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solxamber · 8 days ago

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Trash Novel Chronicles: I Don't Want the Heroine || Ruggie Bucchi

You get isekai’d into what could only be described as an affront to literature, as the second male lead.

So you decide to cut all ties with the heroine and live a peaceful (wealthy) life with your secretary, Ruggie Bucchi. Except life doesn't go as planned as you get more chaos than you signed up for

Series Masterlist

You knew you were in for a ride the moment your so-called "friends" forced you to read the lowest-rated web novel of the year as punishment for losing a bet. And not just any bad web novel—no, this was the Mount Everest of literary disasters. A true champion of trash.

Some reviews said their IQ points dropped by atleast 20 points. Others swore their vision blurred after reading it. One particularly scathing reviewer said, “This book is responsible for my grandma’s untimely passing. She read it and gave up on life.”

So, armed with a drink (or three), you settled in to read. And oh, you were not ready.

The heroine is engaged to the Second Male Lead, a duke with infinite money, charisma, and love to give. He’s the human equivalent of a weighted blanket. And what does she do? She cheats on him with the Male Lead, Duke of the North, who is basically a human icicle.

The Male Lead, by the way, has the personality of a damp rock. His dialogue alternates between monosyllabic grunts and poetic nonsense like, “You remind me of a cloudy winter’s moon.” Sir, what does that even mean?

The villainess? Not even a villainess. Just the duke’s childhood best friend, who’s labeled as "mean to the heroine" because she has the audacity to call out her cheating. Somehow, this makes her evil.

Then there’s the business subplot. The heroine convinces the Second Male Lead to invest in a clearly terrible idea. He pours his entire fortune into it because she fluttered her eyelashes at him, and surprise, it fails. He loses his estate, his reputation, everything.

And does she apologize? Nope. She runs off with the Male Lead to frolic in snowy landscapes while the Second Male Lead becomes a “villain” and, of course, dies tragically.

And Ruggie. Poor, loyal Ruggie. The second male lead believed in him, gave him a job, and supported his family. Ruggie sticks by him until the bitter end, only to die too because this author hates happiness.

You finish the book in stunned silence. “What the actual hell?” you whisper, clutching your head. “Who gave this author access to the internet? Who greenlit this abomination?”

You need to breathe. You grab your coat and storm outside, still ranting under your breath. “If I ever meet the author of this garbage, I’m fighting them on sight. This is a hate crime. This book probably caused global warming. It—”

Suddenly, there’s a low rumble. You glance up, and your blood runs cold.

It’s a rogue truck. Carrying a full mariachi band. And it’s heading straight for you.

“Are you serious right now?” you shout at the universe.

The last thing you hear is a trumpet playing a very off-key version of Despacito before impact.

Your final thought as darkness takes you: I better not get isekai’d.

You wake up in an unfamiliar room, and for a blissful, fleeting moment, you think, Maybe the mariachi band killed me for good. Maybe I'm in heaven.

But then you see the gilded furniture, the obnoxiously large bed, and a wardrobe so stuffed with capes that you feel personally attacked. The truth hits you like a slap in the face: I got isekai’d. Of course. Because the universe hates me.

Then, you see the mirror. And what stares back at you isn’t your face. Oh no. It’s his face. The face of the poor, tragic Second Male Lead. The man destined to be scammed, betrayed, and emotionally wrecked by the most obnoxious heroine in existence.

You scream internally. Then externally. For a while.

You stumble out of the room, still in a haze of existential despair, and there’s Ruggie. Your loyal secretary, who looks like he’s had years shaved off his lifespan dealing with this nonsense.

“Good morning, boss.” Ruggie says, giving you a half-smirk. “Heroine’s asking about that investment again. You wanna reconsider?”

“Yes,” you say immediately. “Cancel it. Pull out everything.”

Ruggie freezes. “Everything?”

“Everything,” you repeat. Then, because you’re feeling generous (and also guilt-ridden because you know what’s coming for this man), you add, “Take 20% for yourself and your grandma. Put the rest back in the bank.”

Ruggie’s jaw drops. “You serious?”

“Dead serious.”

He stares at you for a second, then breaks into a grin so wide it could blind the sun. “Finally! I’ve been waiting years for you to wake up!”

Next, you sit down to write.

The first letter is to the heroine’s family: Dear Sirs, I regret to inform you that I am breaking off the engagement with your daughter, as she has the personality of a wet towel. Kind regards, Duke Idiot.

The second letter is to the Emperor: Your Imperial Majesty, please annul my engagement before I have a nervous breakdown. I am begging you. Also, I can bake cookies. Let me know if you’d like some. Yours in desperation, Duke Idiot.

By the time you’re done, you’re sweating, but it’s a cathartic kind of sweat. The kind that comes from breaking free of your chains—or in this case, an incredibly stupid plot.

Ruggie walks back in, still riding the high of not having to bankroll the heroine’s disastrous ideas. “What’s with the letters?”

“I’m saving myself,” you say dramatically.

He snorts. “Took you long enough.”

The first thing you do after finishing your letters is write one more—to the villainess.

It’s short and to the point: Come over. ASAP. I’m done enabling the heroine. Engagement's over.

When she arrives, it’s with the energy of someone who just won the lottery. She squeals, shakes you so hard you see stars, and pulls you into a bone-crushing hug. “FINALLY! You’ve woken up from the dumbest coma in history!”

You’re rubbing your temples and trying not to pass out from the intensity. “Yeah, yeah, thanks. Now stop shaking me or I’m going to puke on these ridiculously expensive boots.”

She laughs, but finally lets go, sitting across from you as you explain your plan to stop everything from becoming an unhinged dumpster fire. You’re mid-sentence when it happens.

First, the door bursts open, and the heroine comes storming in like a banshee, crying, screaming, and flailing.

“HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?” she shrieks, tears flowing down her cheeks like she’s auditioning for a telenovela.

“Do what?” you deadpan. “Not ruin my life for you? Sorry, I’m on a self-care journey.”

Before she can retort, there’s a second, even louder commotion. You look up, and it’s the Emperor himself. The actual Emperor.

“Oh, wonderful,” you mutter.

The Emperor strides in, looking equal parts amused and concerned. “I heard about your engagement breaking off. Thought you might’ve been possessed. I had to see this circus for myself.”

He’s barely seated when—because the universe hates you—the heroine drags in him: the Male Lead, aka the Duke of the North, aka Brick-Wall-With-a-Sword.

“This is unfair,” the heroine sobs, dramatically clutching the Male Lead’s arm. “He can’t do this to me! You’ll defend me, won’t you?”

The Duke grunts like a sentient tree stump. You guess that’s his version of “yes.”

What happens next is a symphony of chaos.

The heroine screams about betrayal. The Duke grunts out periodic agreements, like a caveman backup singer. The villainess is shrieking threats of peeling their skin off and making it into a fashionable handbag. You’re yelling at everyone to shut up, but no one listens.

Meanwhile, Ruggie peeks in, takes one look at the situation, and immediately decides he’s not paid enough for this. But, because he’s Ruggie, he grabs tea and cookies for the Emperor, who is thriving.

The Emperor pats the seat next to him. “Ruggie, my boy, sit. This is better than court drama. I wish the Empress could see this.”

They sip tea and munch on cookies while you slowly lose your mind.

Finally, you manage to silence the room. You glare at the heroine, who’s still sniffling like you personally ripped up her diary.

“It’s not your choice,” you say flatly. “I don’t like you anymore. Get over it.”

Her jaw drops. The Duke of the North lets out an indignant grunt.

You turn to him. “And you. Take her and leave before I dump water on her and she melts like the wicked witch she is.”

The villainess, not one to miss a petty opportunity, sticks her tongue out at them. You don’t stop her.

The Emperor finally finishes cackling and waves a hand. “Alright, alright. Annulment granted. Good luck cleaning up this mess.”

You turn to Ruggie, and without a word, you both high-five. It’s a perfect, satisfying smack.

The first thing you do after all the chaos is roll up your sleeves and confront the mess that was once "your" beautiful mansion. It’s cluttered with an assortment of hideous gowns, gaudy trinkets, and utterly pointless items the heroine insisted you buy.

A gold fan catches your eye—not because you like it, but because Ruggie is staring at it with the intensity of a starving man at a buffet.

“Take it,” you sigh, fondly exasperated.

Ruggie lights up like you’ve just handed him a winning lottery ticket. He mock salutes you and declares, “My eternal loyalty to you, my lord!” with the kind of dramatic flair that would make the villainess proud.

You almost laugh, but then you remember how fiercely loyal he is. You soften, ruffle his hair, and say, “Just promise me, if you ever get the chance, you’ll run for the hills.”

He frowns, mock offended. “What? And leave your kitchen un-raided? Never! You’re stuck with me.”

Your smile grows wider as you shake your head. “Fine, fine. Stay, then. But only if you keep making coffee the way I like.”

Later, as you’re tossing a truly horrifying pink lace monstrosity into the donation pile, the villainess strolls in like she owns the place.

“You know,” she says, eyeing the mess with an amused smirk, “we should throw a party.”

“A party?” you echo, already suspicious.

“Yes, a party!” she pauses, a wicked gleam in her eye, “To celebrate your freedom from Miss Overinflated Ego and her personal brick wall.”

You bark out a laugh, unable to help yourself. “You know what? Why not? Let’s celebrate. I deserve it.”

The villainess claps her hands in delight. “Perfect! I’ll handle the guest list.”

And, because she’s the villainess and can’t resist stirring the pot, she makes sure to send invitations to everyone: the heroine, the male lead, the Emperor, the Empress, and even the crown prince and the princess.

“It’s always nice to add a dash of drama,” she says, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

You just shake your head. “You’re unhinged, you know that?”

“And you’re just figuring this out?” she quips, already halfway out the door.

As she leaves, you sigh and glance at Ruggie, who’s now holding an ornate vase like he’s trying to figure out if it’s worth pawning.

“This party’s going to be a disaster, isn’t it?”

Ruggie grins. “Oh, absolutely. But hey, at least it’ll be entertaining.”

The rustling in the dead of night was faint, almost like the sound of a guilty conscience, but louder and significantly more annoying. Naturally, you reached for your sword, because what kind of noble sleeps without a weapon under their pillow? Amateurs, that’s who.

Tiptoeing through your dark mansion, you followed the suspicious noise, squinting in confusion as it led you... to the kitchen. The kitchen. Not the vaults, not the study with all the expensive heirlooms, but the place where snacks lived.

You paused in disbelief. Who the hell raids a kitchen? Am I getting robbed by a starving possum?

Creeping closer, you peered around the doorframe, sword raised and ready for battle, only to find—

“Ruggie,” you said flatly, and he jumped so hard he nearly hit the ceiling.

“GAH—! Don’t sneak up on people with a sword, you psychopath!” he yelped, clutching his chest like he was the victim here.

“I wasn’t sneaking, you were sneaking! In my kitchen!” you shot back, lowering your weapon.

Ruggie froze mid-cookie bite, looking every bit like a raccoon caught rifling through a trash can. “...Uh, you weren’t using this stuff?” he said, gesturing at the counter full of pilfered baked goods.

You rolled your eyes and plopped onto the floor next to him, plucking the cookie right out of his hand and taking a bite. “Well, I’m using it now.”

“Hey! That’s mine!” he protested, clutching the rest of his stash protectively.

“Is it, though? Is it really?” you countered, grinning as you chewed. He gasped dramatically, as if you’d just insulted his entire bloodline.

“Wow. Unbelievable. First you almost skewer me like I’m some thief in the night—”

“You are a thief in the night.”

“—and now you’re stealing my snacks?! You’re a menace.”

You laughed, getting up to grab some milk, because who raids a kitchen at 2 a.m. and doesn’t have milk with their cookies? While your back was turned, Ruggie sat there blinking, flustered as hell.

He’d been expecting a lecture, or at least some sarcastic comment about his “hyena instincts,” but you’d just… joined him. Like it was normal. Like you hadn’t caught him mid-cookie heist.

When you returned with two glasses of milk, you sat back down and offered him one. “You could’ve just asked, you know. I would’ve had the cook make you something.”

Ruggie stared at the glass, then at you, his ears twitching slightly. “...Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” he said with a grin, but it lacked his usual confidence.

“Fair enough,” you said, leaning back against the counter with a sigh. The two of you sat there in companionable silence, munching on cookies like a pair of delinquents at a midnight picnic.

And while you were busy enjoying your snack, Ruggie was busy trying not to spontaneously combust. The way you were so chill about catching him red-handed, the way you shared your stolen spoils without a second thought—it wasn’t fair. You treated him like an equal, like a friend, and he liked it far more than he should.

Later, when you finally left, yawning and telling him to “try not to eat the entire kitchen,” Ruggie just sat there for a while, staring at the empty glass of milk like it had all the answers.

He was doomed. So, so doomed.

The state of your estate’s finances is beyond a joke—it’s a full-blown circus, complete with clown shoes and a unicycle on fire. You’re sitting at your desk late into the night with Ruggie by your side, trying to untangle the mess left behind by the original second male lead’s truly impressive levels of idiocy.

“Why,” you groan, slamming your head onto the table, “is 12% of the regional budget allocated to the heroine’s imported perfume?”

Ruggie snorts, peeking over your shoulder at the ledger. “Wait, what? Oh, no, this gets better. Look here—3% for ‘heroine’s nails.’”

You stare at him, unblinking, as your soul slowly leaves your body. “Her. Nails.”

“Oh, but my favorite,” Ruggie says, barely suppressing his laughter, “is this one: monthly support sent to the male lead’s territory. Why? The man’s got a literal fortress of gold up north. What kind of simp were you?”

“A professional simp,” you reply dryly, shaking your head in disgust. “I’m cutting all of this. Every last drop. No more perfume fund, no more nail allowance, and definitely no more donations to the male lead’s Scrooge McDuck vault.”

By the time you’re done, the heroine’s absurd luxuries have been replaced with something actually useful. The funds are reallocated to schools for commoners, infrastructure, and most importantly, your own staff.

When you announce the changes, the staff look at you like you’ve descended from the heavens. One of the maids starts tearing up when she hears about her raise. The head butler—usually so reserved—bows so deeply you think his back might give out.

You should feel accomplished, but the ledger on your desk is still screaming chaos incarnate, and you’re barely halfway through.

It’s nearly midnight when Ruggie silently slides a cup of coffee onto the desk in front of you. He pats your shoulder, his usual teasing smile replaced with something softer.

“You’re doing good, boss,” he says quietly, almost like he’s trying not to spook you.

You’re too sleep-deprived to respond with your usual wit. Instead, you lean into his touch without thinking, resting your head against his side. Your arms wrap around his middle in a tired hug.

Ruggie freezes, a hand hovering awkwardly over your head like he’s not sure what to do. After a moment, he gives in, patting your head gently.

“You okay there?” he asks, voice tinged with a rare gentleness.

“Exhausted,” you mumble, not bothering to move.

You don’t notice the way Ruggie’s ears twitch, or how his grin softens into something almost shy.

“Well, get some rest when you can,” he murmurs, still patting your head like he’s afraid to stop.

You don’t see it, but he looks utterly smitten, like you’ve just handed him the world on a silver platter.

It’s supposed to be a quick shopping trip—in and out, you told yourself. Just something small to thank Ruggie for all his hard work. You’re scanning the shelves, debating between a sleek gold pen and a bottle of spiced honey, when you hear a low, amused voice behind you.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the drama queen himself.”

You turn to find Leona, Grand Duke of Sleep Deprivation, lounging against the nearest shelf like he’s modeling for a Royalty Weekly cover.

“Leona,” you say. “What are you doing here? Buying Cheka another excuse to follow you around?”

He scoffs. “As if. I’m just here for—” He pauses, like he can’t bring himself to admit the truth. “…Supplies.”

“Supplies?” you echo, grinning. “You mean you’re buying Cheka a treat because you’re a softie and love him?”

Leona glares, but his cheeks betray him by flushing. “Keep running your mouth and see what happens.”

You laugh, elbowing him lightly. “Relax, I think it’s cute. A Grand Duke doting on his nephew? Adorable.”

You bumped into Jack not long after, and the three of you somehow ended up making a day of it, wandering between stalls and laughing at Leona’s muttered commentary about overpriced trinkets and Jack’s earnest attempts to justify why buying locally was a good investment.

Then you saw it—a brooch glinting in the sunlight, its design simple yet elegant. It wasn’t flashy, but it reminded you of Ruggie—sharp, understated, and unexpectedly striking. Without hesitation, you bought it.

By the time you returned to your estate and handed the gift to Ruggie, you were grinning ear to ear, excited to see his reaction. He unwrapped it carefully, his eyes widening as he held the brooch up to the light.

“This… is for me?” he asked, his voice unusually soft.

“Of course,” you said, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze. “You’ve done so much. It’s just a small thank-you.”

Ruggie turned the brooch over in his hands before looking back at you. “Can you… pin it on me?”

You blinked. “Uh, sure.”

You moved closer, carefully attaching the brooch to his lapel while hyper-focusing on not stabbing your fingers. Meanwhile, Ruggie was not focused on the brooch.

No, his attention was entirely on you—on the way your brows furrowed in concentration, the way your lips pursed slightly as you worked. His chest felt tight, and he was starting to wonder if this was what it felt like to lose all sense of self-preservation.

You finally stepped back, admiring your handiwork. “There. Looks good.”

Ruggie just nodded, his throat too dry to say anything coherent. He could still feel the ghost of your touch against his chest, and it was taking everything in him not to burst into flames on the spot.

You didn’t notice his predicament, thankfully. “Well, back to work,” you said brightly, walking off.

As soon as you were out of sight, Ruggie let out a shaky breath and muttered to himself, “I’m so doomed.”

The villainess was already three glasses of wine in and laughing so hard at her own audacity, she could barely stand. “A rented lion!” she cackled, pointing dramatically at the majestic creature pacing near the garden fountains. “For the aesthetic!”

You, on the other hand, were seriously contemplating your life choices. The massive banner that screamed INDEPENDENCE DAY was hanging crookedly over the ballroom, and the air was thick with the unmistakable aroma of petty vengeance.

“I can’t believe you actually rented a lion,” you muttered, rubbing your temples.

“Oh, please,” the villainess scoffed, swirling her wine like she was the protagonist of a soap opera. “This is art. You think I’m going to let those clowns think they’ve won?”

To her credit, the guests were loving it. The Emperor himself had already burst into laughter upon arrival and was gleefully elbowing the Empress, who seemed equally entertained. The Crown Prince looked ready to dig his own grave, while the Princess had stationed herself with a perfect view, sipping wine and munching on what you suspected was popcorn.

Things were going well. Too well.

The heroine and her brick wall—er, male lead—were nowhere in sight, and for the first time in your newly isekai’d existence, you allowed yourself to relax. You leaned against the wine table, sipping from your glass while watching Ruggie shamelessly stuff his pockets with sweets.

“You know, I would save you some for later,” you began, raising a brow, “at this rate, you’re going to look like a human vending machine.”

Ruggie grinned, unapologetic. “Hey, free food’s free food. You’re lucky I haven’t swiped the centerpiece yet.”

You were about to retort when the sound of clicking heels sent a chill down your spine.

The heroine had arrived.

And, oh. Oh no.

She was wearing a dress so hideous, it was almost a work of art—a monstrous blend of every fashion crime known to mankind. Glitter? Check. Feathers? Double check. A color palette that looked like someone microwaved a rainbow? You bet.

Trailing behind her was the male lead, as stoic and emotionless as ever. You half-expected someone to prop a potted plant next to him just to see if anyone could tell the difference.

The heroine took one look at the massive INDEPENDENCE DAY banner and visibly trembled with rage. For a second, you thought she was going to scream, but instead, she plastered on a disturbingly sweet smile and marched straight over to you.

“Good evening,” she greeted, her voice dripping with false politeness.

You stared at her, torn between running for your life and bursting out laughing. Before you could respond, you caught sight of the Emperor out of the corner of your eye. He was openly pointing at you now, whispering something to the Empress, who was struggling to contain her laughter.

The villainess chose this exact moment to loudly announce, “Thank you all for coming to celebrate the Duke's independence from the worst fate in history!”

The heroine’s smile twitched. You swore you heard her teeth crack under the pressure.

You were just starting to think you might survive the evening when it happened.

The male lead, previously silent, suddenly stomped forward, grabbed a glove from his pocket, and chucked it square at your face.

“Are you kidding me?” you blurted, rubbing your nose.

“I challenge you to a duel,” he growled, his first full sentence of the night.

The room went silent. Somewhere in the back, the Emperor let out a delighted laugh. The villainess looked ready to commit several felonies.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, face-palming. “I guess I have to do it now.”

As the ballroom descended into chaos, Ruggie shot you a glare that could’ve melted steel.

“You better not get hurt,” he hissed under his breath, clinging to your sleeve like a particularly annoyed cat. “I swear, if you let that walking brick wall land even one hit on you—”

“Relax, Ruggie,” you said, patting his hand. “Not only will I win, I’ll make him crawl back and return every penny I sent to his estate.”

Ruggie didn’t look convinced, but he let go, muttering something about how this whole thing was “stupid as hell.”

What you didn’t see was the way his eyes softened as he watched you step forward, or how his hands clenched into fists as the male lead unsheathed his sword.

All Ruggie knew was that he hated this—hated the way the heroine acted like she still owned you, hated the way the male lead had the audacity to challenge you, and most of all, hated the knot of fear twisting in his chest.

He refused to think about why.

The moment the male lead flung his glove at you, the atmosphere in the ballroom turned tense with excitement—or in the Emperor’s case, barely restrained glee. But just as you were resigning yourself to this absurd duel, Leona sauntered over, looking as though this entire situation was a personal insult to his time.

“Real swords? For this?” Leona gestured lazily at the male lead, his lip curling in a smirk. “You’re wasting everyone’s energy. Let’s not pretend this is anything more than a glorified temper tantrum.”

The male lead bristled but didn’t dare argue against the Grand Duke. “Then… wooden swords, if you insist,” he muttered, trying to maintain some shred of dignity.

You tried to stifle a laugh as Leona smirked and clapped you on the shoulder. “You’re welcome, herbivore. Try not to embarrass yourself.”

By the time you all reached the garden, the tension had more or less deflated, and the Emperor had officially declared this the greatest event of the year. He was lounging on a cushioned seat with a glass of wine, while the Princess had claimed the spot next to him, now munching on a small pie she’d somehow procured.

The male lead, as always, had the charisma of a doorstop, stomping forward with all the grace of a falling tree. You picked up your wooden sword, internally thanking the heavens that Leona had stepped in because you weren’t in the mood to lose a limb for someone this dumb.

But just as the male lead was taking his place, he suddenly slipped.

There was a resounding thud as he fell face-first onto the ground.

“...No way,” you muttered, blinking in disbelief.

The heroine shrieked, rushing to his side. “My love! Are you hurt? Speak to me!”

He didn’t. Because the man fainted. From falling.

You froze, staring at the unmoving figure on the ground. The villainess was trying—and failing—not to burst into hysterics, while Leona let out a bark of laughter so loud it startled the lion still lounging by the fountain.

“Seriously?” you said aloud, half to yourself, half to the universe. You weren’t sure if you were horrified, embarrassed, or just... done.

You crouched down to help the heroine lift the unconscious man, despite every fiber of your being screaming not to. “Fine,” you grumbled. “Let’s get him to the carriage.”

As you heaved him up, you happened to catch a glimpse of Ruggie, standing casually by the garden path with his arms crossed. He had an innocent expression on his face—too innocent. And then, just as the heroine fussed over her fainted fiancé, you saw it: Ruggie’s foot subtly nudging a small marble out of sight, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

You froze mid-step.

“...Ruggie.”

He blinked at you, all wide-eyed innocence. “Yeah, boss?”

“You didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

You sighed, shaking your head as you loaded the male lead into the carriage with the heroine trailing after him. When you turned back, Ruggie was grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

Once you were out of earshot of the heroine, you flicked him on the forehead.

“Oi!” he yelped, rubbing the spot with a pout. “What was that for?”

“Don’t play dumb,” you said, crossing your arms. “Why’d you do it?”

Ruggie grinned again, completely unapologetic. “Well, I am your right-hand man, aren’t I? Gotta look out for you.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “One day, your schemes are going to get us both killed.”

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “But it’s a small price to pay for seeing that guy face-plant into the dirt.”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed, shaking your head as you waved him off. “Fine. Just… no more schemes, okay?”

“No promises, boss.”

The morning was unnervingly quiet. No bustling sounds of Ruggie banging on your door, no sly remarks about how you were sleeping in like royalty—just silence. For a moment, you wondered if you were dreaming.

It wasn’t until you asked the head butler about his whereabouts that the unsettling calm made sense.

“He is unwell,” the butler said with a somber tone. “He has a fever and requested the day off to rest.”

Ruggie… sick? Something about that didn’t sit right with you.

You found yourself standing in front of his door with a tray of soup in hand. The thought of someone as vibrant and energetic as Ruggie being bedridden made your chest ache in a way you weren’t ready to address. With a deep breath, you pushed the door open.

Ruggie looked wrecked. His usually sharp eyes were glazed over, and his hair was messier than usual, plastered to his forehead with sweat. His gaze met yours hazily, and the way his lips curled into the faintest semblance of a smile sent a pang through your chest.

“Boss?” he croaked out, voice scratchy.

You didn’t answer right away, just moving to his bedside and placing the tray on the table. “You look terrible,” you said softly, helping him sit up. “Eat this.”

It took some coaxing, but eventually, he let you spoon-feed him. He was quiet for once, too tired to banter, but the way he leaned into your touch as you adjusted his blanket spoke volumes.

When the soup was finished, you fussed over him—checking his temperature, brushing his hair out of his face, making sure he was comfortable.

And then, without warning, Ruggie slumped forward, his head resting on your shoulder. You stiffened in surprise, but before you could ask if he was okay, his hand gripped your sleeve weakly.

“Don’t go,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. His words were slurred with exhaustion, but there was a vulnerability in them that made your heart clench.

You didn’t have the heart to refuse. Carefully, you adjusted him so he was lying more comfortably, his head still resting against your shoulder as you held him close.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered into his ear, voice softer than you thought yourself capable of. “Not until you want me to.”

When Ruggie woke up in the evening, the first thing he noticed was that he was warm and oddly comfortable. The second thing he noticed was you.

You were still holding him, sitting beside him with your back against the headboard. Your eyes were closed, head tilted slightly, but it was clear you hadn’t left his side.

Ruggie’s face turned an impressive shade of red as he tried to process the fact that it wasn’t a fever dream. He had clung to you, and you had stayed.

You stirred as he moved slightly, your eyes fluttering open. “You’re awake,” you said, voice soft and laced with sleep. “Feeling better?”

Ruggie nodded, his cheeks still burning. “Yeah… uh, thanks for… y’know. All this.”

You smiled awkwardly, rubbing the back of your neck. “It’s nothing. Just… don’t get used to it, okay?”

He let out a weak chuckle, though his heart was racing. “Right. Won’t happen again.”

You stood up, suddenly eager to escape the room. “Rest up,” you said, heading for the door. “Don’t make me come back.”

As soon as the door shut behind you, Ruggie buried his face in his hands, groaning. He could still feel the warmth of your touch, still hear the soft way you’d whispered that you’d stay as long as he wanted. His heart wouldn’t stop pounding, and he didn’t know what to do with the newfound realization that he was in way too deep.

Meanwhile, you were in your own room, face buried in your pillow as you screamed silently. Your heart was fluttering uncontrollably, and you couldn’t stop thinking about how warm he felt against you, or the way he’d looked at you so trustingly.

“What was that?” you mumbled into your pillow, kicking your legs in frustration. “What is this? Why does it feel like this?”

The questions swirled in your mind, unresolved, until you eventually passed out from sheer exhaustion, still clutching your pillow like it could answer the million questions in your heart.

The aftermath of The Incident—as you had now dubbed it in the privacy of your screaming brain—was unbearable. If you thought working with Ruggie before had its awkward moments (like the time you accidentally said, “Goodnight, love you,” at the end of a meeting), it was nothing compared to the soul-crushing embarrassment you now lived in.

The atmosphere between you and Ruggie had changed. It wasn’t just awkward—it was the kind of awkward that could suffocate an entire room. If awkwardness could be weaponized, you and Ruggie would have already leveled three kingdoms.

Every time his hand brushed yours when passing papers, your brain short-circuited like a faulty crystal ball. Every time he brought you coffee, your chest felt warm and fuzzy, and not in the “cozy” way, but in the “I think I’m having a heart attack” way.

Just being in the same room as him turned your once-functional body into a mess of sweaty palms and wildly beating heartbeats. When did the genre of this book change from fantasy to survival horror?

And Ruggie? Oh, he wasn’t doing any better. In fact, he might have been worse.

This man had survived the slums, terrifying loan sharks, and whatever unholy concoction the heroine called “breakfast,” but this? This was a new level of torment. Every time you smiled at him, he wanted to kiss you so badly he thought his brain might explode.

Every time you thanked him for doing something as basic as his job, he had to clench his fists to stop himself from blurting out, “Marry me right now, I’ll sign a prenup, I don’t care.”

The worst part? He knew this was a one-way ticket to Heartbreak City. You were a duke—practically royalty. He was… a secretary. A secretary with zero noble lineage and a past so humble it made the word “humble” look luxurious.

His job description did not include being in love with his employer, and yet, here he was, a walking violation of the workplace etiquette handbook.

So, Ruggie pined. He pined so hard it was a miracle he hadn’t sprouted roots. He burned quietly, like a cheap candle from a market stall that melted down into a pathetic puddle of wax.

And you? You weren’t doing much better. Every night, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and whisper-yelling at yourself. “Why am I like this? Why is he like this? What is happening to me? Am I dying?”

Ruggie, on the other hand, stayed awake at night dramatically sighing into his pillow. “Stop looking at me like that,” he whispered to no one in particular, clutching the imaginary vision of your face. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

The tension was so thick that even the staff noticed. The head butler had started placing bets with the gardener and the knights about who would crack first. The maids whispered conspiratorially about how long it would take before the Duke accidentally proposed during a budget meeting. The chef had taken to leaving heart-shaped biscuits in the break room just to mess with you both.

You both thought you were suffering in silence.

You weren’t.

Everyone knew. Everyone knew. And everyone was waiting for the day this slow-burn disaster finally combusted.

The garden party had started so peacefully. You’d been standing off to the side, sipping on juice and chatting with Jack and Leona, trying to ignore the usual nonsense that came with these noble gatherings. For a blissful five minutes, everything was… fine.

And then chaos erupted.

One second, you were laughing at one of Leona’s grumbled comments about the Emperor's ridiculous hat. The next, you spotted the male lead grabbing Ruggie by the collar, his expression an infuriating mixture of smugness and anger.

You didn’t think you’d ever moved so fast in your life.

Leona and Jack followed closely as you stormed across the garden, your juice long forgotten, your mind set on one thing: getting Ruggie out of that pompous idiot’s grip.

Without hesitation, you grabbed the male lead’s hand and yanked it off Ruggie with more force than strictly necessary. Your other hand automatically went to Ruggie’s shoulder, checking on him. His cheeks were flushed—whether from embarrassment, anger, or both—and he looked like he was about to say something, probably telling you to let it go. But you weren’t in the mood to let anything go.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you demanded, your voice sharp enough to cut through the polite chatter of the party.

The male lead opened his mouth to answer, but before he could get a word out, the heroine appeared, her voice grating like nails on a chalkboard.

“He needs to learn his place,” she said, crossing her arms with an air of entitlement so thick it made your teeth grind. “He’s just a secretary. He refused to fetch drinks for us. He only works for you.”

The sheer audacity of her words made your blood boil. Your hands shook, and you barely noticed Jack placing a calming hand on one of them—or the fact that your other hand had already reached for the hilt of your sword.

“I’ll show you knowing your place,” you muttered, and started to unsheathe your sword.

Jack, ever the voice of reason, gave your arm a small squeeze and shook his head, silently pleading with you to reconsider committing murder at a garden party. For now.

And that’s when it hit you.

Your fury wasn’t just about the insult. It wasn’t just about the entitlement or the injustice of the situation. It was because they’d grabbed him. Ruggie.

You’d been in love with him all along, hadn’t you? And it wasn’t the quiet kind of love, either—it was the fiery, all-consuming kind that made you want to burn the world down for him.

You turned back to Ruggie, who was standing there looking flustered but defiant, his mouth set in a line of determination even as his ears betrayed his embarrassment by twitching slightly.

You did what any sane person would do in that moment.

You grabbed him by the arm, pulled him close, and kissed him.

Right there.

In front of everyone.

There was a stunned silence for a split second before the garden party exploded into chaos. The Emperor clapped like an overexcited seal, practically shouting his delight. The princess squealed, delightedly whispering to her ladies-in-waiting, who were fanning themselves with excitement. Leona looked entirely unsurprised, like he’d been waiting for this nonsense to resolve itself for months.

Ruggie, meanwhile, stood frozen in place, his face as red as the roses lining the garden, his hands hovering awkwardly in the air like he had no idea what to do with them.

Before he could recover enough to say anything, you turned to the heroine, your voice cold and commanding.

“He’s my lover,” you declared, loud enough for everyone to hear. “And I will personally write an official complaint to your family for your insult.”

The heroine’s jaw dropped. The male lead looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. The villainess, who had somehow materialized out of thin air to watch the drama, cackled so hard she spilled wine all over her gown.

You didn’t care. You wrapped an arm around Ruggie’s waist and turned on your heel, marching out of the garden with your still-dazed secretary in tow.

By the time you reached a quiet corner of the estate, Ruggie finally seemed to snap out of it. “What… What was that?” he asked, his voice half a squeak, his face still bright red.

“That,” you said, your voice softening as you looked at him, “was me making it clear to everyone that I’m not letting you go. Ever.”

Ruggie stared at you, his mouth opening and closing like he was trying to find the words, but none were coming. You couldn’t help but grin.

“Take your time,” you teased. “But just so you know, you’re stuck with me now. Hope you’re okay with that.”

He laughed weakly, shaking his head. “Stuck with you? Boss, I think you’ve got it backward. I’m not going anywhere.”

Later that evening, you found yourself in the quiet glow of your study, seated across from Ruggie. He was fidgeting, avoiding your gaze, his usual sharp wit dulled by the tension hanging between you. You had dragged him here after the chaos of the garden party, determined to finally clear the air.

He finally looked at you, and it was like something cracked open in his expression—raw, vulnerable, terrified. “Boss,” he started, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it, “you don’t… you don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what?” you asked, leaning forward, your heart pounding in your chest.

“This.” He gestured vaguely between the two of you, his hand trembling slightly. “You’re… you. You’re a duke, you’re incredible, you’re—” He cut himself off with a shaky breath. “And I’m me. I’ve spent my whole life scraping by, looking out for myself. I’m not… someone people keep. I’m not someone people love.”

“Ruggie—”

“No, listen.” He ran a hand through his hair, his words tumbling out in a rush. “You think you love me now, but you’ll wake up one day and realize I’m not enough. That I can’t give you what someone else could. And it’s gonna—” His voice cracked. “It’s gonna shatter me if I let myself believe this could work, and then you leave.”

Your heart ached at the sight of him, the weight of his fears laid bare. This cunning, resilient hyena, who could outwit anyone and charm his way out of anything, was utterly lost when it came to your love.

“I’m not going to leave,” you said firmly, standing and walking over to him.

He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You say that now—”

You grabbed his hands, forcing him to look at you. “Ruggie,” you said, your voice trembling with the intensity of your feelings, “do you have any idea how much I ache for you?”

His breath hitched, his eyes wide as he stared at you like you’d just spoken a language he didn’t understand.

“You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re cunning as hell. And you’ve been utterly blind to the fact that I’ve been completely in love with you this entire time,” you continued, your voice rising slightly. “You’ve got this idea in your head that you’re not enough, but you are. You’ve been my priority for a long time now, and there’s no one who could ever match me like you do.”

He tried to pull away, but you didn’t let him. Instead, you cupped his face in your hands and kissed him, desperate and full of all the love you hadn’t been able to put into words.

For a moment, he froze. Then his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, and he kissed you back like you were the only thing keeping him alive. It wasn’t graceful—Ruggie never did anything by halves. It was messy and raw and so full of affection it made your knees weak.

When you finally broke apart, his forehead rested against yours, and you could feel his breath on your skin.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it to you,” you whispered. “I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I’m yours, Ruggie. Completely.”

His laugh was watery, breaking slightly as he buried his face in your shoulder. “You’re insane, you know that?”

“Probably,” you said, smiling through the tears that threatened to spill over.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You mean it?”

“With everything I am.”

His lips quirked into a shaky smile before he kissed you again, softer this time but no less consuming. When he pulled back, he let out a breathless laugh, wiping at his face with the back of his hand.

“I’m never gonna stop teasing you about this,” he said, his voice trembling but light.

“You’d better not,” you replied, grinning at him.

And for the first time, you saw it—the way he looked at you, like you’d hung the stars in the sky.

The Empress swept into your estate like a regal hurricane, her entourage trailing behind her like obedient leaves in the wind. You barely had time to register her arrival before she was striding up to you, her heels clicking with authority.

“Duke,” she greeted you, her smile warm but her eyes glinting with mischief. “We need to talk.”

Oh no. Those were words that could make even the bravest soul break into a sweat.

She dragged you into a private corner of the drawing room, her grip iron despite the delicate lace gloves she wore. Once you were sufficiently isolated from prying ears, she fixed you with a conspiratorial grin.

“So,” she began, leaning in like she was about to share the kingdom’s deepest secrets. “When’s the wedding?”

You blinked. “...Your Majesty?”

She pouted like a child denied dessert. “Don’t play coy. The whole court saw your little garden party performance. The kiss? The declaration of love? The scandal! It was delightful.” She clasped her hands together dreamily. “I give it five stars. Now, when are you making it official?”

You stared at her, feeling like you’d just been hit by a runaway carriage. “We just confessed to each other two days ago.”

“And?”

“And?!” You threw your hands up, exasperated. “Your Majesty, we’ve barely had time to process our feelings, let alone plan a wedding!”

She sighed, clearly unimpressed with your lack of urgency. “Fine, I’ll give you time. But don’t take too long. The court thrives on drama, and you’re the main event right now.”

Before you could respond to that absurdity, she straightened, her expression shifting from playful to businesslike. “Now, on to more pressing matters. I came here to ask if you’d like to file a formal complaint against the heroine.”

“Oh, you know,” she said airily, inspecting her nails. “For the garden party incident, her persistent attempts to undermine your relationship, the time she cheated on you, and, oh yes, the money laundering."

If you were a better person, perhaps you’d have been moved to forgiveness. Maybe you’d have found it in your heart to let bygones be bygones. But alas, you were not that person.

“I want to sue her to the last penny,” you said, your voice flat but resolute.

The Empress’s smile was nothing short of gleeful. “Excellent. Trial will be held next week. My son, the Crown Prince, will preside over the case.”

“Wait,” you said, frowning. “The Crown Prince? Isn’t that a bit—”

“Messy?” She finished for you, her grin widening. “Of course it is. But what’s politics without a little chaos? Besides, he could use the practice.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, wondering how your life had spiraled into such madness.

The Empress patted your shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Duke. I’m sure you’ll win. And if not, well, at least the trial will be the most entertaining thing the court has seen in decades.”

And with that, she swept out of the room, leaving you standing there, wondering how suing your ex-fiancée had somehow become a royal spectacle.

The trial was absurd. It had all the seriousness of a court proceeding mixed with the dramatic flair of a poorly written soap opera.

Every time the prince asked the heroine a simple question—“Did you steal the money?”—she would dissolve into a sobbing mess, dramatically wailing about how she “never meant for this to happen.” And every time, the male lead would grunt sympathetically, rubbing her back like a mother comforting a toddler who scraped their knee.

It would’ve been almost sweet if they weren’t both complete imbeciles and if the male lead didn’t still have a massive bump on his forehead from his earlier slip-and-faint incident. The man looked like he’d gotten into a fight with a marble and lost. Spectacularly.

You, sitting there in the gallery, were one sob away from walking out. The princess, who was co-presiding with her brother, looked two seconds away from leaning over and smashing her gavel just to make the crying stop.

Finally, the prince, clearly regretting every life choice that led him here, pinched the bridge of his nose and turned to you. “Do you want the money back?” he asked, his voice deadpan.

“Yes, Your Highness,” you said, as if it wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world. “And also the money I sent to the male lead… on the heroine’s insistence.”

The princess blinked. “You gave him money? Why?”

“Because I’m an idiot with too much patience,” you muttered, throwing a pointed glare at the heroine. She sniffled, clearly offended that you didn’t love being conned like a fool.

The prince let out a deep sigh, the kind that said he was done. “Fine. You win. Everything will be returned to you. This trial is over.”

There was a brief moment of stunned silence, interrupted only by the heroine’s gasp. “That’s it?! You’re just taking their side?” she cried, clutching the male lead’s arm like a lifeline.

“I am taking the side of my own sanity,” the prince snapped, slamming his gavel down. “You, will be assigned to community service for your insensitive comments.”

“Community… service?” she squeaked.

“Yes. Community service. Volunteering, cleaning up public spaces, helping out—actual work for people who aren’t you. It’ll be good for your character,” the princess said, smiling sweetly, which only made it worse.

“And as for you,” the prince continued, turning to the male lead, “you’re being sent on probation. In the North. Until further notice.”

The male lead blinked, his hand frozen mid-rub on the heroine’s back. “I have to go back to the North?”

“Yes. It’s cold, it’s boring, and it’s far away. Enjoy.”

By the time the trial ended, you were practically skipping out of the courtroom, feeling vindicated and maybe a little petty. The heroine, meanwhile, was still sobbing, the male lead looked like he wanted to protest but didn’t have the brain cells to formulate a counterargument, and the prince was rubbing his temples like he’d aged ten years in one afternoon.

Justice? Achieved. And it was glorious.

Ruggie had always been good at acting like nothing flustered him. It was practically a survival skill at this point—quick with a joke, quicker with an excuse, and faster than anyone else when it came to running away from situations he didn’t want to deal with.

But despite your confessions, despite the months that had passed, he still treated you more like a boss than a lover. You didn’t mind, not really—he made sure you were fed, handled your schedule with cutthroat efficiency, and somehow managed to keep both the court and your enemies at bay with nothing but charm and underhanded tactics.

The problem was, he still blushed like a maiden whenever you so much as held his hand.

It was hilarious.

The first time you kissed his cheek in front of some nobles, he nearly choked on air and then tried to play it off like you’d just hit him with an unexpected tactical strike.

The second time, you whispered something sweet in his ear, and he almost dropped the stack of documents he was carrying—almost. His reflexes were too sharp for that, but he still shot you a look like you’d personally thrown him off a cliff.

So naturally, when you cornered him in your office one day and asked, "Ruggie, do you wanna marry me?"—you were prepared for some kind of reaction.

You weren’t prepared for absolute silence.

His ears twitched. His tail flicked. His mouth opened, then closed. He looked like a man staring directly into the sun and realizing, all too late, that he had nowhere to hide.

Your heart sank. You weren’t sure what answer you’d expected, but hesitation wasn’t it.

“…Never mind,” you said, pulling back, smoothing over the moment like it was just another conversation. “Take your time.” And because he still looked like you’d asked him to solve advanced calculus on the spot, you reached up, pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, and whispered, "I'll see you at dinner."

Then you left, because you weren’t cruel enough to make him answer right away.

Dinner was… tense.

Not outwardly, no—Ruggie still stole extra servings off your plate, still flicked a pea at you when he thought no one was looking, still made a sharp comment about how the nobles were painfully useless for people who wore so much gold.

But his ears kept twitching. His tail was restless. And when you finally—gently—asked, "Alright, what's up?" he looked at you like you’d caught him stealing from your vault.

Then, slowly, he pulled out a ring.

Not just any ring. It was old, worn with time, but polished with care. A deep blue stone sat in the center, catching the light like the sky before a storm.

Ruggie took a breath, then said, "It’s my grandma’s. Been in the family forever." He hesitated, then pushed it towards you, still not quite meeting your eyes. "I want you to have it."

You stared. Your chest tightened. "Ruggie—"

He shifted, ears flattening. "I only hesitated ‘cause—‘cause I didn’t know if you’d even want it. Y’know. Since you got all this—" He gestured vaguely to your wealth, to the ridiculous palace you lived in, to everything he wasn’t.

That was possibly the dumbest thing you’d ever heard.

You slid the ring on immediately.

Then, with zero warning, you grabbed him by the waist, spun him around like you were sweeping him off his feet (because you were), and kissed him.

The yelp he let out was glorious.

“Oi—what the hell—”

“You absolute idiot,” you whispered against his lips, grinning. “You think I’d ever say no to you?”

He was so red. You’d never let him live this down.

But after a moment, he huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "Guess I'm stuck with ya now, huh?"

"You're the one who proposed, Ruggie," you pointed out, smirking.

"...Tch. You asked me first!"

"And you made me wait."

Ruggie groaned dramatically, but there was no real annoyance in it—just affection.

Hand in hand, still bickering, still laughing, you walked back to your office.

This time, engaged.

Jack was the first to react.

The moment the words left your mouth—"We're engaged."—he nearly knocked over his drink in his rush to stand. "Congratulations!" he said, voice full of genuine warmth, his tail wagging just slightly despite his usual composed demeanor.

Ruggie, ever the smug little menace, leaned back in his chair, lazily draping an arm over yours like this wasn’t the most important announcement of his life. “’Course we are,” he said, grinning. “I mean, who else could put up with him, right?”

The casual act might’ve been more convincing if he hadn’t kept sneaking little glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking.

The Empress, meanwhile, was beyond pleased.

“Oh, this is wonderful,” she declared, practically vibrating with excitement. “Naturally, I shall officiate.”

“Excuse me?” The Emperor raised a brow. “Why do you get to officiate?”

“I called it first, obviously,” she said, as if this was an unquestionable truth of the universe.

“That’s not how that works.”

“It is if I win.”

The room watched in fascinated silence as the rulers of the entire empire prepared to settle this with the most sacred of duels: rock, paper, scissors.

The battle was tense. The atmosphere, electric. The stakes, higher than ever.

And in the end—

“Ha! Paper beats rock!” The Empress shot her husband a triumphant look, eyes gleaming. “Looks like I win, darling.”

The Emperor sighed, but he took the loss with grace, muttering something about “marrying them off in spirit” while the rest of the room moved on like this wasn’t the most absurd thing to witness at a royal event.

The princess wasted no time.

She practically lunged across the table, grabbing your hands with wide, pleading eyes. “Can you invite me to the wedding party? Please? Please? I’ll be so good, I promise.”

“…You’re literally a princess,” you said, raising a brow. “You could just be in the wedding party.”

“Yes, but it’s more fun if you invite me yourself.”

The prince, the only normal one here, merely gave you a polite smile and a firm pat on the back—a little too firm. Ruggie snickered when you nearly stumbled forward.

Leona, of course, was the least surprised out of everyone. He just gave you a lazy grin and said, “’Bout time.”

Typical.

And as you sat there, hand in hand with Ruggie, surrounded by friends (and also an unreasonably competitive royal couple), you had a thought.

Reading that trash novel was the best thing you could've ever done.

Complete Masterlist ; Series Masterlist

It's been a while since I did one of these, who do y'all wanna see next in this series?

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #ruggie x reader #ruggie bucchi x reader #twst ruggie #ruggie bucchi #ruggie #trash novel chronicles

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aashi-heartfilia · 1 year ago

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The hypocrisy of Jinshi and MaoMao

*light novel spoilers*

I just love how hypocritical MaoMao's nature is. She yells at Jinshi for being a 'Masochist' and yet we see that she's no different. Now, by definition Masochist is a person who drives sexual gratification from their own pain and humiliation, plus it relates to Jinshi's tendency to do self harm (like burning his skin with a brand)

And what is MaoMao's most favourite thing in this world?

POISON

She literally takes pleasure in consuming it and no one can convince me otherwise. Plus she uses dangerous plants and animals and snakes whatnot in the name of her so-called experiments. Her dad may call her a 'mad Scientist' but that is a direct indication of self harm.

And she calls Jinshi a Masochist.

I mean, think about it! The amount of anxiety she gives to Jinshi! She came prepared with a vomit inducing medicine but even she had no idea whether it would work or not. She was just hoping it would work in the salt chapter.

And the same goes for her hand, on which she has conducted countless experiments. One flower even burned her skin and its marks never left her skin. She said it was all for her hobby. What kind of weird hobby is that? Maybe, our little adorable mad scientist is just like that.

One brands his own skin, while the other takes heavenly pleasure in consuming poison.

So my point is, Jinshi and MaoMao are not that different as one might think they are and that's why their dynamic works so well.

Let's look at the excerpts from volume 5:

She didn’t know how long they sat that way. All she knew was that Jinshi was looking down at her with a faintly triumphant expression, as if he saw that the breath had reached every corner of her body now. He wiped away the tears that had sprung to her eyes as she struggled to breathe. It was then that Maomao felt a flash of intense anger. “I said that if you were going to kill me, you should do it with poison,” she told him. “I refuse to let you poison yourself,” Jinshi said, his fingers tracing her lips. “You can’t pretend you didn’t know that you were one of the candidates. As much as I’m sure you’d like to.” He wasn’t done, either: “Who was that man, anyway? I’m sure you’re not a dancer.” So he had been watching them! “I was just paying for my drink,” Maomao said. “It didn’t cost much.” She tried to look away, but with his hand on her head, she really couldn’t.

Jinshi just choked her and yet he refuses to let MaoMao poison herself. A lot of people misinterpret this scene, and don't like it all that much, saying it was just fanservice stuff but this is how I see it: Jinshi wasn't trying to kill MaoMao, he was just trying to make MaoMao submit to him for once (even if the way he did it was very wrong, but guess he's kinky like that). MaoMao is actively trying to harm herself and Jinshi loves MaoMao a lot, he cannot just let her kill herself.

It was more about him trying to exert his dominance in their weirdish - complicated relationship and that also backfires on him as we see in the next volume that MaoMao escapes Jinshi's grasps using Pairin's techniques.

And then they both continue to avoid each other in the entire next volume! Because they both realised that they have crossed boundaries.

They both are hypocrites.

And they both refuse to accept their feelings.

In one of the later volumes, she gives Jinshi a piece of her mind on how he should tell her everything clearly, unequivocally, what he feels, and he literally declares that "he will make her his wife", which is nice and all but look at the wording MaoMao used here....

Excerpts from LN Vol 7, chapter 19 called "A man and a woman play the game"

"You’re forever telling me I need to use my words, Master Jinshi, but are you in any position to criticize? Everything you say to me, everything you do, it’s like it’s calculated to save you from ever having to actually say what you mean! To make me figure it all out! You know, you remind me of someone. You act exactly like a man who used to come by our brothel all the time. He was in love with one of the girls, but he would never just come out and say it. He thought it should be obvious from the way he acted. He was so sure he had a good thing going with this woman that he never sent her so much as a letter. I remember how forlorn he looked when someone else swooped in and snatched her away! He kept coming to the brothel after that—to get drunk and whine to the ladies. Well, in my opinion, he could have avoided all that heartbreak if he’d told the woman how he felt. Clearly, unequivocally, so that she knew where they stood. It was the least he could have done!”

Everything came out in a torrent. She felt like she’d said it all in one breath. It was strange, she thought, to hear so many words come out of her own mouth. She was mystified. Jinshi was no less startled, but the shock soon left his face, replaced by something else. He got up off the bed and stared down at Maomao.

Shit. Now I’ve done it. She’d given him a piece of her mind, and he was about to give her one back.

“So I should be clear, should I? Unequivocal? I should say what I mean? If I did, would you actually listen to me? Is that what you’re telling me? I’m going to hold you to that! Right this minute. I’ll say it all. Don’t plug your ears—listen to me!” He grabbed her hands as she was in the process of trying to put her fingers in her ears. He took a breath. He was looking at Maomao, but somehow he seemed almost embarrassed. Finally he managed, “Now listen to me, y—I mean, Maomao! Listen close! I am going to make you my wife!”

It's one heck of a chapter and I suggest you give it a go! The title of the chapter says "A man and a woman play the game" as if to emphasize the very fact that both Jinshi and MaoMao are playing the game.

Jinshi has never confessed his true feelings before this chapter and only implied that he wanted to make MaoMao his wife.

The implications were heavy though on Jinshi's part, and as smart as MaoMao is, anyone would have guessed that MaoMao was one of the candidates for Jinshi's consort. Even the clothes she received (the ones she wore to the banquet) were also provided by Jinshi along with the hairpin. It is never stated outright but seeing as the hairpin was from Jinshi, the clothes are also implied to be the same.

More or less she's always deliberately ignoring the possibility of having anything to do with him, that is more than professional. Some may call it denial, I call it dense. Maybe, to some extent, she herself is not aware of her feelings because she never lets herself feel anything.

Even Suiren pointed it out pretty early in the manga, that maybe it's MaoMao's way of being reserved. We need to keep in mind that MaoMao is an unreliable narrator and it's more of what she does, rather than what she says that makes a difference.

Even in the chapter that I have quoted above, she had every reason to leave Jinshi, she wasn't working for him after all. But she stayed to make tea for him, even after the fact that she had a long day too. She was almost just as exhausted as Jinshi and yet she was there preparing medicinal tea, so that he could get a better sleep.

Maybe she herself is yet to realise just how deep her feelings run. Till vol 12 she seems to have accepted them, but she still is yet to acknowledge their depth. Maybe it's because of her childhood.

It's not a traumatic backstory but MaoMao had a sad childhood nonetheless....

She was raised by her grand uncle and her real father was eccentric, who scared her. Her mother must also appear to be kind of demonic to her, since she was desperate enough to cut MaoMao's Pinky finger and send it to Lahan. So it's safe to say that MaoMao never received proper parental affection. And adding to the fact that, a brothel is not exactly an ideal place for raising a child.... especially when the birth of MaoMao was the one thing that brought the brothel to its knees...even if being born wasn't her choice.

Plus MaoMao stated it herself that when she was a baby, no one would come to sooth her until their work was finished, implying that even if MaoMao and her brothel sisters are close, they are not that close. A mother's love is different and she never received it. No one can love you more than your mother and MaoMao was deprived of that. She soon realised that no one was coming. Life is hard and she has no choice but to face it!

So, she got interested in poison.

Maybe she doesn't love herself or her life as much as she says / pretends she does. She's always like "yeah, I would very much like my head to be with my body" and "if I stay low profile maybe I can survive here" etc but maybe deep down that's not the case. Maybe that's why she loves poison so much. The implications are crazy.

And to break MaoMao's shell, Jinshi has no choice but to be a bit more forceful at times? At least that's how I interpret that choking scene. Jinshi was angry at MaoMao because she deliberately suggested him to marry consort Rishu and danced with Rikuson.

Even if Jinshi never said it outright, he was giving hints the entire time.

But well the tables turned and MaoMao topped him instead, lol (vol 7) and later we even see that our little stray cat has accepted Jinshi and she's ready to be in a relationship with him (vol 12).

Plus she is intrigued by the process of birth (she wants to eat her baby's placenta, it's kind of uggghhh.... but anyways, that MaoMao we're talking about, she's just weird that way)

Maybe not after too long she'll realise that if she has to give birth, she can only have it with Jinshi and no one else.

~Sunshine

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revolutionsingingintherainnn · 7 days ago

Text

dedicated to ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ

summary: you, an author, get invited to a talk show for your first novel, but there’s a surprise in store for you.

⋆ ★ ln x reader ░

⋆ ★ fluff + humour ░

masterlist ☾☼

your first novel was a huge success.

a dream come true for you.

it wasn't just the success part really. it was everything. from writing, editing, cover options, editing again, and then publishing. the process was exhausting but so, so fulfilling.

your book had also caused quite a craze among the formula one fans. you had an inkling why that may be. maybe, just maybe, it had something to do with your dedication.

Dedicated to Lando Norris, my green flag inspiration.

yeah, it was definitely because of that.

since you were an indie author, it was absolutely crazy to you when you were invited on a talk show to discuss your book!! the day you'd received the news, you had jumped on the bed! and then promptly fell to the floor, but that's fine.

on the day of your big day (!!), you had dressed up, listened to the encouraging voice notes your boyfriend had sent, since he was working, and then found yourself at the venue a half hour early.

you were excited, who's gonna sue you for that?

they'd gotten you to hair and make up, and they had attached a collar mic and they explained all the rules to you. god there were so many rules. why were there so many rules?

and then they were live!

you stood behind the curtains, watching as the talk show host welcomed the audience, made some jokes, and everyone laughed. you watched as they eventually took their seat, and began introducing your book without naming it. adding in a little touch of their own personal stories to make it relatable.

and then the host brought out your book, and announced your name, and the audience cheered! behind you, the assistant pushed you forward.

with a deep breath, you stepped forward and on set. the crowd cheered louder and you smiled and waved.

"welcome, y/n!" the host said as you sat on the couch beside their couch.

you were glad the interview was in a slightly informal setting. it relaxed your nerves a little bit. the host themselves were sitting with their legs on the couch, tucked underneath them.

"hi! i'm so glad you could make it!" the host greeted you.

“i’m so glad i got invited in the first place! this is like a dream come true!” you exclaimed.

the crowd chuckled, clearly endeared by your excitement.

“now, i have to know, how did you get in the process of writing? according to my research, or stalking to be more accurate-” the audience laughed, as did you, “-you studied psychology?”

“actually, i’m still studying psychology. i’ve been working to get into sports psychology specifically. but um, i’ve always enjoyed writing, i’m always writing poems and short stories and stuff. when the idea for this book struck me, it was like the words had taken over my body and day and night i was only writing,”

“how did you get the idea for the book? like, what was your process?”

you sat up straighter, you loved talking about your book and all the things about the process. “i actually got an idea for the characters first. like, i made a character sketch for my main protagonists, and some of the side characters, and then i came up with a plot to suit the characters,”

“that’s usually not how it’s done, right? i’ve interviewed other authors before, and they’ve always come up with the plot first,”

“it’s definitely unconventional. for the longest time, my editor thought i was just lying about writing the book myself. she genuinely thought i had a ghost writer, because my process was just so weird,” you said, laughing a little bit.

“well, we certainly do know the inspiration behind your male main character,” the host teased, as your cheeks reddened, and the crowd broke out in synchronised “oooohs”

you laughed, shifting a little on the couch, “do we now?”

the host, who was still holding the book with the cover facing the audience, opened the book to the dedication page. turning to you, they said, “now, i’m a little old. so i can’t read very well-” the crowd broke out in scattered laughter, “-but could you read what it says right here?” they pointed to the text.

your smile widened and you said-you didn’t even have to read it-you said, “dedicated to lando norris, my green flag inspiration,”

the crowd burst out in cheers.

“do you know who lando norris is?” the host asked.

you made a confused face and exclaimed, “why would i add his name if i didn’t know who he was?”

the crowd laughed, as did the host, “no, no, no, i meant like, do you know him personally? like, beyond formula one? because why else would you add him as your green flag inspiration?”

“i actually- okay, i’ve been a huge fan of formula one all my life. like, i have weekends blocked on race days and stuff. and it was during one of his interviews- i don’t even remember which race it was- but there was a female interviewer-”

“oh, i’ve seen that clip!” the host said suddenly, jumping slightly.

“oh my god, you have? i love that clip!” turning to the audience, you explained, “there was a female interviewer who asked like, a really smart question about the car and the strategies and how it’s gonna help the team and all of that. it was during the championship battle between max and lando, and lando had complimented the interviewer and said that she always asks the best questions around. and then, a male interviewer who was standing right there called lando a liar and basically insinuated that lando wanted to-” you glanced slightly awkwardly towards the host as you spoke animatedly.

“wanted to sleep with her, yeah,” the host supplied. okay, good, so that was appropriate for you to say.

“yeah, exactly, and lando was just like no, that’s not true, i’m not lying-”

“and that was it for you? that gave birth to your male main character?”

“yeah. that was it for me. that gave birth to my male main character,”

the host kept the book down as the crowd cheered.

"well, y/n," the host started.

turning your entire attention on them, you said, "yes,"

"we've got a little surprise for you,"

"is it going to be someone jumping from somewhere because i don't want that surprise, i'm very happy without a surprise," you said, your eyes comically large.

the crowd laughed.

"we wanted to do that. your surprise said that they won't be able to do it without laughing, so then, we decided not to do that,"

you put your hands together and looked up at the ceiling, "thank you, surprise guest!"

the host laughed along with the crowd. you smiled.

standing, the host announced, "everyone! please welcome! lando norris!"

the crowd let out loud cheers and some even stood.

you stood as well. "what?" you screamed, though it was drowned by the deafening noise of the audience.

the doors opened, the same ones from where you entered, and lando norris walked in. he smiled and he waved. and when he looked at you- you with your hands covering your mouth, eyes tracking his every movement- he winked.

after shaking his hand with his host, he finally turned towards you.

"what are you doing here?" you asked, still not over your shock.

he wrapped an arm around your waist with ease, as you wrapped yours around your neck.

"i'm here to be your surprise guest!" he said, as he pulled back.

"this wasn't on the calendar!"

"i know. i had jon put it on his calendar, cause i knew i would forget it,"

the two of you were still standing in the middle of the stage, arms around each other, though yours had travelled down to settle at his torso, while his remained at your waist.

"is that why you had an early morning training session?" you asked.

"yeah, had to make sure i'm not late for this," he said, still smiling.

"as much as i'm loving the discussion of calendars and training sessions, i am really confused here," the host interrupted, and lando and you finally broke apart.

the two of you settled on the couch, side by side. thighs pressed together, but the hands to yourselves.

"now, what is this about a calendar?" they asked.

"we share one," lando answered simply.

"why?"

"because we live together," you answered.

"right. again, why?"

"people who love each other live together," lando explained like the host was five.

"who love each other?"

"we love each other." you said, using your thumb to point at lando and then you.

the host stared for a few seconds. lando and you looked around awkwardly during that time.

"so, what i'm hearing is that you two-" they pointed at the two of you, "-y/n y/l/n and lando norris love each other and live together and share a calendar,"

"yeah, it's just easier. with my constantly changing schedules, and y/n doing university and writing, its easier to just block time on our calendar so that neither of us really disturbs the other," lando said.

"right right. you two love each other and live together and share a calendar," the host repeated again.

leaning forward, you touched their arm, "are you okay?"

"do i look okay? no! i planned to surprise you!"

"i am surprised!" you defended yourself while lando laughed quietly in the background.

"but you two love each other and live-"

"-live together and share a calendar, yes," lando and you completed the sentence in unison.

the audience laughed.

"hold on, since when has this been going on?" the host asked.

you and lando exchanged a look, his fingers playing with the strands of your hair, "five years," you answered. lando nodded.

"five?" the host burst out.

"yeah,"

"how did you two meet?"

"he was driving, i was there to watch, i crashed into him, poured burning hot coffee all over his fireproofs and bam! we fell in love," you said.

"your delivery is so deadpanned, that i really can't tell whether this is true or not," the host said.

laughing, you leaned into lando, who pressed a kiss against your forehead, "well, the world just found out we've been together. gotta make them wait a little bit, stretch it out," lando said, laughing.

the conversation moved smoothly from there. they spoke about lando's career, and your career, and the three of you made jokes, and read snippets from your book, and lando laughed his high pitched laugh while holding your book, and honestly, right there was your dream come true.

later, after it was over, both you and lando were in the process of getting the mics removed, and everything. the two of you thanked everyone who had been a part of the process, and just before you two left, the host jogged towards you, a slip in their hand.

"this is my personal number. we're going to sit down and talk about all the tea i'm missing here," they said.

you graciously accepted the slip of number, laughing, and lando thanked them for the opportunity and said that they would call soon. bidding goodbye, the two to you began walking to lando's car.

his arm wrapped around your shoulder, "good day?"

you leaned up, pecking his lips, "perfect day,"

as the two of you settled in his car, you suddenly smacked his arm and said, "i can't believe you didn't tell me!"

lando laughed.

◤──•~❉᯽❉~•──◥

i really enjoyed writing this one! also, for me, the host was a mix of jimmy fallon and drew barrymore, idk if i got their energies across. anyways, i hope you like this! im sorry it took me so long to write this one! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

taglist: @imlonelydontsendhelp ; @greantii ; @anamiad00msday ; @maketheshadowsfearyou ; @nocturnalherb16 ; @justaf1girl ; @peterholland04 ; @phobiccneel ; @winkev1 ; @alexxavicry

#f1 #lando norris #formula 1 #ln4 #formula one #f1 imagine #lando norris imagine #lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando x you #lando x reader #lando x y/n #lando imagine #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fluff #ln x y/n #ln x reader

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bambooswordwielder · 1 month ago

Text

Obsessed with the fact that Shen Yuan only transmigrates when all the Peaklords have settled into their positions for a few years because the idea of Shang Qinghua being stuck watching Shen Jiu and Liu Qingge arguing for nth time about some budget detail that is DEFINITELY getting overblown now and just being stuck thinking

"Damn this would've been such a good enemies to lovers plot line... Imagine how much I could've made off of them..." and regretting not monetising their rivalry more before he killed off Liu Qingge ( "Oh and the angst Shen Qingqiu would've faced after his secret lover died and everyone blamed him for it! Fans would've been begging for more extras!" 🐹💔)

Like all the peaklords are desperately trying to mediate and fix the situation and Shang Qinghua is just imagining his one hundredth Fix-It Fic/AU where Shen Jiu is the King's trusted scholar and Liu Qingge is the King's personal bodyguard

Everyone thinks when a single tear falls from Shang Qinghua's eyes its because during Liu Qingge and Shen Jiu's fight they destroyed both his newly drafted budget (for the fifth time that month) and the fact they also destroyed the table (for the third time that week and the week just started)

Reality is Shang Qinghua is crying because he thought of an angsty death scene for the two Romeo and Juliet style because both their families couldn't accept them being together

Years of this pass and at some point he even picks up writing again (specifically about characters clearly based on Shen Jiu and Liu Qingge) and he gets really popular, popular enough his novels start to flood all of Cang Qiong and even Liu Mingyan takes some inspiration from them

Everyone knows damn well that the characters are clearly meant to be Peaklord Shen and Peaklord Liu, but no one tells because they all are legitimately waiting for the next volume of "Battle-to-your-poisonous-heart-and-peaches"

Does everyone know it's Shang Qinghua... Noooo.. Would anyone admit if they did know.... No.

Then all the sudden on day Shen Qingqiu suddenly looked in the dictionary and discovered what the word 'nice' is and now he doesn't abuse his students 🐹🤯

He even let himself get poisoned and potentially ruined his cultivation for life for Luo Binghe of all people!? Um excuse Airplane Logic, but the MC is supposed to only get all the good stuff AFTER he falls into the abyss!

And what's this about Liu Qingge helping to 'clear' his meridians so he has to personally visit Qing Jing peak every week?? Def something is off, an author knows fishy when he sees it

For how many years Shang Qinghua is stuck watching these two do their whole "You're my precious Shidi" and "I'll always be here for you" act and he's just stuck eating dogfood wondering when exactly is the marriage extra coming in and why the System won't tell me why Shen Qingqiu is acting all happy go lucky now

Shang Qinghua notices Shen Qingqiu talking to Yue Qingyuan more, he notices Qing Jing disciples running straight to Shen Qingqiu with joy and excitement rather than the reserved fear they had before, he notices how Shen Qingqiu only glares at him twice every meeting than before!

Maybe this isn't his version of PIDW, maybe it's a fan made version where Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu fall in love and with the power of love and friendship Shen Qingqiu learns to be kind and to care and isn't going to cause Luo Binghe to go down his dark path and maybe they can all have a happyily ever after—

*Endless Abyss Arc*

"Oh fuck–"

[Before Endless Abyss Arc]

*Shang Qinghua watching from a distance as Luo Binghe is practically clinging to Shen Qingqiu's side. Shen Qingqiu pats Luo Binghe's head and Luo Binghe does THAT smile he only does for his wives*

"Well this is an interesting fanfic..."

[After Airplane Reveal]

"Wait... So you're actually a transmigrater as well, Cucumber-Bro?"

"Yeah, and?"

"..."

"Why are you staring at me like that?"

"Do you hate, or have you at least at some point hated, Liu Qingge?"

"I– No–Wait what???"

"Let me reword it. Have you ever considered murdering him at one point?"

"WHYAREYOUASKINGMETHESEQUESTIONS!? YOUKNOWWHATHAPPENEDTOSHENJIU! IMNOTRISKINGHISFATE!"

"... So I'll take that as a no."

"OBVIOUSLY!?"

"So it's just a normal Friends to lovers 😮‍💨 No flavour 🙄"

Shang Qinghua was then brutally attacked.

[During the Five Years SY was dead]

*Shang Qinghua watching Liu Qingge go every single day to fight Luo Binghe for Shen Qingqiu's body*

"Oh my Airplane.... It's not a enemies-to-lovers... It's not Teacher X Disciple... It's a bloody love triangle with both! Oh how much money this plot would've made me 💔 I would've been able to pay for four months worth of rent and groceries!"

Random Disciple visiting An Ding: "Um.... Is Shang-Shibo okay? He fell on the ground?"

An Ding Disciple: "Leave him. He does that sometimes. Now about your budget request..."

*Shang Qinghua screaming in the background*

Random Disciple: "..."

An Ding Disciple: "..."

Random Disciple: "Should we check on–"

An Ding Disciple, now dragging other disciple away: "Let's settle this at your peak."

Years later when Bingqiu have already had their wedding and everyone has become somewhat tolerant of their relationship, Shang Qinghua just sighs loudly and Shen Yuan asks him what's up. Shang Qinghua looks him in the eyes and just shakes his head.

"My ship...💔"

"..."

"OW– Why did you have go hit me on the head!?"

"Because I don't want to know what's going on in there and I need to make sure what's in there stays in there."

#svsss #shang qinghua #shen jiu #liu qingge #shen yuan #liujiu #liushen #broke shang qinghua days 💔#imagine what was going through Shang Qinghua's mind when he started seeing his scum villain being nice to everyone #“You're not allowed to do that! That's against Protocol!”#Shang qinghua really thought they were in a enemies-to-lovers hurt/comfort fix it fic #Turns out he's stuck in Luo Binghe's self insert fanfic 💔#Yue Qingyuan: “Shang-Shidi we have to prepare a budget for Qingqiu-Shidi's wedding”#Shang Qinghua: “Oh? Really! Oh wow I thought Liu Qingge was never going to get his act together—”#Yue Qingyuan: “Oh no it's for Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe.”#Shang Qinghua: “...” *Incoherent screaming*#“MY ENEMIES TO LOVERS ARC 💔!”#ooc I know but canon is a recommendation we ignore #I based this mostly off me writing some scenes for ocs and realising I liked a ship other than my 'canon' one more #shen qingqiu #bingqiu

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feyascorner · 1 year ago

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Hear me out! Hear me out!

From Astrion's pov

A Tav who hates physical contact.

But then one night when it's pouring rain Tav comes to Astarion's tent feeling scared and ask if they can stay and then one thing leads to another and suddenly the two of them are cuddled together and Astarion is like "I thought you didn't like being touched" and Tav is like "Normally I'm scared people will hurt me when they touch me. But you are different. I feel safe with you. I trust you."

a/n. I’m going to collapse they’re everything to me AHHH THIS IS SUCH A CUTE PROMPT

Astarion, by nature and by the two-hundred years he’s spent as a vampire spawn, is a touchy person. It’s instinctual. A habit he can no longer break. It’s not even sexual, half the time. It’s simply how he conveys the words that he struggles to say, even if his vocabulary is filled to the brim with flowery verses of love straight from a romance novel.

But he understands the aversion for touch. Because he’s spent so much of his life hating the touch of strangers against his skin, he understands when you recoil when one of your companions attempt to hug you, or someone tries to shake your hand. Even if yours doesn’t stem from the similar situations where he had to set out on a victim under Cazador’s orders, he understands what it’s like to simply dislike it.

He doesn’t touch you, even if his hand itches to brush the stray strands of hair out of your face. Even as he has to yank his arm away when he feels it nearing yours as you walk alongside one another. Even as all he wants to do is drag you to the nearest corner and beg that you just hold his hand.

So when you appear at the flap of his tent, barely shielding yourself from the thunderous weather outside, asking if you can stay, his jaw physically unhinges.

He coughs, gathering himself quickly—or as quickly as he can manage.

“Come here, darling. You’ll freeze away with that mortal body of yours.”

He doesn’t even know how it happens. Well, he does, but he doesn’t really believe it’s happening. Only fifteen minutes later, you’re snuggled in under his blankets, pressed tightly against his side. He stares up at the ceiling on his back with wide eyes, slowly turning to look at you.

“Is this…alright?” He asks, and you peek out from one eye, adjusting your head on his arm. He can smell your shampoo from so close—lavender? No, maybe another blasted flower he doesn’t know the name of…

“What is?”

“This,” he waves his free arm between the two of you. “Don’t get me wrong, darling, you know I’m never against a cuddle, but I thought you—well—“

You stare at him expectantly.

“I thought you disliked physical contact,” he says, softer. “Not just with me, obviously. In general you seem rather opposed to the idea.”

The thunder rings from outside and your brows crease deeper. The light from a lightning strike illuminates your faces briefly before it’s a dim darkness again, with nothing but your own eyes able to adjust just enough to make out one another’s features. He’s sure he sees more than you do, considering his familiarity with the dark, and uses it to notice the way your lips purse at the intrusive sounds coming from outside.

He also notices you leaning closer to him, but hesitant. Your movements are unsure.

If he had a heart, it would’ve been pounding now, surely.

So he curls his arm closer, pushing you into his chest in the process. You tense briefly, but melt into the feeling, and he lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Are you afraid?”

Your voice is but a whisper. “Not anymore.”

There’s a comfortable silence hanging in the air for what seems like hours, but he might consider them to be just a few minutes. The rain pounds relentlessly against the tent, but here, even through the thin fabric, he doesn’t even notice it anymore.

“You’re different from everyone else,” you mumble, and he looks down at his chest to see your eyes halfway shut, clearly about to doze off. “I know you won’t hurt me…there’s no reason for me to avoid touching you.”

He blinks, and you bury half your face into the fabric of his shirt.

“I want you to touch me.”

For the first time in decades, Astarion finds himself at a loss for words. He’s said worse things, sure, but coming from you?…

After filing through a dozen possible responses, he settled on one, opening his mouth to respond, but your breath is already heavier. You’ve already left to a dream world he cannot follow you into, and you’ve left him in a state that he would’ve considered humiliating with anyone else.

He stares at the ceiling again, listening to the soft rhythm of your breathing.

“You can’t just say that and then fall asleep you fool…”

#astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 x reader #bg3 #fluff

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cece693 · 2 months ago

Note

Ok but like imagine both Billy and Stu with a big tiddy goth! male! reader as their roommate lol

Reader looks intimidating but is actually really nice lol

Looks Can Be Deceiving (Stu and Billy x M! Reader)

Hi! So I'm not really that well informed on the big tiddy slang (English is not my first language) but after a quick google search I think I got the idea????? If not, then I apologize, but I hope you enjoy this :)

tags: oblivious reader, realistic billy and stu (I think), pre-relationship, open ended, might be a part 2 coming

Billy Loomis and Stu Macher weren’t exactly looking for a new friend, let alone a roommate. They’d been fine on their own, thriving in the chaos of their twisted little partnership. But when the college housing office placed them in a three-bedroom rental with some random guy, they couldn’t exactly say no. Rent was cheap, the landlord didn’t ask questions, and besides, how bad could it be?

The first time they saw you, though, they realized this arrangement was going to be…interesting.

You were standing in the living room when they arrived, setting up a bookshelf filled with horror novels and occult knickknacks. At first glance, you looked like something straight out of one of their favorite slasher films—towering, dressed in all black, tattoos peeking out from under your sleeves, with silver jewelry glinting against your pale skin. Your undercut only made you look more dangerous. Stu, never one to keep his thoughts to himself, leaned close to Billy and whispered, “Dude, do you think he’s in, like, a death cult or something?”

Billy didn’t answer, but his sharp eyes lingered on you as you turned to greet them. “Hey,” you said, your voice deep and smooth. “I made brownies. Want some?”

Stu’s jaw dropped. Billy just narrowed his eyes. And just like that, their expectations were shattered.

Over the next few days, it became clear that you weren’t at all what they expected. Despite your intimidating looks, you were ridiculously nice—almost unnervingly so. You always smiled when you saw them, greeted them with “Good morning” even if they ignored you, and even asked if they wanted anything from the grocery store before you went out. When you weren’t at class or work, you were usually in the kitchen, baking cookies or meal-prepping while blasting Bauhaus or The Cure from a tiny speaker.

Stu was instantly smitten. He started following you around like a puppy, throwing his long arms around your shoulders and declaring you his “best goth buddy.” He loved pushing your buttons just to see you scowl—like the time he “borrowed” one of your necklaces and pretended he lost it, only to give it back with an over-the-top apology. “Don’t worry,” he said, grinning up at you. “I’ll make it up to you. Wanna watch a movie? I’ll even let you pick.”

Billy, on the other hand, was harder to read. He spent a lot of time watching you from across the room, his dark eyes following your every move. You caught him staring more than once, but he always looked away before you could say anything. Unlike Stu, who was all loud jokes and obvious flirting, Billy was subtle. He’d make sarcastic comments about your goth aesthetic, only to quietly leave a new horror novel on your desk after you mentioned liking the author. He never admitted it, but you had a feeling he stayed up with you that one night you were stressed about your midterms just because he didn’t want you to be alone.

Stu and Billy’s affections, however, reached a dangerous new peak the day they stumbled into your room at the worst—or best, depending on how you looked at it—possible moment. It started innocently enough, or at least as innocently as things ever got with those two. Stu had been whining about needing help finding a charger, and Billy, clearly annoyed, suggested he ask you. Of course, "asking" wasn’t Stu’s style.

“C’mon, Big Guy!” Stu called as he shoved your door open, Billy trailing behind him. “You seen my—oh my god.”

You froze mid-motion, one arm reaching for the fresh shirt you were about to pull on, the other holding a towel you were using to dry your hair. Time seemed to stop as both of them stood there in the doorway, their eyes glued to your bare chest. No shirt. No barriers. Just you, all soft curves and broad muscle, your big tits on full display.

“Holy shit,” Stu breathed, his voice tinged with awe. His jaw practically hit the floor as he stared, unblinking. “Are you kidding me? Those things are, like, illegal.”

Billy, meanwhile, was much quieter, but no less affected. His dark eyes drank you in, his usual mask of control slipping for a moment as his gaze flicked downward, then back to your face. He swallowed hard, shifting his weight like he was trying to keep himself from stepping closer. His voice, when he finally spoke, was lower than usual. “We didn’t know you were changing.”

“No shit,” you snapped, snatching the shirt and pulling it over your head as quickly as possible. “You ever heard of knocking?”

Stu groaned, flopping dramatically against the doorframe. “Aw, don’t cover up! I was just starting to enjoy the view!”

Billy shot him a glare but didn’t argue. He was still staring at you, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “You’re...built,” he said, his tone almost grudging, like the words were being dragged out of him against his will.

“Thanks, I guess?” you muttered, tugging the hem of your shirt down and crossing your arms over your chest. You could still feel their eyes on you, and it made your skin prickle with a mix of embarrassment and something you couldn’t quite name.

Stu leaned closer, his grin widening. “Dude, do you, like, know how big those are? Like, for real? You could probably drown someone with ‘em. You want to try it out?”

“Stu,” you growled, your patience wearing thin. “Get. Out.”

Billy finally stepped in, grabbing Stu by the back of his shirt and dragging him toward the door. “Come on, idiot. Let's leave him alone.”

“But Billy!” Stu whined, digging his heels in. “I wasn’t done appreciating the—”

The door slammed shut before he could finish, leaving you standing there in stunned silence. You could hear them bickering in the hallway, Stu’s voice loud and animated as always.

“I’m just saying, those are a work of art! It’s like the Mona Lisa, but, you know, better.” “You’re an idiot,” Billy muttered, but his voice was tight, like he was holding something back.

From the moment Billy and Stu got an eyeful of your assets, the dynamic in the house spiraled into utter chaos. You’d barely noticed it at first, chalking up their constant presence to boredom or a newfound interest in hanging out. But as weeks went on, their antics became harder to ignore. The snarky comments, the heated glares exchanged when you weren’t looking, the way they tripped over themselves trying to one-up each other—it was enough to make even the most oblivious person suspicious.

But not you.

Whether it was the gym incident, the pancake debacle, or the never-ending movie night arguments, you remained blissfully unaware of the brewing storm. You were too focused on your studies, your workouts, and making sure the house didn’t descend into complete disorder to notice the increasingly absurd lengths Billy and Stu were going to for your attention.

It all came to a head one particularly tense evening. You’d gone out to grab groceries, leaving Billy and Stu alone in the house. The moment the door closed behind you, the gloves came off.

“Just admit it,” Stu said, pacing the living room like a caged animal. “You’re obsessed with him.”

Billy leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his expression icy. “Says the guy who’s practically glued to his side 24/7.”

Stu spun around, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You’re just mad because he actually laughs at my jokes. When’s the last time he smiled at you?”

Billy’s jaw clenched. “Maybe he doesn’t need a fucking circus act to enjoy someone’s company.”

“Oh, right,” Stu sneered, throwing up his hands. “Because brooding in the corner like some wannabe vampire is so charming.”

“Better than acting like a hyperactive toddler,” Billy shot back, his voice dangerously low.

The argument escalated quickly, voices rising as they hurled insults back and forth. At one point, Stu picked up a couch pillow and launched it at Billy’s head, narrowly missing. Billy retaliated by shoving Stu into the wall, and for a moment, it seemed like things were about to get physical.

But then you walked in.

“Hey, guys—what the hell is going on!?” you asked, staring at the scene in front of you: Stu pinned against the wall, Billy’s hand fisted in his shirt, both of them glaring daggers at each other. They froze, turning to look at you like two kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

“Uh…nothing!” Stu said quickly, plastering on his trademark grin. “Just some light wrestling. Y’know, for fun.”

Billy let go of Stu and stepped back, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt. “Yeah. Just messing around.”

You raised an eyebrow but decided not to press the issue. “Okay...well, I got pizza. It'll be in the kitchen.”

As you disappeared into the other room, the tension between them simmered, but neither of them made another move. Not yet, anyway. It wasn't until later that night, after you'd gone to bed, that Billy and Stu returned to their conversation.

“This has to stop,” Billy hissed, his voice low and cold.

Stu crossed his arms, still bristling from their earlier fight. “You think I don’t know that? But what’s your solution, huh? Scare him off so neither of us gets him? Not happening, Billy Boy.”

Billy was silent for a long moment, his jaw working as he mulled over his options. He hated the idea of sharing you—hated it almost as much as he hated the thought of Stu winning. But the alternative was losing you completely, and that wasn’t something he was willing to risk. “Fine.”

Stu blinked, caught off guard. “Fine what?”

“We share him,” Billy ground out, his teeth clenched.

Stu stared at him, and then a slow grin spread across his face. “Well, well, well. Didn’t think you had it in you to play nice.”

“Don’t push it,” Billy warned, his voice sharp. “This doesn’t mean I like you. It just means I like him more.”

Stu snickered. “Whatever you say, buddy. But hey, at least now we’re on the same team, right?”

Billy didn’t answer, turning on his heel and stalking off. Stu watched him go, still grinning to himself.

From that day forward, things…changed.

You didn’t notice the difference at first. If anything, Billy and Stu seemed to get along better, their bickering replaced with an odd sort of pact. They started spending more time together, which you figured was just a natural byproduct of living in close quarters. What you didn’t realize was that they were coordinating their efforts.

Stu would distract you with jokes and games while Billy silently took note of what you liked, using that information to his advantage later. Billy would lure you into long, intense conversations about movies and books, giving Stu time to swoop in with grand gestures—like the time he surprised you with a ridiculously elaborate cake “just because.”

If you were confused by their sudden teamwork, you didn’t show it. You just kept being your usual, oblivious self, completely unaware of the quiet, unspoken truce between them—or the way they both watched you like wolves circling their prey.

It wasn’t perfect. Billy still bristled every time Stu got a little too handsy with you, and Stu couldn’t resist making snide comments whenever Billy monopolized your time. But for the most part, they made it work. Because at the end of the day, they both wanted the same thing.

You.

And if sharing was the only way to keep you close, then so be it.

For now.

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