#I NEED MORE I WAS SO DEPRIVED AFTER THAT FIC AND THIS QUENCHED MY THIRST BUT I NEED MOREEEE

[sugarphoric]

STOPPPPP

NICE TO MEOW-T YOU⭑.ᐟ⸻ Geto Suguru & Catoru.

cw⸻ SFW, fluff, reader and suguru are drunk when they go home together, gender neutral reader, Satoru the cat, he is a menace, but he is so cute, nothing else lol.

a/n: lol this was so fun. saw this twt (i recommend checking out the follow up twts about the situation it's cute af) and i was like lol this is Catoru and Suguru core.

You met Suguru at a club, and you thought he was cute. He thought you were really cute. And the conversation just flowed naturally between you two. And the topic of conversation went from one thing to another, until the club was almost empty, the sun was almost rising, and all your friends went home already. And he mentioned in a passing,

“Yeah, I have a cat.”

And that was reason enough to go back to his place.

It was not that you two didn't like each other, but all you guys did was take showers separately, change into the Woodstock pajamas he gave you—which were too big on you, and he wore matching Snoopy pajamas. And you two just went to sleep, with him spooning you from behind and you holding his hands which were wrapped around your waist.

You were drunk enough to forget about the purpose with which you came to his place—his cat, named Satoru. 

When you walked in through the doors with Suguru, Satoru was too busy napping under the living room coffee table. Too tired waiting for Suguru, he just ate his dinner which was dispensed at the perfectly set time, and plopped down by the window waiting for Suguru. He then got fed up with Suguru’s irresponsible ass and just hid under his usual favorite coffee table and slept through the night.

When he woke up in the morning, and got a whiff of Suguru, and another scent in the air, he got alert. Like the good guard cat he is, the strongest and the honored one, even, he put his tail straight, and his ears perked. And with steady and calculated steps, he walked towards Suguru's room.

And there he saw, another human in Suguru's grasp, sleeping peacefully on his bed. 

He jumped up on the bed, and sat on your pillow, right beside your face. And he tried to study your face, whether you were fake sleeping and trying to stealth attack him and Suguru—he came to the conclusion you were harmless, and was about to be on his merry way, when you snuggled your face in his neck. Then you even reached one hand up to him, making him flinch a bit, until it came down to pet him.

So Satoru fell asleep like that, snuggling into your face and purring away.

You woke up in the morning to a white fluffy creature, sticking his face to your cheeks. And you felt like squishing his face then and there, but you could not dare bother the kitty, so you laid there trying to not wake him up. You even reached behind you to hold Suguru’s hand to stop from stirring around too much, fearing it'd wake up the sleeping cat cuddling you.

After probably two hours of snuggling Satoru, he woke up, and looked at you with his big blue eyes—looking straight at you without blinking. He kind of got you nervous, that maybe now that he is awake, he'll start throwing a fit and run away from you.

But instead he head butted you and placed himself on your chest and took another nap with you.

And when Suguru woke up later that morning, he found his side of the bed empty when he tried to reach out for you. And he got all panicky for a second, thinking that maybe you slipped out after sobering up in the morning and left without telling him, because you did not want to see him again. And he really wished that at least you left some sort of contact for him to reach out to. 

This was until he heard his noisy cat, meow in a cadence that was sweeter than his disrespectful and ignorant usual meows, that he threw his owner's way. And if someone asks ‘how can you tell whether a cat is being dismissive to you or not?’—then maybe they've never met a cat.

Or at the very least, they’ve never met Satoru.

So Suguru made his way to his kitchen, with a little more hope in him, that maybe you have not left yet. And he was overjoyed to be correct about his assumption, when he saw you giggling and walking around the kitchen, trying to find what you needed to make some breakfast, with a white furry meowing machine slithering around your legs.

“I’m going to fall cutie” You warned Satoru, after saving yourself from almost tripping over him.

“Meowwwwww, meow, meh-ow .” If you translated it, it'd probably say something like, ‘I don't care, give me attention.’

“He is anything but cute.” Suguru made his presence known finally with a chuckle and made his way over to you two.

“MEOW!” Satoru yelled at him like he could understand his owner's disrespectful words, “Boo hoo cry about it.” Suguru in return mocked him with a smirk and bowed down to his level to scoop him up in his arms.

After fighting with Suguru, he finally tired himself in his arms, and just dramatically flopped in his arms with his belly up.

“Stop throwing tantrums, Satoru. I am not letting you down, only for you to bother her.” Suguru spoke in a stern voice as if to scold the poor kitty cat.

“He is too cute to be a bother.” After finishing the omelet, you washed your hands while giggling at those two bickering with one another in their respective languages, and went to pet defeated Satoru in Suguru's arms.

“So your name is Satoru, nice to meet you baby.” You scratched behind Satoru’s ears and made him purr while leaning into your touch.

“Meow, meowwwww” You can think of that as him greeting you back, something along the lines of, ‘Nice to meet you tooooo’

“You're only saying it's nice to meet him because you don't know what a menace he is.” 

“MOEW MEOW!” Satoru protested Suguru’s grumbling words, and jumped into your arms instead. 

He made himself comfortable in your arms, as he rubbed his face in the crook of your neck, trying to leave behind his scent on you along with Suguru’s.

“He is wrong, isn't he?” “Meow.” Satoru answered with a dignified single meow, to agree with you. Finally! Someone who truly understands him!

“Sure, gang up on me with him.” Suguru sat down on the dining table, fake sulking to play along with your bit, after setting up the table for you two to have breakfast.

“Well, I did come over for the cat.” You said in a playful tone, after you sat down on the chair beside him, and placed Satoru on your lap, letting him curl up there as you patted his head.

“Hmm. So I don't get a single date out of you?” 

“If only I get to Satoru again.” 

You were joking, of course. And he knew that, of course. I mean if you two were not so drunk last night, maybe Satoru would've to be locked out of the room until you two woke up. And a date with Suguru, is all you want, and more, since you met him last night.

“MOEW!?” Satoru enthusiastically propped his head up to look at you with hopeful eyes, as if saying, ‘I get to see you again!?’

Geto Suguru is like a decadent chocolate cake; and his cat, Satoru, was just the cherry on top. 

So how can you ever say no to dessert? 

TO FIND MORE OF MY WORKS CLICK HERE.

a/n: dividers by @/vysleix and @/enchanthings-a

just smth fluffy after that heinous new info came out. not really proof read sorry. lol.

tag list: @cheralith @madamechrissy @gojosperms @gojao @cuntphoric @cuntyji @cuntphoric @aishi-toru @rriwyu @exquisink @lover-lyn @buckysm @wwwritererm @soupicidesquad @indiewritesxoxo @gojosconsort @shouiow @user25384959574 @dxmnsaera @kazupop @slayzzz @undercvrfan444 @miizuzu @getoistic @infinitatis-ink @theorphicangel @ricecake-mochi

[thedarkestrivernymph]

A Heart Of Gold

Platonic! Y! Royal Child x Cruel/Uncaring! Royal! Mother! Reader x Y! Mistress! of cheating husband x Y! Brother in Law

-> part 2 here

word count: 11,5k (probably one of the lengthiest fics I have ever written haha)

warnings: mention of abuse (both verbal and physical), neglect, infidelity, unhealthy relationship dynamics, murderous thoughts, morally gray! reader, paranoia, harassment, unconsenual acts, kissing, mentions of death(s), killing, breakdowns/meltdowns, generational trauma, unhealthy mother/child dynamics, obsessive behaviour, classism, misogynistic views, homophobia, not completely accurate historical depictions!

©Copyright - 2025 - thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

Author's note: Boy this got lengthy, still I hope you enjoy it! :) So let's dive into it, shall we?

“A heart of glass shatters, but a heart of gold melts into something newer and sturdier. Into something dangerous and menacing. It molds to a new life of cruelty, while the heart of glass is swept away, its pieces discarded and forgotten. I don't want to travel with the wind, fleet in one blink, I want to be reborn, experience freedom for the first time in my life. I want to have a heart of gold.”

Do you know the feeling of an itch that no matter how much you scratch, how incessant you drag your nails over that patch of skin, you can just never get rid of? That was motherhood, but worse.

For you, at least.

The life of a commoner was jarring, a constant battle for life, that most, no matter how hard they tried to intimidate, would never succeed in defeating. Most died young, early thirties or fourties, with nasty diseases of all kinds being the reason—and yet they always seemed so lively compared to nobility. The nobility with all of their masquerades and dramatics. They never were allowed to let the intricately crafted mask crack, even for a second, if they valued their life that is.

Perhaps that's why you had envied those mindless pigs most of your life—working away until their bones cracked and fell into themselves. That mindless devotion and that foul language they could use whenever they pleased, the sheer stupidity in believing in something higher and more valuable than the crown, was so vastly different to your own complex persona. Your life was quiet, filled with studying, tea-parties that never reached deeper than surface level of conversation and endless long nights where you would raise your gaze to the heavens above and just stare at the stars, as if the answers you desperately longed for were written in them.

You were like a man deprived of water, thirsting for something to quench your endless need for freedom. Any kind you could get your hands on, you clutched on—wether it was the question of if you maids were to dress you in blue or white or rather in violet and yellow, or something simple if you wanted to wander around in the gardens that day; you loved all these small luxuries. Even the pearls of your mother's, now hanging from your neck like heavy cobblestones on a string, felt nothing compared to the little escapades you were allowed. And the needle you were embroidering with in this old moaning manor pricking you gave you some semblance of joy, that at least in some shape or form there was something under your control.

Until even that had lost its taste—like your once most favoured dish that had reminded you of childhood in your youth, the fields, the servant's children that you would play with after repetitive lessons and so much more, one day none could comfort you anymore. As many others, you grew out of your juvenile thinking much too soon and in a way that was far too shattering of an experience.

Sweet seventeen and the marriage with the crown prince was held. You had known before, it was to be expected, you had anticipated the dreadful day when you would have to give up your freedom in exchange of legacy and reputation, yet actively knowing and actively being were two vastly different states one could experience. So as the princess you had been, you had bowed down to everyone in power; to your mother with her stern gaze and even harsher words, to your father with his cane as sharp as his gaze was, to the king of a different nation, you had only visited once in childhood who was nothing more than a distant memory at this point in time and lastly to your future husband, who would not reign yet, but still hold enough power to crush a small country with just his fist.

So you bore the stranger a child, one not out of love, but out of duty to the crown, to your family—to everyone who had invested in you as a powerful tool as the key to peace between two neighbouring kingdoms. “He’s pretty. His eyes are like mine,” were his first words upon seeing the crying infant still caked in blood with you drenched in your own sweat. The world had crumpled in that moment, only to rebuild itself a second time in your life as you remembered that nothing ever was out of love. Everything was done out of ego. At least concerning nobility and royalty. And you were royalty.

That’s when the curse had started—the deep loathing for something that didn’t deserve it.

“Mother!” you frowned, determined to keep your gaze on the embroidery in your hands.

“Mother!” another high-pitched cry and you swore a vein on your forehead was about to just pop open and deflate like a par of lungs you wanted to slice through with a scarpel.

You glanced at the door, counting the steps and sure enough it took the little demon thirty-two before bursting right in as always. “Mother! There you are— look, look mother! Misses has just taught me how to..” you tuned out after the second word, already feeling another headache bloom between your brows, subtly ushering your maid closer so that she could take care of the chaos. Ignoring the way the boy protested and cried as he was led out with the excuse that his dear mommy was tired and in need of rest.

That had been ten years ago—in fact you were just melodramatic and liked to revisit your past, thinking about how foolish you had been to ever belief love was more than a myth. Sighing you took another bite from your steak.

“Mother, have you heard? I won this year's tournament again.” the deep voice startled you.

“Oh, you have?” another bite and it would be over soon, another bite and you wouldn't have to talk any more than necessary.

“Yes mother, has father not informed you?” no, don't let your thoughts get bad, he didn't mean to mention his father.

“Mother, you and father haven't been talking much, have you now? How utterly disappointing. I had assumed that he at the very least would share my achievements with you, mother dear.” you were losing it again, because you could swear he was doing it on purpose, he was rubbing salt in your wound knowingly. No, no he wasn’t, you were just paranoid, instead why not focus on the flower motive on the egde of your plate or the rich red swirling in your cup or—

“Mother? You seem rather pale. Would you like me to call your maid?”

He isn’t doing it on purpose.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Breathe in, breathe out.

He didn't ask to be born, he was just here because he had to—as you were, as the worker ants and the pigs were, as the common folk were.

Just breathe.

“Mother—” no you couldn't just breathe.

Your fists slammed against the dinning table, causing silverwear to clink against porcelain and wine to spill. It dripped to the floor and with it your last nerve.

“Don’t you dare, Nicholas! You and I, as well as any other resident in the palace, are very much aware of your father's open infidelity—and to incessantly remind me of it, is just unacceptable! When will you grow out of your boyish theatrics and take life seriously? You should concern yourself more with your studies and yourself than my matters!” you were standing, you didn't even know when you had stood up, but now you were face to face with your son for the first time in the duration of the entire dinner—and you tasted bile. Luscious chestnut coloured hair, forest green eyes and fair skin with an oval face; he was the copy of his father, quite literally and everything in you felt deeply disturbed by it. Or perhaps it was because of the way he would stare at you, even as a baby, with this sort of hunger, this all-consuming need to take and take, without giving back, like a parasite in your guts, feeding off whatever you consumed.

“Mother, you wound me." he had the audacity to jest, smiling that bone-chilling smile. Sometimes you wondered if that really was your son and not just a demon that had slipped into his skin at birth. “I am your son, mother. I worry for you. You’ve had such a weak constitution since my childhood, I cannot help myself.” devil. You shuddered.

Beyond yourself and all responsibilities that came with being bound to the crown, you stormed off. Your maids rushed behind you but you swat them away, yelling at them to leave you be, that you just needed fresh air and throwing what other excuses you managed to come up with at them. And they were quick to listen—even though with great reluctance scattering like baby ducklings would, while the guards stationed in front of the dinning hall were watching you silently. Everyone was, constantly.

You huffed, hands gripping your gown like the talons of a bird clung to a mouse and you ran—perhaps if your mother could see you now, she would claw her way out of her grave to berate and scold you like the child you were behaving as, but you couldn’t stop your legs from moving forward, even as your feet started to ache and you felt something warm run down your shoe.

“Your Majesty?” you halted.

“What is the matter? You seem upset?” Charles. Your gaze softened, something that happened far too little. Soft brown curls with a matching chocolate brown gaze all dressed up in a relaxing blue. He was like a gift wrapped in a blue bow.

“I was just walking by. All council members were called.” he was blunt and clipped as always—comfortingly so, gazing at you in thinly veiled concern.

Before you could spout whatever irresponsible nonesense that your mind could conjure up, he had clasped a hand around your wrist, quick to check for curious eyes that would misinterpernt the rather narrow distance between you two, before pulling you both aside into an empty chamber nearby—the room not much bigger than a closet, obviously something forgotten.

You opened your mouth ready to speak but he beat you to it.

“Is it your husband again? He’s a fool. To think he can feel free of guilt when his lovely wife has to suffer because of his childishness.” you felt his hand cup your cheek and you melted, the darkness and slight chill of the room suddenly secondary, as warmth from your very insides bloomed.

“I don't know anymore, Charles,” you sighed, head against his chest. You found a steady rhythm there, something unlike your life.

“He brought her here. Here! Into the castle. He wants to make her his second queen, his second queen! That's unheard of but he's so stubborn and he won't listen. Not to me, not to his advisors—he just doesn’t listen.” there was some relief in sharing your pain, some relief that at least someone would listen to what you felt and thought.

“It's a scandal.” he admitted in a whisper, now rubbing your back in gentle circles. “To have a mistress for all the world to see and to want to elavate her status to yours. He’s crazy. You deserve better, much better.” he consoled you and reassured you, making you feel more at ease with your teenage-like outburst. You ought to pull yourself togehter, (y/n). Be quiet and strong. Don’t cause a fuss, men don’t like that. Yeah, mother, you did everything right, but father still had three bastards he brought home.

Exhausted you groaned, embracing the very chest that Charles has been offering you since the first day at the palace. Sometimes you would wonder what would’ve been if you had married Charles instead of your husband, but you never thought too long or too hard about it, because to be tuthful the prospect that you could’ve lead a happier life depressed you.

Something wet rolled down your cheek.

You pulled away.

“Thank you, Charles. You’ve always been very understanding. But I should return to my chambers. It’s late. Where were you headed to again? You should make haste.” you were quick to dismiss as usual. It was unheard of that in-laws were so close with eachother, especially when the gown you were wearing once had been your husbands gift. It was like his cruel paw extended time and place to even shackle you in place here in the furthest corners of the palace, alone with the man that you had— in your younger years at least— occasionaly thought about at night, when your husband would be working or have his occasional trysts with some courtesan.

He was quiet for a second or two, letting you spiral furhter into the dark place that had a permenant residence inside of your mind, only to startle you with a squeeze to your shoulders. “Are you certain? You still appear unwell and I would feel like a terrible brother-in-law if I just—” you didn’t let him finish.

“No, no need. I am absoloutely capable of returning by myself. Just you go.” and with that escaped before you could cry your eyes out in front his brother, even when he was the only human in the family of festering little demons, you would rather not let him catch you off guard. He was the apple Eve was tempted with only to fail the test, but you were better than that, you were a noble, not just any you were a royal, you wouldn’t fall for fate’s cruel tricks.

You rushed through the halls, your heels clicking with each step, as the night only turned darker and your thoughts only more frenzied. Finally you reached your chambers, your skittish maids, breathing out in relief, rushing towards you to check in on you and your trembling state. You waved them off, barking again to be left alone, only this time they wouldn’t. Suspiciously so.

“Why won’t you let me enter? Speak.”

“My queen, we would never think about witholding you from returning to your own chambers, but there is an issue of sorts, you see..” the oldest of the bunch spoke up, the same age as your mother would be if she was still alive and well.

With slits for eyes you glowered, now more persistent in your demand, even if it was one of your most loyal of maids, you wouldn’t be leniet enough to let them off the hook so easily. “Speak.”

“My queen it is that—”

Oh.

Staring at you so incredibly smugly, as if you couldn’t wipe the floor with her visage if you wanted to, was the twenty something mistress of your husband, of the the king, Maria.

How ironic of a name.

“Oh? If that isn’t the first queen. How delighted I am, to meet the woman the king adores as much as he adores me. And how beautiful of a woman you are! So graceful, even at your age, with a child that’s nearly old enough to build his own family! You must be proud! Certainly, you’re so lovely.” you felt your eye twitch. She was utterly shameless standing in the doorway to your chambers while dressed in nothing but a chiffony nightgown and black hair like the streaks of tint on paper. How utterly depraved and sick.

As she smiled too, you probably turned red in the face.

“I am so happy to finally meet you! I heard a lot about you—all he does is talk about you. I am glad you’re my opponent I can vie for the king’s affection with. Anyone else would’ve been bland in comparison to you.” her fingers brushed away a strand of hair in your face and it probably took all of your self-restraint not to snap and bury your fingers in her scalp to pluck away some of that inky black. “I am truly grateful.” her blue eyes were worse, piercing and clear like the streams of fresh waters—truly a horrible colour to be gifted to such snake, undeserving of such beauty.

“Why are you here? This isn’t the king’s bedroom, girl.” you were cold, slapping away her hand and trying to undermine her presence with the fact that you were older and more experienced, yet she just giggled. Was it wrong that she reminded you of your son? The both of them certainly were the same level of vile, making you feel uncomfortably unauthorative in their presence.

“Oh it isn’t? My mistake, your Majesty. But you can just call me Maria, no need to be so distant. Or you could get used to calling me Queen Maria. Pardon—is it a sensitive topic? You’re glaring at me so intensely, I am uncertain if I should fear for my life.” on second thought maybe being thrown into prison for bashing in the king’s mistress’ head against a wall didn’t sound so appaling. No, pull yourself together.

“I ask of you to move. These are my chambers. So move, now.” one more minute of this and you were sure you would end up growling like an animal, but thankfully she finally took the hint and brushed past you but not without a flying kiss your way. “See you soon, your majesty.”

At the end your maids held you back from tearing her apart like a rabid dog the moment she turned to walk away. Thankfully, they were also able to pull you into your chambers before fleeting before your outburst. Vases were flying—clothes ripped apart and you burned the single strands of black you found, above your lamp’s little flame. All while you stared up at the night sky, like you used to, asking the heavens why they had cursed you. Why a god couldn’t have let you be born as an empty-headed piglet, why you had to be able to understand language, why you just couldn’t rip anyone’s head off that treaded too close to you.

At the end of your breakdown you found your mother’s pearls scattered on the checkered tiles like the stars that mocked you from above. You pursued your lips into a smile. It was somewhat symbolic.

Mother was dead. Father too.

But you weren’t, not yet at least. So why waste it with stupid things such as deceny? You had desired for more than superficial workship of your body—you wanted real love, something to take your mind off your duties. And if the king was allowed such a thing, then you would just aquire one too.

Charles had always been friendly to you. Why not pay the favour back? After all, he was such a good brother-in-law.

The imaginary gods truly scorned you, didn't they? Because why else would you be dining with your husband, his mistress and your son. Were you truly nothing but the butt of the joke? Your presence meant nothing—all the years of hard-work, serving the crown and greater good, for what?

For Maria to wink at you and mock you in broad daylight, with even your son doing nothing but quietly watch. Father like son. How true that statement was.

Were you disappointed though? No, you didn't expect much of demons festering off others.

The eggs were cooked into gooey soft richness, just as you liked it, giving you some semblance of comfort. Today you were dressed in rich velvet purple; truly a gown for special occasions and this particular day probably was the most special out of all. It was the day you had anticipated all these upcoming weeks with nothing but an ache deep in your chest whenever you thought of it.

Today he would announce when the law would be finalized—and with its finalization the death of your dignity.

Maria would officially be the king’s second queen, not consort, not mistress—not even the occasional courtesan he liked to fuck, no, she would be of your status, when she was nothing but a count’s daughter. It was laughable really, you stabbed at the beacon on your plate as if it had committed a crime against you.

From childhood until your marriage to him, you as a royal princess had been kept endlessly busy with tutoring of all kinds; writing and reading first and foremost then state affairs, french, latin, philosophy, politics, how to properly sit and talk, embroidery and so much more that at eight you had started wishing to be born a pig, kept fed until slaughter.

“As you all know,” all heads drifted in his direction, sitting proud at the head of the mahogany table, “The law will be legalized by the end of the month and to celebrate this joyous occasion. I ask my first wife, to prepare a banquet for my love.” he probably didn't even see you as a human, only as a political ally.

“Of course, your Majesty. I would love to.” nevertheless you replied as if you had a choice in the matter anyways, flinching as soft hands snaked up your arms. “You will? That's wonderful news! I cannot share just how honoured I am that you will be planning this! Anything you make must be nothing short of astounding beauty!” was she trying to gain even more of the king’s favour? It certainly seemed to work on your lovesick husband, who only leaned back in his seat, the cushions were red—a colour worthy of a king and let his lips curl up into a tender smile, with moss greens that seemed to scarily soften up.

Had your husband ever been capable of such a look?

You couldn't remember him ever staring at you so lovingly. It was chilling to say the least. Perhaps even repulsing.

You were quick to look down at your plate again—wishing for nothing more but to peel her fingers off of you, hopefully with so much force that one of her fingers would clean-cut break into two. It wasn't a question of love nor jealousy after all; but a matter of respect, and she was downright waddling her tail in front of you in victory. As if she deserved your just title as much, if not more than you. Slut.

“Mother,” this time it was the voice of your son calling out to you, “it seems you will be occupied for the time being with the courtesan's banquet,” he sighed, “and I here I was anticipating to spend some time with you after my exams.”

Had he just—

Silence.

Even the servants could do nothing but stare at the prince wearing such a proud expression, as if what he did was the right course of action. As if he just didn't insult his father's current obsession with the occupation she had before he brought her into the castle.

Everyone knew not to mention it, not even in the passing. Just hinting at it could cost you lots yet here was the crown prince doing what he knew not to do.

Oddly enough, while electricity zapped through the air, something destructive brewing beneath the king’s icy cold gaze—you could nothing but gape in fascination at your spawn. Were you imagining it, or was he protesting against his father? If you didn't know it sny better, you would've thought he did it to defend your honour. But that was laughable.

It seemed the young prince had grown up, when you had no clue, but sometime ago probably, with the way he held his chin up high, no fear visible in his gaze all while holding his father's glare.

You would be lying if you said you weren't weirded out. Hopefully him acting out wouldn't put you in bigger trouble than you already were in. He could at least grant you such a favour.

“What—what did just leave your mouth?” the king practically spat, your husband rising a hand decked out with hefty golden rings.

“I said, father,” you internally groaned, this child was just determined to cause you misery, “Courtesan. Because that is exactly what she is. Isn't that right, Maria? Before father married you, you were nothing but a whore with your legs wide spread open to please—”

Thwack. The king loomed over his own son, like God, – if he existed – probably had over Lucifer to berate him one last time before he would've earned his fall from grace.

“Enough! One more word and I will forget myself entirely!” the threat rung through the entire dining hall, it rung so deep it seeped into your bones.

Nicholas’ cheek was left marked with imprints of fat rings that managed to slice through skin and leave one side of his face a swirl of red and slowly forming purple. He hadn't just hit his son, but he had done so, with such force that his head was moved out of your sight.

Yet he still talked; spat out words like they burned his tongue.

“What, father? Can't handle the truth—”

“Edwin! Oh dear!” Maria’s fingers only now left your arm. She was rushing to the man that was supposedly your husband, to stop him from actually killing the boy he had wanted so badly. Immediately she latched onto him, practically throwing herself at him, dotting on him, doing her best to calm his wrath and somehow it worked. While all you could do was watch in stunned silence.

Your cousin, what was her name again— ah, yes, Lilian— would’ve surely snorted out a laugh at the scene. She found everything dark and morbid to be fascinating, perhaps that's why she had married a duke that would occasionally beat her into a bloody pulp?

Getting sidetracked again, weren't you? Point is you could accept much, but this, this was crossing a thin line that needed to be kept up for the balance of all things holy to the crown. If a mistress managed to throw everything out of order, then you truly had failed all your marital duty as a partner and as a queen.

Perhaps mother had been right? But then again, father had never been the big romantic, you were sure the man had been incapable of falling in love—obviously different to the Edwin you thought you had known all those years. He seemed enamored and it was truly terrifying.

The meal ended shortly after with the King storming off and his mistress right with him. Now, you never enjoyed being affectionate with Nicholas, however even you had to admit that you should probably offer the boy some words of wisdom.

Even if you liked to think of him as a little gremlin with a copy of his father for a face, you knew he wasn't exactly the same as him. Sometimes, it was hard to admit, your son did manage to spark some motherly affection in you, as scary as it was. So sighing, you rounded the table and your gaze landed on the brunette boy.

“Come, let's get you cleaned up.” was the most affectionate mumbling you forced out from between your lips. Only to turn around almost immediately, not waiting for him to collect himself as you wandered out and away from the dining hall. There was a short burst of laughter—probably, you weren't sure, you hoped it wasn't crying. You hated seeing him cry. He was an ugly crier. Then you heard footsteps behind you and soon passing by a few of your family portraits, the irony not lost on you—your life in contrast to the perfectly crafted deception painted onto these canvases—you found yourself in your study.

“Sit.” your words were always clipped when you talked to him, weren't they? It was hard to remember.

Nevertheless you rummaged through your drawers, the subtle scent of wood mixing with the incense that you were quick to ignite.

Funny, so that's what your study looked like? It was organised and thoroughly dusted, with each book and document in different neatly arranged piles. He remembered never been allowed in here as a boy, only able to take sneak peaks at you at your desk while the door closed in behind his nanny's somber face. Now it made sense, you feared a child would ruin your precision and need for perfection. Oh, mother, is that the reason you shun me so?

You felt that unexplainable chill again, which would always travel down your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. See that look in his eyes? Those soulless green orbs you swore would burn a hole into your face from how intensely he was staring at you as you sat down in front of him. That's exactly why you didn't want anything to do with him, he was just—so peculiar.

“Close your eyes.” was your next command, not being able to stand the abyss you found in your own son’s gaze. You waited while you prepared the cotton through soaking it in alcohol.

And thankfully he listened. His eyes fluttered shut.

“Mother” he spoke. “Mhm,” you hummed.

“Mother, aren't you mad at father?” you paused, inhaled, already unnerved before continuing to pat his cheek gently.

“It's not in my place to question what the king does, neither is it yours Nicholas.” a soft sigh escaped you, “You ought to behave yourself. The little stunt you pulled at dinner tonight was dangerous. He may be your father, but before all else he is the king. And you should respect him until the crown is yours. Or do you wish to ruin your future just because?”

“It wasn't just because—” you chuckled, letting your hand fall away from his cheek as he forced the words from between his teeth.

“Oh?” you used the same look your mother always gave you—a scoff and a frown combined to make the one on the recieving end feel disgustingly guilty. You shook your head at him, youth.

“The reason isn't of any importance, what is of importance however is you ascending to the throne. And you cannot do so if your father hates you so. You may be older and of pure blood, but if the new woman at his side falls pregnant with a boy and you continue to be foolish, then you can just stand and watch everything being ripped away from you.” were you getting emotional, describing your future too while trying to warn him? Maybe. You didn't realise it until your son threw himself at you, alright, maybe not literally but he embraced you, as if you were the child and he the parent.

You stilled.

When had been the last time you hugged your son? You couldn't remember. The moment was peaceful, oddly so and just for a split second you forgot of your revulsion towards that child and let him clutch onto you.

“Mother,” he breathed against your shoulder, startling you, “Mother he’s openly betraying you. While the whole nation watches. You don't deserve this mother, you deserve a better man. If I had been my father I wouldn't have—” you immediately pushed him away.

Did you mishear?

“Don't—don’t ever talk like that again!” you declared, instead of questioning it further, immediately assuming that the fault lied in your twisted mind. You must've misunderstood you must've—

Something was brewing beneath his exterior, you could tell. Something dangerous flicked in his gaze, something that you knew justified your fear towards your own spawn. Now, any minute, you swore he would burst and unleash his inner demons.

“Mother,”

“I apologise.” he smiled. You felt yourself release a breath, one you weren't aware you had been holding.

“I didn't think about my words, I am truly sorry.”

You quickly wrapped things up after that and it was not long before you send him off on his merry way. If he continued to talk about his father as if he wished for him to be only a memory and his skeleton six feet under the earth, then he would only spiral into a world of trouble and take you with him.

Besides—since when was he this rebellious? You sighed, feeling pain bloom between your brows.

Was this some sort of mockery?

To shame you continuously?

Or why for god's sake was this bitch in your chambers again?

“Your Majesty!” she chirped and you wished you could claw your eyes out and stuff them into her mouth so she would finally shut up.

“Child…”

“Maria, it's Maria, your majesty!” she huffed, then pouted, again clad in nothing but her nightgown, underwear really; silk that fell over her shoulders and reached down to her ankles.

“Besides—,” she pouted and you started to question the sanity of this woman, “You're not much older than me, your Majesty. Mhm, like an elder sister! How about I call you queen sister? Since we both will be queens!” she giggled.

Had she been dropped on her head at birth? You couldn't help but stare wordlessly, as she interlinked her arm with yours.

“Again. This is not the king’s chambers.”

“But queen sister—”

“Don't call me that.”

“But—”

“I said don't call me that!” you screamed.

Great. Now you were causing a scene in the hallway, with your maids and the guards watching. Great.

However you hadn't been prepared yet for the grand finale—suddenly she bursted into tears. Graciously of course, she was a lady, a lady with many tricks up her sleeve that is. She was crying, seemingly an endless stream, sobbing and quivering, staring up at you with big puppy-dog eyes.

If there was a god in heaven, you were certain that he hated you.

“My queen” she was still sobbing, now leaning forward so her cold lips could brush against your ear.

“You scream at me again and I’ll tell the king that you insulted me to my face.”

You gasped, this cocky little—

Yet what could you do? You knew one of her words amounted to a bar of gold to him; something to be treasured, possibly sacred. But you, he never had viewed you as such, you were the mother of his child and the queen yes—but your presence, —you knew as much as that— never has been valuable besides those two strong points. He saw you as an ally, a friend of sorts, a political fawn; someone with an intellect, but nothing more.

You didn't want to imagine his anger at even just daring to belittle what was rightfully his, that you, the queen in his little game of chess, would've mustered up courage that bordered on dangerously life-threatening.

So you sighed, with liquid anger pumping through your veins and your face flushing from the pressure of it. Your temples hurt again. Your head hurt again

You didn't register her leaving with a shit—eating grin on her face, nor the fact that one of your maid, Leslie, was half-carrying you inside your chamber, having to sit you down on your bed before feeding you your medicine in form of a brew.

It was funny, like your memory was wiped clean—as if your mind was a clean slate similar to how it had been when you were a drooling infant. Everything around you eased, the tension, the worries—what even was there to worry? You hummed, even purred in satisfaction as you drifted off into a dreamless slumber.

You hated waking up. Peace never existed beyond a deep slumber void of dreams. You hated dreams, you hated being dragged up and dressed like a doll and hated the sky. Especially the sky with its sparkling stars all mocking you, calling you as you were; defeated.

Utterly so.

Your reminisced about your beloved husband calling you to discuss something urgent with him. What could've been this urgent matter, one may ponder? Well, it was Maria.

“Have you started your preparations for the ball, yet?” his tone was colder than usual.

“No, but I am very much in—”

“Then haste. It will be held soon enough.”

You nodded politely, not wanting to aggregate his nerves further. So he waved you off and dismissed you, until he abruptly spoke up.

“And make sure that boy learns some manners.” his glare was so sharp it cut into your nape.

“Will do, husband.” you fled the room after that.

Perhaps you did not actually flee, but you certainly felt inclined to do so. Sometimes you did fantasize about escaping to a lone island, one that would resemble the paradise your nanny had always spoken so fondly of. What was her name again? You didn't remember, you couldn't, no matter how hard you tried because all you called her was Mommy—obviously only behind closed doors, away from any eyes or ears that could rat her out to your real hag of a mother.

She had been the only thing close to a mother's loving embrace which you so frequently would read about in books; fairytales and romances. An angel with crooked teeth and a hunchback, but an angel no less, with a softness to her that you never were able to replicate no matter how hard you tried. She was simply of different blood that wasn't blue nor red but gold; she wasn't like the rest of them. But you were like them, hiding behind a mask, no matter how terrible life whipped at you to reveal the truth—you wouldn't, you were trained to not give in after all, drilled from a young age.

And she had been so adamant to free you, telling you stories about juicy fruits with tastes rivalling that of honey, a sky that never darkened and greenery that never faded—if you narrowed your eyes to slits, you could imagine the royal garden spread out in front of you to be the paradise she so often spoke about.

You sighed again. Those were just childish fantasies. Something she had made up to bring you happiness, even if your shared wonder only lasted two years before she was caught being too affectionate with you and discarded.

As a chubby five-year old you had been devastated and confused, wondering why she had left you behind to fend for yourself, alone with the wolves. But as you matured, as your own son's nannies came and disappeared, you realized it had never been her fault in the first place. They had been at fault.

“Your majesty!”

Some of your days were good, tranquil even, but some—some were either destructively evil or somberly empty.

“Your majesty—” and today you wanted to be somber, away from everything. But fate didn't want this. Of course it didn't, fate despised you as you did your mother. So even if you had promised to betray fate instead and experience an adventurous tryst with the man in front of you just out of spite, you felt no desire to speak with him or anyone else, after the short but life-threatening conversation you had had with his majesty.

“Has he upset you again?”, Charles sighed, his initial enthusiasm fading, “It seems every time we converse you're miserable.”

Now that he mentioned it—he wasn't wrong. He was like some sort of saviour, someone that reminded you of your nanny so long ago and your hardened heart softened again. You didn't want to push him away, not Charles, not the man with soft-features, a tender look in his eyes, with his dashing looks and personality—not when he was only a few years younger than you. So little in fact, it wouldn't matter at your age anymore.

“Seems so.” you muttered and you couldn't hold your hand back from outstretching to pull him down besides you on your little white-painted bench placed in the shades, with another piece of embroidery in your lap. For a moment he was silent, stunned by your fingers wrapped around his wrist for all eyes to feast on—and continuing to hold it even as he sat.

“It seems you're always there for me, Charles.” was this a fever dream? Or why else would you, the queen, tempt him so, seductive as always, yet bolder than ever, calling him so intimately out here—hopefully out of the ear of onlookers to the spectacle; your maid and a few guards scattered around.

And then you even fluttered your lashes at him, so blindingly beautiful that it hurt. Tantalizing with your lips that he was certain were sweeter than sugar, and the new heart-robbing smile on those soft pillars of warmth. The slope of your nose, the apple of your cheek, everything about you was sin incarnate and he was just helpless to the devil’s calls. Just what if he leaned down and—

“I thank you.” god you teased him.

“It's my pleasure. As a devotee to the crown.” he managed to finesse and gloss over his little stammer with a bright smile and you, thankfully, let it slip.

Or at least he assumed so.

Actually you were giggling in your head like one of those young village girls, when a boy would ask for a dance—you had watched that spectacle occur one time out on the countryside for some respite after mother's passing.

What a time it had been, so beautifully peaceful with only the birds to yap away— similar to now, the only difference was that now you were holding his hand, and nothing, not even the king could prevent you from enjoying this moment to the fullest.

“Charles. How long have we known eachother?”

“Fourteen years and counting, your Majesty.” he answered, with warmth in his eyes. The day was warm—the sun blazing and at its peak, with the garden neatly trimmed, sitting beneath the proud tall that was probably older than both of you combined, the shade provided you would with protection from her rays.

“Thank you, Charles, for always consoling me in times of need.” your fingers slithered between his own, entangling your hands under lingering eyes, yet in that little moment you found yourself not caring. Life was short, so why shouldn't you be able to enjoy life to the fullest as his majesty. If it came and he would hear of this, you would accept whatever punishment, because you were sick of not being free.

Then again you felt freedom spread her wings above you with Charles by your side.

You smiled, softly, gently, tenderly even. A smile not even your son had ever earned from you—something he probably never would, no matter what he tried, because he was still that man’s son with motives behind his façade that you could never figure out. He was still the baby that terrified you with the ravenous hunger in his soul reflected in his gaze.

And that very son, was plastered against one of the castle windows, his glare bearing down on you both, if possible, it would have burned a hole through your face from the sheer intensity of it. You had always viewed your child as creepy—unsettling to be around for too long. But you had never possessed any evidence for it—you knew not to blame a seedling, something that had sprung from you, but you just couldn't stop yourself from feeling dread when meeting his eyes.

Unbeknownst to you, this silent horror was not completely irrational.

Actually it was simple survival instinct.

Especially when the heir to the kingdom craved nothing more but your motherly love and seeing you give affection to his uncle, of all people – his enemy — he couldn't help but trash your favourite vase. Actually he wasn't that different to you in that sense—he needed chaos and destruction to satisfy the inner barbarian in him.

“Mother,” he slammed his fists onto your desk. He had been snooping around your study—his favourite past time activity since he had managed to steal the second pair of keys to the room you viewed as sacred and safe. If you just knew, Mother.

“You give, Mother. To everyone but me.”

he was trying to maintain his composure, to not burst into a jealous rage from seeing you intertwined hands, the close proximity you shared—the smile plastered onto your face much more similar to that of a young maiden experiencing her first love than the queen with a heart of ice.

The moment his uncle dared to lean forward to brazenly press a kiss to your knuckles, was the moment he snapped. Destruction reigned over your study, his desire for carnage so raw, he treated craftsmanship like flesh and blood, strangling them as if they owed him an apology.

Then finally it was over.

As it was, peace settled over his silhouette, drenched in his own sweat in the stifling hot room, panting like a rabid dog.

“Mother,” you both were gone now from his view, he should haste, he knew, but he couldn't leave without these last words.

“If you won't give me your love willingly, as a mother should. Then I will take what is mine to own. I will overthrow father, be the king. You won't be able to escape, me, your son. You won't shun me no longer, mother. I won't allow it.”

Mother I will own your leash.

When you finally parted—you felt light and airy. Freedom was on the tip on your tongue, and butterflies danced around your hollowed out chest. Summer lingered on your skin, warm and sandy, reminding you of beaches you had never visited and tropical fruits that run over the back of your hand when you squeezed tad too tightly.

You hadn't felt so giddy in a while, nothing could ruin your good mood, not your husband, nor his mistress and neither your son. Cotton clouds were wrapping around you and you would be damned if you wasted time to not mock the stars back, staring up at the bright sky with a sneer. See, Mother? I will have my freedom too. I won't end like you, heartbroken by a man that never learned to love.

How foolish you were. Unassuming even. Years of living on this earth, shackled by fate and you still dared to dream.

So when the door to your study gave in and you entered to discover—

nothing amiss.

You sighed, you were being paranoid again, weren't you? How silly of you. Why would anything be out of order—children and most servants were forbid from entering. You handled delicate matters, events even; such as banquets and balls, carefully writing out invitations to selected guests, curating the invitations. Also you were responsible for all of your servants and the choices they made.

Before the old king’s unfortunate death you had been responsible with his care. He had deteriorated into a bad mental state in the last two years of his life; so much so that he couldn't recognise his son anymore. You had shared your husband's pain then, younger and naïve, a decade ago.

But you didn't, not anymore, not after so much you suffered through and with him only for him to sought out a courtesan and bend the entire law for her, risking even a coop!

You approached your sleeping quarters as always, while thinking about Maria, which granted you with a pulsing headache—in the literal sense. You should ask one of your maids, maybe Leslie, to brew you, your medicine once again.

“Maria." you greeted her dryly, the routine familiar now.

“Your Majesty!” she chirped as always and you had to control the twitch of your eye—or the twitch in your hand to slap her.

You opted to just silently stare at her, agitated by having to encounter her each night in your chambers, dressed in a nightgown you didn't want to imagine the king peeling off of her skin. She was trying to shame you, in front of your closest servants and in front of the guilt-stricken guard—that couldn't deny her request because in fear of attracting the king's anger.

“Your Majesty! I have waited and waited, just where have you been?” she was active as a child—but her eyes mirrored that of a snake, just searching for one of your weak points, so that she could torment you further until she managed to properly get rid of you.

“Maria please move. I would like to rest.”

“Then let's rest together! I am terribly tired—you know how tiring the king can be! So ravenous.” she snickered, much to the horror of your servants around you, “Oh..my apologies. Am I hurting your Majesty’s feelings?” her slanted gaze drooped, pity and amusement lingering in their depths.

Oh.

She did not—

That bitch!

“Leave!” you roared. Not towards her but to everyone around you, needing to feel her scalp beneath your fingers. You knew what you would be doing now was going to wind up ruining your just newly acquired saccharine taste of freedom, and probably destroy your life—but your anger gripped your by your shoulders and slapped you on your back as you roughly shoved her inside of your chambers.

Darkness shrouded the room in thrilling mystery of what to come—at least you thought Maria found it to be thrilling judging by her giddy following, excited to play a sick and twisted game of cat and mouse in the privacy of your chambers.

Your burst came all too soon and familiar—stripping you of any royalty, drowning out all the voices in your head trying to shackle the beast you would become when allowed. Usually you were only to do so in private, behind your doors—with only your servants to be subjected to your other face, but this time you wanted to indulge Maria. Show her heavenly grace and what it meant to be of royal descent.

You strangled her.

Everything unfolded in the blink of an eye, you couldn't stop or control yourself before tackling her causing her to stumble over your carpet in shock, crashing with into your nightshade, lamp shattering the moment it embraced the marbled floors while she embraced you as you both tumbled into your bed.

“Have the king! Have him all you want—like all the other men that you had between your legs. Warm him at cold nights! I urge you, please do.” hissing you leaned down to continue. “But know that you will never be able to be loved as much by the court, by the people, by everyone else. You won't survive this for too long. Even if I am beheaded after this.” you snarled while noting that she was indeed oddly calm beneath your palms. You were uncertain. Maybe it was the sheer shock? Perhaps she was weaker than you had assumed?

Or, she had died.

Panic surged through you. You weren't ready to be her murderer just yet! The thought alone made you flinch as if it branded your forehead in big bold letters in crimson. As if everyone could already bear witness to your crimes.

And suddenly you stood in front of the court.

Fingers pointed at you, screeching out blurts of sentences you couldn't make out, while you were dragged away by your own son, his grip on your hair so tight that you swore your scalp would peel off any minute now.

Kicked to kneel in front of the king, you begged and pleaded but mercy was foreign to the man that robbed you of your youth, and that you robbed of love and his sword swung high and far before—

You convulsed, gagging only at the thought, letting loose of her neck instantly, falling off of her onto the silken covers.

“I am sorry—” you mumbled, scrambling away from her, stubbornly looking away from the assumed corpse.

You were about to flee, kicking away the covers, dazed by the turn of events, trying to claw yourself back to your feet.

Run, Run, Run. It chanted inside of your head, and you surely would’ve managed to do so, if Maria’s fingers didn't clasp around your arm like a python’s jaw.

“Where are you going, your Majesty? We just started didn't we.” you shrieked, her hoarse voice genuinely startling.

Slowly you turned around to face the woman, with wide-eyed panic still clear on your face. “Let go of me!”

“Why? So you can take flight? Escape? Your majesty, even if you run, Edwin’s underlings will still catch you.” she was grinning, a feverish rush on her cheeks, mania clear and deep in her icy blue stare. “There's no one to run to, your Majesty. No where to hide. Embrace it. You're a monster. Old and greedy, craving things that no longer are yours.”

Was the bed coming closer? Or were you being pushed down? Because soon enough you laid on your bed, another headache, so potent it nearly blinded you with its pain—left you at the mercy of her cruel words.

“The king doesn't love you. He never has. Never will.” she muttered, with purple blooming on her throat like blossoming tulips, “You suffer for naught, your Majesty. Why do you worry for someone with such little regard of your person?” it was a bitter pill to swallow the truth in her words—and even if you wished to protest, you couldn't.

You were tongue-tied from the agony, with suddenly lead instead of bones, only further sinking into the open arms of your bedding.

“You're a fool, your Majesty.” a laugh ripped free from her throat. “For ever agreeing to be alone with me, don't you fear what I could be? Don't you fear my hands on your cheeks? Don't you fear the lust for blood in my gaze?” her voice like a melody, like a drug to aid to your wounds—it worked better than the mix of herbs you usually downed to find relief.

“Will you kill me?” you asked, only to earn another boisterous laugh that felt like a whip on your soul accompanied with slanted eyes that slithered over your form.

“No, far worse,” she paused, gaze smoldering.

“I will love you and you will love me.”

Pause.

You gawked. What was she saying?

“What?” you spat, puzzled.

She was completely deprived of sisterly love, or so it seemed. This was bizarre, downright weird—had she gone mad? Now you feared whatever her sick mind conjured next.

Something morphed and shifted until a smile so daunting, that if it weren't for the pulsing agony between your brows, you would've slapped it off her face and gladly so, while simultaneously increasingly feeling as if you were trapped in the coils of a snake.

“Edwin doesn't see you, as I do, your Majesty. He cannot see the madness in you, as I can. The insanity in your eyes, the very same one I crave to have. He doesn't love you, he doesn't. Not like I do.” your brows scrunched up, puzzled, she truly spoke like a madwoman.

Maria only chuckled. Her gaze narrowed in on your lips, in a way that twisted your stomach in discomfort; the way a man leers at a woman he desires. What foolishness! She couldn't possibly mean such an atrocity! It was never heard of a woman with a woman—

And as if to prove you wrong, tear your worldview apart, she leaned down with heavy paws pressing onto your shoulders. Your corset seemed tighter. The air or the lack of it was stifling. She wouldn't, right?

Fate truly had never been kind to you—and now it proved itself to be only more cruel as her lips crashed onto yours.

She was feverish with soft lips and scraping teeth, her tongue poked and prodded as if she tried to hollow out the warm cavern of your mouth. Her scent lingered in your nose so strongly it made your eyes water—lavender mixed with something you failed to recognise as she smashed her mouth against yours over and over again, until you were convinced that she was trying to strangle you with the wet muscle in her mouth instead of her hands.

The moment she let go off your figure, as stiff as a board , she was smirking deviously, as if she won a prize in a competition. As if the prize was you.

“I promise—” she leaned down, languidly slow, as if she had all the time in the world with no concern for the ravenous chaos she had just unleashed inside of you, “that even after Edwin’s reign, you will stay queen by my side.”

A bone-chilling cold kiss pressed to your damp temple.

“Goodnight, my queen.”

Sleep was not kind enough to visit you that night or the night after even though Maria had abruptly stopped with her nightly visits after that faithful encounter—still, your head was a buzzing beehive of thoughts. You were overwhelmed and at a loss for words at the strangeness of it all. For her to kiss you and demand—No, you refused to ponder about it further.

Nevertheless as if fate wished to humiliate you further —the stars in the sky hiding behind the light of the sun at daytime mocking you — your son was glued to you for the past half an hour or so, even had send all your servants away and no matter how much you tried to pry him off he would have an excuse prepared smoothly evading all your accusations. It was creepy. Has he sensed something? He never was so persistent.

Nevertheless you still couldn't fathom why she had did, what she had done.

Even days later, it just didn't make sense. What benefit could she reap from forcing her mouth onto yours and behaving like a man? You shuddered just at the thought, everything about this situation was odd, vile, repulsing and something else. Something you wished to keep buried deep in you and left unexplored.

“Mother, look! It's a swan with ducklings.” he pointed out the window, at this very moment behaving much more closer in age to a child than to a man. “Yes, Nicholas. How grand.” you muttered dryly, eyes kept steady on the embroidery in your lamp while indulging him slightly, after countless failed attempts and of hushing him away, you had tired and the pounding headache that wouldn't relent didn't make you any more awake.

“Swans mate for life. Do you believe this one is mated?” your brow twitched in frustration, eyes kept steadily on your needle, going in-and-out of the tight fabric.

“I do not concern myself with such matters, perhaps you also shouldn't.” you muttered abrasively, watching the motive of a purple tulip come to life, something about it eerily similar.

“I believe that it was mated. Then rid itself of its mate. It knows it doesn't need one. Just look mother— all the cygnets that follow without her mate in sight. They all seem so happy. Especially the mother swan, the way she—” red obscured your vision.

Something warm and human dripped down your hand. You didn't move, didn't even breathe, all you did was stare at the needle sticking out of your hand.

“Mother?—” a gasp, “Mother!” his footsteps were overwhelmingly loud, even louder than his ramblings that were grating on your nerves.

“Oh Mother.” the condescending attribute of his tone was sharp and rung in your ears. “What have you done? Your beautiful skin,” he was mumbling again. God, when would this child stop mumbling beneath his breath! And his eyes full of fake pity concealing something much darker made you just want to pluck the needle from your hand and ram it into your throat, perhaps then the scornful look on your mother's face would finally stop haunting you every living moment.

“Mother, you're upset again, aren't you? You're always upset.” Nicholas face fell as if genuinely distraught, taking your wounded hand in his, prodding at the damage you caused. “Father doesn't know how to care for you, he is mean and brutish. To scold you for informing him that you can't possibly prepare the banquet because you're unwell and getting mad at you. He’s audacious, a fool. He doesn't deserve you—no one deserves you Mother. No one but me.”

You yelped as he pressed down onto the needle, causing further damage to your hand—the pain unbearably uncomfortable. For days your head was a dizzy spur of thoughts, paranoid and refusing to meet Charles and now, you couldn't even be properly be enraged about your son's foolishness. At least the mind-numbing headache of yours lessened thanks to the one in your hand.

Suddenly he was much closer, eyes a combination of bright and hopeful and sick. There was something manic about his gaze too, something that made you swallow thickly, alarm you once more to not stare at the demon dressed in your son's human’s shell.

“Mother, I will be a fair king. I will be good. And I will take care of you in a way, no man or husband can. So just endure it for a while longer, I know you carry all this pain with you—and all of it is the reason why you can't love me fully. But if father, his whore and everyone else that upsets you dies—then you will be free. Then you will be free to love me how much you want. We can finally be happy mother.”

You were about to puke. Was this what you had allowed to grow? Over all the years, no matter how much you detested spending time with the little copy of Edwin, you had made sure he only had the best nannies, a great governess and tutors at hand. All for him to spew out such nonsense.

But you had known. Known since the day he was born, that Nicholas was not sane. And right now it both angered and chilled you to see your worst fears manifest in flesh and blood.

“Get lost. Out of my eyes.” you hissed, bathed in cold sweat. You had to get up and out. Needed to flee before you were given the moment to acknowledge that you were raising such cruelness beneath the facade of a noble. Perhaps what amplified your dread was that he—the look of insanity in his eyes, the hatred, yet longing mixing into a destructive love— and you weren't so different after all.

That you both craved motherly affection so intensely you both had spiralled, into different lows, but spiralled nonetheless.

“Mother—you don't mean that.” he smiled. Yet not calm anymore. He wouldn't hide it no longer. You deserved to know that he forgave you, that he saw your pain and ache and that he would ease it for you. Just let him destroy the world only to rebuild it in your name, so that you could finally love him.

“No.” you breathed. He didn't relent, clutching your hand as if it was sacred.

“No! Let go!” you shoved him away this time, crying out in pain, as the needle’s head now pierced through your palm. You were trembling. The creatures lurking in the shadows would now find you. Freedom was a dream, happiness equally but at least you used to have peace, at least you used to have Charles, but this new reality of yours, with your son as the same maniac you were in your youth, would destroy it all. He will take from you, as he always had.

Your anger boiled over.

It was a mistake—he was the heir for god's sake, no matter how foul his mouth had gotten!

Nothing changed the fact that it was done though.

You slapped him right across the face, as his father had done, startling him into a stunned moment of silence. He was as if frozen, shocked that the verbal abuse you inflicted on him would actually one day turn physical. For a moment everything halted, the particles of dust in the air, the chirping of the birds, the soft footsteps echoing around the castle and only shock remained.

Then he smiled.

“Mother—”

And you fled.

You scrambled to your feet, rushing out of the room in such a hurry, you still held your embroidery in your hand while out in the hallway, running pathetically slowly. This wasn't your son. Even after years you still refused the truth, you didn't ask for this! Fate was cruel, but it couldn't be this—not this! You were a queen now, your mother would've been proud, the same mother you had thrown off the balcony.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, sick to the stomach. No, not now! You couldn't cry now, not when duty and responsibility always came before being and feeling and living and— Before you even realized you plucked the needle from the back of your hand, throwing the embroidery against one of the oil paintings hanging nearby, hoping your blood could lay curses and if it actually could,

You hoped to curse this entire castle.

Everything should’ve changed after her death! You should've been free, should’ve lived a better life than her—but you were following into her footsteps, the same miserable marriage only used as a pawn, with the same excuse for a husband caring even little for his heir. You hated it, hated it so much you could burst!

“Your Majesty?”

“Charles,” you muttered, lip between your teeth. You groaned, stumbling forward, dressed in red—the colour which had adored your mother as she had laid lifelessly on the ground. Life was funny indeed wasn't it?

The man has been your angel for so many years, once more spread his wings embracing you in all his glory, letting your red taint him with the evil your mother, you and your son bore. It was in your blood, in your very DNA, you were bred to be a demon—perhaps that's why your son's eyes had always send a chill down your spine, not because he possessed the same potent green of his father, but he held the same wickedness in it. The one you recognised.

“By god!—”

And speak of the devil and he rushed towards you, immediately growling at his uncle that held you in his clutches. Yet before he could step further forward, the doors to his father's study opened, the room one of the largest and proudest and with its opening the king stepped out with Maria as always glued to his side.

All of them and the servants—all were staring at you, while you couldn't help but let your tears flow; your pounding headache, the blinding lights and the blurry edges in your vision everything you could focus on, all were maddening.

You were dying weren't you? This was probably the divine judgment for all your sins. Perhaps the stars were right to scorn and mock you; you were indeed pitiful, a creature born out of neglect and the same abuse you instilled on others now.

“What’s the meaning of this?” the king demanded as proud as ever, before the world was replaced by a void and swallowed you whole and the chaotic cries around you dimmed, until your own stopped.

Until you were no more.

Hopefully this time you would be reborn as a bird with fully fleshed-out wings.

[oftenderweapons]

BESTIE WE NEED MORE JIMIN X PRINCESS FICS. SPECIFICALLY SUB JIMIN DOM PRINCESS FICS. SPECIFICALLY POST SOWOZOO SUB JIMIN DOM PRINCESS FICS DO U RMB IN THE YOONGI ONE WHERE JIMIN APPARENTLY HAD MARKS THAT WERE TOO LOW TO BE EXPOSED MAAM WE’RE ASKING RESPECTFULLY 🙏🙏🙏

HELLO BESTIE THERE YOU GO!!!!!!!!!! I know I've been slacking with these two BUT I have a juicy plan for them. They'll have an amazing development AS SOON AS I stop jumping into collabs head first without thinking. Hopefully it'll be out this winter. I just need to get in angst hurt2comfort mood.

Anyway, here's a drabble to quench your thirst FOR NOW

Pairing: Park Jimin x reader (nicknamed Princess)

Wordcount: 3.3k

Genre: smut, pwp, established relationship

Rating: 18+; minors, do not interact

Synopsis: After his performance at Soowoozoo, you want to reward your boyfriend and help him relax after the show.

Trigger warnings: swearing, soft pleasure-domme!reader, soft sub!Jimin, very whiny Jimin, spanking, praising kink, safewording (not because of boundaries), masturbation male and female receiving, cumshot on breasts, penis and testicles worship, marking, oral sex male receiving, balls sucking, deepthroating, ass play, anal fingering, overstimulation. Jimin calls Princess 'Mistress' at some point. Crying after sex (because of emotional release). Mention of sex deprivation. Very soft aftercare.

A/N: all my gratitude goes to @s0seo for beta reading this mess of a drabble. It was really chaotic since I wrote it with several attempts all taking place after 2am when syntax and common sense entirely abandon me. You were a literal sweetheart, bby 🥰 and then the wifey, @joheunsaram (im kicking gad jk's ass after im done posting this). Also yes, i love you and our shared platonic fondness for feet.

Now that I'm done being romantic af, here is my masterlist!

Enjoy 💜✨

⁂ ⁕ ⁂ ⁕ ⁂ ⁕ ⁂ ⁕ ⁂

“Park Jimin.”

From the tone of your voice alone, Jimin knew he was in for trouble. He didn’t know why yet, he’d been a good boy. He was sure of it.

He had done absolutely nothing inappropriate. He’d simply delivered what the choreography expected, he did not add tongue or hips or “accidental” partial nudity.

Well, he had decided to remove his jacket and show off his lean torso in a tank top, which he knew was pretty flimsy, but that wasn’t a crime. It was too hot outside.

“Princess?”

“Living room. Now.”

Once he arrived, he noticed you were in comfy house clothes. No hard domme in sight, then.

But with a fateful second of delay, he spotted the paddle on top of the table. “No, I’ve been good!” he opposed, pointing to the toy and preparing himself for the bickering.

You tutted and patted your thighs. “It’s not a punishment, love.”

He calmed himself, scaling down his spite to a little frown.

“I got in the mood and I thought you would see it as a reward, but we can do something else, if you prefer so.” You felt embarrassed. You really didn’t mean to punish him. Just tease him a little and then please him endlessly. Only pleasure for your duckling tonight.

Jimin plopped down on the sofa beside you. “I'm sorry, I misunderstood.”

You nodded and dragged his legs atop yours. “It's okay, duckling.” You kissed his sleek black hair, pushing it slightly out of his eyes. You loved how sultry he looked with his bangs so low, emphasising the sensual cut of his eyes. “You did such a good job. I couldn't take my eyes off you. You shone so bright, Jiminie.”

He smiled and placed his face against your neck, by now entirely cuddled in. You wanted to thank Taehyung for creating the perfect cuddle buddy. Jimin was perfect at it. So perfect you almost felt guilty at the idea of having to let go of him. “Paddle? Yes or no?”

He smiled and nodded. “I have an idea.”

Five minutes later, he was naked on all fours on the bed, while you stood by the bed, clad in a pair of stockings and a garter belt — outfit of his choice.

You looked at him for a while before picking up the paddle from beside him on the bed, rolling your wrist a couple times before slapping it against your palm, checking intensity, weight,and elasticity. Even though you'd used the toy around five or six dozens of times, you knew you could never be too careful. “Are you okay, duckling?”

He nodded and bent further down, on his elbows. He looked so beautiful.

“Wanna lay on my lap, or would you like it like this?” you asked, your free hand caressing the curve of his backside.

He shook his head. “Just touch me, please. Please, don't punish me,” he begged, eyes so wide and imploring.

You shook your head and leaned over his body, carefully placing a kiss on his shoulder. “I'm not punishing you, lovely,” you reassured him as you laid more kisses across his back, finally reaching his other side. “I'm going to make love to you, duckling.”

You knelt beside him, knowing that the mattress under your knees would damage your stability and the strength of your blows. “We'll be fine, Jimin. You were so beautiful on that stage.”

The first hit was light, testing. He turned slightly and looked at you. “Thank you,” he purred. “May I please ask you to go harder?” His request was strongly submissive. You loved the tone, the register, the vulnerability and the gratefulness.

“Of course, darling.” You spanked him again, just like he had asked, receiving his sweetest little grunt in return. “You liked that, mh? My lovely boy,” you cooed, smiling at his enthusiastic nodding before bending down to lick at his reddening skin. Next, you blew fresh air on it, the sensation so cool and soothing on his skin. “Good boy,” you praised him, making him giggle.

“Thank you,” he replied obediently, pushing his head against your hand, inviting you to stroke his hair — which you did, since you loved seeing him like this, so sweet and docile like a lovely little pet.

Ten spanks later, his face was morphed into an innocent look, adorably covered in a cute blush, his lips were plump and his wondrous, sculpted ass was red and bruising, just the way he loved. That was the right moment to shift your focus — also because sometimes you happened to get bored or distracted… Especially with Jimin’s leaking dick so close to your fingers.

While you rubbed the paddle against his skin, you let go of his hair, his disappointed whimpers starting as the cuddles stopped, only to morph into breathier choked-back moans once you stroked his length lightly.

“Don’t whine, baby.” You hit the back of his thigh, more as a tease than an actual spank. “I’ve got you, see?”

He nodded, so dreamy and lost in the pleasure you were gifting him. He felt so light, so perfectly spotless. He was levitating in your care and love and attention. He didn’t even realise your stimulation was increasing until he almost reached his breaking point.

“Please, no— yellow!” You let go of him immediately, unknowingly edging him as he landed on his back. “Sorry, I just didn’t want to mess the sheets,” he apologised. He was too sleepy and felt too blissful to worry about staining the beddings.

You smiled softly and nodded, laying at his side and tucking him close up against you. “It’s okay, duckling.”

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, hiding his face against the curve of your breast.

“No need to, baby.” You kissed the crown of his head. “I understand. I love you.”

He looked up at you shyly, almost intimidated by you. “I love you too. Can I please touch you? I want to make you feel good too.”

You placed your lips against his forehead, leading his hand in between your legs, his shoulders twisting slightly as you got back to pumping his shaft into your hand, massaging the tip, his dainty moans fluttering from his lips all the way up to your ear. “Yes, handle it, babyboy.”

He nodded, eyes closing as he bathed his middle finger in the salty ocean between your legs. You felt so immense to him, so overwhelming, like a tide, your hand moving like waves on a shore. Back and forth. Back. Forth. Back and forth. Back… and…

“Mh, yes, love, yes… Yeah… I’m—” The long moan that followed predicted the cumshot that landed on your stomach, shortly followed by three more, one on his belly, and the final two on his lower abdomen.

“It’s okay, duckling. Take it like a good boy. I know you can do that for me,” you kept stroking him until he whimpered and gripped your forearm, literally pushing you away.

“Princess, please, stop,” he cried out, convincing you to step back. “Wait.” He grabbed a tissue and dried up the stains on his body before cleaning yours. Once rid of the tissue, he looked deep in your eyes, just as you reached for his sex again, ready to get up and crouch between his legs; however, he stopped you. “I wanna please you first.”

You shook your head, just before he pushed you on your back and straddled you, his fingers pressed to your clit immediately before they dipped inside you, his thumb torturing your most sensitive spot as he bent forward and latched onto your breast, his lips wrapping around your nipple while his tongue teased it in circles, your back arching in ecstasy as you started moving against his palm.

Inexperienced or differently shaped women would make fun of his fingers and hands, but not you. Them being smaller meant that he could reach your g-spot to perfection. The pumping of his digits and the stimulation on your clit caught up to you way faster than you anticipated, your hand reaching for his balls, starting to grope them gently, feeling the softness of his skin, the way he hummed against your breast.

“Right there, Jimin, you’re doing so good,” you managed to breath out before your body crashed and spiralled out of control. It felt so liberating, your mind soaring above everything and everyone. You were peace, without body. It was almost like ascending to an upper reality.

“There you go, ____, feels fine, right?”

You nodded as your soul started receding into your flesh, your mind already getting back to the important things: namely, watching him whine and shake below you, his cock deep into your throat as he came once more.

After your temporary death, your hand started groping him once more, his face flush against the curve of your neck. “Lay on your back, baby. I want to blow you.”

Jimin let his body fall to the mattress, enjoying the way your hand still massaged him, your fingers pressing the tissue connecting his balls to his ass, the low purr coming from his lips reassuring you that indeed, you were doing it right.

Slowly, you kissed his mouth, drawing the line of his jaw. “Is that alright? Would you like to slow down, duckling?”

He shook his head. “I'm good, I'm feeling perfect.” You smiled, letting go of the soft skin of his balls with a sliver of reluctance before placing your thigh between his, letting him hump his hips up, gaining that sweet friction that helped him get hard again.

“Keep going, lovely. You look so sensual like this. You're so sexy, Jimin,” you rewarded him, letting him suck at your fingers as he tried to keep quiet, his broken gasps and little whines turning you on endlessly. “I need your cock in my mouth, baby. Can you handle being by yourself up here?”

He blinked and nodded just as you started sliding down his body, kissing the straight line dividing his torso, stopping for half a second to kiss his tattoo, letter by letter. “My handsome boy,” you whispered, enjoying the way he pressed his hips to your stomach. “My man… So strong. So gracious. So effortlessly elegant.”

Jimin giggled and hid his face against the pillow, barely concealing a smile. “These are a lot of compliments.”

You chuckled and kissed his belly button. “You deserve them, love. All of them.”

He felt his cheeks blush. He always struggled so much with feeling handsome or charming or sexy, but when you treated him like that, all your veneration and love covering him head to toe in a golden feeling, he was everything you told him he was. He felt perfect.

And perfection multiplied tenfold once your mouth touched his tip, suckling it, pumping it between the flat of your palate and the slippery slide of your tongue.

“Hold on, please,” he sobbed, spreading his legs wider, his whine coming through a gentle smile. “Can you...”

You did what the two of you loved the most, slowing down your pace until you slipped into what could be called a foreplay of foreplay. It was barely sexual, but still deeply erotic — especially once accompanied by Jimin’s little chirps.

Your lips drew the inside of his thighs, so soft since he’d become obsessed with the idea of waxing, loving the feeling of baby-smooth skin. And you adored how silken he felt underneath your tongue, velvety, hot and oh-so-sensitive. You could taste him anytime, licking all the way up to the juncture between his leg and his crotch, and then suck pretty marks into the plush flesh of his thighs.

“It feels good, doesn't it, baby?” you asked, taking a pause from your marking project.

He hummed and touched your face, pulling you closer to the sensitive skin of his balls, your tongue giving him a kitten lick before taking one in your mouth, sucking him until he was barely coherent, pushing your face away by tugging at your hair.

“Princess, I— I…” His words faded into a series of delicate gasps as you escaped his grip and got three inches of him into your mouth, squeezing him with your cheeks.

Jimin was extremely picky about blowjobs: he wanted them when he wanted to, he wanted them done his way and he needed them to have a specific duration. Too little and he’d feel neglected, too long and he’d grow tired, bored or oversensitive. He preferred handjobs by far — or at least, he was less picky about them.

With your hand, you grabbed his balls, squeezing them just a little as you took a couple more inches of him, stretching your tongue all out so that you could lick his base, the whole procedure turning sloppy, drool pooling at his base, his legs twitching as his tip touched the back of your throat.

“No, no… Princess, fuck stop!”

You released him and took some deep breaths, his taste intensifying in your mouth as oxygen carried it deeper in your throat, smell and flavour activating a craving so deep you almost threw yourself at him again. “What is it, duckling?”

He found your hand and toyed with it, trying to bring you up towards him. “I want you to fuck me.”

You chuckled. “I’m doing so. Right now.”

Jimin’s flushed cheeks turned even brighter. “I mean… I want… Won’t you just ride my dick?”

You tutted and fondled his cock with your face. “I want to give you pleasure, baby. This is not about me. And we can have sex tomorrow morning.”

“So just foreplay? For me?” he blinked in confusion.

Your smile was an answer enough. “Would you like that? Mh? I know you’re tired and you always go over the top with positions. I just want you to relax, have a couple orgasms and then put you to sleep.” You kissed his belly and looked up at him. “What do you say, my lovely duckling?”

“Promise you won’t run out early tomorrow morning,” he requested, his manners extremely childish, but deliciously adorable.

“I promise I won’t run out before morning sex,” you stated solemnly, but also slightly condescendingly.

Jimin smiled. “Okay then. Do your worst.”

You mirrored his cheeky grin before your voice turned fond. “I love you, duckling.”

“Love you too,” he crooned, only a second passing by before he went back to tiny whimpers, your mouth once more on him, your thumb gliding back and forth along his perineum, adding more and more pressure while you mentally counted how long you were taking, your ears attuned to his sounds, knowing exactly which kind of moans meant he was ready to cum.

You made sure that your thumb was slippery with saliva when you started bringing it lower, towards the folds of his entrance. You waited for his reaction before pressing a bit harder, letting the pad of your finger slide across his puckered hole.

“Almost… Inside it’s… Ah, it’s okay… Ins— Yeah…”, he cried out as you inserted your thumb, releasing his shaft only to breathe a little, your hot exhales teasing his drenched skin as you got ready for your last effort.

You started hooking and stretching your thumb, rubbing it against his walls, his balls starting to pulsate right as you pushed his cock back inside your mouth, squeezing him with quick sucks until he was gasping, faster and faster. His breathing stopped altogether as his abs twitched and a low groan left his lips, your name following it.

You forgot how to breathe. The only thing that mattered was Jimin, writhing desperately below you, fighting between the tightness of your mouth and throat, and the fullness of your finger inside him, still torturing him with slow rubs.

“Princess, please off, I’m— Too much!”

You let go of his dick but realised he still had something to offer. After all, he’d been denying himself any form of release for a full week. He deserved a bit of an extra.

You removed your thumb and spit on your joined index and middle finger, slipping them inside his anus without any form of resistance from his needy hole.

“Princess!” he barked out as once more he found himself under your assault, this time the stimulation aimed directly at his prostate. “No, no no no!”

“Safeword, baby,” you reminded him, just in case.

As he clenched his teeth, you smirked and chuckled. “I thought so.” You took hold of his hand with your free one, offering him an emotional anchor. It didn’t keep his eyes from watering. “It’s so good… Too much.”

“I’ve got you, duckling. You can cry for me.”

“Mistress, please,” he begged, his hips starting to hump and swivel and twist. “I’m a good boy. I’m your duckling, Mistress, please. You love me.”

You picked up your pace, watching his face relax and rejoice, a sob escaping him though the smile on his face.

“Oh, again… M— ____, mercy please, Mistress!”

Once twin tears started rolling down his cheeks, you slipped into an all-or-nothing speed, watching his hips arch up, his heels digging into the mattress as he finally thrusted upwards, a couple drops of cum ending on his stomach in an exhausted dribble while his body collapsed entirely. He tossed his head side to side, fighting the pleasure.

“Let go, Jiminie. I’ve got you,” you reassured him, your voice sweet and proud at the sight of him.

At that, he abandoned himself entirely, trusting you, knowing that he could exercise no control whatsoever over his convulsing limbs.

His legs trembled uncontrollably, one hand gripping the sheet while the other one was still in yours.

Only once he calmed down fully, you extracted your fingers from his hole, bending over him to kiss his face. “I’ll be back in a second. I’ll wash up and be here, okay love?”

“Okay,” he agreed.

You washed your hands as accurately and as quickly as possible. You also grabbed a towel and dipped it in water, squeezing it before going back to the bed.

Jimin was sobbing heavily this time. You sat against the headboard at his side and found a packet of sweets in your drawer. “You’re safe, lovely. You’re safe, my love,” you repeated, holding him in your arms, with his back to you. You rubbed his face with the towel, kissing his head. You knew those weren’t bad tears. They were linked to release and stress and his body getting rid of the hormones in excess through crying. “You’re doing fine, duckling. How are you feeling, love?”

“I’m alright. Just… processing everything.”

You moved his hair off his forehead and passed the fresh rag there too before moving to his torso, where he was sticky with the remnants of his release. “Sweets?”

He nodded. “Yes, please.”

In a couple minutes he was significantly calmer and you were scrubbing his body with his chamomile soap in the shower. He was still a bit clingy, but you were actually very happy about that. “I’m so grateful for this, you know,” he started as you were towel-drying his hair.

“I enjoyed it too, you know?” you said with a little chuckle.

He nodded as he got his toothbrush ready. “I’m just… I don’t think that many women would do that for their boyfriends.”

You shrugged. “You never know.”

“I mean… Thank you. For being a safe place for me, for always encouraging me to be brave and get to know myself. And for taking time to learn how to test my boundaries.”

You kissed his head and back-hugged him as he started brushing his teeth.

Once both safely in bed, Jimin cuddled up beside you, his cute hand climbing up underneath your shirt and landing on your breast before he pulled his face up from his cocoon, his beautiful, slightly-crooked teeth making an appearance as his expression turned into the sweetest smile, bribing you into accepting his palm on your boob.

“Go to sleep, you menace,” you scolded him lovingly, your hand combing his hair as he settled his head against the crook of your neck.

In two minutes, he was soundly asleep. You switched off the lights and thanked the heavens for the boy at your side.

[demisexual-deesaster]

I'm too gay for this

Hello one, Hello all! This fic is brought to you because @aphyllum was starved for Pyrruby content, and so, to quench their thirst, I've come up with a sort of crack!fic featuring Pyrruby! Enjoy!

~

You didn’t know what to expect when your scroll rang at 2:30 in the night, but if there was one thing you were good at doing, it was going with the flow. Blinking blearily, and in your sleep deprived state, you didn’t think to check the caller ID, instead, you picked up, put the scroll next to your ear, and yawned out a sleepy greeting.

“Hewwo?”

“Hey Ruby. Sorry I’m calling so late…”

You let out a squeak of “Pyrrha!” and tumble from the bed like the useless gay you are. Fuck, get on your feet and talk to her like the suave woman you are Ruby!!!

You clear your throat, and, in the most chivalrous way you can, you say “How can I help you, Pyrrha?” unfortunately for you, your voice comes out more of a crackly squeak than a sultry rumble, and you curse your puberty.

“What’s wrong with your voice Ruby? Do you have a cold? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called–“

“I’m okay!!” you yelp out, then clear your throat. “Ahem. I’m okay, Pyrrha. How can I help you?”

“Well…if you’re sure...I received a message asking for help from a contact in Mistral. Apparently, some Grimm are getting too close to comfort. None of the members of my team are available at the moment, and well, I was wondering…if you wanted to join–“

“YES!” Your gay screams out, while your ass lies on the floor, rolling around in excitement. “I mean…uh, sure, I’d love to Pyrrha.”

You’re hearing things, but you think you hear Pyrrha breath a sigh of joy.

Something occurs to you though, and even though it’s out of the top of your head, you ask with a chuckle “Wow, we must need to leave early tomorrow if you’re calling me at 2:30 in the morning.”

“What, no! We can leave by 12 Pm, my place.” Your mind screeches because Pyrrha Nikos just invited you to her place!!!!!!!

You tilt your head in confusion instead, and then ask “Huh? Then why didn’t you tell me about this later in the day? Or maybe earlier?”

Pyrrha laughs. Is that nervousness you hear? Nah. She’s Pyrrha Nikos! She doesn’t get nervous!

“Oh look at the time, ha ha! I really should be going, thank you for calling bye!” Pyrrha yelps out, and the line ends with a click. You stare at your scroll, baffled, and think, confused: Uhhh, she was the one who called?

You shook your head. It didn’t matter! You were going on a huntsman date with Pyrrha Nikos! And Oum, you were excited!!! Wait, was this a date? Or was this casual? What if you thought this was a date but this was only something casual? You’d freak her out! Okay, casual it is! But wait! What if this was actually a date and you acted too casual?? What if Pyrrha thought you didn’t like her like that and didn’t try again? Oh god, does Pyrrha even like you like that?!

If you could keyboard smash in your head in a way that would make sense, you would. For now, you settle for smashing your head on the wall instead, which is shortly followed by a high pitched squeal. Below you, Zwei rolls uncomfortably in his sleep.

You’re Ruby Rose! One of the greatest huntresses at Beacon! You’ve got this! Tomorrow was going to be okay! Right?

~

Wrong. This was so very wrong. What kinda motel has only one bed in one room when you’d clearly booked two rooms in advance!? Ohhh, Ruby is gonna think you’re some kinda creep! You throw a glance her way, to see she’s completely tuckered out on the bed. Your face softens. The mission was really hard, and you weren’t sure you’d have survived if Ruby wasn’t there with you. Guilt works your way, eating at your stomach as you remember the hit she took for you. Your heart had almost come out of your mouth. Fortunately, she’d escaped with a shallow gash, her aura having absorbed most of it, but she was knocked unconscious.

Now, as she rested at the motel room you’d rented, it was to your very flustered confusion and surprise to find out that there had been some kind of mix-up, and that you’d be sharing one single room, one single bed together. You didn’t know whether to yell at the staff or to thank them. Ruby suddenly chose that moment, and you took a deep breath, hoping you could tamper the gay that was rising within you. You cleared your throat nervously, and sat down next to Ruby's bed, making sure to hold her hand. “Hello again….”

“Pyrrha? What happened?” Ruby croaks out, and oh my god, you’re already blushing. Did her voice always sound this sexy when she talked?

“You passed out because you took a hit for me. I thought I had it handled but…”

“Its okay. Hey, at least you owe me now, heh.”

Your eyes sparkle with amusement. “Oh? And what does this Rose want in return for saving this knight from peril?”

“A kiss.” Ruby says simply, and you startle.

“W-what?”

“The chocolate? I hear those are really ni–ow!!”

“You jerk!” you laugh, punching her arm, and Ruby giggles.

“Seriously though. You don’t need to repay me for anything. That’s what friends do.”

You bit your lip. “What if I don’t want to be friends anymore?”

She startles this time

“W-What?” Oh Oum, here we go.

“Ruby, I–“

“YES I WILL BE YOUR BEST FRIEND!!” Ruby shouts, and her eyes go comically wide. This would be funny if your eyes weren’t mimicking hers right now. You’d continue, but you’re too busy gaping to say anything.

“This is so embarrassing I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said anything–”

“NO!”

“No?”

“I mean, I want us to be best friends, but I also want us to be…more…”

“You mean bestest of friends? Will Nora be okay with that?” Ruby says, scratching her bandage. Oh, Oum help you. How can someone looks so cute while doing that?!

“No Ruby.” You begin, taking her hands in yours. “I mean, I want us to be girlfriends.”

~

“What”. You squeak out, and Pyrrha winces.

“I said…”

“YES!”

“Huh?”

“Did I fucken stutter?”

Pyrrha blinks owlishly, and you blush, turning your gays…I mean…gaze away.

“Er…what I meant to gay…to say…was that I’d love to be your girlfriend Pyrrha Nikos.”

Pyrrha lets out a breath and laughs. She cups your face and oh my god you’re kissing Pyrrha Nikos. You’re kissing this amazing woman, this Amazonian goddess, who actually takes an interest in you, likes you enough to want to date you! Oh Oum, you were going to faint.

When the kiss breaks apart, you lean back in too fast, and accidentally bang your heads together. You yelp in pain, and Pyrrha blinks. After a minute her eyes go wide, and she mouths an 'Ooo' before placing her hand on her forehead, and dramatically saying “Oooohh, that hurt very bad!”

You giggle and throw a pillow at her.

~

“So…did you two shag then?”

"YANG!"

~

A/N: I want to apologise because this fic took a while to write. I lost my insp. Rip. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this, lads.

P.S. There should be two spaces between each sentence but Tumblr is a shit site and I don't know how to use it. h...e...l...p...

[kfawkes]

Misdirection - [Eggsy Unwin x Reader]

[HI GUYS!!!! This isn’t a prompt, this is just something I had on my mind??? And I figured it was a good warmup/getting back into the grove of things thing…. Its gonna end up being a more than 1 parter obviously ;.; but I hope you enjoy it <3 Very angsty though!!! And this one is is PoV of Eggsy! <3 anyway LOVE YOU!!!

Pairing: Eggsy x Reader – Roxy is a main in this fic too :)

Words: 1.8k

Warnings: Angst! Swearing. Sexy bits sorta?

–Read on Ao3!]

“Everythin’ alright in there, Rox?” Eggsy called curiously as he stepped into the hallway. His tired eyes scanning each surface and frame he passed carefully as if the place was just one giant trap.

For all he knew it could be— but even in his sleep deprived paranoia he knew the chances of that were slim to none. Eggsy strolled leisurely down the hall eyeing plaque awards and framed magazine covers; all involving a man named Derek Kennedy. A very influential businessman— but more specifically he was your unit’s target.

Derek was a bloody genius, far too handsome— yet somehow not overly cocky, with ties to the royal family. Kingsman had been assigned to handle him and keep him safe. Essentially Mr. Kennedy was an asset the agency couldn’t afford to lose, but they also couldn’t exactly tell him he was in danger. Mainly because they didn’t know who the danger was… or when it was coming… or why. Or at least that’s what Arthur told you three just about six months ago.

The bottom line was you basically knew nothing aside from the mission being one of those ‘save the world’ kinds. Eggsy couldn’t think too long on that bit though because suddenly Roxy stepped forward blocking his entrance to the office sporting a deep frown.

“Uh, everything’s good— fine… just peachy.” she pushed a smile across her face, but Eggsy had spent enough time alongside her to know better and even though her voice was soft and quiet it rung loudly with hesitation on every syllable.

“‘Peachy’?” Eggsy brows lifted suspiciously and his lips pushed tightly together.

“What? I can’t say peachy now?” she crossed her arm trying for casual, her smile only slightly more convincing.

“You think I don know by now that you only say that shit when you’re lyin’?” Eggsy danced in place; trying to push past Roxy’s impenetrable wall of a body.

“I do not!” Roxy scoffed looking to the side briefly wondering if in fact she did… but even in her momentary distraction she didn’t budge.

“Uh…” he paused letting an awkward laugh slip, finally feeling the true weight pressing down on him. “’s’cuse me, Rox, but I gotta get in there, yeah?”

“You really don’t.” Roxy narrowed her eyes almost apologetically as she stare him down, selecting her next words more carefully than the last. “Will you just trust me on this?”

Eggsy could feel his pulse rising and his cheeks growing warmer with each second, and he knew that if Roxy was keeping him from something— it would be something he needed keeping from… But even knowing that he felt an itch begin scratching; begging for him to just run his fingers over it; to satisfy the sting that ran beneath his skin…

“Cut the shit— we ain’t got time for your games right now, do we?” and when Eggsy spoke it was clear he was nervous. His tone came off far ruder than intended and immediately he wished he hadn’t been so stern with her. It wasn’t Roxy’s fault after all, but after the day he’d had it was hard for him not to lash out.

Roxy pulled her gaze from her feet locking her eyes tightly to his; having not missed his bark and no longer fearing his bite… this time the look she held was near indifference. As if whatever was coming next he deserved. “Fine… but don’t say I didn’t try warning you.”

Eggsy didn’t move at first, he merely widened his eyes as shock replaced his drained expression. He tossed Roxy a look that said he was sorry, and for a moment he thought she understood. For a moment he almost turned around and left like her eyes pleaded him to do… But ultimately his curiosity got the best of him, like it always did.

What’s that old expression… curiosity killed the cat? He never could remember the last part…

He sighed shaking his head lightly with jaw clenched and hands pulled into tight fists as he stepped past Roxy into the office. When he reached the desk he didn’t look at the monitor but to Roxy again… to her eyes which shifted once more from indifference to something closer to sorrow.

She was standing with her arms still tightly crossed and leaned deeply into the frame of the doorway. She was fiddling anxiously with the fabric at her elbow and Eggsy was having a hard time pulling his gaze from her… but once again curiosity began its creeping itch and before he could think too hard on what that look meant he began shifting his gaze downward.

Eggsy drew in a deep breath as his eyes ended on the monitor— ready for anything… only once he saw what he so desperately needed shielding from, he realized nothing could have prepared him for this; and just like any bite once you touched it, the persistent burning became relentless, begging for more and more— the thirst never being quenched… leaving your skin reddened and raw and your mind unrested.

There you were in the center of the screen… The long silky gown you wore earlier was tossed to the side effortlessly. Your hair was spread across a pillow like a wave, with arms and legs wrapped fervidly around your target… Pressing into him, sliding your fingers through his hair and up his back amorously.

Eggsy couldn’t hear any sounds from the room, but he could see them decorating your face as you pulled the mans hair tighter between your fist…

“I tr— I told you not to, Eggsy. Sh— Tristan is just doing her job.” Roxy looked almost just as hurt as he clearly felt and she stepped closer pulling her lip between her teeth sharply, wanting nothing more than to have stopped him.

Maybe she could have had she tried a little harder. Had she just told him no— not given in to his harmless lashing out. But that didn’t matter anymore because the damage had been done, and now she had to see this through.

If anyone knew just how much you two meant to each other, or how strong your bond was both on and off the field, it was Roxy. And believe that if it could have been her in there instead of you— she’d have done it in a heartbeat. But Derek Kennedy didn’t fall for her— he fell for you… so here you were in the middle of his bed while the man you loved watched…

And really Eggsy knew he shouldn’t be… He knew he should look away, that he should get back to work— but he couldn’t stop himself. His eyes were transfixed on you and that son of a bitch, and no matter how hard he wanted to he couldn’t fucking look away.

It bothered him, filled him with a sharp bubbling envy… but mostly it pained him more than anything else before; both physical and mental. Eggsy clenched his hands so tightly the skin broke beneath his nails, but he could hardly feel the pain that accompanied the small crescent shaped cuts. He could however feel the warm blood trickling between the cracks of his fingers, drip, drip, dripping; promising to stain the fibers of the carpet like the screen stained his mind.

In that moment it didn’t matter that this was the plan all along… It didn’t matter that sometimes sex was a part of your missions as Kingsmen agents. None of it seemed to matter, and suddenly he felt nothing.

Eggsy reminded himself that this was one of those missions. That one of you were to seduce the target and gain access to his private life. More accurately become a part of that private life; and here you were having done your job perfectly— but the pang of your success only poisoned his mind like oil in water.

He felt those thick, inky veins taking root as they spread between the cracks, and with each sharp thump of his heart that darkness grew; pulling him deeper into madness…

Eggsy couldn’t focus on how much time had passed or on how hard he was breathing. He couldn’t feel the way his chest rose and dropped, but once he felt Roxy shaking his arm he came back to the room— back to reality and you were no longer pinned beneath another man.

While his mind rushed a thousand miles a minute he hadn’t even noticed if you’d actually… If you really had been… With the way you were laying next to Derek now, he knew you must have. The lightness of your face, and the way your fingertips stroked his hair affectionately screamed one thing and one thing only; and as Eggsy continued staring at that screen he realized something else.

That Derek was completely in love with you. If Eggsy didn’t know any better he’d of thought you really loved him back— hell, maybe you did… half a year undercover could do that to someone, couldn’t it? Plus, this was you he was talking about… Unstoppable force of fuckin’ nature and Eggsy knew first hand just how incredible you were, and even though you were wrapped in the arms of someone else, you were so damn beautiful to him.

You looked so happy that he couldn’t be upset with you even if his feelings were justified.

You weren’t his— not really. Not in the actual sense of being someone else’s… You weren’t his and you never would be, all thanks to one big lie hidden between several tiny truths.

He’d told you it would never work because of the nature of your jobs. That he’d tried relationships and that they didn’t mix with Kingsman. That you were his best friend and that mattered more than anything else.

And all of that was true, because your positions didn’t really allow for relationships and when he tried one with Tilde it backfired in his face… But the biggest lie he’d ever told was that he didn’t love you when you asked him.

In truth there wasn’t much Eggsy loved besides you, but in his mind telling you he didn’t was the best way to protect you though— the only real way to protect you…

Nothing could have prepared him for when you believed him though. For the way it felt when your eyes changed before him. No, nothing could have prepared him for when he saw the exact second your heart broke into a thousand pieces, and in that moment he hated himself.

He hated himself, but he knew it was all to keep you safe. That it would be worth it in the end…

Only now as he watch Derek wrap his arms around you; pulling you into a tight embrace, all he could feel was regret.

“A-are you alright, Eggsy?” Roxy asked softly from his side as she raised her hand to his elbow; squeezing it lightly offering any form of support she could.

Eggsy cleared his throat pulling his mouth into a weak, unconvincing smile with azure eyes painted painfully. After a nod he shoved his bloodied hand into his pocket, and pressed towards the door, throwing his reply over his shoulder like it was nothing at all.

“Jus peachy, Rox… Jus fuckin’ peachy.”