was quick. She married Laena's widower Daemon Targaryen and married their children together.

Baela, who should have been Queen, stood in front of her stepmother who was Queen. Veryone else shrunk back. Even little Jeoffrey. "I hear you mean to marry Y/n Blackhalt to Aemond." She practically spat out the last words. All these years later Baela was still smarting over the injustice of Aemond taking Vhaegar from her sister. The feeling was mutual. Aemond had hated the Velaryon girls ever since that terrible fight on Driftmark. After the funeral of Princess Laena Aemond had stuck out and claimed Vhaegar which had once belonged to Aegon, consort of Queen Visenya. Words were said and Baela punched Aemond. A brawl ensued and Aemond lost an eye. The relationship between the families of Viserys Targaryen's first and second wives had never been smooth. Rhaenyra was left imbittered after her lady-in-waiting Alicent married her father. The two had never reconciled. Or so you heard.

"I am aware. Myself, Lady Alicent and your father have all agreed to it." Baela puffed up. "As a lady in my service Y/n is under my care and therefore I should have been informed." "My brother is a prince of the realm. Lady Y/n should feel honoured." Rhaenyra's amethyst eyes then settled on you. Oh Gods no.

"Lady Y/n, what do you say?" This was possibly the worst situation you could be placed in. Either way you would offend someone. Your best friend and future Queen, or the current Queen. Your mothers lessons went through your head. What would she do in this situation? Feigning calm, you spoke. "My opinion hardly counts. I will do what is best for the realm." You prayed this appeased both Targaryens. Rhaenyra had a look of satisfaction on her face. Baela's you could not see.

"There we have it. Is there anything else you would like to add?" It was not because Baela had been calmed that she turned and left. You could see the tension in her shoulders and knew Baela only left to stop herself from doing something truly rash. She had let go of you and both you and Cassandra were forced to race behind. All the way to her room the three of you ran. Rhaena and Cerelle were still in Baela's room. Rhaena opened her mouth but Baela spoke first. Once inside she immediately rounded on you. "So you want to marry him!" The fury in her voice made you cower. Unable to speak, it took everything in you not to cry. "You betray me in front of the Queen! You! Are you truly my friend or will you open your legs to any many who will have you!" Everyone gasped. Cassandra dropped the pearls, Rhaena clasped a hand to her mouth and Cerelle had silently fled.

You could not even cry. Your fear was so intense you remained rooted to the spot, stuck dumb. By no means were you a coward. Under any other situation you would have defended your honour. But not only was Baela your friend, but a Princess and future Queen. Baela's furious person glowered at you. Trembling, you only just begun to think of anything to say when Baela turned on her feet and stormed out.

There was no air in your lungs. Or at least that was what it felt like. Everything seemed to be falling away leaving you in a deep sea of despair. One by one you imagined everything being taken away, leaving only burned friendships and a disgraced name. Baela shot you one last disgusted before turning on her heel and leaving. With a bang the door shut.

Everything swam before you. Darkness began to rise and suddenly you were swallowed by it. Fading voiced echoed and drifted further and further away. A dull pain echoed in your head.

Then everything was black.

Pain was the first to greet you. The sun nearly blinded you and the world came into blurry focus. Every movement was slow and it ached. The bed dipped slightly as a face hovered above yours. "Y/n?" You recognized Rhaena through her voice. Then another joined your view. With vision clearing you realized it was a Septa. A cold hand pressed against your burning forehead and she spoke. "Can you see?" The words that came out of you sounded strange, like someone was yelling across the great hall. "Yes. But faintly, I think?" Wincing you held up a hand. Your vision was clearing and almost perfect again. "Sit up if you can." A hand behind your back helped you up. Propped against pillows a cup was placed by your lips. Cold water wetted your parched throat. It made a world of difference. Your senses were clearing and the remains of grogginess disappeared. Unfortunately it also brought pain into sharper focus. Reaching behind you felt a bump.

"Thank the Gods that is all. It could have been so much worse." Cerelle was nervously chewing her fingernails. You noticed that Cassandra and Baela were missing. "Cassandra was summoned by Baela. But she is very worried." Said Rhaena noticing your mood. "Does the Princess know what happened?" "I don't know. Not unless Cassandra told her." Defeated, you laid back. Still coming out of a haze your thoughts darted here and there. All this information, Baela's anger, the betrothal and Queen Rhaenyra's animosity made you want to faint all over again.

Cerelle and Rhaena said nothing else as you lay back down. The three of you stayed in that room, the sun setting. All the while you wondered if this was the right decision.

You should have been happy at the choice of husband. Aemond was young, handsome and a prince. But on the morning of your wedding all you felt was dread. During the early hours of the morning you lay awake, Rhaena snoring a few inches away. As a princess-to-be you got new rooms in the Red Keep. These ones opened out onto the garden, a combination of roses and salt lingering on every surface. You would rather have been in the old rooms. At least Baela had been your friend back then, and Aemond had not been your betrothed. You missed those days were you were just Lady Blackhalt. After the wedding you would be sent back with Aemond to Blackhalt island. Away from the place which had been your home since childhood.

Everyone but you seemed happy. Only Rhaena seemed aware of your mood. Cassandra and Cerelle were with Baela, they would no longer be with you. And Baela...who knew. They washed you within an inch of your flesh. Scrubbed till it hurt they finally pulled you out and lathered on a sweet smelling cream. Every inch of you were fussed over by an army of women. When that was done they dressed you, a whole new ordeal. For the first time you wore the Targaryen black and red. The three headed dragon was sewn onto your bodice with rubies glittering on silk strings. For a moment you forgot every worry when looking in the mirror. Every move sent sparkles dancing around you, and as princess you would always have such gowns. At least that was one comfort.

The dress became a burden when it was time for the procession through King's Landing. They placed you on a chariot for all of the smallfolk to see. They called out to you, blessing you with good fortune and many children. You smiled and waved, ignoring the heat and painful corset. Yet to have so much adoration gave you a warm feeling. You tried to focus on that. White petals were thrown into the air. Several getting caught in your hair. Finally you arrived back at the Red Keep. The remaining court which had not come with you was waiting. Helped off, you were delivered into the arms of your father. Lord Blackhalt was a stranger to his daughter. Having barely seen him in years it felt strange to have him hand you off. Baela might as well have done the honours. Speaking of Baela she was there. It hurt when she barely looked at you. And after this you would likely hardly see her again.

They were now closing in from all sides. Walking into the Great Hall you felt all their eyes on you. 'From now on I will always be watched.' You thought. You would go from lady to princess. A member of the royal family. Waiting for you at the end was the High Septon and Queen Rhaenyra, looking on in satisfaction. You hated the queen, her satisfied look making you want to throw up down the stairs. How dare she act all pleased! And then you saw your betrothed. Aemond stood inches from his sister. His black leather made you want to shrink away. 'Don't you it.' The warning spurred you on.

Aemond's hand was calloused and cold. It was a shock compared to the heat of this morning. For the first time you looked Aempnd in the face. As a body you feared him, as a man you nearly ran. And now you would spend the rest of your life with him. His purple eye was hard to read. No expression passed his face. It was worse than showing anger, at least you would know what to expect. Right now you knew nothing. In truth despite the proximity for so many years you knew nothing about him. Always it had been the words of Baela and Rhaena which painted a picture. Now on your own there was a blank canvas.

'With this kiss I pledge my love.' Empty words. His lips were cold against your own ones. Your black and white cloak was whipped off, replaced by the Targaryen sigil. No longer Lady Y/n. Y/n Blackhalt, Princess of Westeros. You felt naked, unprotected. And now your girlhood was ended.

Notes: I just want to reiterate that this is not a story in the sense I will organize it into chapters. It will be a collection of one shots based off of scenarios. If anyone wants to further discuss these characters I am happy to do so!

About the characters: Cassandra is much nicer in this version. I suspect that the reason she was so bitter in Fire and Blood was because she went from a possible heiress to House Baratheon and promised to a prince, then promised to a King. Only she ended up married to a man well below her station. Personally I think she was definitely ambitious, but is less malicious in this version due to being Lady Baratheon by right. So she certainly has less to be bitter about.

Now, about the readers wedding. Because this is a world were women inherit the reader will keep her last name. But because she is marrying into the royal family she wears their colours. So that is why she wears the Targaryen cloak.

Rhaenyra does come off as cruel in this one-shot however she will get more development. Her actions are a combination of spite against Baela and to show her place as Queen. Baela resents Rhaenyra for taking the place she thinks is hers. I will at some point write a one-shot from Baela's point of view.

The other ideas I have in mind:

-Rhaenyra and the reader talking about their dead ancestors

-Baela and Daenerys (reader's daughter) talks about queenship

-Reader's friendship with Baela and Rhaena

-"Monarchs of Westeros" (part 1) Covering every monarch of Westeros in this AU from Visenya the First to Rhaenyra the Second.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Silent Nights and Bright Lights

Pairing: König x reader

Warnings: fluffy

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy Christmas with König

Word Count: 1.1k

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The train screeched to a halt, steam curling through the frigid air as you stepped onto the snowy platform. The cold bit at your cheeks, a sharp reminder of just how far north you had traveled. The frosty air carried the scent of pine and chimney smoke, a strangely comforting combination.

You barely had time to adjust your scarf before you spotted him. König stood at the edge of the platform, towering over the other travelers. His broad frame was bundled in a thick coat, a gray scarf wrapped snugly around his neck. His dark eyes scanned the crowd, darting nervously from face to face until they landed on you.

His shoulders visibly relaxed, and he took a tentative step forward. In one hand, he clutched your bag, which looked laughably small compared to him. In the other, he held a single poinsettia in a small pot, the vibrant red standing out against the muted winter colors.

“Willkommen,” he said softly, his deep voice carrying just enough warmth to rival the hot chocolate you’d been craving.

Your heart swelled at his shy demeanor. “Hi, König,” you said, taking a step closer.

He hesitated for a moment, then extended the flower toward you, his gloved hand almost comically large against the delicate plant. “This... is for you,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost as if he were afraid you might laugh at the gesture.

Your breath hitched as you accepted it, your fingers brushing against his glove. “Thank you, König. It’s beautiful.”

His lips twitched into a shy smile, and he quickly cleared his throat. “Here,” he said, gesturing to your bag. “Let me.”

You tried to protest. “König, it’s fine. I can—”

“No,” he interrupted gently, his free hand already reaching for the strap. “You’ve traveled far. Relax, hmm?”

You relented with a laugh, watching as he effortlessly slung the bag over his shoulder. His touch lingered for a moment on the strap, as if ensuring it was secure, before he gestured toward the exit.

“Come,” he said, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “It is... much warmer in the car.”

The drive to the village was quiet but comfortable, the snow-draped landscape passing by like something out of a postcard. König occasionally glanced at you, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as if trying to focus on the road instead of you.

When you finally arrived, the sight took your breath away. The village was nestled in a valley, its rooftops covered in thick layers of snow. Strings of golden lights hung between the buildings, casting a warm glow over the cobblestone streets. Stalls lined the square, bustling with activity as vendors sold everything from handcrafted ornaments to steaming mugs of spiced wine.

König parked the car and stepped out, opening your door for you before you could even unbuckle your seatbelt.

“This is... my home,” he said, his voice tinged with a mixture of pride and nervousness. “I hope you like it.”

You looked up at him, smiling. “It’s beautiful, König.”

His ears turned pink, and he gestured toward the market. “Come. There is much to see.”

The market was alive with the sounds of laughter, music, and the occasional jingling of bells. König walked beside you, his presence steady and comforting as he pointed out different stalls.

“This one sells the best glühwein,” he said, nodding toward a stall with a steaming cauldron of spiced wine. “And there,” he added, pointing to a display of carved wooden toys, “my mother used to buy me something small every year.”

You followed his gaze, imagining a younger König, all long limbs and awkward smiles, clutching a little wooden train.

As you passed a stall selling delicate glass ornaments, König paused, his gaze lingering on one shaped like a snowflake. Without a word, he reached for it, carefully handing over a few euros before turning to you.

“For you,” he said softly, holding the ornament out in his palm. “It... reminded me of you.”

Your cheeks warmed as you accepted it, holding it close to your chest. “Thank you, König. It’s beautiful.”

Before he could respond, a loud gasp drew your attention.

“It’s Krampus!” a little boy exclaimed, hiding behind his mother’s leg.

König froze, his hand halfway to his scarf. You glanced up at him, biting your lip to keep from laughing. His size and the faint shadow of his mask peeking out from under his scarf certainly could give someone the wrong idea.

“I... uh...” König scratched the back of his neck, his ears burning red.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, nudging him playfully. “You’re a little intimidating, sure, but you’re no Krampus.”

The corners of his mouth lifted into a reluctant smile, and he shook his head. “Perhaps... no sledding today, then.”

The cabin was straight out of a storybook, its roof blanketed in snow and its windows glowing warmly. Inside, the air smelled of pine and cinnamon, and the soft crackle of a fire filled the cozy space.

König had already brought in a fresh tree, its branches stretching nearly to the ceiling. Together, you spent the evening decorating it, though it quickly became clear that König’s large hands were not meant for handling fragile ornaments.

When he accidentally crushed a tiny ceramic reindeer, he froze, his expression one of sheer panic. “Scheiße,” he muttered under his breath. “I... I am sorry.”

You laughed, picking up a glittering bauble. “It’s fine, König. Just stick to the garland, okay?”

He nodded, his eyes lighting up at your teasing. Carefully, he set to work draping the golden ribbon around the tree, pausing occasionally to glance over at you.

On Christmas morning, you woke to the smell of freshly baked pastries. You found König in the kitchen, his hands covered in flour as he carefully pulled a tray of strudels from the oven.

“I... tried,” he said sheepishly, holding up one of the slightly lopsided pastries.

You took a bite, grinning as the flaky crust melted on your tongue. “It’s perfect,” you said, meaning every word.

When it came time to exchange gifts, you handed him a neatly wrapped package. Inside was a hand-knit scarf in his favorite color.

“You made this?” he asked, his voice tinged with awe.

You nodded, and he pulled you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you like a fortress. “Thank you, mein Schatz,” he murmured.

His gift to you was the snowflake ornament, now hanging proudly on the tree. “It reminded me of you,” he said softly, his eyes meeting yours. “Delicate, beautiful... and special.”

You smiled, your heart full. “Thank you, König. For everything.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Frohe Weihnachten,” he whispered.

Translation:

Merry Christmas, my treasure

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[ephemeral-love-4]

Linger

── .✦ Lilia Calderu X Princess! Reader

╰┈➤Chapters : 2/3

Word count :19k

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅

I did not look back.

If I did, I knew I wouldn’t be able to leave.

So I walked. One foot in front of the other, out of the castle, beyond its towering gates, and into the open world that had once felt so full of possibility. Now, it felt hollow.

The air was thick with the scent of autumn— damp earth, crisp leaves, and the last remnants of summer flowers wilting under the cold. It should have been refreshing, liberating. Instead, it clung to my skin like a suffocating memory.

I told myself this was for the best. That Y/N had made her choice. That I was not the kind of person to stay where I was not wanted.

And yet—

Her voice still echoed in my ears.

"You’re leaving."

She had been breathless, standing in the doorway like some tragic heroine from a tale neither of us would get a happy ending to. And I, foolish, heart-aching fool that I was, had wanted to take her hand and beg her to run away.

But she had said no.

So I walked.

I don’t know how far I traveled that first night, only that my feet ached and the stars blurred as I finally collapsed beneath a thick oak tree. The night was cool, the wind gentle, but I felt neither.

I had thought that putting distance between myself and the castle would make things easier. That once I was away, my heart would stop feeling like it had been carved out of my chest and left bleeding in her hands.

I was wrong.

Everything reminded me of her.

The delicate white flowers blooming at the roadside— just like the ones that grew in the castle garden, where she had once twirled a petal between her fingers, laughing as I teased her for her absentmindedness.

The way the wind whispered through the trees— too much like her laughter on those rare days when she let herself be carefree.

Even the sky, deep and endless, reminded me of nights spent talking until dawn, of stolen moments where it felt like the world was ours alone.

I should not have left so soon.

I should have left sooner.

Days passed. Or maybe weeks. I didn’t keep track.

I wandered through villages, stayed in inns where no one knew my name, drifted between places like a ghost that didn’t know where to rest.

I should have felt free. This was the life I had always lived— unbound, untethered. No duties, no titles, no expectations.

And yet I felt caged.

Because freedom had never felt like wandering alone.

Freedom had felt like her hand in mine, pulling me through the castle walls, her laughter spilling into the cool evening air.

It had felt like long conversations beneath autumn leaves, bickering over ridiculous things just to fill the silence.

It felt like waking up in a bed that was too small for two, but somehow never uncomfortable.

I clenched my fists.

This was pathetic.

I was not some lovesick fool. I was not the kind of person who mourned things that were never meant to be.

And yet here I was, standing in the middle of a quiet village, staring at a marketplace stall because the scent of freshly baked pastries reminded me of the way her room always smelled in the morning.

I turned away sharply, disgusted with myself.

This had to stop.

I had left to outrun my grief, but it had followed me like a shadow.

Maybe it wasn’t something I could escape.

Maybe it was something I had to carry.

And that—

That terrified me more than anything.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The village was small— quaint, even. The kind of place where people knew each other by name, where shopkeepers greeted passersby with warm smiles, where life moved at a pace so slow it felt almost frozen.

I did not belong here.

And yet, my feet carried me through its cobbled streets, past vendors calling out their wares, past children chasing each other in the open square, past a baker kneading dough in the window of his shop.

It smelled like cinnamon and honey. Like warmth. Like home.

I swallowed hard and kept walking.

I didn’t know where I was going. I hadn’t known for days, maybe weeks. But stopping— settling— felt unbearable. If I stopped, I would have to think.

And thinking meant remembering.

I let my mind drift, let my body move on instinct alone. A field stretched before me, golden with the last remnants of autumn. The wind stirred the grass, bending it in waves, and for a brief moment, I could almost pretend I was somewhere else.

That I was someone else.

Someone who didn’t ache with every breath.

Someone who hadn’t left a piece of herself behind.

I didn’t realize I had stopped moving until I felt the cool touch of grass beneath my fingertips. When had I knelt down? When had my legs given out?

I pressed a hand to my chest, as if that could steady the hollow ache there.

This wasn’t grief.

Grief was mourning something lost, something past.

This was something crueler. This was knowing what could have been and watching it slip through my fingers.

I clenched my jaw, forced a breath past the tightness in my throat.

I had told myself I was leaving to forget her.

But I had been lying.

I wasn’t trying to forget.

I was trying to outrun the truth.

That no matter how far I went, no matter how many villages I passed through, no matter how much distance I put between myself and that castle—

She would always be there.

In the scent of autumn flowers. In the way the sky stretched endlessly above me. In the quiet moments, when the world was still and my thoughts crept in like ghosts I could not banish.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

What was I supposed to do?

Go back?

No.

She had made her choice.

And I— I had made mine.

Then why did it feel like I had lost?

The wind shifted, carrying the distant sound of a bell from the village. Evening was settling in. The world continued moving forward, indifferent to the war waging in my chest.

I let out a slow breath and rose to my feet.

I couldn’t stay here.

I had nowhere to go, but I couldn’t stay.

So I did what I had been doing for days now.

I walked.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

One evening, as I sat by a campfire in the woods, I found myself staring at my hands.

Calloused from years of travel. Hands that had once held hers without hesitation.

I had always thought I was strong. Untouchable. Someone who could leave the past behind without a second thought.

But here I was. Alone. Lost. Haunted.

I exhaled, tilting my head back. The stars winked down at me, indifferent to my sorrow.

For the first time since I left, I asked myself a question I had been avoiding.

What am I doing?

I left because I couldn’t bear to watch her marry someone else. I left because I thought distance would make the pain easier.

But it hadn’t.

Running hadn’t made me forget. It had only made me realize how much I had to lose.

I closed my eyes, and for the first time in weeks, I allowed myself to say it.

I love her.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

I should move on.

I should keep walking, find another place, another life, another purpose.

That was what I had been telling myself since the moment I left.

But every road I took, every village I passed through, every empty inn room I slept in— it all led me back to one undeniable truth.

I didn’t want any of it.

I didn’t want to build a new life somewhere else. I didn’t want to forget.

I wanted her.

I wanted to see her smile again, even if it wasn’t for me. I wanted to hear her voice, even if it wasn’t calling my name. I wanted to stand in the same place, breathe the same air, even if it meant enduring the pain of knowing I could never have her.

Even now, as I sat by a dwindling fire in the middle of nowhere, my mind refused to let go of her.

The way she had looked at me that night, breathless and wide-eyed.

The way her voice had cracked when she asked if I was leaving.

The way she hadn’t denied it when I accused her of pretending this meant nothing.

I had left because I thought I had no choice. Because I thought I couldn’t bear to watch her marry someone else.

And yet—

A selfish, desperate part of me whispered that maybe she had missed me, even a little. That maybe, despite everything, she had wanted to ask me to stay.

What if I had been wrong?

What if there was still something left to fight for?

The fire crackled beside me, casting flickering shadows against the trees. I stared into the flames, my heart pounding in my chest.

I had been running for so long. Wandering, searching— except I hadn’t truly been searching for anything.

Because the answer had always been the same.

There was no moving on from this.

No running far enough to erase what I felt.

No road that wouldn’t lead me back to her.

I clenched my fists, inhaling sharply.

Tomorrow, I would turn back.

I didn’t know what I would find when I returned. I didn’t know if it would change anything.

But I couldn’t keep running.

Not anymore.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

I had expected pain.

I had expected regret, guilt, sorrow— every agonizing thing I had carried with me since the night I left.

But I hadn’t expected this.

The castle was silent.

Not in the way of sleeping cities, nor in the hush of courtly restraint. This was something else. Something heavier.

Something dead.

I had been gone for over a year, and yet the city I returned to felt as though it had aged a lifetime. The streets that had once been alive with music and revelry, that had celebrated a wedding I could not bear to witness, were muted now. The banners that had flown so proudly were gone. The air was thick— not with the scent of autumn this time, but with the kind of stillness that follows loss.

The castle gates stood open, unguarded, as if the city no longer feared intruders. Or perhaps it no longer had the energy to care.

I should not have come back.

I knew that now.

But I had been foolish enough to believe that I could return and still find her here. That after all my wandering, after all my empty, desperate attempts to outrun grief, I would still have time.

Then I heard it.

A name spoken in hushed whispers.

A story retold with solemn voices.

The queen, they said. Taken too soon.

The queen.

The words hardly made sense. They were foreign, distant, like something spoken in another language.

I didn’t move. I hardly breathed.

Someone, a merchant, muttered that it had been childbirth. That the gods themselves had demanded too much.

Someone else— an old woman— sighed that it had been bound to happen. That she had always been too fragile for this world. That no amount of love, no amount of devotion, could have saved her from fate.

My vision blurred.

My pulse roared in my ears, drowning out the rest of their words.

No.

No, this was wrong. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

I had spent a year away. A year convincing myself that if I ever returned, I could fix something.

There was nothing left to fix.

Nothing left to return to.

The castle no longer belonged to her. The throne, the halls, the life that should have been hers— empty now. Given to another.

And somewhere within these walls, buried beneath cold stone, was the only person I had ever loved.

I do not remember moving.

I do not remember my hands pushing open the great doors of the castle, my feet moving through halls I had once known so well. The guards did not stop me. The servants did not question me.

Perhaps they recognized me. Perhaps they saw the grief in my eyes and knew there was no need to bar my path.

I walked through the corridors in a daze, past grand staircases and towering windows, past candlelit hallways that no longer carried the warmth of her presence.

She had once stood here.

She had once lived here.

And now she was nowhere.

I do not know how I found my way to the crypts.

One moment, I was walking through the empty castle. The next, I was standing before a carved stone door, cold and unyielding beneath my trembling hands.

I pushed it open.

The air inside was still. Heavy. The scent of old stone and extinguished candles filled my lungs, suffocating me. The dim light flickered against the walls, casting long, cruel shadows over the rows of silent tombs.

And then I saw her name.

The moment I did, the world caved in.

My knees hit the ground before I even realized I had fallen. My fingers dug into the frozen stone, tracing the letters as if I could will them to be anything but what they were.

Y/N.

Beloved Queen. Taken too soon.

I could not breathe.

I had left her.

I had left her, and now she was gone.

No second chances. No stolen moments. No final goodbyes.

I had waited too long to come back.

Now, there was nothing left.

I pressed my forehead against the stone, my body trembling as I exhaled a shaking breath.

For the first time in my life, I did not know who I was without her.

For the first time, I had nowhere left to go.

A voice cut through the silence.

“You came back.”

I did not look up.

Footsteps echoed against the stone, slow and measured. I felt him before I saw him— the weight of his presence pressing down like a storm cloud, thick with things unspoken.

The king.

Her husband.

Edric.

The man she had chosen.

I lifted my head, my hands still resting against the stone that bore her name. He stood a few steps away, dressed in mourning black, though his face was eerily calm. Tired, maybe. Resigned.

I hated him.

Not in the way of enemies, not with the kind of hatred that burns and devours. No, this hatred was something quieter, deeper. It was the resentment of knowing he had been the one to stand beside her at the end. That while I had been wandering, lost in my own grief, he had been here.

He had lived the life that could have been mine.

He exhaled softly, stepping closer. “I thought you might return one day.”

I swallowed against the knot in my throat. My voice came out hollow. “And yet you buried her without me.”

He sighed, his gaze dropping to the carved letters between us. “She would not have wanted you to see her like that.”

I flinched.

The thought of her— fragile, fading, slipping beyond reach— was unbearable.

I pressed my palm against the stone, as if I could feel anything beyond the cold. “She suffered.”

He hesitated, then nodded.

The weight of it settled into my chest, heavy and unmovable. I had left to spare myself pain, and yet she had borne it alone.

“I loved her.” The words slipped out before I could stop them.

“I know.”

The quiet certainty in his voice made me look up sharply. He was watching me, not with anger, not with jealousy, but something else entirely. Something that looked too much like understanding.

“She never said it outright,” he continued, voice soft, “but I knew. I saw it in the way she spoke about you. The way she carried your absence like a wound that never healed.”

I clenched my jaw. “Then why did she—”

“Because duty is a cruel thing.” His expression darkened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. “And because she thought she was doing the right thing.”

I closed my eyes.

The right thing.

She had always been so determined to do what was best for others, even at the cost of her own happiness. Even at the cost of us.

The king crouched beside me, his voice quieter now. “She never forgot you.”

The words hurt more than I expected.

“She kept the flowers you gave her,” he murmured. “Carried them in her books, pressed them between pages. Even on the worst days, she—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “I think a part of her was always waiting for you.”

A sharp, broken sound left my throat.

Too late.

I had come back too late.

We sat in silence for a long time.

Then, finally, he spoke again. “You can stay.”

I turned to him, frowning.

He met my gaze, steady and sure. “I won’t stop you.”

Stay.

In the castle that was no longer hers. In the halls that no longer echoed with her laughter. In a place that felt like a graveyard of what once was.

I shook my head. “I don’t belong here.”

His expression didn’t change. “Then where will you go?”

I didn’t have an answer.

He sighed, standing. “She would want you to find peace.”

Peace.

The thought was almost laughable.

I traced the letters of her name one last time. Then, with great effort, I rose to my feet.

“I don’t think I ever will,” I admitted.

The king said nothing. He only stepped aside, allowing me to pass.

As I walked away, leaving her behind for the second time, I realized something.

The first time, I had left believing I would see her again.

This time, I knew I never would.

The halls felt empty.

Not in the way that abandoned places did, not with dust and decay and silence— but empty in the way that came from absence.

Her absence.

The air still carried a faint trace of her, woven into the fabric of the castle, lingering in the soft candlelight and the distant echoes of footsteps.

I had been a fool to come back.

I should have turned and left the moment I realized she was gone. There was nothing here for me anymore.

And yet—

A sound stopped me in my tracks.

A cry.

Faint, but unmistakable.

A baby’s cry.

Something cold curled in my stomach as I followed the sound, my feet moving of their own accord. I shouldn’t. I didn’t need to see. I didn’t need to know.

But my hand was already on the door.

It creaked as it swung open, revealing a small, dimly lit chamber.

And there, in a cradle near the window, was a child.

Her child.

My breath caught.

The baby’s cries softened as I stepped closer, its tiny face scrunched in distress. A nursemaid hovered nearby but made no move to interfere as I knelt beside the cradle, my fingers trembling as I reached out.

Soft.

Its skin was soft beneath my fingertips, warm and alive and real.

A weight settled in my chest, too heavy to bear.

She had died for this.

For this.

A life she would never get to see. A child she would never get to hold.

I swallowed hard, my fingers gently tracing the curve of a tiny cheek.

“You look just like her,” I murmured.

The door behind me opened.

I didn’t turn.

The king’s voice was quiet. “She begged for the child’s name with her last breath.”

I closed my eyes.

“She wanted the baby to be named Lilia.”

Something inside me shattered.

A broken sound escaped my lips as I gripped the edge of the cradle, my body trembling with the force of everything I could not say.

Even in death, she had not let me go.

I forced myself to breathe.

To steady the storm inside me.

“She was thinking of you,” the king said, softer now. “Even at the end.”

I opened my eyes.

The baby stirred beneath my touch, tiny hands curling into fists. So small. So fragile.

A piece of her— left behind.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

I left.

I didn’t look back. Not this time.

The castle, the halls, the child left behind— none of it was mine. I told myself I had done what was right. That staying would have been cruel, selfish. The child was safe, cared for. Y/N was gone.

There was nothing left for me there.

So I walked.

I didn’t count the days anymore. They blurred together, indistinguishable from one another. Villages passed, rivers flowed, seasons shifted, and still, I wandered. I thought time would dull the ache, but it never did. It only settled deeper inside me, bone-deep, inescapable.

I barely felt the cold anymore when I lay beneath the stars. I barely noticed the hunger when I went without food for days.

But I always noticed the absence.

I had lived with loss before. I had lost things, people, places, but this— this was different. This was a wound that wouldn’t close.

I was tired.

So, so tired.

That night, I let myself rest beneath an ancient oak, the gnarled roots curled around me like the arms of something old and knowing. I let the exhaustion pull me under, let myself slip away into sleep—

And when I opened my eyes, I was in the garden.

Not any garden. Our garden.

The wind was soft, carrying the scent of flowers in bloom. The lanterns were lit, casting warm golden light along the stone pathways. It was peaceful. Familiar.

And then—

“Lilia...”

The sound of my name struck like a heartbeat stopping.

I turned.

She was there.

Y/N.

She stood bathed in moonlight, watching me with the same eyes that had haunted my every waking moment. She looked just as she always had— warm, beautiful, alive.

I couldn’t breathe.

“I must be dreaming,” I whispered.

She smiled, tilting her head. “Of course you are.”

My hands trembled at my sides. “Then you aren’t real.”

“No,” she said softly, “but I am here.”

My throat burned. I had imagined this moment so many times— what I would say if I could just see her again, if I could tell her everything I never had the chance to. But now, standing before her, words failed me.

“I’m sorry,” I choked out. “I should have stayed.”

She shook her head. “You did what you thought was right.”

“It wasn’t right.” My voice cracked. “I ran. I left you behind.”

“You left,” she agreed, her tone gentle. “But you never let me go.”

I looked away. I couldn’t. I couldn’t bear this.

“I miss you,” I whispered. It felt pitiful, empty, but it was all I had.

She took a step closer. “I know.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “I can’t move on.”

“You can,” she said. “You just don’t want to.”

I clenched my fists. “Then what do you want me to do? Forget you?”

Her expression didn’t change. “No. I want you to live.”

I swallowed hard. “I don’t know how.”

She sighed, stepping closer. Her hand lifted, brushing against my cheek. It felt real. Warm. I leaned into it, desperate for something solid to hold onto.

“Forgive yourself,” she murmured. “Then I’ll forgive you too.”

My breath shuddered. “I don’t think I can.”

“You will,” she promised.

The garden seemed to shimmer, the edges of the dream growing soft, dissolving like ink in water.

Panic seized me. “Wait—”

She smiled, so heartbreakingly familiar, and leaned in.

A kiss— gentle, lingering, filled with everything unspoken, everything lost.

And then—

She was gone.

I woke with the taste of a memory on my lips and the sound of my own heartbeat in my ears.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Moving on did not happen all at once.

At first, it was just surviving. Waking up. Walking. Eating when I remembered. Sleeping when exhaustion won over grief. There were days I barely felt human— more ghost than person, more shadow than light. But I kept going. Because I had to. Because Y/N had asked me to.

The first decade was the hardest.

I wandered still, but not with the same reckless abandon. I found places to rest, even if I never stayed long. Villages, cities, forests— I drifted between them all. Always leaving before I could belong. Before I could let anyone belong to me.

People came and went. Some were kind, offering warm meals and places to stay. Others were cruel, looking to take advantage of a lone traveler. None of them mattered. Not really.

But time softened me. Slowly, painfully.

The first time I laughed after she was gone, it startled me. It had been so long since I’d felt something other than grief that I almost didn’t recognize the sound.

The first time I stayed somewhere longer than a season, it felt foreign.

The first time I let someone matter— not in the way Y/N did, never like that— but as a friend, it terrified me.

But I kept going.

I worked when I needed to. Lived where I could. There was no grand purpose, no great journey to define my life. Just time, stretching endlessly before me.

And slowly, I learned to fill it.

Decades passed, and the memories no longer hurt like open wounds. They became something quieter— something bittersweet.

I could look at flowers without remembering the garden where we once stood. I could hear laughter without mourning what I had lost.

I still thought of her. I always would.

But the grief was no longer a weight that drowned me. It became a part of me, something I carried, something I honoured. Something I let linger

A century passed, and I could finally say her name without breaking.

Y/N had asked me to live.

And though it took a hundred years, I finally did.

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ ⋅