#and I feel like there's meant to be a pattern there

[helen-with-an-a]

Waking Up

Thank you so much for this request anon - I would love to write some more soft/non-smut fluff for my favourite girls so please let me know of some ideas.

This is the answer to the 1st part of this ask (waking up on a day off); the answer to the question Do Ale and Amor ever try to hide their relationship is here.

Beautiful Girl masterlist

Alexia Putellas x reader

Description: R and Ale wake up on an off day

Word Count: 2.6k

Sunlight streamed through the bedroom window, dust mites dancing in the cool morning air as you woke. The golden beams of light stretched across the floor, warming the wooden planks and casting long, playful shadows. The soft, translucent curtain fluttered gently with each whisper of the breeze. The sky beyond the window was a soft, pastel blue, with a few wispy clouds lazily drifting by. A vase of wildflowers on the windowsill caught the light, their petals glowing in hues of lavender and yellow. The intricate pattern of the quilt spread over the bed mirrored the soft, dappled sunlight, and the faint scent of jasmine from the neighbours below carried into the room. The occasional chirp of a bird punctuated the serene stillness.

You peeked over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of tousled brown roots that fanned out across the pillow, a few stray strands tickling your neck. The sight made you smile softly as you shifted, savouring the steady rise and fall of her chest pressed against your back. Her breath, slow and even, stirred the hair at the nape of your neck, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

Just as you sank deeper into her embrace, Alexia's arm tightened subconsciously, her fingers flexing against your waist. The slight pressure sent a surge of warmth through you, drawing you impossibly closer until there was no space left between your bodies. Her leg curled slightly over yours, letting her warmth seep into you It was as if the world outside had ceased to exist; there was no rush, no sound, only the sanctuary of her arms and the steady, soothing rhythm of her breathing against your back.

Falling back asleep was easy. The soft light filtering through the curtains painted the room in a warm glow. For once, there were no pressing alarms, no meetings or hurried schedules looming over your morning. The world outside could wait, muffled and distant as if time itself had chosen to pause for you. It was just you and Alexia.

The gentle rise and fall of her breathing created a lullaby, one that called you to let go and sink deeper into rest. You could feel the faint press of her lips at the back of your neck and it made your chest swell with a warmth that felt almost sacred. You had never experienced this level of love before. This type of all-consuming peace that radiated across every part of you.

The quiet, unhurried intimacy was a luxury you rarely afforded yourself. In this moment, surrounded by the soft rustling of the sheets and the comfort of Alexia, everything else fell away. There was no rush, no lingering list of tasks waiting to pull you from this haven. Just the shared, gentle rhythm of two bodies at ease, cradled in the silence of a morning meant just for you both.

You woke again to the distant, jarring sound of cars blaring outside, their insistent honks and rumbling engines cutting through the morning stillness. A groan escaped your lips, a low, frustrated sound as sleep slipped from your grasp like sand through your fingertips. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to cling to the remnants of the dream you could no longer remember, willing sleep to pull you back under its gentle spell. But with each passing second, the chaotic city sounds pressed harder against the thin veil of calm, and you knew it was useless.

You sighed, a deep, resigned exhale that released the tension knotting in your chest. But as the annoyance began to settle, you became more aware of the warmth wrapped around you. Alexia’s arm still rested across your waist, her hand relaxed and fingers slightly curled. She had fallen asleep holding you, and it brought a smile to your lips to see that she had refused to let go even in dreams.

There were definitely worse ways to wake up on an off day than protected in Alexia’s embrace, her body moulding perfectly to yours as if it were made to fit. The outside world might roar, but here, wrapped in her arms, it felt irrelevant.

You shifted slightly, rolling your shoulders and arching your back to stretch out the kinks that had formed overnight. The sheets rustled softly, the faint sound blending with the morning hum outside. A sleepy groan came from behind you, followed by a murmur as Alexia stirred. “Deja de moverte,” she muttered, her voice thick with sleep, the words half-lost in the drowsy slur of her accent. The soft command made you smile, knowing she was somewhere in that delicious space between dreams and waking.

“Sorry, beautiful girl,” you whispered. You squeezed her hand, where it rested over your waist, your fingers entwining gently in an unspoken apology. You shuffled back a little, pressing yourself into her, feeling the solid line of her body with a contented sigh.

“Dormir,” she announced, the word barely more than a puff of breath as she inhaled sharply, the intake tickling the fine hairs at the nape of your neck. The moment hung in the air, suspended between wakefulness and sleep, as she nestled her face deeper against you, her nose brushing your skin. You could feel the heat of her lips pressed lightly to your shoulder; a fleeting touch that made your chest tighten with affection.

“Sí, baby. Go back to sleep,” you murmured, letting your voice dip low and soft, an invitation for peace to settle over her again. The steady, familiar rhythm of her breathing slowed, and you felt her muscles relax, her body sinking against yours in complete trust. You let yourself fall back into the quiet, content to lie there in the warmth of Alexia’s embrace.

You may have dozed off again, though it was hard to tell. The line between sleep and wakefulness blurred as you lay there. Either way, it didn’t matter. You felt thoroughly relaxed, you had the love of your life wrapped around you and nothing to do today. The room held a stillness that felt sacred, a break from the hurricane that had swept you both up for far too long.

This was what you needed – what both of you needed. Alexia had been going non-stop for months, caught up in a relentless cycle of training, travel, and the never-ending demands. You could see it in the deepening shadows under her eyes, in the way her laughter had become a little less frequent, a little more strained. And you weren’t doing much better. The telltale signs were there in the way your muscles ached as soon as you woke up, the dull throb in your temples after not enough sleep. You knew it all too well – the physical toll your body endured and the mental strain that bit away at the edges.

A day spent in bed, wrapped up together, was just what the doctor ordered. No alarms, no calls, no one pulling you away from this small slice of serenity. Just the two of you, tucked away from the world, with nothing to do but exist. You shifted slightly, the feel of Alexia’s arm tightening instinctively around your waist as she murmured something incoherent, still fast asleep. It brought a soft smile to your lips, knowing she was letting herself rest for once.

As you lay there, feeling her warmth seeping into you, the tension in your body. Muscles unwinding in a way they hadn’t in weeks. Wrapped up in a mix of coconut and vanilla, the world didn't seem too bad. With Alexia next to you, you alway felt unstoppable. Whether it was on the pitch, in the gym, meeting fans or simply going to the shops, with her by your side, you always felt able to do anything. Her presence alone was enough to make you feel like you were capable.

You felt Alexia stir behind you, her body shifting as she began to wake. A sharp intake of breath brushed warmly against your shoulder, followed by the familiar, comforting pressure of her arm tightening around your waist once again. It was the unmistakable sign that she was returning from the hazy world of dreams, rejoining you in the quiet late morning.

“Mmmm,” she hummed, the sound deep and contented, resonating against your skin. “Bon dia, amor meu” she whispered, her voice still rough with sleep. The words were accompanied by the soft press of her lips, fluttering kisses along your bare shoulder, each one a gentle wake-up call.

“Bon dia, my beautiful girl,” you murmured back, your own smile taking shape as you turned your head just enough to catch a glimpse of her face. Her eyes were still heavy, dark lashes casting delicate shadows on her cheeks as she blinked slowly. The way she looked at you, with a quiet warmth and an unguarded fondness, made your heart swell.

You felt her hand shift, sliding up your stomach with a familiar, lazy grace. Her fingers found their way to rest on your breast, palm pressing gently against your skin. Her thumb stroked absentmindedly over your skin, tracing slow, soothing patterns that made you feel cherished and completely seen in a way that no one else ever had. You let out a small, contented sigh as you settled back into her embrace, arching into her hand ever so slightly.

“Mmmm-w-what time is it?” Alexia asked, her voice still laced with sleep. She nuzzled closer, her breath a warm tickle against your skin as she spoke.

“I have no idea,” you replied happily, chuckling at the idea that for once, you truly had no concept of time. It could have been 6 am or 3pm and you honestly wouldn't have known. And the truth was, you couldn’t have cared less about the time, even if you tried. The rest of the world felt a million miles away, irrelevant compared to this perfect, unhurried moment. You loved this side of Alexia – the side that only you were privileged enough to see. The sleepy, vulnerable version of her who let the day start at its own pace, who tangled her legs with yours and wrapped herself around you.

You loved every side of her, of course. The fierce, determined athlete who moved with a grace that made it seem effortless, the focused leader who inspired others without trying, the thoughtful partner who remembered the smallest details that made you smile. But this was different. This was Ale, the woman who woke up with bedhead that turned into an adorable mess of brown and blonde and whose voice was still scratchy from sleep. The woman who sometimes blinked at you with a soft, sleepy smile before she even opened her eyes fully. This was your beautiful girl.

It was in these moments that you fell in love with her a little bit more every day. The little things – the way she murmured your name when she stirred, the way she let her fingers drift absentmindedly along your skin, the way her incoherent words made you giggle at how endearing she was. You turned your head slightly, enough to catch her gaze, hazel eyes tender affection that made your heart stutter. She smiled, languid and genuine.

“It’s an off day,” Alexia mumbled, her voice still husky as she shifted slightly and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to your jaw. The softness of her lips, the way they brushed your skin made you close your eyes for a moment, savouring the feeling.

“That it is,” you murmured, a small smile curving your lips as you reached up, your fingers finding their way into her hair. You began to scratch lightly at her scalp, your nails grazing her skin with the practised ease that always made her melt. You felt her exhale, a soft, contented sigh against your neck, her body pressing impossibly closer as if she could fuse herself to you if she tried hard enough.

“We have no plans,” she continued, her words slow and deliberate. There was a note of relief in her voice, subtle but undeniable. The outside world could wait – the endless cycle of training, travel, and obligations held no claim over you today. Today was yours.

“That we don’t,” you echoed, your voice soft and steady. The realisation sank deeper into you, a warm glow spreading through your chest.

“Bien,” she whispered, the word slipping out in a satisfied breath.

You turned your head just enough to catch her eyes, their dark depths still soft with sleep. The morning light cast a gentle glow across her features, catching on the curve of her cheek and the loose strands of hair that framed her face. "Sí, muy bien." You smiled.

The minutes ticked by uncounted. This was more than enough; it was everything.

[multific]

A Wedding Beneath The Moonlight

Count Orlok x Reader

Summary: Every girl's dream is to find a man and have the perfect wedding. But everyone has different meanings of perfection.

The night was still, and the air was cold, carrying the soft scent of pine from the nearby forest.

Above you, the full moon cast its glow across the darkened grounds of the ancient castle.

Tonight was the night of your wedding.

You stood alone in one of the upper chambers, looking at yourself in your reflection in a tarnished mirror.

The dress you wore was unlike anything mortal hands could create.

Crafted by Nosferatu himself, he insisted on making your dress.

The dress shimmered faintly in the moonlight, a fabric of deep midnight blue that flowed like a shadow around you.

Tiny silver threads were sewn into the material, resembling stars scattered across a night sky.

The bodice was fitted, embroidered with delicate patterns of ancient symbols, his symbols, while the long sleeves clung to your arms before flaring out at the wrists.

A faint breeze moved through the open window, causing the veil resting on your head to move gently.

It was sheer, as thin as mist, and it framed your face perfectly.

You ran your hands down the length of the dress, your fingers trembling slightly with anticipation.

This was the moment you had dreamed of, literally.

The moment you would bind yourself forever to him, the creature who had once been a shadow in the night but had now become the very centre of your world.

There was no priest, no audience. It would be just the two of you and the moon, as it had always been meant to be.

A soft knock echoed through the heavy wooden door, and you turned, your heart quickening.

When the door creaked open, there he stood, your beloved.

His pale skin seemed even more pale beneath the moonlight, his crimson eyes glowing softly as they locked with yours.

He was dressed in a long, dark cloak of velvet, the collar high and stiff, giving him an air of regal elegance. Around his neck hung an ancient pendant, a symbol of his lineage. His heavy breathing filled the room as your heart hammered against your ribs.

“You look…” He paused, his voice low and careful. “You look like the night itself, beautiful and eternal.”

“And you look like my forever.” you offered him a shy smile.

He extended his hand to you, and you took it, his cool fingers wrapping around yours. Together, you descended the winding stone staircase, your footsteps echoing softly in the silence.

The air grew colder as you stepped outside into the courtyard, you shivered slightly under the cold air.

There, beneath the open sky, the ceremony would take place. Just as you wished.

No torches or lanterns, the moon provided all the light you required.

Count Orlok turned to face you, his eyes locking with yours.

He held both your hands in his, and though his touch was cold, it brought you comfort. You could feel the strength in him, the ancient power that moved through his veins, yet there was something else.

A small humanity, only for you, remaining in him alive.

“I have lived for centuries. Through endless nights, I have wandered alone, never imagining that I would find something to make eternity enjoyable. But then I found you. You, who brought light into my darkness. You, who showed me that even a creature of the dark can love. I vow to you, to protect you, to cherish you, to honour you. You are my light, and I will spend eternity by your side.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you gave his hands a gentle squeeze. “And I vow to you, My Count, to stand by your side, through darkness and light. You are my heart, my soul, my love. I choose you, Count Orlok, for all eternity."

Slowly, he lifted your hand to his lips, brushing a kiss on your knuckles. His eyes gleamed with something more than love.

“There is only one thing left. A kiss to seal our vows,” he said, his voice a whisper.

With a gentle touch, he cupped your face in his hands. As he leaned in, you closed your eyes, you fully gave yourself to him.

When his lips met yours, it was as if the entire world disappeared, leaving only the two of you, bound together beneath the watchful eyes of the moon.

The kiss was long and lingering, filled with the promise of forever.

When you finally pulled away, your eyes still closed, you smiled up at him, heart full.

“You are my wife now,” he said, his voice soft but filled with possessive pride. “My empress of the night.” He slipped a beautiful gold ring on your finger.

“And you are my husband. My eternal love.” A ring for him too.

As the wind howled with fear. People living close by felt the coldness of the night. The dread. The world was scared.

And while others trembled with fear, under the same moon, Count Orlok and his bride began theirs forever.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[pdriesta]

a love like this — 8

an — a series of blurbs based on the main couple of "something real". this is based on this request! i am sorry it took so long, i hope it was worth the wait!

masterlist

the bedroom was calm and quiet, the kind of peace that only settled late at night when the world outside felt far away. y/n sat cross-legged on the bed, her ipad propped on her knees, her glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose. her focus was razor-sharp, her finger swiping across the screen as she scrolled through lists, pictures, and notes. she was the picture of a type-a planner, meticulous in her approach to everything, even birthdays.

beside her, jude was reclined against the headboard, his arm lazily draped over her waist. her leg was slung over his, and his fingers traced absent patterns along her thigh, his touch soft and soothing. his phone lay forgotten in his lap as his gaze remained fixed on her. she looked so cute like this, glasses perched crookedly, lips pursed in concentration, completely in her element. the corners of his mouth quirked up in a smile every time she frowned slightly or adjusted her glasses with an impatient push.

"all right," she said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence. her tone was all business as she glanced at him over the top of her glasses. "we’ve narrowed dinner down to two options. do you want something fancy and formal, or cozy and intimate?"

he leaned forward slightly, his head hovering near hers as he peered at the screen, his face close enough that he could smell the faint vanilla of her lotion. "cozy," he said without hesitation, his voice warm. "mum’s not really into all that posh stuff."

y/n nodded, her lips curving into a satisfied smile as she made a quick note on the ipad. "good choice. there’s this little italian place i found. family-run, super cozy vibe, and they do a special birthday dessert. i think she’d love it."

“sounds perfect,” jude said, his hand sliding up and down her thigh now, squeezing gently as he watched her. “you’re really good at this, you know?”

“someone has to be,” she teased, shooting him a knowing look, her brows raising slightly. “if i left it to you and jobe, we'd be stuck with you boys playing fifa all night.”

he laughed, the sound rich and unrestrained, his head tilting back slightly. “true. but you know she’d still be happy with that.”

“sure,” y/n said, her tone softening as she glanced at him. “but she deserves more. she deserves to feel celebrated.”

“we both do,” jude agreed, his voice quieter now, laced with a genuine gratitude that made her pause. “thanks for helping me with this, baby.”

she leaned into his side briefly, her cheek brushing against his shoulder, and his heart swelled at the simple gesture. “don’t thank me yet. we still have decorations to figure out. oh, and we need a distraction plan. i don’t trust jobe to handle this without supervision.”

jude groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the bed like a petulant child. “he’s going to be a nightmare, isn’t he?”

“you’re both nightmares,” she said with a smirk, swiping at her screen again.

his hand stilled on her thigh for a moment as he stared up at her, his chest tightening at how into this she was. her energy, her enthusiasm—it all meant so much to him. it was more than just planning his mum’s birthday; it was about how she always cared, how she always gave her all.

“what?” she asked, blinking down at him when she noticed his silence.

“nothing,” jude said, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “just... you.”

she tilted her head, her brows knitting in confusion. “what about me?”

he reached up, his thumb brushing along her cheekbone before he kissed her cheek, lingering just long enough for her to giggle. “just love you, that’s all,” he murmured.

she rolled her eyes, but her blush betrayed her. “focus, jude. we still have work to do.”

“nah,” he said lazily, pulling her ipad out of her hands and setting it on the nightstand. “you’ve done enough planning for tonight. come here.”

“jude—” she started, but his hands were already guiding her to lie against his chest, her leg still draped over his as his fingers resumed their slow, deliberate strokes along her thigh.

“you’re amazing, you know that?” he said softly, his lips brushing the top of her head.

“you’re just saying that because i’m doing all the work,” she teased, though her voice wavered, her heart fluttering at his words.

“nah, it’s because it’s true,” he replied, his eyes fixed on her as she nuzzled into him, her hand splaying across his chest. “and because i’m obsessed with you.”

she laughed softly, the sound muffled against his shirt. “don’t let that go to your head.”

“too late,” he said with a grin, pressing another kiss to her temple. “but for real, baby. thank you. this is going to mean the world to her.”

y/n tilted her head up to look at him, her expression softening. “you’re welcome, jude.”

he stared down at her, his heart swelling with so much love it almost hurt. “how did i get so lucky?”

“probably because i felt bad for you,” she teased, grinning up at him.

he laughed, the sound vibrating through his chest. “you’re terrible.”

“and you’re stuck with me,” she quipped, her grin widening.

“damn right,” he said, pulling her closer, his lips brushing against hers in a tender kiss. “and don’t you forget it.”

the next morning, sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, painting the cozy space in warm golden hues. y/n sat across from denise at the wooden table, a steaming mug of tea cupped in her hands. the faint scent of chamomile mingled with the comforting aroma of freshly baked bread, leftovers from breakfast still sitting on the counter.

y/n’s phone was tucked discreetly in her lap, her thumb moving quickly across the screen as she sent updates to jude.

y/n: everything’s good here. she hasn’t suspected a thing. we miss you, though.

she glanced up at denise, who was eyeing her with the kind of look that only a mother could give, one that seemed to see right through her.

clearing her throat, y/n set her mug down with a light clink and forced a casual tone. “so,” she began, her voice bright, “i was thinking we could have a little girls’ day. you know, just the two of us. nails, maybe hair, a bit of pampering. what do you think?”

denise arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into a sly smile as she cradled her own mug. “you’re spoiling me, aren’t you?”

y/n mirrored her smile, feigning nonchalance. “of course. it’s your birthday week—you deserve it.” she reached for her tea, taking a sip to steady herself under denise’s knowing gaze.

“and jude’s too busy to hang out, is he?” denise asked, her tone light but laced with suspicion, her eyes narrowing just slightly.

y/n shrugged, her expression carefully neutral. “he said he’s got things to do,” she replied smoothly, though her phone vibrated softly in her lap, likely another message from jude. “so, what do you say? just us girls?”

denise studied her for a moment, her smile widening as if she were onto something but didn’t feel the need to press. “all right,” she said with a soft laugh, shaking her head. “you’re better company than him anyway.”

y/n laughed, relieved, and stood to grab her bag from the counter. “don’t let him hear you say that. his ego will take a battering.”

“oh, i’ll tell him to his face,” denise quipped, her voice full of playful mischief as she stood as well, straightening her blouse.

y/n grinned, her hand brushing her phone in her pocket as she sent one last message to jude

y/n: we’re heading out. don’t mess anything up while we’re gone.

“ready to go?” y/n asked, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“ready,” denise said, glancing at her with a smile. “this better not be some elaborate scheme you and my son cooked up.”

y/n feigned innocence, her eyes wide as she held the door open. “me? never. you know i’m much more trustworthy than jude.”

denise chuckled, stepping outside. “we’ll see about that.”

as they walked down the path, y/n couldn’t help but smile to herself. the plan was going smoothly so far, but the hard part was yet to come. she only hoped jude had everything under control.

the nail salon was a picture of calm—soft instrumental music playing in the background, the gentle whir of dryers filling the air, and a faint lavender scent drifting through the space. denise was thoroughly relaxed, reclining in her pedicure chair as a technician worked on her feet. her expression was one of pure bliss, and y/n felt a brief pang of guilt for what was happening behind the scenes.

beside her, y/n was fidgeting, flipping through the color swatches with half the attention they deserved. her mind wasn’t on the vibrant shades of polish or the serene atmosphere. it was on her phone, which she’d tucked into the pocket of her hoodie to avoid distraction. unfortunately, that plan was failing miserably.

her phone buzzed once. then again. then, a third time in rapid succession.

denise opened one eye, glancing at y/n’s jittery movements. “someone’s popular,” she teased, her tone light.

y/n forced a nervous laugh, waving it off. “probably just spam,” she said, clearly lying through her teeth. the buzzing continued.

denise smirked, sitting up slightly. “spam texts don’t usually come in triplets. what’s going on?”

“nothing!” y/n blurted, far too quickly to be convincing. she hesitated for a beat, then turned to denise with a sheepish smile. “actually, uh… could you grab my phone? it’s kind of stuck in my pocket, and my nails are wet.”

denise gave her an amused look, but she reached for the phone, pulling it free and holding it out. “here you go, miss ‘nothing’s going on.’”

“thanks!” y/n said brightly, taking it with a little too much enthusiasm. she unlocked it and glanced at the screen—and froze.

the group chat with jude and jobe was in full-blown chaos.

jude: WHERE’S THE DUCT TAPE? jobe: WE DON’T HAVE ANY. WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME WE NEEDED IT? jude: I DID TELL YOU. YOU NEVER LISTEN. jobe: THIS IS YOUR FAULT. jude: WE NEED TO STOP ARGUING.

y/n’s eyes widened as it hit her like a brick to the face—she had completely forgotten about the surprise they were planning for denise. her stomach dropped, and she let out a strangled noise that made denise sit up straighter.

“what’s wrong?” denise asked, her concern giving way to curiosity as she watched y/n’s panicked expression.

“uh, nothing!” y/n said, her voice climbing several octaves. she tilted the phone away from denise’s view, typing furiously.

y/n: STOP TEXTING ME. SHE’S RIGHT HERE. I FORGOT. FIX IT.

another buzz came through before she could lock the screen.

jobe: we’re out of balloons. jude: WHY ARE WE OUT OF BALLOONS? jobe: ask yourself that, mr. “i need to test how much they can stretch before they pop.” jude: don’t bring science into this.

y/n groaned audibly, smacking her forehead with her free hand.

“y/n,” denise said, leaning over with an amused smile, “you’re acting like you just got caught cheating on a test. what’s going on?”

“NOTHING!” y/n squeaked, quickly locking her phone. she was failing spectacularly at hiding her guilt, and denise was enjoying every second of it.

“let me see,” denise said, reaching for the phone.

y/n dove—literally dove—out of her chair, clutching the phone to her chest like it held state secrets. “nope! nope! everything’s fine! don’t worry about it!”

the salon technician paused mid-swipe, blinking in confusion as y/n scrambled back into her seat, trying to act normal while clearly anything but.

denise raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching as she fought back laughter. “you’re hiding something,” she said, crossing her arms.

“me? hiding? never!” y/n stammered, avoiding eye contact. her phone buzzed again, and she visibly winced.

denise smirked. “it’s jude and jobe, isn’t it?”

y/n froze, her eyes darting to denise like a deer caught in headlights. “…no?”

denise burst out laughing, her suspicion confirmed. “oh, they’re up to something, aren’t they? and you’re in on it.”

“nope!” y/n said, shaking her head so quickly it was a wonder she didn’t get whiplash. “not me! i don’t know anything!”

denise leaned back in her chair, still laughing. “whatever it is, it’s going to be a disaster, isn’t it?”

y/n groaned, covering her face with her hands. “probably,” she muttered, which only made denise laugh harder.

despite the chaos, y/n couldn’t help but smile a little. as disastrous as the boys might be, she had to admit—it was shaping up to be a memorable surprise.

meanwhile, jude and jobe were knee-deep in party supplies. balloons were scattered across the floor, some half-inflated, others popped. the banner they’d bought was somehow tangled beyond recognition, and the cake sat untouched in its box.

“this is a disaster,” jobe muttered, holding up a deflated balloon.

“just focus,” jude said, trying to untangle the banner with one hand while texting y/n updates with the other.

when y/n’s message came through, telling them to stop fighting and focus, jude let out a breath of relief. “see? she believes in us.”

“she’s the only one,” jobe said dryly, but he grabbed the tape and got to work on the streamers.

when y/n and denise walked through the door later that evening, denise froze in her tracks, her eyes widening. the living room was a breathtaking vision of golden balloons floating in clusters, warm fairy lights strung across the walls, and a table beautifully arranged with a spread of food, desserts, and neatly wrapped gifts.

but what truly stole the scene were the three men standing at the center of it all—mark, jude, and jobe—all grinning from ear to ear.

“surprise!” they shouted in unison, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of excitement.

denise’s hands flew to her mouth as tears welled up in her eyes. “you lot… oh, my boys…” her voice cracked as she clutched her chest, clearly overwhelmed.

mark stepped forward first, pulling her into a warm embrace. “happy birthday, love. you deserve this and so much more.”

“oh, mark…” denise whispered, her voice trembling as she leaned into him. “thank you.”

jude was next, stepping in with a boyish grin as he wrapped her in a tight hug. “happy birthday, mum. hope we did you proud.”

denise held onto him for a moment longer, cupping his face as she pulled back. “you always do.”

jobe was already hovering nearby, shuffling awkwardly but with a proud smile. when denise turned to him, he opened his arms sheepishly. “i helped too, you know.”

“of course you did, my baby,” denise cooed, pulling him into a hug that made jobe groan but didn’t stop him from holding on just as tightly.

when she finally pulled back, her tear-filled eyes landed on y/n, and her expression softened into something almost mischievous. “you had a hand in this, didn’t you?”

y/n laughed nervously, glancing at jude and jobe for backup that didn’t come. “maybe just a little,” she admitted, her cheeks warming.

denise didn’t hesitate to wrap her in a hug, her voice warm and full of affection. “well, you’ve officially earned your spot as my favorite.”

“hey!” jude protested immediately, stepping forward to slide an arm around y/n’s waist. “she’s mine, actually.”

“not today,” denise said with a playful laugh as she wiped her tears and gestured to the table. “now, let’s eat before you three manage to burn something else.”

“oi!” jude shot back, feigning offense. “dad was the one in charge of the oven.”

“and i supervised,” mark added with a grin, clapping jude on the shoulder.

denise shook her head, a fond smile playing on her lips as she took her seat at the table. “you’re all lucky i love you so much.”

jobe plopped into his chair, shooting a pointed look at jude. “she loves me more, though.”

jude crossed his arms, leaning casually against the table. “let’s not get carried away. everyone knows i’m the favorite—firstborn, golden child, all that.”

“golden child?” jobe repeated, raising an eyebrow. “you couldn’t even blow up balloons without popping half of them. i had to fix your mess.”

“fix?” jude shot back. “half the streamers are lopsided because of you!”

denise laughed, shaking her head as she served herself a plate. “you’re both my favorites, and that’s final. now stop bickering and eat before i take the title away altogether.”

y/n giggled, pulling a neatly wrapped box from the pile of gifts. “maybe we should let auntie decide after she opens these. the best gift wins favorite status.”

denise opened her presents one by one, her laughter and joy filling the room. jude’s gift—a personalized bracelet with charms representing their family—earned an emotional gasp, while jobe’s cozy slippers drew an equally delighted response.

“oh, these are perfect!” denise exclaimed, slipping the soft slippers onto her feet immediately.

mark chuckled as he poured drinks for everyone. “see? between the three of us, we’ve got everything covered.”

jobe groaned dramatically, slumping in his chair. “ugh, i’m surrounded by couples. it’s disgusting.”

“don’t be jealous, mate,” jude teased, leaning over to nudge him. “your time will come.”

y/n smirked. “maybe one of the girls here will catch your eye.”

“great,” jobe muttered, shaking his head. “just what i need—relationship advice from you two.”

denise laughed, her hand resting on mark’s arm as she looked around the room. “well, one thing’s for sure: i’m the luckiest woman in the world to have all of you.”

mark leaned over to kiss her temple, while jude and jobe immediately started arguing again over whose gift had been better, their banter filling the air as the family settled in for a night of food, laughter, and love.

hours later, after the laughter and the cake and the countless stories shared, y/n found herself in the kitchen, tidying up some of the remnants of the party. jude appeared in the doorway, his face softer now that the chaos had subsided.

“hey,” he said, walking up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. “we did it.”

y/n turned in his arms, a small smile playing on her lips. “we really did. your mum looked so happy.”

“she was,” jude said, pulling her into a hug, his chin resting on the top of her head. “but let me tell you, next time jobe is on mum duty. you’re with me. i almost had a hundred breakdowns today.”

y/n laughed, her arms tightening around him. “you’re so dramatic.”

“i’m serious,” he said, his tone mock-indignant. “the balloons, the banner, jobe threatening to eat the cake before dinner—it was chaos.”

“well,” y/n said, leaning back to look up at him, “maybe next time jobe can get his hair and nails done. he’d love it.”

jude chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “you’re probably right. but for now, i just want to hold you.”

they stayed like that for a long moment, the noise of the day fading into the background as the comfort of each other took its place.

“i missed you today,” jude murmured, his voice low.

y/n smiled against his chest. “i missed you too. but look at it this way—we survived, and she had an amazing birthday.”

“yeah,” he said softly. “thanks to you.”

“thanks to us,” y/n corrected, lifting her hand for a high-five.

jude grinned, meeting her hand with his. “team bellingham, undefeated.”

she laughed, her head resting against his chest as he held her tighter. the day had been long and chaotic, but in this moment, with jude’s arms around her, it all felt more than worth it.

© PDRIESTA 2025

taglist — @sinners-98-world @stephiii29 @kcharlyy @landosgirlxoxo @judesthighveins @ilovelifes-world @cinderellawithashoe @imnyt @miniemonie2001 @lunamelona

[higuchisora]

I'm happy to share the headcanon, lol. I also like the idea of alternate alphabets/writing systems. I mostly based my idea of their language off an old version of the League lore for Zaun (idk if it's still canon or not) that Zaun actually used to BE Old Piltover before it sank. So my idea was that some time after that, Zaun's and Piltover's language (whatever it is) broke off into two dialects, and Zaun perhaps kept certain aspects of the older writing system (whatever it is).

Also because I was annoyed by how many people forget that all the main Zaunite characters can CANONICALLY read (and then conflated that with them being "dumb" which is just. Ugh.) The main victim of this weird idea was Vi, so I made her a bookworm who collected books during heists, but I wouldn't consider it out of place for a decent amount of Zaunites to never have access to a readable book. I feel like there are at least a decent amount of graffiti/store signs etc that used words in Arcane though (could be wrong, I haven't rewatched it in a while), so I'm running under the assumption that at least, like, half of the population can read the Piltovan written language.

Totally agree that Piltovans would hold those beliefs about Zaunites. I like your idea with the alternate writing system, too! I watched a movie once where the culture the MC was from were these, like, magical fantasy weavers, and when they got forcibly scattered, they were able to send coded messages and reunite via the patterns they wove into their goods. Basically, cool stuff!

My understanding of the Zaun/Piltover relationship is that they're essentially indentured laborers for Piltover. So Zaun is where Piltover harvests their domestic raw materials and where all their big factories and sweat shops are. After they deliver their goods to Piltover, maybe they get some meager stuff in return? I'm not really sure about the trade part, honestly. Perhaps they meant international trade? Like, out of whatever international traders pay to Piltover, a small cut goes to Zaun? Since the ports are over on Piltover's side, they could've potentially been locked out/cut off from receiving that portion, which would be a big deal no matter how small the pay is. Not to say this makes any sense, but honestly I doubt the writers thought this through anyway when they said all these things.

Anyway, absorb away! These headcanons are for The People!!! I'm glad my brainworms were able to contribute to yours, lol.

Combatting the "illiterate/dumb/insert classist assumption here" headcanons being circulated about Zaunites (particularly Vi) with my own headcanons.

Headcanon that Zaunites are actually super into literature and poetry. Like, culturally. Headcanon that music and poems were there for them when they had nothing else. The bridge song is the only song we hear being canonically sung by a character in the show and it's literally baby Powder (and Vi hums at the end of s2). The only other songs being played in-world are all by Zaunites. Art is a form of expression that they took refuge in as a community.

Headcanon that they generally love storytelling. Regardless of if they do or don't have access to books that are in good and preservable conditions, storytelling (via reading or memorization/orally) is a super important part of their culture. No one population has a 100% literacy rate even IRL, and not being able to read doesn't make anyone stupid anyway. But Zaun has a decently high literacy rate, especially considering their circumstances. They prioritize it because of how fundamentally important art/storytelling is to their culture.

Headcanon that Ekko and his Firelights tell stories to the kids at the base every night before bed. That a lot of these tales are from people he loved, like Benzo or his birth parents, or even Vi, Jinx, Mylo, and Claggor.

Headcanon that Vi in particular loves reading. She's a total bookworm. The few moments where she gets to do things for herself, she chooses to read and collect poetry and literaterary works. She's only ever kept one classic for herself (sold the others), but the things she keeps, she treasures. Young Vi likes to spin tales for baby Powder. Some are based off of stories she's read/was told by the adults in her life. Others are entirely made up on the spot, for Powder's own enjoyment.

Headcanon that Vi would've maybe wanted to be an author if she wasn't more preoccupied with protecting her family. That she considered pursuing those interests a pipe dream, something for a different version of herself.

Headcanon that Sevika remembers more about her dad's stories than about her dad himself. Headcanon that Renni the chembaron read books with her son whenever they both had a day off from work.

Headcanon that a lot of Zaunites know how to sing. Headcanon that Vi can sing. And that she used to sing lullabies for Powder until Mylo called her a baby for still needing them. And even after Vi punched him for it, Powder insisted she was too big for lullabies- so she and Vi settled on bedtime stories.

Headcanon that Jinx still remembers those stories. That she tells them over and over to herself whenever she can't sleep.

Headcanon that Silco told her stories when she became comfortable enough to tell him about her insomnia as a kid.

Headcanon that he would tell her anything from true stories of his past to things he's read or heard to things improvised on the spot. And they were different from Vi's stories because these usually had some moral/message to them, even the ones that he made up- but she loved them just as much as the aimless, endless tales of wonder and adventure Vi would spin for her.

Headcanon that now, she replays both Vi's and Silco's stories in her head at night. That when Isha came into her care, she shared some of those stories with her, too.

[muiitoloko]

Is there anymore difficult woman coming soon🫣👀

Title: Through Gilded Bars

Summary: Caught between passion and betrayal, a young wife struggles to reconcile her resentment with the unexpected warmth of her husband’s love.

Pairing: Karl Hoffmeister × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut

Author's Notes: I finally managed to finish this chapter 😮‍💨

First, Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth, Sixth, Seventh, Eighth and Ninth part here.

Also read on Ao3

The next morning, the house was cloaked in a rare, serene quiet. The rhythmic patter of rain on the windows had softened to a gentle drizzle, and the faint scent of damp earth wafted through the window of your shared bedroom. You stirred awake, the warmth of the duvet enveloping you as you became aware of the solid presence beside you.

Karl was still asleep, his chest rising and falling steadily, the faint gray light of dawn casting soft shadows on his chiseled face. The gray hair at his temples glinted in the light, his mustache twitching faintly as he dreamed. His strong arm was draped possessively across your waist, holding you close as though even in sleep, he couldn’t bear to let you go.

You gazed at him for a moment, your mind replaying the events of the night before. The intensity of his touch, the vulnerability in his words—“I love you so fucking much”—lingered in your memory like a brand. You had never imagined this dynamic, this strange pull between you and Karl, could evolve into something so intimate, so tender, and yet so consuming.

Careful not to wake him, you slipped out of bed, grabbing a robe from the chair and tying it loosely around your waist. Your legs felt weak, your body sore in unfamiliar places, a reminder of the night’s passion. A soft blush crept up your cheeks as you glanced back at Karl, his face relaxed in sleep, looking younger and almost innocent.

You padded quietly to the bathroom to freshen up, splashing cold water on your face to steady the whirlwind of emotions still coursing through you. As you toweled off, a thought struck you—what now? What did last night mean for your marriage, for the tenuous relationship you had been navigating with this man?

The answer seemed both simple and impossibly complex. You couldn’t deny the connection that had formed between you and Karl, but what terrified you was the depth of it. How quickly the walls you had built around your heart had crumbled under the force of his devotion.

When you returned to the bedroom, Karl was awake, propped up on one elbow, his hazel eyes tracking your every move. His gaze was soft, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips as he watched you.

“Good morning, liebling,” he said, his baritone voice rough with sleep but warm with affection.

“Good morning,” you replied, your voice quieter, still unsure of how to navigate this new intimacy.

Karl patted the space beside him, his smile widening slightly. “Come here,” he said gently.

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the belt of your robe, but the vulnerability in his expression softened you. Slowly, you crossed the room and slid back into bed beside him. Karl immediately pulled you into his arms, his embrace firm and comforting, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

“How do you feel?” he asked, his tone laced with genuine concern.

“Sore,” you admitted with a shy smile, your cheeks flushing as you avoided his gaze.

Karl chuckled softly, the deep rumble of his laughter sending a pleasant shiver through you. “That’s to be expected,” he said, his fingers tracing soothing patterns along your arm. “But I meant... in here.” He placed a hand gently over your heart, his hazel eyes searching yours for any hint of unease.

You swallowed hard, your gaze dropping to where his hand rested against your chest. “I don’t know,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. “Last night was... a lot.”

Karl’s expression softened even further, his hand moving to cup your cheek as he tilted your face toward him. “I know,” he said quietly. “And I want you to know that nothing has to change unless you want it to. You’re still in control, schatz. Always.”

The sincerity in his voice took your breath away. For a man who was so used to control, to power, Karl’s willingness to let you lead this new dynamic was both surprising and deeply touching.

But the soft, tentative warmth of the morning faded the moment you shook your head and slipped out of Karl’s arms. The air seemed to chill between you as you adjusted your robe, the knot at your waist tightening with the same tension building in your chest. You turned away from him, your shoulders stiff with resolve.

“What’s wrong, liebling?” Karl’s voice, rough from sleep, cut through the quiet. He sat up fully, the sheets pooling at his waist, his hazel eyes narrowing as he studied you.

You glanced at him over your shoulder, lips pursed. “What’s wrong?” you repeated, your tone sharp as you crossed the room to the window. The drizzle outside mirrored the storm inside you. “What’s wrong, Karl, is that I let myself forget who you are—what you’ve done.”

Karl sighed heavily, the sound carrying both frustration and a hint of guilt. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, the weight of his body causing the mattress to creak. “I thought we were past this,” he said quietly, his baritone voice laced with weariness.

You turned sharply, your arms crossing over your chest as you faced him. “You thought wrong,” you snapped. “You’re still the man who destroyed my father’s business—my family’s livelihood—just to get to me.”

Karl’s jaw tightened, his hazel eyes darkening with emotion. “I wanted to do things differently,” he said, his voice rising slightly as he pushed himself to his feet. He towered over you, his chubby frame imposing but somehow softened by the vulnerability in his expression. “I wanted to court you properly, but your father wouldn’t let me near you! He called me unworthy, threatened to send you away.”

You scoffed, stepping closer to him, your chin tilted defiantly. “And that justifies what you did? Manipulating him, ruining everything he worked for? You didn’t just hurt him, Karl—you hurt me. You took away my choice.”

Karl ran a hand through his gray hair, his frustration evident in the way his fingers raked through the strands. “I rebuilt his business,” he shot back, his voice rough with defensiveness. “Your family is one of the richest in the region now because of me. I made things right.”

“It’s not about the money, Karl!” you snapped, your voice trembling with anger as you stepped closer, the intensity between you crackling like a live wire. “It’s about your manipulation. You didn’t ‘make things right.’ You decided what was right without considering anyone else—without considering me.”

Karl’s eyes dropped to your lips, his breath hitching as you leaned closer, your voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. “You can’t buy my forgiveness, Karl. You can’t undo the damage you caused just because you feel guilty now.”

His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you closer until your bodies were nearly touching. His hazel eyes burned with a mix of anger and desire, his voice dropping to a husky growl. “You think I feel guilty? No, liebling, I don’t feel guilty for wanting you. I’d do it all again if it meant having you in my bed, in my life.”

Your breath hitched at the intensity in his gaze, but you refused to back down. “And that’s exactly why I can’t forgive you,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion. “Because you don’t see what you did as wrong. You think wanting me justifies everything.”

Karl’s grip on your wrist tightened slightly, his other hand moving to cup your cheek. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he murmured, his voice softening as his thumb brushed against your skin. “Everything I did, I did because I love you.”

“You don’t love me, Karl,” you shot back, your voice firm even as your body betrayed you, leaning slightly into his touch. “You love the idea of me. You love the control.”

He growled softly, his thumb tracing the curve of your bottom lip, his hazel eyes locked on yours. “You’re wrong,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I love you. And no matter how many times you argue with me, no matter how many sharp words you throw my way, I can’t stop loving you.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding as his lips hovered dangerously close to yours. “You can’t win this argument, Karl,” you whispered, your voice trembling with both defiance and something deeper, something you didn’t want to acknowledge.

His lips curled into a small, self-deprecating smile, his breath hot against your skin. “I know,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “I never can. You’ve always had the upper hand, liebling. Always.”

Your lips parted, ready to fire back another retort, but Karl closed the distance before you could speak. His mouth captured yours in a kiss that was equal parts desperation and surrender, his hands pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

You hated the way your body responded, hated the way his touch made you weak, made you forget every reason you had to push him away. But as his lips moved against yours, as his hands roamed your body with a possessive tenderness, you couldn’t deny the pull between you—the magnetic force that always seemed to bring you back to him.

And Karl, for all his faults, knew he was powerless against you. Even as he tried to assert control, to bend you to his will, he found himself hypnotized by you—by your strength, your fire, your lips that could silence him with a single word or ignite him with a single kiss.

He pulled back just enough to whisper against your mouth, his voice a low, breathless growl. “You drive me mad, liebling. Do you know that? Every time you argue with me, every time you defy me, it only makes me want you more.”

You smirked, your lips brushing against his as you whispered, “Good. Maybe you’ll finally learn that you can’t always get your way.”

Karl chuckled softly, his breath warm against your skin as he rested his forehead against yours. “With you,” he murmured, his voice full of reluctant admiration, “I never stand a chance.”

Karl’s baritone voice rumbled with satisfaction as he kissed you deeply, his strong hands sliding over your body with renewed hunger. “You’re mine, liebling,” he murmured against your lips, his tone thick with desire as he eased you back onto the bed. The warmth of his body enveloped you as he pressed his weight into you, one hand loosening the belt of your robe while the other tangled in your hair.

“Karl,” you began, your voice breathless but stern, “we shouldn’t—”

He silenced you with another fervent kiss, his mustache brushing tantalizingly against your skin. “Hush,” he growled, his hazel eyes dark with a primal intensity. “Let me worship you properly.”

The cool air kissed your bare skin as your robe fell open, and Karl’s large, warm hands roamed over your curves with deliberate care. He lowered his mouth to your neck, his lips and teeth teasing the sensitive skin there. “I can’t get enough of you,” he whispered, his voice rough as his lips moved lower, tracing a heated path down your chest.

You arched into his touch, your body betraying the protests on the tip of your tongue. “You’re insatiable,” you scolded, though your voice lacked conviction, trembling as Karl’s mouth found the peak of your breast, his tongue flicking over your nipple.

Karl chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against your skin. “When it comes to you, yes,” he admitted, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, his touch firm and possessive. “You’ve ruined me for anything else, schatz.”

He shifted, aligning himself with you, and you gasped as he entered you in one slow, deliberate motion. The fullness of him was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pain that left you breathless. Karl groaned, his head falling to your shoulder as he began to move, his thrusts deep and unrelenting.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. “So tight, so perfect for me.”

Your fingers dug into his shoulders as you moaned his name, the intensity of his movements leaving you trembling beneath him. Karl’s lips found yours again, his kiss bruising and hungry as he drove you both toward release.

When the two of you finally collapsed into a breathless heap, Karl pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, his chest heaving with exertion. “Stay in bed, liebling,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’ll have Liselotte bring you breakfast.”

You nodded weakly, too exhausted to argue, and Karl dressed quickly before leaving the room, his expression smug and content as he descended the stairs to the dining room.

Karl entered the dining room with a spring in his step, his usual commanding presence softened by a rare smile. Johann was already seated at the table, sipping his coffee, while Elisabeth sat stiffly across from him, her face pale and drawn.

“Good morning,” Karl greeted warmly, taking his seat at the head of the table. He exchanged a knowing look with Johann, who raised an eyebrow in silent question.

“Did you sleep well, Karl?” Johann asked, his tone light but laced with curiosity.

Karl smirked, reaching for the coffee pot. “Indeed,” he replied, pouring himself a cup. “And I’ve had a wonderful morning, too.”

Johann chuckled, shaking his head, but before he could respond, Elisabeth abruptly stood, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. Her face was flushed, her expression unreadable as she excused herself hurriedly.

Karl’s brow furrowed as he watched her leave, concern flickering in his hazel eyes. “What’s wrong with Elisabeth?” he asked, turning to Johann.

Johann shrugged, feigning ignorance. “She hasn’t been feeling well,” he said vaguely, though his tone suggested there was more to the story.

Karl frowned, waving over Anna and Liselotte, who had been standing nearby. “Anna, find out what’s troubling Elisabeth and prepare some tea for her,” he ordered, his tone firm. “And Liselotte,” he added, turning to the younger maid, “take breakfast upstairs to my wife, along with some ointments to help with any soreness.”

Both women nodded quickly, hurrying to carry out his orders. Karl leaned back in his chair, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of Elisabeth’s sudden departure and the lingering satisfaction of his time with you. He took a sip of his coffee, his hazel eyes flickering with a mixture of concern and smug contentment.

As Johann continued to watch him with quiet amusement, Karl couldn’t help but smile, his thoughts drifting back to the woman resting in his bed upstairs. Whatever challenges lay ahead, he knew one thing for certain: you were his, and he would do whatever it took to keep you by his side.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Liselotte was bubbling with excitement. As she helped you untie your robe and guided you toward the bathroom, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes alight with curiosity.

"You must tell me everything!" she exclaimed, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “What was it like? Did Herr Hoffmeister treat you well?”

You felt your face grow hot as you stepped into the shower, the warm water cascading over your skin, washing away the tension and soreness of the night. “There’s nothing to tell,” you said quickly, your voice wavering as you tried to maintain your composure. “It’s none of your business.”

Liselotte let out a dramatic laugh, covering her mouth as if to stifle her amusement. “Oh, don’t be modest, ma’am! The whole house heard you last night—and this morning too!”

Your hands froze mid-lather, your heart dropping into your stomach. “What?” you asked, turning to gape at her through the steamy haze of the bathroom.

“The walls in this house are thin,” Liselotte said with a smirk, her tone teasing but not unkind. “Anna and I could hardly believe it—Herr Hoffmeister’s bed is notoriously quiet. But with you, well…” She wiggled her eyebrows.

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands, wishing the floor would swallow you up. “I can’t believe this,” you muttered. “It’s humiliating.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Liselotte said, her tone softening as she handed you a fresh bar of soap. “It’s perfectly natural. You’re married, after all. And, if I may say so, Herr Hoffmeister is a very lucky man. You’ve made him happier than I’ve ever seen him.”

Her words only deepened the flush on your cheeks. You busied yourself with rinsing your hair, avoiding her gaze as she chattered on. But eventually, her persistence wore you down.

“Fine,” you said with a sigh, leaning against the cool tile wall of the shower. “If you must know… Karl was kind. He was careful and gentle. He made sure I was comfortable.”

Liselotte’s eyes widened with delight, and she clasped her hands together. “I knew it! Beneath all that sternness, Herr Hoffmeister has a heart after all.”

You gave her a wry look. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. He’s still the man who ruined my father’s business and forced me into this marriage.”

Liselotte tilted her head, studying you with a thoughtful expression. “Does it feel different now? Between you and Herr Hoffmeister?”

You hesitated, unsure of how to answer. The warmth of Karl’s touch, the sincerity in his voice, and the way he had held you last night lingered in your mind, complicating your feelings. “I… don’t know,” you admitted finally. “I still hate him for what he did to my family—and to me. But not as much as before.”

Liselotte nodded, her expression encouraging you to continue.

“I hate feeling like a prisoner in this place,” you said, your voice softer now. “But somehow, it doesn’t feel as oppressive anymore. Karl… he’s not as cruel as I thought he’d be.”

Liselotte smiled knowingly as she handed you a towel. “Love works in mysterious ways,” she said, her tone teasing yet warm. “Maybe Herr Hoffmeister isn’t the villain you’ve made him out to be.”

You sighed, wrapping the towel around yourself as you stepped out of the shower. “Or maybe he’s just a villain who happens to be good at kissing,” you quipped, though the faint smile on your lips betrayed your conflicted emotions.

Liselotte laughed, helping you into a fresh dressing gown. “Either way, I think you’re beginning to see that life here isn’t so bad,” she said, her voice gentle. “And who knows? Maybe you’ll find a way to be happy.”

You didn’t respond, but as you made your way to the bedroom for breakfast, you couldn’t shake the strange feeling that she might be right. Whether you liked it or not, Karl had begun to chip away at the walls you had built around your heart—and that thought was both terrifying and oddly comforting.

The morning sunlight streamed softly through the lace curtains of your bedroom, casting a warm glow over the cozy space. You sat in bed, a tray balanced carefully on your lap. A small feast had been prepared for your breakfast: freshly baked bread, an assortment of cheeses, slices of cured ham, and a steaming cup of coffee. Beside the tray sat a small collection of jars, their labels handwritten in elegant script. You picked one up, examining the thick glass and its contents, curiosity piqued.

“What are these?” you asked, holding the jar up for inspection. You removed the lid and sniffed the contents, the sharp scent of mint filling the air.

Liselotte, busy rifling through your wardrobe, glanced over her shoulder. She held a flowing cream-colored dress in one hand and a light blue one in the other, her brow furrowed in concentration. “The ointments are to help with the bruises and soreness, ma’am,” she said absently, her tone almost casual, as though this were an everyday occurrence.

You raised an eyebrow, your hand instinctively brushing over your hip, where Karl’s firm grip had left a faint ache. “Bruises?” you asked, chewing on a piece of bread.

Liselotte smirked, setting the cream dress aside and holding up the blue one against the light. “Well, I heard the headboard was doing most of the heavy lifting last night,” she teased. “And judging by how loud the two of you were, I’d say Herr Hoffmeister wasn’t exactly gentle.”

Your cheeks flushed crimson, and you quickly lowered your gaze, fumbling with the jar in your hands. “I don’t need a play-by-play,” you muttered, though the corner of your lips twitched in amusement despite your embarrassment.

Liselotte laughed softly, finally deciding on the blue dress. She laid it across the chair by the vanity before turning her full attention to you. “If it helps, the ointment works wonders. Anna swears by it—used it after her back gave out from scrubbing the floors last winter.”

You nodded, uncapping the jar again and dipping your finger into the cool, smooth substance. The minty aroma was soothing, and as you rubbed a small amount onto your wrist, you felt an immediate cooling sensation. “It’s nice,” you admitted, setting the jar back on the tray.

Liselotte clapped her hands, a playful grin on her face. “I told you! Herr Hoffmeister spares no expense when it comes to your comfort.”

You rolled your eyes, not believing Liselotte’s exaggerated claims, but you humored her with a small smile, tearing off a piece of toast and handing it to her. “Here,” you said, shaking your head. “Take this and hush. You’re like a hen clucking in my ear.”

Liselotte accepted the toast with a mischievous grin, but she wasn’t deterred. If anything, her enthusiasm grew. “Oh, no, no, ma’am,” she said, biting into the toast and waving a hand for emphasis. “You don’t understand! Herr Hoffmeister went mad preparing for your arrival. He wanted everything perfect.”

You arched an eyebrow, leaning back against the headboard as you sipped your coffee. “Perfect?” you repeated skeptically, giving her a pointed look. “Karl Hoffmeister doesn’t strike me as the sentimental type.”

Liselotte let out a dramatic laugh, nearly choking on her toast. “Sentimental? No, perhaps not. But determined? Oh, absolutely. You should have seen it, ma’am. The whole household was in a frenzy! He had the entire garden replanted just for you.”

You blinked, taken aback. “The garden?”

“Yes!” Liselotte exclaimed, her eyes wide with excitement. She set the rest of her toast down and moved closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “Do you think those roses just magically bloomed overnight? No, Herr Hoffmeister ordered them all imported—imported, ma’am—from some fancy place in Holland. He said they were the finest in Europe, and only the best would do for his bride.”

You stared at her, unsure whether to laugh or roll your eyes again. “You’re making this up,” you said, though your tone was more amused than accusatory. “Karl Hoffmeister doesn’t strike me as the type to fuss over flowers.”

Liselotte’s jaw dropped, her expression a mixture of shock and playful outrage. She set down her toast dramatically, brushing the crumbs off her hands before marching over to the bed. “You don’t believe me?” she gasped, clutching her chest as though you had wounded her pride. “After everything I’ve told you?”

You smirked, leaning back against the pillows. “Liselotte, it’s not that I don’t believe you,” you teased, “but Karl Hoffmeister obsessing over flowers? It’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

Liselotte let out an exasperated sigh and grabbed your hand, pulling you out of bed with surprising strength. “Enough of this nonsense!” she declared, her cheeks flushed with determination. “If you won’t take my word for it, I’ll show you myself!”

Laughing, you stumbled out of bed, clutching your robe around you as Liselotte dragged you across the room. “Liselotte, for heaven’s sake!” you protested, though there was no real anger in your voice. “I’m not even dressed!”

“Hush, ma’am,” Liselotte replied, waving off your complaints as she placed you firmly in front of the bedroom window. She pulled back the lace curtain with a flourish, gesturing dramatically toward the garden below. “There! Behold the fruits of Herr Hoffmeister’s labor!”

You rolled your eyes at her theatrics but humored her, peering out the window. The garden stretched out before you, a sea of vibrant colors and carefully curated blooms. Roses in every shade imaginable lined the pathways, their petals glistening with morning dew. Tall, stately tulips swayed gently in the breeze, their colors so vivid they looked almost painted. A wisteria vine climbed gracefully over an ornate archway, its purple blossoms cascading like a waterfall.

Liselotte pointed to a cluster of delicate white flowers near the fountain. “Those are snowdrops,” she said, her voice brimming with pride. “Imported directly from Holland. And those over there—” she gestured to a bed of vivid orange blooms “—are marigolds. Hans himself planted them!”

You blinked, surprised by the revelation. “He did all this… for me?”

Liselotte nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, yes! Herr Hoffmeister was very clear. He wanted everything to be beautiful, perfect, and meaningful. He said you deserved nothing less.”

You stared out at the garden, your fingers lightly gripping the windowsill. You had looked at this view dozens of times before, but it had always seemed like part of the prison Karl had built around you. The beauty of the flowers had been overshadowed by your resentment, their colors dulled by the bitterness in your heart.

But now, as Liselotte pointed out each bloom and explained their significance, you found yourself seeing the garden in a new light.

“Those roses,” Liselotte continued, her voice softening, “he said they reminded him of you—strong, beautiful, and resilient.” She gestured toward the wisteria arch. “And that wisteria? It’s a symbol of devotion. He insisted it be placed where you’d see it every morning.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you took it all in. The meticulous care that had gone into every detail, the thoughtfulness behind each choice… it was overwhelming. For the first time, you truly saw the garden, not as a gilded cage, but as a gift—a testament to Karl’s effort to make you feel at home, to make you feel cherished.

Liselotte’s voice broke through your thoughts. “You’re not a prisoner here, ma’am,” she said gently. “Herr Hoffmeister didn’t build this place to trap you. He built it so you’d feel like the queen of this estate.”

You turned to her, your eyes wide with emotion. “I’ve been so blind,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been so angry with him… I never stopped to notice.”

Liselotte smiled warmly, resting a comforting hand on your shoulder. “It’s understandable, ma’am. But now that you see it, perhaps it’s time to let go of some of that anger. Herr Hoffmeister may be stubborn and overbearing, but his heart is in the right place.”

You nodded slowly, your gaze returning to the garden. The vibrant blooms seemed to shimmer with a new brilliance, their colors brighter than you had ever noticed before. You felt a small, unfamiliar warmth stir in your chest—a tentative hope that perhaps, just perhaps, Karl’s actions weren’t entirely selfish.

As Liselotte continued to point out the different flowers and their meanings, you found yourself smiling, truly appreciating the beauty of the garden for the first time. And for the first time, you allowed yourself to wonder if there could be more to this life with Karl than you had ever imagined.

Meanwhile, in her own bedroom, Elisabeth buried her face in the pillows, ignoring the tea Anna had carefully placed on her bedside table. The fragrant steam curled upward, but she didn’t care. Tea wouldn’t soothe the ache in her chest or silence the echo of Karl’s voice calling out your name.

Elisabeth curled her fingers into the soft fabric of the pillow, her nails digging into the material as if it could somehow absorb her frustration. Karl had broken her heart again without even realizing it, his obliviousness cutting deeper than a deliberate slight ever could.

It was cruel to love a man who didn’t love you back—crueler still when that man looked at another woman with the kind of devotion Elisabeth could only dream of. He didn’t see her. Not as a woman. Not as someone who could match his fire, his passion. To him, she would always be the little girl who trailed behind him in the gardens, begging to ride horses and hear his stories.

The memory made her stomach churn with humiliation. She could still hear the teasing affection in his voice as he ruffled her hair, calling her mein kleines Mädchen—his little girl. It had been years since then, and Elisabeth had grown. She was no longer the child he remembered; she was a woman now—a woman with desires, with ambition, with the determination to claim what she wanted.

And what she wanted was Karl Hoffmeister.

Elisabeth buried her face deeper into the pillows, her lips trembling as a fresh wave of tears threatened to spill. But amid the heartbreak, there was a spark of defiance, a smoldering flame fanned by the memory of something Karl had said to her days ago.

"All’s fair in love and war."

The words rang in her ears, looping endlessly in her mind until they became a mantra. At the time, she’d thought nothing of it. Now, the phrase took on new meaning, seeping into her thoughts like a poison—or perhaps an elixir.

If all was fair in love and war, then she wouldn’t give up. She wouldn’t stand by and let you win Karl’s heart without a fight. Karl might not see her now, but he would. She would make him see her—make him crave her—no matter what it took.

Elisabeth pushed herself up from the bed, her tear-streaked face hardening with resolve. She smoothed her dress, the silk clinging to her figure in a way she knew was alluring. Standing before the mirror, she studied her reflection, noting the flush in her cheeks and the brightness in her eyes. She was beautiful. She was desirable. And Karl would realize that soon enough.

But how? How could she make him look at her the way he looked at you? How could she shatter the image of the little girl he’d once known and make him see the woman she had become?

The answer was simple: she would seduce him. Slowly, deliberately, she would chip away at his defenses until there was nothing left but raw desire. She would play on his weaknesses, his unspoken fantasies, until he couldn’t resist her. And when the moment came, she would make him hers.

Elisabeth licked her lips, imagining the feel of his calloused hands on her skin, the weight of his body pressing her into the mattress. She could almost hear the growl of his voice, low and commanding, as he whispered filthy promises against her ear.

"You think you can tease me, mein Schatz? Think again."

Her breath hitched at the thought, heat pooling low in her belly. Karl was a man of control, but she had seen the cracks in his armor—the way his hazel eyes darkened with lust, the way his mustache twitched when he was holding himself back. She wanted to push him to his breaking point, to make him lose that ironclad restraint and take her the way she knew he wanted to.

"Do you know what you’ve done to me, Elisabeth?" she imagined him growling, his large hands gripping her waist as he pulled her flush against him. "I’ve been dreaming of this—of you—for far too long. Now that I have you, I’m never letting go."

Elisabeth shivered, the vivid fantasy leaving her breathless. She knew Karl would resist at first. He would try to cling to his sense of propriety, to the idea that you were the only woman for him. But she was patient. She would wear him down, inch by inch, until there was no room in his heart—or his bed—for anyone but her.

"You’re mine now, mein Liebling," she murmured to her reflection, her lips curving into a sly smile. "All’s fair in love and war, remember?"

With renewed determination, Elisabeth turned away from the mirror and rang the bell for Anna. There was much to do, and she couldn’t afford to waste time wallowing in self-pity. If Karl Hoffmeister wanted a war, then she would give him one. And this time, she had no intention of losing.

The kitchen was alive with the usual morning hustle. The warm scent of freshly baked bread and brewed coffee mingled with the faint aroma of herbs wafting from the simmering pots. Gustav, the head cook, worked with the precision of a master conductor, directing the staff like an orchestra.

Anna leaned against the counter as she polished silverware, her sharp eyes glinting with mischief. "I tell you, Gustav, with all the racket the bosses were making last night—and this morning too—it won’t be long before we see little ones running around here."

Hans paused in the middle of meticulously arranging a tray. He turned to Anna, his expression a mix of disapproval and exasperation. "Anna," he said sternly, his voice low and clipped, "it is highly inappropriate to comment on the personal lives of Herr Hoffmeister and his wife. Show some decorum."

Anna rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed by his reprimand. "Oh, lighten up, Hans," she retorted, waving a hand dismissively. "You’re acting like I’ve committed some great sin. Everyone knows the bosses are finally getting along. That’s reason enough to celebrate, don’t you think?"

Gustav chuckled from his position by the stove, shaking his head as he stirred a pot of soup. "I think Anna’s just eager to see babies crawling around the halls, making a mess of all her hard work."

Anna grinned, not the least bit offended. "And why not? This house has been far too quiet for far too long. A couple of chubby little Hoffmeisters would do us all some good."

Hans sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You’re incorrigible," he muttered, shaking his head. "First I’m chasing Frau Hoffmeister through the gardens at Herr Hoffmeister’s orders, and now the two of them are… rolling around in bed like a couple of lovesick teenagers. It’s confusing."

Anna’s grin widened, and she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Confusing? Oh, Hans, you should’ve heard them. It wasn’t just the bed creaking. I thought the headboard was going to come clean off the wall!"

Gustav let out a hearty laugh, nearly doubling over as he stirred the soup. "Anna, you’ll be the death of me," he said, his voice booming through the kitchen. "Poor Hans here looks like he’s about to faint."

Hans’s face turned a deep shade of red, and he straightened his posture, his composure slipping under the weight of Anna’s teasing. "This is a respectable household," he said stiffly. "We should not engage in such… crude speculation."

Anna smirked, unbothered by his admonishment. "Crude? Oh, come now, Hans. Even you must admit it’s nice to see Herr Hoffmeister with a smile on his face. He’s been brooding for months, and now he looks like a man who’s just won the lottery."

Hans opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out. He closed it again with a huff, shaking his head as he resumed arranging the tray. "You’re impossible," he muttered under his breath.

Anna’s grin only widened as she picked up a cloth and began polishing the silverware with exaggerated vigor. "Call me what you like, Hans," she said, her tone playful. "But mark my words—before long, there’ll be little feet pattering through this house. And you, my dear butler, will be chasing after them just like you chased after Frau Hoffmeister."

The image of Hans, red-faced and flustered, running after mischievous children caused Gustav to laugh so hard he had to set down his ladle. Even Heinrich, the older stable hand who had just entered the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee, let out a deep chuckle.

Hans sighed again, though this time there was a faint, reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He didn’t understand the dynamic between you and Karl—the constant push and pull, the fiery arguments followed by moments of intense passion. But one thing was clear: whatever was happening between the two of you was shaking up the household in ways no one could have predicted.

Upstairs, Liselotte was still bustling about your room, her chatter filled with excitement as she helped you dress. But even her enthusiasm couldn’t drown out the faint echo of laughter and clinking dishes from the kitchen below—a reminder that the staff had their own opinions about the newfound warmth between you and Karl. If only they knew how complicated things truly were.

The morning sun broke through the clouds, bathing the Hoffmeister estate in a soft, golden light. Inside his office, Karl sat at his mahogany desk, a thick pile of documents spread out before him. These were contracts and accounts from his factory—papers he had neglected for far too long. But now, with the estate quiet and his cousins in town, it seemed like the perfect time to focus.

Except he couldn’t.

Karl leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. His hazel eyes kept drifting to the door, his thoughts wandering upstairs to where you were resting. He had left you alone, wanting to give you time to recover and process everything. But the pull to check on you was growing stronger with every passing minute.

With a frustrated sigh, Karl tossed the pen onto the desk and pushed himself to his feet. He needed a break, and he needed to see you. His heart was a strange mix of concern and anticipation. He made his way upstairs, his heavy footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. Reaching the bedroom door, he knocked softly before pushing it open.

The room was empty.

Karl’s chest tightened as a sense of déjà vu washed over him, memories of your attempted escape flooding back. He was about to call for Hans when Anna appeared in the hallway, carrying fresh linens.

“Anna,” he said sharply, his baritone voice tinged with urgency. “Where is she?”

Anna blinked, startled by his tone, before offering a reassuring smile. “She’s at the stables, Herr Hoffmeister. The puppy got himself into a bit of a mess playing in the mud. She insisted on washing him herself.”

Karl exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, relief coursing through him. “Thank you,” he muttered, his voice softening. He turned on his heel and headed downstairs, a wry smile tugging at his lips. Of course, you would be at the stables, caring for that little troublemaker.

The closer Karl got to the stables, the more he could hear your voice. It was soft but firm, tinged with amusement as you scolded Mouse. “Stay still, you little rascal! If you keep squirming, I’ll just leave you muddy.”

Karl chuckled under his breath, stepping carefully over the muddy puddles that dotted the path. As he entered the stable, the sight before him made him pause. You were crouched beside a wooden trough, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly damp from the humidity. Mouse, the tiny puppy, was a muddy mess, squirming as you tried to rinse him off with a bucket of water.

“You look like you’re losing this battle,” Karl drawled, his baritone voice carrying a hint of amusement.

Startled, you turned to see him leaning against the stable doorframe, arms crossed and a playful smirk on his lips. “If you’re just here to tease, Karl, you can leave,” you retorted, though the corner of your mouth quirked up in a smile.

Karl pushed off the doorframe and walked toward you, rolling up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt. “Nonsense. I wouldn’t dream of leaving you to handle this alone.”

Before you could protest, Karl crouched beside you, his larger hands easily holding Mouse in place. “Now, you focus on cleaning him. I’ll keep him still,” he said, his tone commanding but not unkind.

You huffed but obliged, scooping water from the bucket and pouring it over Mouse’s muddy fur. The puppy let out an indignant bark, shaking vigorously and splattering both of you with water and mud.

“Mouse!” you exclaimed, wiping your face with the back of your hand.

Karl let out a deep laugh, the sound rich and warm. “I think he’s winning,” he teased, his hazel eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Oh, really?” you shot back, grabbing a handful of water and flinging it at him. The droplets hit his shirt, leaving dark, wet splotches.

Karl’s eyebrows shot up in mock offense. “You dare?” he growled, scooping a handful of water from the trough and splashing it at you.

A shriek escaped your lips as the cold water hit your chest, soaking the front of your dress. “Karl!”

He grinned wickedly, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Fair’s fair, liebling.”

But you weren’t one to back down. Grabbing another bucket, you flung its contents at him, drenching his shirt completely. The fabric clung to his chest, revealing the broad, solid frame beneath.

Karl’s laughter rumbled as he retaliated, and soon the two of you were engaged in a full-blown water war.

The stable air smelled of hay, earth, and faint traces of rain. You and Karl were laughing so hard your sides ached, your laughter mingling with the sound of Mouse barking and darting between your legs. The bucket of water you had hurled at Karl left his shirt clinging to his broad chest, the wet fabric outlining the strong frame you’d been too angry to appreciate before.

At the back of the stables, Heinrich smiled to himself as he finished brushing a chestnut mare. His weathered hands moved in smooth, practiced strokes, his eyes glancing occasionally at you and Karl. The two of you were soaked, splashing water at one another like children, Mouse bouncing around and barking gleefully. The dog’s antics made Heinrich chuckle softly.

“Come here, Mouse,” he called, his deep, gravelly voice calm and familiar. Mouse hesitated for a moment before bounding over to him. Heinrich scooped the muddy pup into his arms, giving you and Karl a knowing smile as he exited quietly through the back. He’d leave you to enjoy this rare, unguarded moment.

With Mouse gone, Karl’s hazel eyes flickered with a mischievous light as he turned back to you. Water dripped from his gray hair, and his mustache was damp, giving him a slightly disheveled but oddly roguish appearance. “Now, liebling,” he drawled, his baritone voice low and teasing, “I believe you’ve drenched me enough.”

You raised your chin defiantly, unable to suppress your grin. “You deserved it,” you quipped, stepping back slightly, but your soaked dress clung to your legs, limiting your movement.

Karl’s gaze darkened as his eyes roamed over you, the wet fabric leaving little to the imagination. Your dress, now nearly transparent, hugged your curves, the swell of your breasts and the soft lines of your thighs clearly visible. His throat worked as he swallowed, his voice rough when he spoke. “You’re testing my patience, schatz.”

You arched an eyebrow, your lips curving into a playful smirk. “Oh? And what are you going to do about it?”

Karl didn’t answer with words. Instead, he lunged forward, his large hands gripping your waist and pulling you flush against him. The heat of his body contrasted sharply with the chill of your wet clothes, making you gasp. His hazel eyes burned into yours, and his voice dropped to a husky growl. “You’ve made quite the mess, liebling. Now, I think it’s time you cleaned it up.”

Before you could retort, his mouth captured yours in a searing kiss. It was rough, demanding, and full of the passion that had been building between you. His hands slid down your hips, his fingers digging into the fabric of your dress as he pressed you against one of the wooden support beams.

“Karl,” you murmured breathlessly when he broke the kiss to trail his lips down your neck. His mustache tickled your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. You tried to maintain your composure, but the way his teeth grazed the sensitive spot below your ear made your knees weak.

He chuckled against your neck, the sound vibrating through you. “You can’t tease a man like that and expect to walk away unscathed,” he murmured, his hands sliding down to your thighs. With a swift motion, he lifted you off the ground, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.

“Karl, we can’t,” you protested weakly, but your hands tangled in his damp hair, betraying your words.

“Why not?” he growled, his lips brushing against your collarbone. “No one’s here. Just you, me, and this stable.” His hands roamed your thighs, pushing your dress higher as he carried you toward one of the empty bays filled with fresh hay.

The world outside faded as he laid you down gently on the soft hay, his large frame hovering over you. His hazel eyes locked onto yours, filled with a mix of desire and tenderness that left you breathless. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he traced a finger along your jawline.

Your heart pounded as you reached up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over the faint stubble on his cheek. “And you’re insufferable,” you whispered, though your tone was soft, almost teasing.

Karl smirked, leaning down to kiss you again, his lips claiming yours with a hunger that made your body arch against him. His hands explored your curves, his touch firm but reverent as he peeled the soaked fabric of your dress away from your skin. Every inch of you that was exposed to the cool air was soon warmed by his touch, his lips following the path of his hands.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough with need. “Every inch of you, mine.”

You shivered at the possessiveness in his tone, your own desire flaring as your hands worked to unbutton his soaked shirt. The fabric clung stubbornly to his broad shoulders, but you managed to push it off, revealing the strong, slightly weathered body beneath. Your hands roamed over his chest, the warmth of his skin igniting a fire in your belly.

“Karl,” you whispered, your voice trembling with both anticipation and need.

He silenced you with another kiss, his hips pressing against yours in a way that left no doubt about his intentions. His movements were deliberate, slow but confident, as he aligned himself with you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. When you nodded, giving him silent permission, he entered you with a slow, deliberate thrust that left you gasping.

The intimacy of the moment took your breath away. Karl’s usual dominance was tempered by an unexpected tenderness, his movements careful and controlled as he worshipped every inch of you. The hay beneath you was soft, the scent of earth and horses mixing with the faint saltiness of his sweat as you moved together, your bodies finding a rhythm that felt both natural and exhilarating.

His hands gripped your hips as he thrust deeper, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was almost desperate. “I love you,” he murmured against your lips, his voice raw and vulnerable. “I love you so damn much.”

Your heart ached at the sincerity in his words, and you found yourself whispering his name like a prayer as the tension between you built to a crescendo. When release finally came, it was overwhelming, your cries mingling with his low, guttural groans as you clung to each other, your bodies trembling with the force of it.

For a long moment, the two of you lay tangled together in the hay, your breaths mingling as you slowly came back to reality. Karl brushed a strand of hair from your face, his hazel eyes soft as they gazed into yours. “You drive me mad, liebling,” he said softly, his voice filled with both amusement and affection.

You smiled, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. “Good,” you murmured, your voice still breathless. “Someone has to keep you on your toes.”

Karl chuckled, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “You’ve done more than that,” he said, his tone serious now. “You’ve changed everything.”

As you lay in his arms, surrounded by the scent of hay and the fading warmth of your passion, you couldn’t help but feel that he was right. Everything had changed—and for the first time, you weren’t entirely sure that was a bad thing.

Karl’s body kept you warm, his broad chest rising and falling against your cheek as his lips brushed over your shoulder in slow, tender kisses. His mustache tickled your skin, drawing a giggle from you, though your mind was only half-focused on his attentions.

Your gaze wandered to the other stalls across from you. That’s when you saw it. The horses. They stood there, large dark eyes fixed on you and Karl, their heads poking out over the stall doors like curious spectators. One mare flicked her tail, her ears swiveling forward, while a large stallion gave a loud snort, shaking his mane as if in disapproval.

You froze, heat rising to your cheeks. "Karl," you hissed, your voice urgent but quiet.

He hummed lazily, clearly distracted as he kissed the curve of your shoulder. "Hmm?" His baritone voice was a deep rumble against your skin.

"Karl!" you repeated, a little louder this time. You grabbed the edge of the blanket he'd draped over the two of you, clutching it to your chest and trying to shield your bare body from view.

"What is it, liebling?" he asked, finally lifting his head to look at you, his hazel eyes still clouded with contentment.

You nodded toward the stalls. "The horses," you whispered harshly, your voice rising in pitch. "They're staring at us!"

Karl turned his head slowly, his brows furrowing in mild confusion. Sure enough, the horses remained unmoving, their unblinking eyes fixed on the two of you. One of them gave a soft whinny, as though in agreement with your observation.

Karl blinked, his expression blank for a moment. Then, to your disbelief, he burst into laughter—a deep, hearty sound that filled the stable. He leaned back slightly, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe the absurdity of your concern.

"Karl!" you hissed again, your embarrassment deepening. "It's not funny! They're... they're watching us!"

He chuckled, his broad shoulders shaking with amusement. "Liebling," he said, his voice thick with laughter, "they’re horses. They don’t know what we’re doing."

"How do you know that?" you shot back, your tone defensive as you gestured wildly at the equine audience. "They look far too interested for my liking!"

Karl raised an eyebrow, clearly struggling to keep a straight face. "What do you think they’re going to do? Write a report? Tell Heinrich?"

You glared at him, your cheeks burning. "It’s not about what they’ll do, Karl. It’s the principle of the thing. They shouldn’t... see this!"

He turned to look at the horses again, this time with a more serious expression. He studied them for a moment, his hazel eyes narrowing slightly as if he were considering your point. Finally, he let out a mock sigh and shrugged. "Well," he said, his tone deadpan, "I suppose I could have them moved to the other side of the estate if it bothers you that much. Perhaps Heinrich could arrange for some privacy screens."

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "This isn’t a joke!"

Karl leaned closer, his warm breath brushing against your ear. "Oh, but it is, liebling," he murmured, his voice rich with amusement. "A very funny one."

You peeked at him through your fingers, your glare only making him laugh harder. His whole body shook with mirth, and you couldn’t help but feel a tiny, grudging smile tug at the corners of your lips, despite your mortification.

Suddenly, a sharp cough interrupted the moment, and you both froze. Your heads whipped around to see Heinrich standing in the stable doorway, Mouse tucked under one arm and a bucket of water in the other. His weathered face was impassive, but his gray-blue eyes twinkled with barely concealed humor.

"I see the two of you have been... busy," Heinrich said, his voice gruff but tinged with amusement.

Karl cleared his throat, quickly pulling the blanket up to cover the both of you more modestly. "Heinrich," he said smoothly, though the faint pink tint in his cheeks betrayed him, "what can I do for you?"

Heinrich raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking between the two of you and the very muddy patch of hay you were lying on. "Just thought I’d bring Mouse back," he said casually, setting the puppy down. "Didn’t mean to interrupt... whatever it is you’re doing."

You buried your face in Karl’s chest, groaning in embarrassment. Karl, for his part, simply gave a small, sheepish smile. "Thank you, Heinrich," he said, his tone as dignified as he could manage under the circumstances.

Heinrich nodded, tipping his cap. "I’ll leave you to it, then," he said, his voice carrying a faint chuckle as he turned to leave. As he exited, you swore you heard him mutter, "Young love... always causing a mess."

Karl looked down at you, his hazel eyes filled with both amusement and tenderness. "Well, liebling," he said, his baritone voice low and teasing, "it seems we’ve given everyone in this stable quite the show."

You groaned again, swatting at his chest. "This is all your fault."

He laughed, pulling you closer and pressing a kiss to your temple. "I’ll take full responsibility," he promised, his voice warm with affection. "But I must say, it was worth it to see you like this."

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but smile, your earlier embarrassment fading in the warmth of his embrace. "You’re impossible," you muttered, though your tone lacked any real bite.

Karl chuckled, his hand gently stroking your hair. "And you, liebling, are irresistible," he murmured, his voice soft. "Horses and all."

[angelofthenight01]

Echoes in the Static

Wanda Maximoff x Reader 

genre: angst   ||     warnings: none

The static crackled like a dying fire, a familiar companion now. It pulsed on the old television screen, a grainy, black-and-white mockery of the world outside – a world you weren’t supposed to see. You were a ghost in this idyllic sitcom, a glitch in the perfect pixelated life Wanda Maximoff had built for herself.

Your first memory in Westview was hazy, a disorienting lurch into the cheerful banality of the 1950s. You’d woken up in a pastel-coloured kitchen, a gingham apron inexplicably tied around your waist, a half-finished apple pie cooling on the counter. The feeling of displacement was immediate, a scream trapped in your chest. But then you’d looked up, and seen her.

Wanda.

She was a vision, impossibly radiant bathed in incandescent lights, her red lips curving into a welcoming smile that melted away some of the terror. She’d called you “neighbor” with a warmth that felt both genuine and manufactured, and in that moment, you’d thought, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. You couldn’t explain it, but there was a pull, a gravity between you and her that went beyond the superficial role you were meant to play in this strange, manufactured world.

The days blurred into a kaleidoscope of sitcom tropes. You were the friendly neighbor, always ready with a casserole or borrowed tool. You laughed at the forced jokes, played your part in the absurd scenarios, all the while staring at Wanda. You watched the way she moved, the soft curve of her smile, the fleeting shadows in her eyes she tried so hard to conceal. There was a desperation to the fabricated happiness that resonated deep within you, a shared loneliness you both tried to bury beneath layers of laughter and canned applause.

Between takes, when the cameras weren’t rolling and the facade faltered, you’d catch glimpses of the real Wanda. She’d often look out at the edges of her perfect world, a yearning for something more in her gaze. Sometimes, in those quiet moments, you’d talk. Not about the sitcom, but about the wind, or the smell of rain, or faded memories of life before Westview. It felt like stealing stolen breaths, precious moments of truth in a world saturated with lies.

One evening, sitting on her porch swing, the artificial twilight deepening around you, Wanda’s guard slipped completely. She confessed, in a whisper barely audible over the chirping of digitized crickets, that she remembered her brother, Pietro. The pain in her voice, the raw, visceral grief, cracked something open within you. You reached for her hand, your fingers intertwining with hers, the touch electric and forbidden.

"You're not alone, Wanda," you’d said, and for the briefest of moments, her gaze locked onto yours, a flicker of something intense passing between you. Hope, perhaps. An understanding.

The weeks turned into months, the sitcom narrative shifting through eras. The 70’s brought bell bottoms and groovy patterns, and with it, a subtle shift in your relationship. You were still the neighbour, but the line between performance and reality blurred further. You caught her looking at you when she thought you weren’t paying attention. You shared stolen smiles across crowded block parties under the watchful eye of the nosy neighbor, Agnes. You started to feel like your heart might break when the sitcom day ended and you were just "the neighbour," not the woman she looked at with such deep unspoken longing.

Then came the 80’s, with its leg warmers and shoulder pads. The atmosphere became more charged. You couldn’t ignore the growing pull, the silent conversations exchanged in glances. Wanda was reaching for you, as much as she was trying to deny it. It was all unspoken, a charged frisson that crackled beneath the surface, the static of the television screen that echoed the unease in your heart.

The tension peaked during an episode where your character was almost written out as her love interest, but you knew in your heart, it was the only way for her to keep you in that world. The realization that she rewrote you to be a part of her life was a balm, a validation of the unspoken feelings. You’d held her, comforted her through the stress and emotion, and in the shared silence of the night, when the world of the sitcom disappeared, you almost kissed her. But then Vision had called her name, a gentle reminder of her perfect life. You’d pulled back, the pain of her being pulled away an intense ache in your chest that wouldn't fade.

The 90's brought a sense of unease to the sitcom, the cracks in the wall becoming more visible. Wanda was struggling, the perfect world she created beginning to crumble. You saw the strain in her face, the barely contained desperation, and your heart ached for her. You wanted to pull her away, tell her that she didn't have to do this, that there was a way to find happiness that wasn't built on lies.

And then, the real world started to seep in. The outside interference with SWORD. Vision's discovery of himself outside the Hex. Wanda began to fracture, her perfect world breaking apart at the seams, and you found yourself in the crossfire.

The truth was laid bare, the lies she'd told herself, the reality she'd tried to escape, and it was agonizing. You were so close to her, seeing the cracks in the facade, the pain in her eyes. In your heart, you hoped she would see you, see the love you had for her, how it was real and true, not fabricated for a sitcom.

Finally, came the confrontation, the moment where she had to choose between the reality she tried to create and the reality that was thrust upon her. You stood in the fractured town square, your heart pounding as you watched her face Vision, the love for him evident in her posture, the way she looked at him, a love that was a stark contrast to the stolen glances she gave you.

The choice was inevitable, and the pain was a physical blow. She chose him, the love she had constructed, the life she desperately tried to hold onto. She chose the life built on a lie, over you. In that moment, the hope that had bloomed within you withered, leaving behind a bitter ache. You were a character in her story, and the storyline was over.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her eyes filled with regret, but the words were hollow. You looked into her eyes one last time, seeing not the longing you'd seen, but an attempt to show grace and pity. It was the most painful moment out of everything in your time in Westview.

You watched as the Hex dissolved, the world Wanda built crumbling around you. You saw Vision disappear into thin air, his sacrifice a devastating blow to Wanda, but an even greater one for you. Because while she grieved the fabricated love, you grieved her, the real her, the woman you had glimpsed beneath the surface, the woman you had come to love.

The static on the television screen faded to black, and you were gone, erased from the world she chose not to see, a forgotten echo in the static. The memory of your stolen moments was the only thing you were left with, a bittersweet reminder of a love that never could be, a love that wasn't real enough to be chosen. And in the silence that followed, you were left with nothing but the crushing weight of what could have been, and the echo of her choosing someone else, something else, over you.

[hazymoonlinh]

hi this is my first time requesting

saw your writing and lover it ,so i think it would be neat and interesting if mydei met an outworlder who comes from a planet that has to do with racing and driving and offers mydei a ride,especially someone like him has probably never seen an actual motorcycle

Eyyo this is neat asf, also thank you thank you for the kind words eheheehe

I mean he would try to be calm but he’s pretty much nervous and stiff ahaha.

King s Ride.

Mydei x gn!reader.

I use the word “outworlder” because it’s easier to write.

The air was thick with the scent of burnt metal and faint embers, remnants of a skirmish long over. Mydei, ever the composed warrior, stood near the rubble, surveying the aftermath with a frown. His golden armor gleamed faintly under the fading light, a beacon of authority amidst the chaos.

“Hey, you look like you could use a lift.”

The voice came from behind him, casual and confident. Mydei turned, his piercing eyes narrowing as they landed on a strange figure leaning casually against a sleek, black-and-silver machine. It looked nothing like any vehicle he had ever seen. Two wheels, a roaring engine, and glowing lines of energy pulsed along its frame like veins of liquid light.

The outworlder smirked, their attire just as bold as their attitude—leather-like gear, tinted goggles pushed up to their forehead, and a jacket adorned with vibrant, racing-inspired patterns. They patted the seat of the bike invitingly. “What’s the matter? Never seen a motorcycle before?”

Mydei crossed his arms. “Why would I concern myself with trivial contraptions?” he replied, his tone dripping with disdain.

“Trivial? Please,” the outworlder scoffed, rolling their eyes. “This baby’s a masterpiece. Fastest thing you’ll find this side of the stars. And it’s not just about speed—it’s about freedom.”

“Freedom,” Mydei echoed, skeptical.

“Yeah,” they said, straddling the bike and revving the engine. The deep growl of the motor rumbled through the air, startling a few nearby birds. “You can’t understand it until you feel it. Hop on, and I’ll show you.”

Mydei glanced at the seat behind them, then back at the outworlder, who was grinning like they’d already won. He opened his mouth to refuse—only for a low, menacing growl to echo in the distance. The remnants of their pursuers weren’t far behind.

“Your choice, golden boy,” the outworlder teased, revving the engine again. “Stick around and fight, or get on and ride like hell.”

With a sharp sigh, Mydei stepped forward, his pride taking a minor hit. “I’ll tolerate this… for now.”

“Sure you will,” they quipped, barely stifling a laugh. Mydei climbed onto the bike, his posture stiff as he awkwardly placed his hands on the edge of the seat.

“Uh-uh. You’ll want to hold on to me,” the outworlder said, glancing over their shoulder. “Unless you’re planning on flying off.”

He hesitated but wrapped his arms around their waist reluctantly. “If you tell anyone about this—”

“Yeah, yeah, your reputation, blah, blah,” they interrupted. “Just hang tight, Your Majesty.”

And then they were off.

The motorcycle roared to life, its engine a symphony of power and precision. Mydei felt the wind tear past him, his cape fluttering violently behind as they shot forward at breakneck speed. The ground blurred beneath them, and for the first time in a long while, he felt… weightless.

“See?” the outworlder shouted over the wind. “Not so bad, huh?”

He didn’t respond, too preoccupied with the unfamiliar sensation of adrenaline coursing through him. The speed, the motion—it wasn’t chaotic, as he had expected. It was controlled, powerful.

For the first time, Mydei understood what they meant. It wasn’t about running away—it was about chasing. Chasing purpose, chasing life.

As the bike skidded to a halt at the edge of a cliff overlooking the vast horizon, Mydei released his hold, albeit reluctantly. The outworlder shot him a knowing grin. “Told you you’d like it.”

He straightened his armor, his usual composure slipping back into place. “It was tolerable,” he said it cooly, though the faintest hint of color touched his cheeks.

The outworlder laughed, revving the engine again. “Careful, golden boy, or I might think you want another ride.”

“Don’t push your luck, outworlder.”

.

.

.

.

.

Let me know if you’d like any changes or if you’d like to explore this further haha.

Sorry cuz this is late, I was preparing for Tet 🙉

I’m coping so hard while waiting for him.

[saibasimian]

A bit crude but I had an idea come to mind

I thought back on my time playing Tears of the Kingdom and, despite it just being a mechanic for you to get the new Yiga Clan outfit I really liked the idea of multiple hideouts throughout Hyrule the clan could use as shelter while they're out following the orders of Master Kohga and I thought of an idea they should've expanded a bit more with.

I know realistically each of the items are found in areas with a similar topography and climate but what got me ticking was the concept of having a branch in every known region of Hyrule as a waypoint for the members to use just in case they're unable to blend in with the commonfolk in the Stables and civilizations, AND because a lot of the areas are unique to one another I thought of the idea that the Yiga would in turn have different outfits that better reflect on the branch they were in and how it helps them adapt and blend in, like a member in Faron having a green and brown cloak or have frond coverings and paint patterns on their uniforms. And each branch having a specific job/task they're meant to do that benefits the Yiga Clan as a whole to some capacity which got me into creating an OC that I've been wanting to make for a while:

HERE IS YUSARU: THE HEAD OF THE YIGA'S HEBRA BRANCH

Yusaru is a Blademaster and a master craftsman who has chosen his base nestled near the hot springs at the foot of the western mountain range. Yusaru and his branch were tasked to spy closely on the Rito people, collect food for the clan and use his base as a main safehouse for the clan's easy access in and out of the Depths. Unlike most Blademasters, Yusaru uses a duplex bow as a means to hunt animals, but also used glave instead of the usual windcleaver katana. He mimics the hotheaded antics of Master Kohga. He's brash in both personality and in his own personal tastes as he dotes about his special coat to make himself feel like a boisterous general towards his enemies. To his fellow Yiga, he shows a lot more compassion often allowing them to use his place as a second home away from the Gerudo Hideout and will often repair necessary tools or fashion materials to weapons inflicted with gloom the likes of which he's done with his own glave to give off ice elemental attacks to freeze and inflict frostbite

I plan on sketching out his weapon along with a much more detailed design of him along with his hair and face. I meant to play on a monkey esc style by mimicking Japanese Macaques (especially with the fixation on bananas) but the idea of also him being a Yeti especially as a callback to the two Yeti from Twilight Princess feels like the better choice so I'm rolling with that one especially since TP was my introduction to the franchise

(kinda got this idea flowing after a spark of inspiration and I rushed to sketch for an hour bc I didn't want to end up forgetting to finish this)

For the brush I've used for the fur, here's the set it's from:

[rubywillkins]

hello my love i would love to place an order for franco colapinto xfemale!reader

drink: a macchiato with whipped cream, soy and almond milk.

breakfast: meatballs, fish and chips, caprese skewers

main: butter fried chicken, potato gnocchi with some sparkling water if you may!!!

sorry if its too much xx

Sure Love ♥️

Franco Colapinto| Golden devotion

Pairing franco × female reader

Macchiato playboy in love whipped cream sweet sex soy milk oral sex almond milk vaginal sex meat balls body worship fish and chips hickeys caprese skewers Breeding kink butter fried chicken "slowly, baby, I'm not going anywhere" potato gnocchi "shh, just look at me baby” sparkling water aftercare

It was late at night when Franco and Y/N stepped into the luxurious suite overlooking the Monaco skyline. The glimmering lights from the harbor painted golden patterns across the room. The air was thick with desire, yet beneath it all lay a deep, unwavering love that had taken Franco by surprise.

Franco Colapinto, Formula 1’s most notorious playboy, had never believed in settling down. Women came and went, just like the seasons, until Y/N walked into his life. She wasn’t like the others; she didn’t fall for his cocky smirk or his charms. Instead, she challenged him, pushed him to be better, and made him feel things he never thought possible. She was his calm amidst the chaos of racing, and tonight, he was determined to show her just how much she meant to him.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Franco’s intense gaze locked onto Y/N. She was breathtaking, dressed in a silk slip that clung to her body in all the right places. He closed the distance between them, his hands finding her waist as he pulled her close.

“You know you’re mine, right?” he murmured, his Italian accent thick with emotion.

Y/N smiled, running her fingers through his dark, unruly hair. “Always.”

He lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the bed like she was the most precious treasure he’d ever held. Laying her down gently, he hovered over her, his lips ghosting over hers.

“You’re everything to me,” he whispered. “Do you know that? I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. Body, soul, everything.”

His words sent a shiver down her spine. She saw the sincerity in his dark eyes, the way he looked at her like she was made of gold. His lips traveled down her neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses, each one worshipful, reverent. He took his time, savoring every inch of her skin like it was a masterpiece crafted just for him.

“I want all of you,” he confessed as his hands caressed her curves. “I want us to have everything together. A home, a family…everything.”

His admission made her heart swell. They’d talked about the future in passing, but tonight, there was a desperation in his voice that made her believe he wanted it more than anything.

“Franco…” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

“I want to make you mine in every way,” he said, his lips pressing against her collarbone. “I want to see you carrying my child, bella. I want the world to know you’re mine.”

Franco worshiped her, body and soul, and he made sure she knew it with every touch, every kiss, every whispered word of love.

He removed her and his clothes one by one slowly kissing her... From her face to toe.. kissing and sucking at each part givinh her hickeys all over her body... worshipping her body...with his love.. his kisses..

After sometime he was again at his favourite part your clit.. you can feel his warm breath on your sensetive part.. he starts to slowly lick your clit.. while massaging your breast with his hand..

He started fucking you with his tounge... Making your eyes roll and your hands were tangled in his hair.. was also pressing his head towards your vagina...

After making you cum with only using his tounge he licked all of your juices.. and slowly inserts his dick inside in one go...

And starts fucking you... He flipped you like 5 times... Trying 5 new position.. the way he flipped you several times... It was so hot...

But he found the perfect position... Bolstered beauty...

He slid a pillow right Bellow your abdomen... Your stomach and tits touching the bed while your ass in air.. thirsty for his dick...

He inserted it in you again.... This time it was rough but perfectly satisfying for both of you..

"slowly, baby, I'm not going anywhere" you said moaning and enjoying his dick..

"shh, just look at me baby” he said turning your head a bit for a moment.. so he can make your you were okay...

And he starts pounding into you again.. after sometime he cum inside you...

Filling your vagina with his warm seeds ..

When it was over, they lay tangled together, their breaths mingling as the room fell into a comfortable silence. But Franco wasn’t done showing her how much he cared.

He slipped out of bed and returned moments later with a warm, damp cloth. Gently, he cleaned her, his touch tender and full of care.

“Are you okay, amore?” he asked softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

Y/N nodded, her cheeks flushed. “More than okay.”

He smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “Stay here.”

He disappeared again, returning with a bottle of water and a soft blanket. He helped her sip the water, his fingers brushing against hers as he held the bottle. Then he wrapped the blanket around her, pulling her into his arms.

“I love you,” he murmured against her hair. “You’re everything I never knew I needed.”

She snuggled closer, resting her head against his chest. “I love you too, Franco.”

They lay like that for what felt like hours, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back as he whispered sweet nothings in Italian. He told her how beautiful she was, how much he adored her, how he couldn’t wait to see her glowing with their child. Every word was filled with love and devotion, leaving no doubt in her mind that she was his world.

Eventually, sleep began to claim them, but not before Franco placed one final kiss on her lips.

“Goodnight, amore mio,” he whispered. “I’ll spend every day for the rest of my life proving how much I love you.”

And as Y/N drifted off in his arms, she knew she’d found something rare and beautiful—a love as passionate and enduring as the man who held her.

[youngpeachenthusiast]

yeah! it's kind of new to me as well... it's not like the emotions aren't there, but it definitely takes energy to be able to recognize them and also "sit with the feeling", as they say (i'm discovering that i had no idea what that actually meant until now and i'm still unsure).

in my case it's like... i've got a lot of stress and on top of that i have an obsessive thought pattern that is neverending. my new therapist is starting to interrupt that pattern during our sessions, and when i'm made to stop instead of just thinking and thinking and thinking to the point of nausea what comes up is... like, physical sensations? actual manifestations of what i'm feeling outside of my brain screaming incoherently (or having to run to the bathroom)? and it feels kind of crazy i have to admit.

she makes me stop and breathe and focus on my body (my chest is heavy, my throat feels closed up...) and apparently that's one way that we recognize our emotions and allow them to take their space within us :O

i just thought that "feeling my emotions" meant thinking about them until i'm so tired i don't recognize the feeling anymore or get distracted, apparently? weird

in these weeks i'm noticing that the amount of thinking i do is really eating away at all my energy (and i actually brought it up in session like a big boy😎) and my therapist has told me that emotions need space and energy to be felt and understood. it's so weird right? they're still there but apparently they're just knocking and i don't know how to open the door and actually see who they are and what they need.

i definitely hope to learn more as my sessions continue!! i'm glad that i could share a little something that i've been learning :O

i have therapy tmrw and i very honestly dont even know what to start with. just going to look at my therapist like hey i. i am not doing great..help

[someone-else-entirely]

Me, a child, reading A Series Of Unfortunate Events and seeing that Duncan, Isadora, and Quigley Quagmire are meant to look eerily similar to one another: "Ah. Identical triplets."

Me, a teenager, learning about how genetics work and realizing that a boy and a girl cannot be identical twins/triplets/etc: "Nevermind. Fraternal triplets who just happen to look super similar."

Me now: "They are in fact identical and Isadora is trans"

[trans-leek-cookie]

yknow what. I wanna say: CSA and COCSA survivors are all incredible, but I also wanna give a shout out to ppl who were exposed to sexual stuff or had any kind of sexual experience as a kid that they either aren't comfortable labelling as or don't consider abuse, but they know it still fucking sucked and shouldnt have happened. Even if that changes later in life and you identify as a victim/surivor, it can be messy to have to imagine those labels applying to the ppl in ur life and that can take time.

The most important thing is to prioritize your recovery + health, and to support other victims + survivors.

[thirdmagic]

[angeart]

Howwwww did you angst the world tour?? 🎀

this question made me giggle so much oh i'm glad you asked :3c there was so much yummy grian angst in the hc world tour!

it's all about grian and his penchant for destruction. he doesn't even mean to! he's not trying to be pesky; quite the opposite. he's curious but restrained, trying to be good, trying to follow instructions. he's not malicious at all! he's just there to see what people were up to, open and friendly and curious, eager to look and learn and praise. not a bad intention in sight... and yet things seem to break wherever he goes. everything he touches goes wrong.

the guilt churns, acidic and overwhelming, and grian's miserable. why is he like this? he's trying so hard, why is this the only way he can ever be? why can't it stop?

spoilers for grian's world tour video below <3

plantie pointed out to me how, during the tour of scar's train, when grian got rid of scar's arrows—the glitched ones that doc put there—he was so desperate to point it out after scar just glossed over it. as if he wanted to show that he can do something good. he can be helpful, he can fix things instead of just breaking everything.

but then we have all the other things, right? grian can't escape it.

when he was with etho and the mushroom farm exploded, he sums it up in a wretched if confused apology: "i'm so sorry. the two times i tried to use it, i broke it :( and created a water source floating— which i don't know how it happened— and flung the TNT, which i really don't understand—"

they move on, but it's so clear it lingers.

etho isn't blaming him. he's amused and brushes it off and moves along, unbothered, but grian himself can't wrap his head around it. about that propensity to breaking things, even unintentionally. the way nothing is safe around him.

he tells etho: "i can't stop thinking about your mushroom farm. why does everything i touch break, in new and unexpected ways?"

(not to mention when etho's showing him frogger and grian plays, almost instantly etho goes: "uh-oh, the game's broken", with a little huff of laugh. it wasn't exactly tied to anything grian did, but still something i wanted to point out, since grian was there for it <3)

and then grian goes to zedaph, right?

the very first game zedaph shows him. the very first. grian plays the way he was told to, the way he was meant to, and— he breaks it.

zedaph just laughs and moves them on.

(just sprinkling in a side note that zedaph's furnace minigame also didn't seem to work the way it should've—)

by the time grian gets to pearl's, it's starting to be a pattern that's so clearly eating away at him, making him anxious. he doesn't want it to happen again!

and yet.

pearl invites him to play her wordle game, and grian mindlessly goes and pushes the wrong button trying to start it... instantly stepping away with a quiet groan of a dread-filled "...oh-" followed by: "i just— ruined it already."

there's something about the mood switch. the way he seems more restrained and tame, silently upset with himself, trying so hard not to mess things up further. questioning why this is happening again. why he can't stop making it happen.

he walks over to the reset game button and asks, carefully: "can i press reset? is it gonna hurt? 🥺👉👈"

pearl reassures him he can, with a sigh noting that it'll just take a while.

there's an almost hysteric laugh from grian, followed by an exasperated, upset scream. "everything i touch breaks! when i went to e— i broke etho's thing when i went to— not frogger, his— his mushroom farm i— it blew up."

"you blew up his mushroom farm?? how? what did you do?!"

"yeah, i— i broke zed's game, instantly, pretty much, it's—"

"oh my gosh :("

"sorry 🥺"

pearl is quick to reassure him, though. "well, luckily for you, this is— you doing that (pushing the wrong button) does not break the game. it's just, you now have to wait for it to reset."

she makes sure grian knows that he didn't mess up anything terribly here. he didn't break pearl's game. it's okay! it's fine!

and then grian right clicks to open the book, and instead makes bonemeal pop out of a composter.

i think at this point pearl is a little bit taken aback by how wrong everything really seems to be going around grian. she makes sure to say, "it's fine," again, just so grian won't start worrying about it all again. "you're clicking on everything that people do not usually click on today. but it's okay. it's still not broken! it's not broken, it's alright, it's okay— i've got failsaves for people like you."

it's so sweet how she really tries to soothe him— and yet she can't help but let out that last remark.

people like you.

those few words surely lodge in more than all the reassurances. they're like splinter, proving grian right.

eventually, he gets to skizz.

during the tour of skizz's base, skizz shows him a horse statue and starts talking about how he lost his first horse at an event that grian was also a part of. and grian's stomach instantly sinks.

he asks hushedly, a bit confused, trying to remember: "was i there?"

skizz laughs. "you were absolutely there, dude."

which leads grian to ask, uneasily: "did i do it?"

skizz waves his hands, quick to easily reassure that no! that's not it, grian didn't do it!

grian lets out an oh with such palpable relief, and goes on to explain about how, "i remember witnessing it, but sometimes it's hard to disentangle whether i did it or not. coz i tell you what, on this tour i've broken everyone's stuff."

nobody was upset with grian when things broke, but here he is, several hermits down, still unable to leave it to rest. because it's him. it's him who did all of that, somehow, and he didn't mean to, but it doesn't matter. it happened anyway.

and now he can't even tell what is and what isn't his fault anymore.

the guilt is deep rooted, leaving anxious assumptions and dark, jagged precipices. how much did he destroy? what else should he be feeling guilty about? how far does this go?

he keeps breaking things, and it's such a blur that he can no longer tell what is and what isn't his fault.

the tour continues, and he delves into skizz's pyramid. and it's just— it's just a tunnel to swim through. nothing to mess up, besides potentially dying to suffocation, right?

and yet you can hear skizz shrilly exclaim: "oh he's going to end up breaking something!!"

and, (plantie's words: ) grian hearing that and just wondering, is that all i'm good for? is that all i'm known for? is that all i am?

there's no room for doubt; not really. that is what grian does, all the time, whether he wants to or not. he breaks stuff. he just— he doesn't mean to. and this tour is one big show of how powerless he is against it. (how everyone expects it from him anyway.)

despite it all, grian perseveres, trying out skizz's game, stubbornly dedicated and trying to win. (to pass; to have something to be proud of, at least—) and he gets to the powdered snow section.

there, he jumps across to a pathway that he was meant to circle to through the snow instead.

it's not breaking anything, not really. not even the rules. it's not cheating! he's just— he just did something skizz did not expect, but that was entirely possible within the game's design, even if not intended. he exploited it to his advantage; a risky, tricky shortcut.

and yet skizz remarks with a laugh: "this is what grian does! he breaks games!"

no matter what grian does... is that all he'll ever be?

is that all they'll see?

he fails getting through skizz's game, is thanked for play-testing, praises it all, they talk it all away, and...

and then grian goes to tour mumbo's base.

and fails to even die properly to his llama—

and then mumbo shows him his archive machine, and instantly panicks when grian gets curious about it, begging him not to touch anything. and grian says: "your stomach just fell through didn't it?" and after mumbo's immediate agreement, he adds: "and rightfully so. coz, almost everything i've touched on this tour has broken."

there's not a sliver of surprise to mumbo's anxious rushed: "yeah, yeah yeah! please stop now." because, of course things have broken. of course what grian touches is bound to go wrong. of course—

and then mumbo very carefully tells grian what to do with the machine.

grian does as he's told.

mumbo looks up and pauses, a frown crossing his face as he takes it in. he notes that grian probably did it too fast—

(something went wrong)

(something broke)

mumbo says: "i can't believe you come along and every single thing in my base starts [going wrong/breaking/malfunctioning]"

and then grian mysteriously ends up with an extra book from mumbo's machine, much to mumbo's dismay. grian's confused, cogs spinning as he tries to figure out what did he mess up this time to result in this.

it's clear mumbo wants grian away from his machine. it's not safe. (grian isn't safe.)

"maybe just give that to me and maybe just step away from the contraption. and then— maybe just leave me to—"

grian's upset and bewildered voice cuts in: "i didn't do anything wrong this time :(("

he's trying so hard.

he's trying so hard to be good and do things right and not mess anything up.

(it isn't working.)

(it's never bound to work, is it?)

mumbo ushers him away, and ends up showing him another cool invention—an elevator. except the second mumbo hits the button, a creeper shows up and explodes it. (it's midday.) (it wasn't even meant to be there.)

this one isn't grian's fault at all, but with everything that's happened— well, it's easy enough to link it to grian's presence. like a bad luck omen.

apprehensively, grian asks if the elevator broke, and mumbo—a bit bewildered by the reality of it—says that no, it seems to still work. "amazingly," he tacks on, disbelieving.

grian's relieved. "ohh, i thought we were in big trouble there!"

besides himself, mumbo anxiously agrees: "augh. i was like, if every single creation that i show breaks in some fashion, i'm just gonna quit."

because this isn't normal. none of this is, least of all everything at once. it simply doesn't happen.

(not when grian isn't there, anyway.)

mumbo notes that he needs to work on his lighting, and grian nods wisely saying it's a perpetual issue, but the anxiety is digging its talons in now, unrelenting. (what else is going to go bad in grian's presence? what else will he mess up? what else will he break? why is he like this?)

another remark that comes after this is mumbo's nervous: "i've actually just built up the automatic sorter which does this—which you're not gonna touch. we're banned from touching any redstone contraptions!"

and what can grian do but oblige? (but he can at least look, right?)

but does it ever change anything?

does it matter?

-

at the end of the day, the others don't think too much about it.

they all say their part, pass their judgment, wave their hands, dismiss, move on. it doesn't keep them up at night.

... i think it might keep grian up at night.

a cacophonous collection of word snippets, aimed at him or woven around him, digging under his skin until it bleeds. a noose of inescapable fate, a tightening band around his chest that promises he can only ever be one thing:

a vessel for destruction.

it doesn't matter if he wants to be.

shackles and chains and a cosmic inevitability written into his skin, etched into his bones, tangled into his bloodstream. and an ever-rising guilt like stormy sea, far above his head now, drowning him.

(maybe he's not meant to be near other people and their things.)

(maybe he's not meant to touch games that were constructed with so much effort and love and passion poured into them.)

(maybe he shouldn't—)

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bonus screenshots from discord DMs (with extra sprinkles of hmtb mentions):

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bonus hmtb quotes because i kept thinking about it:

He always destroys the things he loves most, after all.

and:

He destroyed everything he touched, and when there was nothing left, he destroyed the only remaining thing: himself.

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[hplonesomeart]

Ah nothing stings quite like a doomed friendship. Especially when you’ve got no one to blame except yourself for all those careless, selfish actions that pushed them away. Going as far to hurt them for your own gain. You’ve become the catalyst of your own loneliness. A path you forged willingly. A path you thought would bring you recognition…but it’s only lead to you being forgotten. Irreversibly.

[agalychnisspranneusroseus]

My hot take is that marcanne has as much potential for toxic yuri as any other calamity trio ship and it's not nearly as soft and fluffy as one may think