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annebaby · 1 year ago

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National Anthem ♡

hello all! this is my first multi-part fic, and I hope you like it! part two will be posted very soon :)

part two!

part three!

warnings: toxic snow, bribery, fem!reader x young!coriolanus snow, use of Y/N, that's it for this chapter!

I hope you enjoy! this is national anthem ♡

The capitol streets were bustling with the obnoxiously ignorant, blind-sighted chatter about the games this year. People in all the most unnecessary of extravagant clothing, smiling, laughing, and celebrating death. It was sickening, truly. Hearing them talk about their favorite tributes and the gruesome details of their death made you want to rip all your hair out.

Surprisingly, you were not a stranger to this life. Born a capitol brat, you shouldn’t let this get you to your breaking point at all. A senior in the academy this year, you vividly recall the students being mentors in previous years; the thought of helping a child to their death made you want to vomit.

So, you tried your best to get your single errand for the day done as fast as possible. Your goal: to find a dress for the gala in a few days. Nothing too showy, but not too modest. A dress that screams, ‘I’m pretty, but smart. I am a district doll.’ As the President’s daughter, appearance and impression were the two most important things drilled into your head.

Your father, President Stirling, was a new favorite of Panem. His pride for the land, his love for the people, and his goals for the future are what got him elected. He was a very clean-cut man, always showing how much he loved his family.

You knew better though. He was a cold man, one who hardly showed affection behind closed doors, a man who had spoken very rarely to his daughter. You didn’t really know much about him, always locked in his office and never really caring about you. Unless, it was about your appearances or impressions.

Scurrying through the mall, you quickly find your go-to dress shop, a more quiet and less popular location. This dress shop has all of the current trends, but they always had something different about them that you loved. You hated capitol fashion, but it was your only option as the most looked upon girl in Panem. At least they all had a unique look to them.

Entering the store and smelling its sweet fragrance, you hurriedly got to work. Giving every dress you liked to a worker, she put it in the dressing room for you. A common customer, they adored your business. They adored your money.

Dress after dress, you had finally found a winner. A thin-strapped velvet dress with jewels adorning it in a beautiful pattern. It was a deep red, floor-length dress. Happy with the way it adorned your body, you took it off and handed it to the shop worker. Swiping Daddy’s credit card, you smiled at the workers and thanked them sincerely for their help. They handed you the dress across the counter and you started to make your way home.

Navigating the large mall, there were people everywhere. You did your best to hide your face, sunglasses and all. The President’s daughter was always known as the Princess of Panem, a girl that the younger children looked up to. It was hard to be unnoticed.

Swerving and dodging people to the best you could, you made it outside at last. Unfortunately, your presence had become known and now none other than Lucky Flickerman was awaiting you outside. Probably one of your least favorite capitol citizens, always pushing you for personal answers to appeal to the audience.

Trying your best to spot your driver without being noticed, you see the blacked out SUV parked right down the street. It was a different car that dropped you off, but this SUV was still branded with the President’s logo. You open the doors to exit the mall, and Lucky Flickerman is already on you.

“Is that the anticipated gown for the Gala, Ms. Stirling? What color is it? Just a peek? We’d love to see it!”

By the time he was done getting his jumble of questions out, you had already reached the SUV. Opening the passenger door, you quickly threw the dress in the back. However, you noticed your driver was a different man than usual.

“Coriolanus? Did my dad send you as my driver?” You took the sunglasses off your face, confusion taking over as you awaited his answer.

Coriolanus Snow was your father’s newest intern. A charming man, certainly. He was handsome, smart, and cunning. You had a schoolgirl crush on him since he started working for your family, but you pushed it to the side. You didn’t want to be just another nuclear wife with a nuclear family in the capitol. You just weren’t ready to accept your inevitable fate.

“Yes. The other driver wasn’t aware he was supposed to wait for you, and he returned home,” Coriolanus says. He puts the vehicle in gear and begins to take you both back to your estate.

“Oh, that’s odd. He’s never done that before,” you say. He was a nice man, you had actually gotten on with him quite well. You weren’t sure where communication went wrong.

“Yeah. He was fired immediately after he stepped in the door.” Coriolanus doesn’t look at you, just keeps his gaze on the road ahead of him.

You didn’t expect much less from your father at all, but still your chest ached for the nice man. After all, he talked to you more than your own father did.

You looked at Coriolanus for much too long after he said that. You admired his slicked-back blonde hair, his prominent jawline and you took in all of his aura you could. The Snow family had a newfound power in recent years, and boy did he know it. He was dripping in luxury. He carried himself with such seriousness and coldness that it drew you in.

You broke away from your trance, looking forward at the road as well. It was hard to focus on anything but him when you were around Coriolanus. He too was a capitol brat, one of the worst. He supported the games in all their glory, though he was never too extravagant about it. He’s a few years older than you, meaning he’s seen more of the games. He probably accepted the fact that they were never going to end.

Stuck in your thoughts once again, you hadn’t even realized you reached your estate that quickly. The car stopped, and Coriolanus opened the door and shut it quietly. He headed to your side of the vehicle and opened your door, holding out his hand for you to grab. Blushing, you smiled and took his hand, slowly exiting the car. He opened the back of the car, retrieved your dress, and you two headed into the house. “Thank you, Coriolanus. You didn’t have to do all that,” you speak gently. “It’s a part of my job, Y/N,” he says coldly. You wonder if you’ll ever get past his emotionless wall. You enter the house, and Coriolanus hands the dress off to a helper so they can take it to your room.

“Lovely seeing you today, Miss Y/N,” he says before walking back towards her father’s office. He strides when he walks, hands in his pockets and chin up. You smile to yourself, before heading up to your room.

The next day at the academy was dragging. Excitement bubbled in your stomach for the Gala the next day, and all of the classes were giving you a headache. You didn’t need them anyway - your success was guaranteed thanks to your father.

As you were finally dismissed from your last class, you gathered your things and headed for the door. Cascading down the stairs, your best friend Bridgette Sinclair joined you.

Both of you had been friends for years, taking a fancy to each other's' company. She was a shorter girl, with dark brown hair and dark brown eyes. A true capitol beauty, you had always thought. She too was born into the power she had, and she too believed all the same as you did. She didn’t act arrogant, never bragged on any of her assets. You loved her like a sister.

“I say, we go to the park and discuss the Gala tomorrow! I can’t wait to see you there, Y/N.” You giggled with the girl, allowing your teenage personality to peek through.

“Let’s go to my house instead, I’ll show you my dress!” You smiled and jumped up and down, finally allowing yourself to be true to how excited you were.

She squealed in response as you waited for your driver. You hoped and prayed it wasn’t Coriolanus, Bridgette would never shut up about it. She knew about your crush, and she wanted you to talk to him so bad. Every time she’d hear about him, see him, or even just think about him, she would always tell you and then laugh at your blush.

The both of you sit and gossip until the black SUV comes to pick you both up. Fingers crossed behind your back, you open the door with your other hand, and almost roll your eyes. Coriolanus is your driver again, of course. His blue eyes look at you through the rearview mirror as you sit down, not breaking his gaze even when Bridgette sits next to you.

“Still no new driver I guess, yeah?” You look back at him through the window as he suddenly stops staring. Bridgette laughs and grabs your hand.

“Uh- yeah no. Not yet. Your father is a particular man,” Coriolanus says, hesitantly.

He slowly starts to take you both back to the estate, the car ride consisting of awkward stares from Coriolanus as Bridgette pesters you through hushed whispers. You almost feel as if he’s hearing everything she’s saying. You smack her quickly and quietly in hopes she’ll shut up.

Arriving at the estate, Coriolanus does the same thing as before and opens the car door for you and Bridgette. However, his hand is only offered to you, not her. A strange action for him, you had always known him to be cold but still very polite. You took his hand and exited the vehicle before running into the house with Bridgette, looking back at Coriolanus as a ‘thank you’, before heading inside.

“Y/N I have got to see your dress. I won’t tell anyone what it looks like, just please show me!” Bridgette plops onto your bed, anticipating your dress like a child on Christmas morning.

You smile and head into your closet to retrieve the gorgeous gown. Grabbing it off the hanger, you slowly unzip the protective bag off of it. Bridgette’s eyes widen as she gets up to feel the dress, jaw dropped to the ground. She feels the material all in her fingers, gently admiring everything about the highly anticipated gown.

“Oh my God Y/N. It’s beautiful. I absolutely love it!” She starts smiling widely before getting a mischievous grin on her face.

“You know who else will love it,” she says, giggling slightly.

You zip up the dress and hang it back in the closet, getting flustered by Bridgette’s continuous mentioning of Coriolanus. As much as you wished he had noticed you in the same way, you knew it would never happen. You were just like every other girl in the capitol. Nothing special about you. You wished he would see you as something special, but you were sure he didn’t.

“If you don’t stop mentioning him, I'm going to strangle you, I swear.” You point at her, smiling sternly. She puts her hands up in a ‘it wasn’t me’ motion, before you plop down onto the bed next to her.

“I really wish he did say something to me, just once you know? He is really handsome,” you admit. You hardly ever opened up about your feelings for him, just felt like getting it off your chest.

“I know, Y/N. But I'm telling you, in a dress like that, with looks like yours, you won’t go unnoticed. There is simply no way he won’t stare at you tomorrow. And believe me, I noticed him looking at you in the rearview today. And! He only gave his hand to you for help out of the car. That had to mean something!” Bridgette sits up on the bed, you shortly following. She shakes your shoulders and tells you to be more confident in yourself.

Hours pass by discussing makeup and flirting tips and all the other girly topics you could think of. All in preparation for the gala, of course. You discussed which shoes to wear, which hairstyle would look best, what color lipstick, everything. You knew you would feel pretty tomorrow, just maybe not pretty enough for him.

Bridgette left after all the discussion, being picked up by her own driver. As you were walking back to your room after taking her to the door, you spot Coriolanus in the hall. He was passing off cash to a man you had never seen before. You quickly hide in the doorframe and try to listen as best you can. The man is short, seems friendly enough.

‘Maybe a new hire?’ you think to yourself. Then, you’re finally able to pick up their conversation.

“Just let me pose as the driver for a few more days. I won’t tell Mr. Stirling. Just leave the premises when you’re supposed to pick her up, and return back to the house in however long it would take you to pick her up yourself. Just this last time,” Coriolanus quietly whispers. He’s practically begging the poor man, shoving wads of cash towards him.

‘Are they talking about me? He wants to drive me around? Is that why he’s been my driver?’ Thoughts are running through your head a mile a minute. So fast, you weren’t able to notice the conversation being over, and Coriolanus now heading your way.

Too late to try to hide, you slowly start to reveal yourself as if you had just been walking to your room. He spots you immediately, eyes getting wide. You smile at him slightly, before trying to reach the stairs. However, he speeds up and grabs you by the shoulders, pressing you against a nearby wall.

“Did you hear any of that, Ms. Y/N? Be honest with me.” His eyes piercing into yours, quickly darting from your lips and back up. He looks absolutely insane.

“I- uh no. I don’t even know what you’re talking about I swear,” you lie. His eyes are scanning your face frantically before he releases you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N. As I'm sure you’re now aware, I'll be your driver. Be ready at 5. I’ll pick you up.” He slowly stares for just a second before walking away. He’s wearing a long coat, taking long strides. Something about him is so addicting.

You catch your breath for a second, slowly starting to put the pieces together. He knew you were listening, and now you knew you were correct. He wanted to be your driver and he was bribing the new hire! Oh you couldn’t wait to tell Bridgette about this.

You hurriedly headed up to your room, changing into your PJs and getting ready for bed. Your mind continuously running on overdrive, you couldn’t seem to focus on anything, except the fact he was taking you to the gala tomorrow. Did he like you?

Getting into your bed, it wasn’t long before you fell asleep, Coriolanus heavy on your mind.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x you #coryo x reader #coryo snow #coriolanus x reader #tbosas #tom blyth x you #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth #corio snow #fluff #toxic #rich #dark #young coriolanus snow

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lvrboy-inc · 4 days ago

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<< ✩ >>

sum • A gluttonous artist Suguru and a muse whose value lies at the end of said artist’s brush. Wrapped up in an entanglement of web spiraling ever down into the world of raw artistry.

pov • m!reader

wc • 7.2k

details • Suguru x reader, Satoru Gojo, Shoko Ieiri, Kento Nanami, nepotism, social hierarchy, multi-part series, ongoing, heavy themes, mlm, smut, jjk fanfics, x reader, art college au timeline, poetry.

Color of Eternity • Hex

Swatch #081B45

————

How do you define the word..muse?

To visualize a muse in the eyes of everyone else, of all 8 billion walks of human life on this Earth—you’d come full circle in a matter of milliseconds. In that split moment, you would see that the root of motivation, drive, passion, pursuit and ultimately undying faith is never one singular thing.

No, a muse is..is a concept. A paradigm of something, someplace, someone, that gives your life meaning. That gives every step you take a purpose, makes you feel worthy of each inhale and exhale leading to an inevitable demise. All blissfully hopeful that it’ll have all been worth it.

That you have lived out your life through your muse, dedicated, bled, sweat, and cried your everything into having that sliver of a chance to recreate something that no mortal bounds can ever really capture—emotion.

Not in its entirety, at least.

Take Suguru Geto, for example:

A prodigy of the visual arts. All walks of media and textiles, ranging from photography and all the way up into sculpting with nails and hammers—he had it all on his lengthy résumé. It was what ultimately drew you in about him.

To say he was gifted couldn’t respectfully cover the way he was renowned in the art community, wholly. It was arranged for him from birth and by what some call an angel’s touch, art graced his natural instincts. His parents, who were nothing short of aristocrats if they were limited by a democratic government.

So, with that sort of generational wealth, names, titles and overall reputation—it was no surprise that the family poured all of their investments into making him the best. To make him earn his namesake and paint the world the same violet as his deep pools of irises.

And boy, did he do just that.

Working tirelessly, day and night on lesson to lesson enrolled by his parents. Repeating the lines over and over, erasing and drawing again, just to draw up the same thing but better each and every single time.

Until his hands would cramp, until his pencils would run into nubs, until the paint on the walls dried, until he memorized the dimensions of each page by one simple glance at the edges, until he could properly name any hex code based off look alone, until he could tell the type of hair used for each imported brush.

He became the best. Going on to win several academy awards, graduating from the same Ivy League art college with valedictorian and top marks twice—both in entirely different artistic fields. Suguru was nothing short of a God in the art world. Having traveled and seen national level organizations for his works.

But…the exact definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over..and over and over again, expecting a different result each time.

Having the teachings of art cultures, etiquettes, techniques, customs for countries all across the globe is no small feat. Climbing up that hill, finding out how these different fragrances of creativity are all made, how they smell, how they taste, how they operate, how they bend, break, mold—that was the easy part. That was what he had mastered and conquered.

All of that achievement and empty, blanking copy paste can never replace finding out..why they do.

Why the cathedral’s architect lives on inside, designing the same structures repeatedly to watch them all mortalize and be gazed upon by the masses of lamb. Why the photographer runs through miles and miles of film each and every day—thousands of prints and hours in that blasted red room, watching the ink settle and make a home out of the light-sensitive paper. Why the painter works with broken brushes and stale paint, just to get the last blank space filled in on the canvas:

Suguru doesn’t have that.

Outside the glitz, the glamour, the initial feeling and rushes of euphoria he drew from that love, that pure adoration that came of his first years exploring and honing his art—there was an ever-present and ever-nearing null that marred his every artistic act.

Dull and gray should never be integrated into an artist’s vocabulary. How could someone who knew color theory like scripture possibly see…monochrome in the very blendings of oil and acrylic that he so adored..?

Had it been the childhood bubble bursting too fast? Being tossed into the jaws of harsh critics, of being taught art in languages he could barely comprehend, his parents..oh, that’s a story for another time.

All this is to say…he lacked what all artists subconsciously create in their minds, from the moment they give their first swipe of a pencil, stroke of a brush or hell, even chip at a stone—a muse.

Not to quote history but..that’s where you came in.

In all actuality, you’d entered the narrative before you even knew you were a part of it.

All those years ago, you too had paid a visit from your neighboring college, volunteering to be a model for the Ivy League. You’d already stood in once, for a day and you were just simply perfect for the job. A natural melt to your skin, making every limb and crevice seem all the more enticing and alluring to any naked eye.

The talk of the campus you were, everyone couldn’t get the, “model from the 3D painting wing,” off their lips for what felt like forever—even after you’d taken your leave to drive that hour back to your own college.

Well, that school basically lapped at Suguru’s feet. Akin to that of Mr. Water to Wine himself—the students would go out of their way to appeal to his outwardly business-casual and oh-so drawing charms. Everyone wanted to be all up under Suguru.

However comma, there were possibly two other people who could rank up anywhere close to him in his artistic prowess and popularity.

Satoru Gojo—a sculpting major whose skills matched Suguru’s easily, if not surpassed at times. Hands of magic and pure precision that had quite literally gone into designing the statues that stood there present day—a parting gift from their now-alumni.

Then, there was Shoko Ieiri, a woman as sharp and witty as she was cunning and cutthroat. Also the head of the photography and cinematography majors. Dual-enrollment was certainly a perk when it wanted to be—earning her advanced education programs but the ability to cater both specialities separately and furthermore, integrate them together.

Closer than anything, Satoru was the one who inevitably came barreling into Suguru during passing hour, calling him up to rapt attention as he spewed out the rumors that everyone’s been simply buzzing about.

“Yeah man, he’s like, totally your type. I think he was jus’ visiting or somethin’ because uh..no one’s seen him around campus,” the albino-haired man relayed, arm lazily slung over his friend’s shoulder as he pulled an elongated frown. “Total bummer—I got to see him ‘n you didn’t~” sing sang.

Suguru only shrugged off the words and failed to remove the latch that Satoru had on his shoulder whilst they stalked through the open courtyard. “Please. You think every model we get is hot, Satoru,” he reasoned to his smug-lipped companion. “What’s the big deal with this one? Oh no wait, let me guess, he blinked your way?”

No amount of prestige could really conceal entirely the fact that Satoru was..well, a dog. A sly dog. So any sort of evaluation that he gave based on looks alone had to be at least some type of true. Not like Suguru’d admit that out loud. With Satoru’s ego? He’d never hear the end of it.

“No dude, seriously. I think you should go for it. You’ve got daddy’s money for days,” Satoru drawled, pressing an index from Suguru’s chest and down in a way that made the raven swat his hand away. “I’m sure you could find ‘n get that cutie to come pay your studio a visit.”

Getting to the glass doors of the next wing due for lecture, Suguru simply shrugged, finally getting Satoru off him as the door threatened to close on the more flamboyant of the two. “Yeah, sure. I’ll ask a random art student, ‘Come back to model for my school again, I didn’t get to see you the first time’ and he definitely won’t consider a restraining order.”

“Maybe if it comes from Suguru Geto instead of just Suguru, then you might have a better chance. Abuse your power a little, you’ve got status for a fuckin’ reason,” Satoru left off on a slight bitter, lacing his fingers through the back of his hair, beginning to backpedal in the opposite direction of Suguru once reaching the fork in the hallway. “Quit bein’ a pussy and just go for it. Let me know when he rolls back around.”

“You’ll, in fact, be the very last to know on the astronomically slim chance that he does make an appearance in my class, upon my say-so.” it was already too late for trying to get the last word, seeing as Satoru was already disappearing with a small flow a people who wound up swallowing his form in mere seconds. The abrupt and what felt like unfulfilled ending to the conversation made Suguru’s brow flinch downward a tick.

Blowing off the entire interaction, Suguru did everything in his power—quite successfully, to add—to put the faceless model out of his mind, along with the airheaded words of Satoru’s.

‘Daddy’s Money’—he was one to talk.

The hallways were already clearing and Suguru looked lone standing there in the large foyer like it was his first day. Only a flick of his midnight ends over his shoulder and he was carrying himself off to his designated amphitheater. He was working with clay today, so at least there was that to look forward to.

Except..even in the toss and turn of the earthy material, fingers coated in a layer of slip as he toiled away in his own section of the silent session with different scalpels and colors, his mind was only dragging back and back toward the stranger who’s existence he only knew by word of mouth.

It ate at him.

For what felt like an era, he simply ran through the rest of his classes—on autopilot if you will—up until he’d skipped out on walking to his dorms with Satoru. Suguru knew he’d have to face the brazen-tongued man again, even when he went to the dormitories later.

Why? Well, guess who just so happened to room with him. Yeah, it was an ecstatic idea when they’d first begun to become acquainted, really getting into the swing of things in their friendships and pulling a few strings. As of recent, it had been a bit of the opposite.

Satoru was as nosy as he was talkative. Never would he confirm having a malicious intent but his actions spoke louder than his sugarcoated falsehoods. Even when one sounded sweeter.

So, having to return back there now would evidently put another dent in Suguru’s brain. He’d only revisit the same subject from earlier that had already plagued his daily thought track. All Suguru needed was to clear his head of the whole ordeal—right?

Forget he ever heard of the mysterious model whom he’d never even got to see. Photos weren’t allowed in the studios, or phones in general when references stepped into the box or simply took position. Definitely not if they were…

Gross, Suguru chastised silently, snapping his thoughts up to the boy’s dormitory, yellow hues draping down the tall building whilst people filed off the courtyard.

He’d usually wait for Satoru here, see how classes went, ask what’s for dinner, typical dismissal conversation as they made their way. Be that as it may, it wasn’t the most warming of weather and Satoru wasn’t exactly his favorite person at the moment.

That revelation alone was enough for him to scoff, take a look over at where Satoru was meant to file out of and turn his head directly away. The dorms had a curfew but Suguru could make it—on time or no.

Suguru’s attention was prejudiced to Satoru in the moment and all he honed in on was taking brisk steps off campus, easily slipping out of the front gates and into the barrening parking lot. Sliding into the driver’s seat, already, he’d received texts from Satoru on his whereabouts and those he brushed off as well.

He couldn’t possibly talk to Satoru, knowing that he’d effectively influenced his actions. How so? Suguru had already pulled up your school. Searching through and skimming to see if your name would’ve shown out as some sort of outlier or staple but..it hit him.

What was your name?

Out of everything Satoru had gone and flapped his lips about, your name was never one of them. Great, no name, no face, no nothing. He might as well have gone in and put up a blank missing poster.

If he went to Satoru about it, then he’d know that Suguru was actually considering what he’d said—or to at least reach out. And to deal with him when his pride was puffed up became unbearable at times.

Psychologically pacing and refreshing his notifications a few times, he finally opened Satoru’s messages, not to read but to click off and scroll through his contacts. Like most who have a bit of a following or nuance, read receipts weren’t on for Suguru.

He scrolled for a bit before pulling a relieved smile at Shoko’s name. That woman was like an earth worm, in the sense she heard everything and got every detail for basically anything around campus. She had that personality about her that made one feel as though they could confess their deepest and have it under lock and key.

Whether or not that’s true was all dependent on the person and their own actions.

Though..for this…there was no way she couldn’t help Suguru out. Correction—no way that she wouldn’t help him out. Easily flicking her inbox open, fingers began to type out the message:

S.G. Hey, need a favor.

S.I. This about that modeling guy, right?

Eyeing his screen up and down for a moment, he was not only caught up on the speed of her reply but the fact she predicted what he was going to say.

S.G. …

S.G. He already told you?

S.I. Of course. When does Gojo not run his mouth to me?

S.G. True..but, anyway. I was thinking about things and..

Before he could properly register what he was going to give next:

S.I. Your art block? Yeah. If we think about that then I say you go for it.

S.G. Why are you bringing that up now? This is just another person with a pretty face and some nice collarbones that drive the angle thirsters crazy. Satisfying to put on paper—it’s an art school. I’m simply curious and nothing more.

There weren’t any quick-witted texts that followed.

S.G. So..

S.G. Just keep Satoru’s nose out of this one. I’ll address him how I will about the situation but until then, please just keep him in the dark.

S.I. He’s going to find out eventually.

Always the voice of reason, Suguru groaned in the front of his mind.

S.G. And by then, it’ll already be a done deal. Just a bit of profile stalking and I’ll be able to get rid of this morbid curiosity.

S.I. On it, then. Give me 30.

S.G. Thank you.

S.I. Don’t thank me, Geto. I’m simply giving you what you’re asking for.

S.G. Okay, ominous. Turning my phone off now.

And that he did, easily sliding his cellular into the cup holder and running his hands over his face. Taking a deep breath in, his eyes peered through the mirror in the overhead visor. He could see himself there, murky seldom staring back from the reflection before he closed it up, breathing out deeply as he slumped down in the driver’s.

Was he really about to go through with this..? Thoughts slid back to his earlier mention of restraining orders, making a grimace cross his features briefly.

You’re overthinking it, he chastised to himself, relaxing his posture and coming to lean his head back against the rest. Just then, though, his phone started buzzing in pulses within the hardened plastic of the cup holder.

His fingers drifted over to lift it up, finding three different links and a singular text that came prior to.

S.I. Just so we’re clear, you got none of this from me.

Underneath it being screenshots of not only an Instagram and courses of study but even your class schedule.

Now..Suguru has never really researched other people outside of artists whose methods he replicated or integrated into his works. So looking at their social media, lifestyles, past and present school information was nothing.

Though now, knowing he wasn’t looking for any sort of artistic pursuit—yet—brought a tinge of red to his otherwise milky skin. Hissing out a low sigh, he simply replied:

S.G. Thanks. Don’t know who you are.

Dipping his head back once more, dragging his fingertips through his neck-length, pitch dark tresses, bringing his phone up to lay in his hand closer to the wheel.

Finally, he worked up the balls to actually click on one of the links—the first—your course of study. Sitting back a bit and setting up his elbow on the window, Suguru pressed his cheek up against his knuckles.

Then, he started scrolling.

Turns out, you were..nobody and something big, simultaneously.

A psychology, as well as a fine art major with a minor in modeling and fashion design. Impressive enough, Suguru went over in his head. Though, only one swipe down and he got to see your pieces.

It took a few blinks to settle in to the ranges he was looking at. If one were to call you “talented”, it would reasonably be insulting for the amount of time and effort that went into each individual product.

From dresses thread and woven, with impossible stitching patterns enhanced by a good lens—accessory assortments of grandeur—to paintings and even some murals done for interior designs.

Dissecting each detail had to be the highlight of looking at everything his eyes were laid upon. “Holy shit..” the only appropriate breath that Suguru could get out at the moment, soon catching as he went lower.

Your modeling portfolio.

Typically, models are shown next to the work of the artist but since that was literally your minor, they just had..you.

Easily the best part of Suguru’s little stalking trip on your college website. But now he did regret not seeing you when you’d initially paid the campus a visit. Satoru..was right. Not like Suguru didn’t get the inkling previously, only now it was much more apparent.

To put in layman’s terms—you weren’t easy to draw. You had the kind of figure that a creator of any artistic field would work days and nights to try and capture in the perfect image. His comment about your collarbones hadn’t been way off either.

You were always adorned in some sort of cloth or something that hung off loosely, transparent in some cases but never quite testing the boundaries of work ethics.

And always, always equipped with a..blindfold? For each and every photo, painting, it was a repeated and what seemed like mandatory garment.

Suguru took up the phone a bit closer, turning it sideways to even get a clearer view. Head to toe, it was like there wasn’t a thing out of place. The poses that you portrayed and the emotion that filtered through each stance and anatomical placement.

All of it was intentional and he could read that through your body alone. He was wrestling thoughts that he couldn’t pin down and ultimately clicked his phone off, slipping out of his car. The door closed firmly behind him as he hiked his bag up on his shoulder.

Overreacting. Right. He was just overreacting.

How long had it been since..he got flustered just by looking at someone..? Like a damn teenager, he caught a hint of suggestion and wound up letting that dictate his heart rate.

Nevertheless—did that stop him from contacting Shoko again to get your number just 30 minutes later?

No. Of course not.

What did put a halt to his hasty series of events was his own inhibitions. It was already dark at this point— getting there. Suguru was ultimately a stranger to you and he was going to call you up at this estranged hour in order to get you to come model again..?

It didn’t sound any better no matter how many times he thought it over. What if you asked just how he got your number?

Times like these, Satoru would’ve been on his shoulder or typing the digits in on his own and tossing it back to him after two rings.

But he couldn’t risk that with you. He didn’t want to.

Not after seeing the raw ability that dripped off everything that you created and you, yourself. These factors at play, you still weren’t..known. It certainly wasn’t by coincidence—skills such as yours weren’t hidden so easily.

A cacophony of different thoughts—even taking a bit to realize he hadn’t even checked the other link nor your class schedule—and Suguru was calmly pacing back and forth behind his car, taking a detoxifying breath as he leaned up against the trunk.

Leap of faith, more like a plummet into the abyss. Never the romantic pursuer, only the charming eye candy, actually wanting to go after someone..ah, correction—wanting someone to “model” for him—wasn’t his jurisdiction.

Once more, Satoru would’ve fit in phenomenally here. He’s always giving and taking numbers—calling each sorority twice in a day one time—easily putting himself out there.

That wasn’t Suguru.

The amount of logic Suguru poured into his relationships didn’t allow him to properly just leave the word “love” lying around. With Satoru, you could give him a piece of candy and he’d childishly say he loves you for it.

When Suguru said the word “love” it was too weighty to even feel right after it left his lips. Casual hookups or flings were considered damn-near impossible to the raven. Standing with shaky hands and breaths, he decided to at least make the call worth it.

“I’m..Suguru Geto. Not just..Suguru.” he reassured himself aloud. “Right,” breathed as he steadily typed in the number—that Shoko had so graciously handed over—into the keypad of his phone.

Thumb hovering over the green dial button, Suguru gave it a second then a third thought and pressed it.

Then came the dreaded rings of the call trying.

One, two…three…

Click!

Your voice groggily exhaled out over the line, “Hello?” Already curled up tight in your sheets for an evening nap, you examined your screen, already trying to see if you recognized the number. You didn’t. Probably spam..I’ll prank ‘em if I’m bored enough, you thought up in your faint sleep haze.

“Hi,” Suguru’s voice basically purred over the line. That woke you up. More like woke your body up. “Is this..” gosh, with how he said it, you’d think you were being renamed for a second.

Coughing out a clearing of your throat, you sat upright in your bed a bit. “Yes, this is he..who is this?” you evenly replied.

Suguru’s hand that wasn’t holding his phone adjusted on the hood of his car. “Geto. Suguru, Geto. I believe you modeled for a department at my school not too long ago?”

Pause button—everyone knows Suguru Geto. The Geto family alone was one of, if not the largest name within the city you were in, hell, in the entire coast to add on. So when you heard his name, there was a small gasp that you took in, soon hoping that it missed his ears.

“Modeling? I uh- uhuh. The campus a bit up north, yes?” hiding the waver to your tone under a mask of uncertainty in your words. “..That was a while back…you..y-you heard of me?”

No way did you just stutter. You hadn’t stuttered in years—thank goodness for distance because your ears were burning up already, in color and in metaphor. “I did. A colleague of mine..” Suguru glanced off to the boy’s dormitory building that was still shimmering in the far end of the courtyard. “He pointed you out to me. Was real impressed.”

“So..if I may interject,” piping up, your head gave a slight tilt into your phone’s receiver, “Were..you impressed? Is that why you called, sir?”

Scoffing, Suguru rolled his eyes at the honorific, “Please, I’m barely a year your senior—just call me Suguru,” he said, even as he was bringing a hand to the lower half of his face, a mock attempt at clearing the dash of flush there. “And..you could say something like that.”

“Right, because the great Suguru doesn’t throw around his praises so easily,” in a testy, playful lilt.

It must’ve been humorous, seeing as that earned a wry leaving his lips. Had he sized you up too quickly? Suguru expected you to be a bit more..refined, in reference to your works—the seldom in how you took your photos next to them—and for that to transfer into a personality he’d have to chip at.

But it was..so easy to talk to you.

“I give my praises to those who deserve it. Simple as that,” hummed. “But I’ll say that you..piqued my interest, is all.”

You could tell he was trying to hold up that professionalism with burly arms but even so, his interest that was a little more than piqued with you easily wafted over through his words. “Ah, but..I had…a request.” Don’t fuck up, loud in his head.

“Ask away. I’m honored the Suguru Geto even bothered to call my phone.” a little too honest but it was honest.

Getting recognized or scouted by someone of his standing was what every small artist dreamt of. Having a conversation with him now didn’t even feel real. What was he going to say next?

Suguru swallowed down slowly, as if swallowing down every diversion that wanted to continue on his proposition and his lips parted for him to speak once again. “Modeling—would you do it again? I mean..for this school.”

“For your school, you mean?” you’d rephrased lightly, shifting your ankles at a cross on your sheets as you settled your body against your raised knees.

“Uh..yeah. My school.” Suguru could feel his palms sweating—holding his breath. Had he not done enough prep for the ask? It was obvious you knew who he was but to assume your level of intrigue would be..entitled or even run along the thin lines of narcissism.

Though, it wasn’t so completely obvious that you were underlyingly swooning. Not in the sense you were head over heels, no. Similar to how a piano player would react to seeing the person who wrote their favorite piece of sheet music.

A subtle, cordial freak out.

Too caught up in the question that he’d just asked—what to say following—you only piped up when you realized how longing your silence was becoming. “I-I mean, I’m not declining—in no way declining—but..may I ask..why?”

“You sure do love asking questions,” he smoothed back.

Catching that faint of a purr again, you weakly cleared your throat. “Sorry-”

“It’s a good trait.” adjoining his previous statement too late. “Something that we look for..here. You’ve…sort of been on everyone’s mind on campus and I just..” his voice trailed.

“You just..”

Suguru bit his lip on the other line, trying to figure out he was going to verbalize how exactly he felt about you without sounding blunt but simultaneously not..a bit out of it.

Choosing that the latter was better, he began, moving his phone to his other hand and moving to the side of the car. Getting back in the driver’s, securing the door, he breathed out. “I’m trying to scout you.”

“Scout me?”

“Yes, that..is what I said,” Suguru nodded along. “I’m just..giving you a chance to be the better that I see.”

An instant warm flash up your neck and spreading across your face, you took a deep breath and completely flopped back down into your pillow. “Why..me, of all?” you sighed solemnly.

“If you make the trip, I can show you. You know the atmospheres of our studios, it’ll be easier to accentuate my point in person, in that environment.” He knew he was starting to sound pushy, so, he leaned his seat all the way back slowly. “So..are you free anytime? If anything, I can make a personal request for you to make the whole attendance situation even out.”

Brushing your wrist over your eyes, you licked your lips absentmindedly. “And how am I to explain my abscence outside of academics..? How do you think my friends will react if I just up and leave?”

Trying not to sound irritated at your insistence, Suguru smiled smally. “I’ll handle that.”

“Aand..work I’ll miss?”

“Do you want to be escorted over here or shall I press this pretty red button and leave you to your evening?” Well, so much for hiding that irritation.

You caught every wind of it, pressing your tongue along the upper set of your teeth. “Friday works for me.” you finally gave.

“I’ll make a call,” Suguru calmly put. “In the meanwhile..just uh..text me if you need anything. Do you..need anything?” he hastily added.

You shook your head, quickly switching to a soft “No, Suguru,” whenever you realized he couldn’t exactly see your silent negation. “That’ll be all.”

Suguru could sense the tension that now lingered in your words. Leave on good terms. “I’ll..be looking forward to our next meeting. Truly.”

“…Me too,” said gently, “Have a good night, Suguru Geto.”

“And the reciprocal, but..if I may, one little question.”

“Proceed, cautiously.”

Forcing his heart to stop overlapping with your voice, he spoke all in one breath, “Why the blindfold?”

To this day, you still deny that that gasp left you when he asked. Immediately, an exhale, “Good night, Suguru.” and dial tone click.

The very first thing that you did was turn fully over onto your stomach, burying your face into your pillow and giving one good and entirely justified scream. Both out of frustration and fluster. It was really starting to set in that you’d just been scouted by the Suguru Geto.

Your body was just as animated, feet fluttering with light thuds down onto the mattress to coincide along your little fit. When you finally got the last bit of audio out of your lungs, you peered your eyes over your forearm. Looking through your strands that obstructed a bit of your vision, you got a concerned and mildly condescending side glance from your roommate.

The classical bookworm who was increasingly more wizened than the average enabler of your surrounding parties. A pretty blond, Greek art historian and poet: Kento Nanami. Or your life-long confidant and companion.

You two had essentially grown up side by side. Two anti-socialists who found connection through the intricacies of creation. “Best friends” would be nothing if not inappropriate to describe your bond. Though, lovers is far from the truth.

Nanami was the voice of reason and the person who kept your head screwed—relatively—tight on your shoulders.

Though, that voice of reason can get grating. Which it was now as he looked up from his desk, taking off those thinly framed glasses that had been assisting him with the literature on the dark polished mahogany. “You know that you can’t just fly under the radar for an entire day, yes?”

“I can..and will.” you snipped.

“No need to throw me on the bad side of the tracks. I’m just saying that you should think this through more,” the stale faced man reasoned. “And given how you didn’t bother to see if I was listening, I’m assuming you wanted me to try and talk you out of it.”

Scoffing, you swung your legs over your bedside, standing to your feet and giving a long stretch of the arm that’d been holding your phone recently. “I don’t need you to talk me out of anything. This..this can be good. For both of us.”

“It sounds like he’s solely interested in you. Or your, quote, ‘modeling.’”

“Why is there quote around modeling? Listen, you’re the pessimist and I’m not. I can put in a good word or two for you while I’m there, as well.” taking a few steps closer, you rested the flats of your fingers onto your hip.

He spun his chair to face you fully, leaned back with his hands folded on the chair between the parting of his legs. “A good tongue flip or two, more like.”

“Vulgar.”

“Is that not the connotation?” he immediately retorted.

A sharp roll of your eyes to the right and you were letting off a sigh—looking off for a moment before falling back onto him. “It’s not like that. I won’t let it be like that. This is purely artistic, plus, what are we going to do in a public studio, Nanami?”

He gave his own version of a sigh, more like just a short breathy exhale in other words. Now he knew you were getting up in arms already given how you used his last instead of his first or your name for him.

Choosing his next words carefully, he soon unfolded his hands, dipping them out in an ‘Oh well’ fashion. “Right. You know best.”

“Don’t do that.” you bit.

“There’s nothing you need me to talk you out of so..go for it. You had fun the last time..I don’t know why I thought it would be otherwise.” your expression reluctantly softened and the cut to your gaze dulled.

Shaking your head, you spun his chair around snaily, leaning over to the side to grab his glasses. Easily sliding them in place by tucking some of those silky blonde strands out of the way.

“…Sorry. I know you have reason to worry but…have a little faith in me, Nami.” you reassured in a softer breath than prior. “Promise I won’t get myself into any trouble. This is just another creative learning experience to me.”

“Yeah, with your idol.” given dryly. Already taken up his richly inked fountain pen once more, he peered over his shoulder to view you a bit better.

Your lips immediately pressed into a smile of withdraw. It caught Nanami a bit off for a tick. “With those glasses, you really do look better. Like how you did in highschool.”

“Changing the topic on me?” he pressed, even so, still bringing his index up to his nose bridge to push the frames further into security. “Either way, I might go back. Contacts aren’t so time efficient.”

“Well then, sounds like you have more important things to worry about, huh?” you chimed, giving an affirming two pats to his shoulders before leaning up straight again. “Stick to the books, writer boy.”

Finally choosing to high road, he took that last jab in silence and this time, just putting his headphones in as you retreated back to your own bed—mirroring.

Although it seemed you both knew there were going to be certain boundaries and guidelines for the upcoming—there was clearly already outlines of a blockade forming between you and Nanami over it.

But..you doubted that it would ever be truly significant. It was one with the other, always a package deal. You’d make sure of that.

“Night, Nami.” there his name was. Right back in its rightful place on your lips.

Just before he clicked play he uttered the same and was right back to his rhythmic scritching in his—preferably leather-bound—sketchbook. Although it was a sketchbook, it was accounted as an official class notebook as well. You’ve been a feature more than a few times, in multiple.

That pretty much concluded your night but Suguru was still in the midst of dealing with a Satoru that wasn’t too fond of the extra—if not over—2 hours unaccounted for in that parking lot and even after.

Getting back into the building was easy since the security were—practically—running on his parent’s dime but also weren’t necessarily too foreign to turning blind eyes to Suguru’s affairs. The only problem presented itself after he got back into his own dorm.

Lights off, cartoons running on the living room television as the snowy-haired man sat on the couch with a perched hand under his chin. Satoru’d already heard him shoving his keys in the door and now he was more alert than the half-asleep state he’d been wading in and out of beforehand.

“And here I thought you’d gone missing. Shame.” catty as ever, never pulling those glacial blues off the flashing colors that the screen threw out in its frames.

The air was faintly tense, not trying to let Satoru get the inkling that he’d been out for nefarious reasons—Suguru bent down at the door and softly waited until the latch clicked. His fingers went to his dress shoes, deftly pulling the laces loose. “Already with the attitude? What are you, five?”

“Five, what a number. About the same number representing the time we meet after classes. You know, at the end of the day, together.” Now, Satoru was turning to face his newly-arrived roommate, crossing arms over his chest and cocking his head of at an angle.

A bat of Suguru’s lashes and he was standing back up fully, peeling his school-affiliating sweater down off his shoulders and undoing the two buttons that had held it together at his front.

“Something came up, didn’t have time to text you.” he breathed, taking his hair down from that pinned-up bun and draping his sweater over the back of a dining chair.

“Don’t bullshit me,” Satoru sneered. “You always have time to text me—you just didn’t and I want to know why.” Of course he was going straight into this sorry interrogation attempt. He was just being nosy and going about it in an accusatory guise.

Having went through this same broken record a thousand times over, “Calm down, Satoru. I was out for a little longer than usual and now what? You’re all of a sudden some..some sort of disappointed parent?”

The television finally got lowered after that—shut off completely in fact as Satoru got to his feet, jamming his hands into the pockets of his house shorts. In about three steps he was inches away from face to face with Suguru. Eyes at a bladed angle, they flicked down and up the more unaffected party.

“I am calm.” he punctuated between his teeth.

“And, that vein in your forehead totally isn’t about to burst,” Suguru retorted. “Can you just be alright with me saying ‘I was out’ and ask me how my day went or something?”

Tapping his fingers in a roll over his bicep, Satoru’s tongue did one swipe along the back of his teeth. “Okay, Suguru. I won’t press you, matter of fact—I’ll wait until you’re ready to have this conversation. Or any conversation.”

“Seriously? Silent treatment? Who would that truly benefit in the long run? Let’s stop this petty bickering, Satoru. I’ve had a long day and so have you.”

Jamming a finger into Suguru’s chest, Satoru pulled a wry in passive aggression. “Right, like you’d even know how my day went—you were barely there. Shoko and I even had the time to go out to eat after classes ended.”

That made Suguru pause for a moment. Had Shoko been right next to him while…

Blinking the thought away, Suguru put his hands up in a placating gesture. “Sorry, I’ll make it up to you, promise.”

“…How?” raised a curious eyebrow.

“I’ll pay your cafeteria fee for a month.”

Satoru’s eyes switched between the marble plum depths of Suguru’s. “Are you trying to..bribe me?”

“Depends, is three months enticing enough for you?” Suguru pried, poorly concealing the way his lips were starting to peel back. “Come on, you know you’re the richest cheapskate I know.”

Kissing his teeth at the backhanded undercurrent, Satoru pressed his lips into a thin line. “I’m not so easily bought but I’ll consider this a rental. Whatever, Suguru.”

“I haven’t ‘rented’ anything in quite some years now.” purred back, as the raven slipped past the diffused situation, patting him on the back. It was nothing to make his way into the hallway that housed either of their rooms on each side.

It looked smaller from the outside, though that could’ve been because the lavish bathrooms were inside said accomadations. And as Suguru’s tired feet dragged him to his door, he gently twisted the knob to sleuth in.

Only there did he have a slow moment—a hand up to his chest was all the information needed to tell the bullet he’d really dodged. Several, even.

But that wasn’t out of the ordinary. To make it out barely scathed among a landmine of minūt and first-world issues. And frankly, Satoru was about as first-world as it got. It was one of his greatest strengths and—though he’d comment on the word—weaknesses.

Suguru knew how to play cards right to not make it seem like he was directly looking down on him but at times, his actions spoke louder than well..anything.

Though, undressing and getting down to his boxers before sitting on the edge of his bed, Satoru was the last thing on his mind. He dug around in his dresser for a moment, pulling out his signature box of tobacco cigarettes and a lighter gifted to him by Shoko herself.

Allowing himself a moment to light the small flicker flame and lean back to give the ceiling a staring contest, the end of the wrapped up stress-reliever shortened with a hiss. Ash darkened the sections that had been snuffed of flame, now replaced with embers in Suguru’s lungs.

Taking his hand down and coming to lay fully back on his king-size, he blew out the smoke into the moonlit air—just a sliver behind those velvety curtains that he’d had personally installed. His eyes caught on the trail that hung and strangely, he couldn’t seem to pull himself out of the stupor that was…you.

Stupors technically have a negative feeling when they’re described but in this context, it was closer to wading through a hot spring for the first time. Unknown sensations at the bottom, warmth and new waters on the surface. Overall, something new.

A new flavor in the palette of the glutton.

Of course..it was impossible for him to place whether the bitter or sweet was stronger when it came to..you. Whether there was a cure hidden in your symphony of layers or poison that was laced within the depths of the journey he wanted to embark on—finding out just who you are. But he’d get a taste of you, the real you, sooner or later. For now..all he had to worry about was getting you into his studio—or the studio, that is.

————

Masterlist || ....

A/N: Have no fear, Deep Faker is on the way next, lol. But uhm..yeah, this happened. Call it a bad case of yearning or simply artistic motivation but please, embark with me.

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holylulusworld · 10 months ago

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SPN Omegaverse Week Masterlist

Masterlist for the SPN Omegaverse Week April 14th - April 20th 2024

All stories are written for the @spnkinkevents SPN Omegaverse Week

Day 1, 14.04.2024 (Heat/RUT) - Tear you down (Dean Winchester)

Day 2, 15.04.2024 (Scenting) - Fragrances (Sam Winchester)

Day 3, 16.04.2024 (National Anal Sex Day) - Tight fit (Soulless!Sam Winchester)

Day 4, 17.04.2024 (Submissive Alpha and/or Dominant Omega) - A gentle scent (2) sequel to A gentle scent (Dean Winchester)

Day 5, 18.04.2024 (Mating/Claiming) - Tear you down (2) sequel to Tear you down (Dean Winchester)

Day 6, 19.04.2024 (Slick) - Ready for harvest sequel to Hungry like the wolf (Sam, Dean & John Winchester - no Wincest)

Day 7, 20.04.2024 (Alpha/Omega for Hire) - Faking it all (2) sequel to Faking it all (AU!Dean Winchester)

#dean winchester #sam winchester #SPN Omegaverse Week #a/b/o #alpha!dean winchester #alpha!john winchester #alpha!sam winchester #smut #supernatural #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #female reader

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ruershrimo · 1 year ago

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lyney x reader: hair (drabble)

features lyney

warnings: nothing except the fact that the text isn’t capitalised or proofread ;v;.

notes: what’s this, me writing for a character that isn’t from the first three nations? anw yeah so this is a drabble but it’s over 100 words,,, also sorry but my exams are in. two days. so. I may be m.i.a. for a while… hope you guys are alright with short things like this and the childe one

synopsis: his hair is really pretty, you think.

unlike his siblings, lyney’s hair is slightly different.

lynette’s hair is soft to the touch, and smells slightly of lumidouce bells. it’s smooth to the point that it’s slippery, always slipping through the gaps in her fingers, always obeying to her ribbons when she’s out at night; the glow of her and her cats’ eyes seeping through the cracks in the walls, learning each of their secrets. freminet’s hair is a beautiful pale blonde, the same as his mother’s before she left; the same as his mother’s, a woman his siblings never knew. it’s straight, but coarse on the ends whenever he resurfaces from the water. nevertheless, it suits his eyes swimmingly. sapphire gems on gold fleece.

lyney, however, lyney, the leader, the oldest, has hair with the fragrance of rainbow roses perpetually remaining on its strands. he makes little effort to keep it as gorgeous and luscious as his sister’s, when he very well could— to him it’s not as if lynette pays particular heed to her hair anyway, he’s the one who brushes through her hair and gets her the shampoo she likes because he knows she loves it.

his hair, to himself, is waiting backstage and anticipating a new show no matter how much of a lie it may be; it’s showering as speedily as he can no matter how much he wants to remain in the steady caress of running water, out of habit yet not allowing his siblings do the same, and choosing to brush his siblings’ hair so that they feel comfortable and have the best night’s rest they can have; it’s falling asleep on accident while you kiss his head, rub the pads of your fingers against his skull and brush through the strands ever so gently, as if for a moment he is precious as shards of glass about to shatter even more, as if for a moment he has been redeemed and has never been an actor, has never been a man overdue for confessions.

lyney’s hair to you is strolling in a field, senses awakened by the heady scent of flowers; it’s the comfort in gazing up at the stage and watching him paint the world until it becomes a sea of clamour, an ocean of awe, a vast land of smiles; it’s waking up to him and coffee being brewed behind you as he’s already set and ready for the day with his hair braided to the side. his hair is pretty, pretty because there was never a time when he was not, pretty because he braids it and makes the effort to keep it neat and tidy even if it’s not gorgeous or luscious, so pretty and hence you comb your fingers through it whenever you can.

and it doesn’t have to be slippery-smooth like lynette’s, nor does it have to be as ethereal as freminet and his mother’s. you’d love his hair any other way.

—

“you’ve always got beautiful hair, lyney,” you comment, one day, resting your nonchalance and your chin on your palm and elbow. “you’re always so pretty.”

he laughs. “why, are you trying to steal my poor little heart? oh, take it away, wrest it if you will. and besides, when have I ever been fairer than you?”

“always,” you state, matter-of-factly. “but you’re the prettiest. your hair curls a little at the end and it fits the way your eyes fill themselves with wonder when you’re on stage, or how you braid your hair to the side in the morning like that, I think. it’s like lynette’s, but I think I like yours just a little more. it’s really pretty, that’s all.”

“my, you’ve rendered me speechless, haven’t you?”

your lips curl into a smile. “I suppose I have.”

#hehe. hehehehe. I put the ‘readmore’ in the middle this time. I’m being so funky rn hahaha exams are in two days I’m going to decompose #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #lyney x reader #genshin impact lyney #lyney #genshin impact #ruer writes

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appleflavoredkitkats · 5 months ago

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my little champion

(a semi-poetic essay about c!fundy)

“my”

is a possessive term, denoting something, particularly an item, singularly belongs to the person speaking. you use this term a lot, especially when referring to my sister.

my l'manberg, you said. my unfinished symphony, forever unfinished. the country we grew up in, the country we share with those i consider family, is solely and singularly yours. what does that bode for me? how undistinguishable am i from my sister? l'manberg was a peaceful community, but it was your peace and your community, founded on people-centric principles that you hypocritically created on your own. my, because you wanted to hold a one-party election, where your running mate threatened to exile me from my birthplace. my, because you exploded the damn place because it didn't seem to meet your ideological standards, even if you and schlatt are two sides of the same charmful coin.

my, because no matter how dead or looked down upon you are, your fingers grip around me like a ball and chain. i am eternally connected to you via being.

“little”

is an adjective, denoting how miniscule a specific object is.

i am a mere speck, no matter where you are. you have a tendency to crouch. if not, you're on a stage that's ten feet tall, being slaughtered by grandpa as you look down on me. i see your eyes everywhere. in the tall trees that vignette my tiny cabin in the woods, in the casino that looms over my half-built shack next to the las nevadan horses.

unfavorability is a gene i did not expect to possess, because that doesn't seem like a possibility in the family. grandpa is favored by the god of death. you were resurrected to fulfill some vengeful power dynamic. meanwhile, grandma has granted me the ability to take my own life— the only one in this wasteland who has done it upon themself. how meaningless, she might have thought, when she saw me throw myself into pits of broken promises.

i am absence personified. schrodinger's fox trapped in its box. i was not invited to save tommy and tubbo when they regained the discs. i was not there when quackity concluded his quest for power. i am air, i am silence. i'm smaller than a breath, than the atoms that compose our bodies.

“champion”

defines a winner. someone who has triumphed, whether because they gained something in copious amounts, or because they've overcome a persistent struggle.

this word can only exist with the other two prefixes. little champion, because i am the breathing time in between your bigger victories. my champion, because my joys in life are not mine. they must be and always are tied to you. we celebrated our nation's independence, long ago, and i anticipated to be repaid the promises you've made. in dread, i waited, i waited, and i waited.

but the truth is, you’ve given it to me on that same day. you dream of peace, of community-shared resources. of protection, of families forever devoted to each other. that is l'manberg. it is a case of your desired triumphs, of the ideal world you fought for incessantly. but at some point, something switched— perhaps, a button— and you saw it as burdensome weight. you coughed it onto me and i collected it. that baggage, that immunity to this wasteland's cyclical violence.

you have injected upon me the parts of yourself undesirable, and thus i have become undesirability itself. i have become what the server seeks but is never seen, dragged down by the prefixes that make me invisible and an irrevocable pathway to you.

when dream stops killing, when swords are sheathed and shields tucked away, when the wasteland starts growing lilies and unwithered roses again, that is me. that should be me. they will pick those flowers up, the ones that have bloomed from my previous carcasses, smell their wonderful fragrance and think, why haven't we thought of this before?

and yet, i will smile. i will sit beside them and keep them company. if i had the capacity to be selfish, i would impart my cassandrian screams. but i'm not. instead, i will smell the same flowers with them, happy that, perhaps, their wasteland would be salvageable, even if i wasn't included in the blueprints.

#mcyt #dream smp #fundy #c!fundy #my writing #dream smp analysis #dsmp #dream smp poetry #suicide mention tw

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wanderingxiao · 1 year ago

Text

-The Cruel Prince-

NSFW, 18+ only Plz~

Summary: Prince Scaramouche is a ruthless Prince ruling over Inazuma. His engagement to a princess has him upset. You are his servant who he talks to regularly. He invites you to his private chambers one day...

Pairing: Prince! Scaramouche x Servant! Female Reader

Warning: Mean/Nice Scara, power relationship, fluffy cuteness, mean princess she don't got no name, unprotected sex, foul language, mutual masturbation, porn w/ plot, and cream pies hehe.

Word Count: 6.3K (...These are too long. I'll be making some shorter smuts without so much plot!)

Enjoy~

“Hmph, you, servant. Meet me in my personal chambers when you are finished. Do not leave me waiting long.” Splashes of dark lavender pooled from his eyes, his gaze piercing and powerful as he stared intimidatingly in your direction. The flashes of his Royal outfit shining under the chandeliers of the palace. With a swift turn, the prince left the kitchen where you had been cleaning up with the other servants. Low murmurs were exchanged among your co-workers, most in envy, some in fear, and some with pity. Prince Scaramouche of Inazuma truly was someone to be feared among all ranks, Including those of other nations. Just the mention of his name and the sound of thunder struck fear into the souls of even the dead. Now here this terrifying man was, inviting you to his personal chambers.

What could Prince Scaramouche possibly want with someone like you?

As a product of Queen Ei’s corrupt contract with an outcasted mage, Prince Scaramouche was conceived purely from the virgin queen. She needn’t no king by her side, only a son to take over in her steed once he was of age. The prince was a cruel man. He was merciless to those who deceive him. Unforgiving to those who do not yield under the frigid gaze his familiar lavender eyes cast. And spiteful to the trespassers and criminals that threaten to tarnish the reputation his name held. The fluidity of his tongue was similar to the way he held the sharpened blade adorning his hip, precise and always going for the kill. The frostiness of his dark lavender eyes was enough to scare the strongest men in any kingdom to bow to his feet. The prince truly is a cruel man.

But he can kind.

In fact, your first meeting with Prince Scaramouche was somewhat pleasant. After dusting the library, you had a bit of free time before your next task and chose to enjoy reading a novel. Being too engrossed in your book, you failed to notice the prince entering the room. His harsh tongue broke you from your intense concentration, standing up to bow to him with an apology quick on your lips. He was silent for a moment before he asked what you were reading. You briefly explained a vague summary of the book and the prince gave only a hum of acknowledgment. He didn’t disturb you more and simply left off into the library to retrieve a book of his own. A week later, you identified his lonely figure sitting at a cushioned royal blue sofa reading the book you had been reading. Thus, starting your complex relationship with Prince Scaramouche. Meeting in the library every two days to quietly discuss literature over tea.

Going to his personal chambers… was new.

Once you finished with your task, you made your way down the quiet hallways towards Prince Scaramouche’s private chambers. The sound of your own footsteps echoed in the stillness of the halls, almost identical to the sound of the thunder that often reined in the quiet and gloomy kingdom of Inazuma. The large mahogany doors of the prince’s private chambers came into your view, the smooth oak fragrance swimming through your nostrils, making you remember just how wealthy and powerful the prince was. Muffled voices came from the other side of the wooden doors, and you debated whether you should leave and come back at a different time. Reflecting over the prince’s words, you gave three firm knocks on the door, silencing the voices on the other end until one spoke loudly and sternly.

“Enter.” After an approval was voiced, you carefully entered the room and laid eyes on Prince Scaramouche and his fiancé. The cold look in his eyes never left, even for the woman whom he was betrothed to. The princess was already looking at you when you entered, a disgusted and envious look in her eyes. “What is this servant doing here in your room, Scaramouche? You knew I was coming today yet you still invite someone to your room to bother us?!” The prince paid no mind to the princess’s obnoxious question and beckoned you with his index finger. With quiet and careful steps, you made your way to the prince, standing in front of his desk looking down at him. “(Y/N).” Your eyes widened upon the use of your name. In the palace —at least in Inazuma—royals were not supposed to speak or even know their servants’ names. It was deemed unnecessary and a bit too close for blue-blood liking. Getting close to a servant was strictly forbidden, so you never told him your name even when he requested it of you. “Escort the princess out.”

“What?! But we’re supposed to be planning our wedding! You can’t throw me out! I won’t leave!” The princess sat down on one of his purple cushioned seats accented by a midnight threading. The prince merely looked at her and back to you, his eyes sharply narrowing as if to tell you to obey him. With a deep breath you politely spoke to the princess, “Please, princess. The prince has requested you-“ The princess stood making you stop your sentence as you believed she was going to leave. Her body turned towards you, her expensive heels clicking along the wooden floors of the prince’s private chambers until she was on you. In a blur, her hand rose and left a nasty red imprint on your cheek. Your legs felt shaky and the sting from her slap made tears water into your eyes. “Don’t ever speak to me so carelessly like that again, servant! I will be your queen! You treat me with respect! Do not let this happen again! I will return later to discuss our planning!”

The princess left, leaving you alone with Prince Scaramouche. The silence was utterly deafening. His dark lavender eyes were focused on your cheek, studying the rising redness that stained your perfect skin. A slender gloved finger rose and instructed you to come to his side. Your steps were shaky towards him, the thumping of your own heart loud in your ears the closer to got to him. You stood by his chair; gaze set down to him relaxing in his expertly crafted chair. The moment your eyes met you could feel how intense and threatening his gaze really was. Dark lashes fluttered against his eyes once he spared you a few lucid blinks. Your hands clasped together in front of you, awaiting an order from the prince.

“On your knees.” The command was stern and deep, practically forcing you to your knees beside the arm of his chair. Prince Scaramouche turned his chair to face you, his knees so close to your face you thought he was accidentally going to kick you in the face. You closed your eyes, lips tightening in a thin line awaiting his words. “…Lift your head.” You did as he instructed, your eyes landing on the smug and prideful expression that plastered itself onto his pale features. A cruel and teasing smile spread onto his lips, obviously pleased by your unwavering obedience. “Do you know why I’ve asked you to come?” Your head shook honestly, any sense of words dying in your throat as you struggled to maintain eye contact with him. A low chuckle slipped from his throat, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Truly pathetic you are…”

“F…Forgive me, Prince…” His midnight gloved hands gripped your chin causing red to blossom over both your cheeks. The smoothness of his thumb rose to glide over your lips, his eyes now focused on the plush softness of your lips. Once he realized he was staring a bit too longingly at your lips, he scoffed and let your chin go, now running his fingers along the handprint swollen into your cheek. “Such a good girl. You always listen so well. I’ll make sure her actions do not go unpunished as your reward.” Your eyes widened slightly at his praise and promise. Your lips parted only to have his finger press lightly against your lips. “Keep those pretty lips shut and listen.” You remained quiet, the heat of your cheeks only increasing due to the closeness of his touch. He retracted his hand and sighed out in frustration. “That wretch needs to go back to her own kingdom and stop interfering in my personal affairs so much. It’s damn annoying that I can’t get a moment to breath without her head weaseling its way so far up my ass I can’t even shit her out if I tried.”

A small giggle left your mouth, humored by his foul language and use of words. He paused to listen to your laughter, his face lighting up in surprise and bewilderment at such a sound. You lowered your head quickly muttering an apology. This only amused him more. “Hah! Am I truly that scary or are you this weak?” With a slightly flustered expression, you bit your lip and looked up to him again, shaking your head in response. The look that graced his dark lavender eyes told you that he wanted you to speak. He needed to hear it. “I…I’m not scared of you, Prince Scaramouche. You’ve always… been kind to me, even at our meetings in the library to discuss books. You’ve never shown true malice towards me. I only worry of disappointing you, Prince.”

It was evident from the look on his face that he was greatly pleased by your answer. “Hmm. A fine answer. That deserves a little reward don’t you think?” A sly smile spread across his lips, his teeth peaking from the plushness of his pale pink lips. Your face began to flush pink again, watching helplessly as his face leaned closer to yours. “How about a kiss? I think that sounds like a lovely reward.” Your heart hammered harder against your chest; your eyes wide as the prince tilted his head towards your lips. Nothing could stop him from doing as he pleased with you. You closed your eyes tightly, waiting for the impact of his lips against yours. A low chuckle came beside your ear, making you flinch. “Haha, you should see the look in your face. Did you actually think I was going to kiss you?”

“A-Ah?! W-Wait no… I-I’m so sorr—Mmph!” A hungry pressure was applied onto your lips, silencing your pitiful apology to the powerful prince. His tongue forced your lips apart, sliding over your teeth and gums with a predatory dominance. Your hands gripped the frilled fabric of your servant’s dress, eyes screwed tightly shut as you shook in his forceful lip-lock. Your mouth weakly fell apart for him, letting his tongue invade your mouth to claim you as his own. His gloved hand slid through your hair, lightly tugging your head back to push his tongue deeper. Your body was beginning to get hot, a soft sigh of embarrassed pleasure leaving your mouth into his. His lips curled against yours, letting you feel the way his expression morphed. He pulled away from you, his tongue slowly leaving yours to let your eyes see the thick string of saliva that connected your tongues. With a flick of his tongue the string snapped, his perverted tongue gliding over his upper lip. “You taste intoxicating. You sure you’re not trying to poison me or something?”

You couldn’t speak. Any words that tried to escape your lips couldn’t from the sheer shock of everything that was happening. All you could do was gaze up at him in awe. A slight sneer rose to his expression before he turned away with a dismissive pat and ruffle of your hair. “Your initial purpose for being here is no longer important. That’ll be all. You’re dismissed.” You blinked and swallowed thickly, shakily standing and bowing to him. Your face was purely red, utterly embarrassed and flustered by the events that transpired. The intensity of his gaze weighing in on the back of your head was truly terrifying. It felt as if he was sizing you up, studying your body and your physique to find your weak spot so that he can effectively pounce and devour you.

He was hunting you.

It wouldn’t be long before he would strike again.

Mindless chatter drummed against your ears as you quietly sat in the dining hall eating your dinner. Other servants surrounded you, eating their fills of the cooks’ tireless efforts. The prince and the princess had finally set a date for their wedding, which would also be the prince's coronation. You could tell by the way he carried himself lately that he was far from being please about this. The princess couldn’t have been more ecstatic. Her eyes sparkled roaming the halls of the palace, trying to make sense of all the turns and paths to get to where she needed to go the most. The servants attempted to avoid the princess due to her ludicrous and outright psychotic requests —mostly having to deal with Prince Scaramouche. Her goals were truly sinful, and the request of you and some other female servants was all the proof of that.

She wanted to be intimate with the prince.

Your mind drifted back to the day he kissed you. After Prince Scaramouche had sealed his lips on yours in a heated kiss, you tried to avoid him as much as you could, but he always found a way to get you. He always threw sly and underhanded comments about you trying to avoid him or being too flustered to face him. His mouth never quit running. His fingers began to linger more on your hands when you handed him a book, his eyes following your lips and letting them lower shamelessly to stare at your chest. His scent clogged your nose, his aura dazed your mind, and his voice was like constant music to your ears, hypnotizing you to think of him and him only. It was as if he had been with you all day and all night. Even when he isn’t around it always felt like his presence was somewhere close by.

It was obvious.

You were starting to fall in love with him.

A loud bang interrupted you from your thoughts. The door to the dining hall burst open, involuntarily welcoming the prince to the servants only area of freedom from work. His eyes connected with yours immediately, heated, and intense eyes glaring coldly at you. “Come to my chambers. Now!” His voice was booming and full of distaste, it was a contrast to what he had been showing you the past few weeks. The seductive and flirtatious tone he used with you was gone in this moment. Nothing but pure rage and detest radiating from his rather short frame. You rose slowly, the eyes of all the other servants following you as you walked towards him. Low murmurs were exchanged, making your expression sour which the prince took notice of quickly. “Silence! You dare to speak so casually and rudely in my presence? I should have all your heads!”

The room fell eerily silent, the only thing being heard was your quiet footsteps towards the prince. His eyes trained on you, lips forming a straight line as he had to compose himself before he started dragging you away by force. Once you were in front of the prince he turned swiftly and walked out with haste, expecting you to follow closely. You matched his stride, following behind not making a peep since it was crystal clear that the prince was in a terrible mood. The familiar narrows and curves of the hallway alerted you to where he was leading you. The intimidating thumps of his boots sounded like the raging thunder that rocked the land and haunted the dreams of children. It felt as if you were caught in the middle of a terrible storm that showed no mercy with merciless winds and crackling thunder.

The prince swung the door open, grabbing your wrist and pulling you in with a harsh tug. A surprised gasp flew from your lips, not expecting the sudden impact when your back hit the dark wood of his door. The lock slid into place with a click as the prince’s gloved hands twisted the lock. He was quick in his movements, lips locking with yours in a passionate kiss. The leather of his gloves slid along your wrists, slowly pushing your hands up above your head until he held them there with one hand, trailing the other back down your arm to your face. A soft sigh left your mouth, your body instantly becoming weak at the prince’s dominant touch. He pulled away slowly, dark lavender eyes gazing into yours intently while his thumb grazed your cheek softly.

“You belong to me now. I’m tired of all this bullshit. I’m no longer going to abide by their rules. Submit to me.” He muttered against your lips, his eyes staring into yours intently. Both of your hands were held by your wrists in one of his strong slender hands. A confused look spread over your face, lightly panting against his lips as he continued to press his body against yours. “W-Wait Prince Scaramouche… M-May I speak?” The prince froze hearing your hesitance to his actions. The dejected look crossing his eyes made you shiver since he was beginning to become upset. He slowly let go of your wrists, stepping away from you with a bit of reluctance. You made a shy step forward, clearing your throat and adjusting your clothes. The prince clearly didn’t like this. “P-Prince Scaramouche… may I ask what happened to have you advancing on me all of a sudden? We… we kissed before once but… y-you’re a Royal, and you’re engaged to the princess, your wedding is-“

“I don’t give two shits about status or that wretch.” His words were cold and harsh, practically spitting them out at you as if they were poison on his tongue. The fury in his eyes was evident, annoyance raising to his lips in a bitter sneer. “I am only with her due to my mother forcing a marriage to me. I would rather have you, than her. Haha! You’re the only one who isn’t so scared of me that you’ll actually have a normal conversation with me. Does your small brain not comprehend how lonely I must be? How your less annoying presence satiates this emptiness in my chest? How your kind words melt my heart? How you treat me like a human being?” A sorrowful frown curved onto his lips, his eyes softening in the slightest when he made another step towards you. The dazzling shines of his medals in the dim lighting reminded you again of who exactly was in front of you, admitting he wanted to be with you instead of the beautiful princess. “B-But-“

“Hah, enough with the back talk. I’ve already admitted that I wish to have you regardless of the situation. It’s a matter of accepting or rejecting me. What is it you want, (Y/N)? If you aren’t a coward against royalty… then accept me. I can see it in your eyes you wish to have me too.” There was no denying that yes, you did want Prince Scaramouche. He held such power, respect, and most of all, he held a soft tenderness to you. The way his expression softens and relaxes when you’re in the library with him, asking childish and innocent questions he wishes to know. Those who get close to know the prince and genuinely care will know that of his caring and curious nature. None had ever gotten to experience this. You were the first one to ever want to know the prince, and here he was, rewarding you for your kindness, your patience, and your bravery for standing in the face of a furious thunderstorm, appreciating its cool rapid winds and loud thunder. Through masked words of rudeness to shield his soul, his actions revealed what lies in his heart. “Spit it out already, I’m losing patience.”

You didn’t respond verbally to him, you only gazed at him with the gentle tenderness that lovers would exchange. Your bare hands rose slowly, letting your fingertips slide over his unblemished pale features. His skin was cool to the touch yet soft as if it had never been touched or seen by that of battle or labor. The long lashes surrounding his dark lavender eyes fluttered under your gentleness, his gloved hands coming to rest against the back of one of your own hands. Your lips grew closer to his, brushing them softly against one another before you sealed your answer with a loving kiss. The prince moved his hands along your arm, slowly coming down to settle against your waist, pulling you closer towards him in attempt to practically become one with you. His touch was desperate, hungry, and oh so feverishly nervous. Truly sinful for someone of his status.

“Fuck…” A faint curse came from his soft pale pink lips, the color of his cheeks rising to a gorgeous rosy red. His hands came down your slowly, inching his way closer and closer to your bottom. Anxious pants left your lungs as you waited for him to firmly grab you and continue. His strong hands gripped against the plushness of your ass, groping, and kneading the curvy flesh. A low groan erupted from his chest, bringing his hand down to pull your leg up against his hip. “You’re so beautiful…” The prince’s generous praise serenaded your body to croon into him, your mind turning to mush at the simple melody of his affections. Sparks of dark lavender glimmered within his eyes; the darkness of his pupils blown out in pure desire. His sinful tongue slipped past the guard of his thin lips to slide along your neck slowly before his teeth met your skin in a mix of passion and lust. “P-Prince-“

“Call my name.” His lips vibrated against your flesh, his hot breath fanning against your skin threatening to leave passionate burns of his affections. A pathetic whimper sounded from your throat, your tongue testing the waters of how well his name rolled off. “S-Scaramouche…” A heated sigh leaves the royal’s lips, his body moving forward to hold you against the wall. His teeth grazed your neck hungrily, his tongue marked you possessive, and his lips caressed your heart to encourage you to yearn for him more. “Such a good girl. Always so good to me.” Both of his hands slapped against your butt and pulled you up to hold your legs around his waist, carrying you back to his bedroom. The harsh kick of his boots made the door swing open, in an instant your back was against the bed with the prince on you in mere seconds. “Tell me what you want. Tell your Prince what to do to your lewd body.”

“S-Scaramouche… I…” The words caught in your throat as you tried to think of a way to voice your desires to the Prince of Inzauma. Your flustered appearance only spurred the prince to touch you further. His slender fingers, still encased by the smoothness of his ebony gloves, glided up the skirt of your servant’s attire. The tenderness of his touch against your thighs turned desperate quick when he started to ascend higher, getting dangerously close to your shamefully wet cunt. “Use your words, darling.” The sweetness in his tone as he cooed that sensational nickname to you was enough to let your mind finally accept what was going to happen. You looked up to him, newfound confidence, and desire in your eyes. Of course, he noticed immediately with a satisfied smile, his tongue coming to lick his lips seductively. “Please, Scaramouche… touch me more.”

“Hah, fuck…!” His lips crashed down on yours again, his hands making quick work go grab your thighs and part them, placing himself between them. The heat of his body scorched yours, a light sweat coating your forehead as his touches got all the more sinful. His tongue flicked and swirled against your own before he grabbed your jaw and pulled away from your lips, forcing you to keep your mouth open. Without so much as a breath, he spat in your mouth, sending a shiver down your spine as his spit mushed around on your tongue. “Swallow it.” His tone was no longer sweet and loving, it was demanding, lustful, seductive, and oh so lewd. You did as he instructed, swallowing his spit with a flustered squirm. The gorgeous shimmer of his canines came to your hazy view, his teeth snatching the leather on the tip of his finger and pulling his glove off with his teeth. God his hands were just absolutely gorgeous. “Good girl. You still want more, right?”

You nod anxiously. A dark chuckle rumbled his chest, his gloves discarded to now feverishly unbutton the front of your shirt. “Good answer. Now sit back… and let your divine Prince take care of you.” His fingers brushed over your skin when he pushed your shirt open, dark lavender irises landing on the raggedy white bra you wore. While he was enjoying the delicious view, his lips turned downwards into scowl at the condition of your undergarment. “Tsk, we’ll have to change this if you are to become my woman. I’ll make sure you’re dressed in the most exquisite lingerie mora can buy.” A soft moan echoed into his ears once his hands made contact with your breasts, smooth hands kneading your tender mounds. The pads of his fingers teased your flesh, lightly dipping into the front of your bra and sliding his hand down to pinch your nipple. “Hmm! P-Prince Scaramouche…!”

The uncomfortable push of your shambled bra from his fingers was nothing compared to the bliss you experienced under his hot touch. “Have you ever been touched like this before?” It was clear from the look in his eyes that he was searching for a particular answer. He begged you to say no, begged that he was the only man that’s ever touched you. It was possessive, jealous, and pitiful the way he gnawed at his lower lip waiting for your answer. “Mmph, no you’re, hah, t-the first Scaramouche.” His irksome scowl twisted into a cocky grin, the heaviness of his eyelids coming down to hold his vision. He was now solely focused on making you feel the best. “Good. Then let my touch be carved into that dumb brain of yours. Moan till your hearts content, darling.”

His fingers pulled away slowly, his hands coming to push your bra up and over your head instead of unclipping it. This action made you realize that the brave and often times egotistical prince was also inexperienced. You would’ve never guessed due to his personality. Every act he did he did with the utmost confidence as if he’d rehearsed every scenario imaginable. The cloudy gaze he set on your chest was intense, his pupils blown out in pure lustful devotion to your body. Every swell and curve of your breasts had him mesmerized. The cute little erection of your nipples, the darker pigmentation of your areolas, and the slight jiggle they had whenever you shifted about. He quickly found himself becoming obsessed with the sight, imagination running wild with all the lewd things he could do. How would they look covered in his cum? Scratch that, maybe some lovely purple hickeys? Nah, what about some red blotchy bite marks?

Fuck, he wants it all!

“S-Scaramouche?” The sound of your flustered voice broke him from the bewitched state he had suffered when looking at your bare chest. A rosy blush spread over your cheeks; hands shaky at your sides wanting to cover yourself from his unwavering gaze. He let out a small, amused chuckle. “What? Can I not admire your body? I am a prince after all… I should be able to admire my things when I please.” His lips descended, landing on your collar bone only to cascade down to give wet kisses along the swells of your chest. His tongue came around your areola, flicking up to nudge your erected nipples. “Hmm!” You flinched upon the sudden action, lips coming up set in a firm line while your eyebrows scrunched in silenced pleasure. He repeated this action, earning another small flinch accompanied by a hushed whimper. “You’re so cute when you try to hide your voice from me. We’ll see how long you can keep that up.”

The prince moved his bare hands along the sides of your waist, catching under your skirt and pulling the frilled fabric down to expose the lace of your panties. The pads of his elegantly slender fingers glided easily over your skin, giving your legs chilly goosebumps at his touch. His index and middle finger slid from your skin to the sensational folds of your clothed cunt, rubbing slowly to ease his way between them. “Heh, look how wet you are… that’s incredibly lewd of you, (Y/N).” The grin on his face widened once he saw your face contort in quivering ecstasy as his fingertips teased at your folds. His middle finger found your puffy clit, rubbing back and forth slowly. Your back arched with a gasp at the sudden action, limbs twitching while your lip found its way between your teeth. “Ah, ah, don’t you dare try to hold back those pretty moans. Let everyone hear you. Let them know how well I pleasure you, princess.”

The prince relished in the way your body squirmed underneath him. It was always something he unconsciously loved. Dominating others and controlling every aspect over them. Discomfort boiled within the prince’s groin, his cock twitching feeling his fingertips becoming damp with your slick that was overflowing from your lovely cunt. He quickly withdrew one of his hands from your body, hastily unbuckling his pants to relieve the strain against his hard cock. “What do you want, darling? Tell your master what you fucking want!” His fingers encased your clit, rolling the bundle of nerves between his fingertips until your back was arching, head throwing back into the exquisite silk of the prince’s bed. “Scaramouche! P-Please… I-I can’t-! Want-! Ngh… I want more!” A cocky smirk plastered across the thin pale lips of the prince, his fingers now hooking on the side of your panties to pull them aside and slide his fingers up and down your wet folds. “Tsk, Tsk, not good enough. Be more specific.” Heavy lustful breaths poured from your mouth, your throat already dry and your heart beginning to hammer against your chest. “F-Fingers, hah, inside please…”

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood, I’ll indulge you for our first time… don’t expect the same treatment in the future now, darling.” With a sensationally fluid movement, the prince’s fingers embedded themselves into your warm cunt, walls fluttered tight at the sudden intrusion. A flustered and surprised gasp spewed from your lips, thighs shaking slightly at the god-like structure of his fingers. With his other hand, he grabbed your hand and guided it to rest against the tight bulge against his undergarments, his heavy arousal. A relieved sigh escaped from his lungs, groaning deeply at the contact against his cock. “Rub it if you want more. Hurry.” Desperation was laced within his hushed tone, hips bucking lightly into your hand to feel the electrifying friction of your hand on his erection. “C’mon, baby… fucking rub it.”

With a shy blush, you started to move your hand loosely around his cock, earning a low groan at the feathery touch. A satisfied grin spread onto his swollen pale lips feeling your cunt squeeze on his fingers. “What? You like jerking me off, darling? That’s… hah, incredibly lewd of you, fuck.” Scaramouche leaned over you, jaw clenched when your fingers kept loosely brushing over his tip over and over again. His fingers hooked inside of you, thrusting them deep causing your grip to tighten in surprise on his cock. You both moaned in unison, enjoying each other’s sinful touch. The prince bucked his hips into your hand, matching indigo brows furrowing at the lovely warmth around his twitching arousal. “Such a good girl. Always so, hah, obedient for me even like this.”

“S-Scaramouche... hmm.” His fingers eagerly fucked your dripping cunt with purpose. His eyes were trained on your sinful expressions, fingers spreading to stretch out your walls. The friction of your fingers against his tip caused him to hunch over at a rapid approach to his release. “Stop.” Your hand immediately retracted upon hearing his order, worried you possibly hurt him or did something to cause him pain. Scaramouche pulled his fingers from you, not missing the small whimper that vibrated your throat as emptiness was all you were left with. Seeing such a worried expression, the prince laughed and kissed your forehead before bringing his fingers to his lips. “Don’t worry, darling. I’m just… too eager to have you right now.” A dark look of lust covered his eyes, devilish tongue coming to flick over his fingers and taste your juices. The flustered expression on your face was rewarding. Once his fingers were clean, he shrugged off his clothes, letting your eyes wander around the physique of the prince's slender tone body until your eyes trained on his erection before embarrassingly looking back into his dark lavender eyes. “Heh, think you can handle it?”

An audible gulp echoed from your throat.

“Y-Yes…” A small snicker came from the flashy Prince. He guided his hands along your thighs, spreading them wide open to your embarrassment. Scaramouche licked his lips at the view of you beneath him, cheeks faintly pink, drunk off the feeling of lust and your beautiful features. You belonged there. In his arms underneath him, obediently letting him do as he pleased. His one and only princess forever. “Oh? Yeah? Well…” Something wet and firm rubbed over your entrance, making your eyes snap down to identify what it was even though you knew what it was. A grin spread over his face and with one fluid movement, his cock was sheathed snuggly inside your warm and inviting cunt. A low groan ripped from his chest, sighing loudly in relief and pleasure at the blissful feeling. “Let’s see if you can keep up, darling.”

It hurt at first, his cock stretching your walls past their usual limits. Your face scrunched in pain, your lungs clawing for air as the sudden invasion left you breathless and panting. Scaramouche’s hips rutted into yours slow and firm, heavy balls slapping against the plush of your ass while his fingers dug bruises into your waist. “Shh, just… hah, bear with it for a bit.” After a few shallow thrusts, your walls got used to the feeling of being stretch and the pain twisted and melted into sinful pleasure. A soft moan was all Scaramouche needed to know you were feeling good. His hips began to buck harsher into yours. With grit teeth and furrowed brows, he growled out lowly. “You’re so fucking tight. Hah, shit.”

“Hmm, Scaramouche, hah, it’s so… deep, hngh!” Your head threw back into the expensive sheets of the prince’s bed. Your hands darted up to his toned shoulders, clutching onto him for dear life as his cock drilled deeper. The mushy head of his erection kissed against your cervix, making stars appear in your vision. Nothing had ever felt this good before, it was addicting, like a drug that once you start you could never stop. Scaramouche was too good. “Shit, shit… Agh…!” Strands of soft indigo rested against your sweaty forehead, warm breath fanning repeatedly over your face as the prince got closer to your face panting. Your lashes fluttered, black overtaking your vision as you solely focused on the pace of his hips and the swollen plush of his lips against yours. His pace became harsher and quicker, forcing loud and unabashed moans to flow into his mouth to swallow for him and him only. “You feeling good, darling? Hah, tell me how fucking good it feels, ngh.”

“It feels so -hah!- so good Scaramouche! So good! T-Too… much, ahh!” An unfamiliar feeling began to build in your abdomen, it was tight and hot. Your fingers dug into the unmarked flesh of his shoulders, embarrassed eyes slowly opening to look up at the prince. His eyes connected with yours instantly, a storm of indigo and deep lavender swirled within his irises, threatening to destroy your whole being with his overwhelming lust and affection. It was such a turn on to make eye contact with him while he was massaging your velvety insides with his thick cock. He leaned down and sealed your lips with his own once more, his pace faltering and a groan reverberating onto your lips as his orgasm grew closer and closer. “Shit, I’m gonna cum… Fuck, fuck, I’m cumming! Gah, damnit!”

“Scaramouche wait-! Ahh! Wait, wait- Mmm!!” Your toes curled and your back arched off the bed, a cry of your new lover’s name leaving your swollen abused lips. A creamy ring surrounded his cock, your juices making lewd squelching noises as his cock slid in and out of you so nicely. With an increasingly sloppy pace, the prince stilled on top of you, his body trembling slightly before letting out a flurry of pleasured curses. A warm gush flooded your insides, and you could feel the tip of his cock twitching wildly as his cum sputtered into your core. A shiver ran down your spine feeling so full inside, all of it was just so… blissful and overwhelming. You both sat there trying to catch your breath until Scaramouche's voice cut through the air. “(Y/N).” His voice was low and heaving as he called out to you. Your eyes could barely stay open anymore with how tired your love making had been. “Yes, Prin- Scaramouche…?”

“…You’ll be my Queen, won’t you?” With a loving smile, you leaned up gently and kiss his warm cheek. “Of course, without a doubt.” The prince snorted and flicked your forehead. “Good. Not as if I would let you say no to begin with.”

The prince was a cruel and selfish man, but he was also kind.

"Time for me to go out and find the truth. So long, suckers!"

-Scaramouche

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