#god they’re so stupid your honor | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

solxamber · 2 months ago

Text

Trash Novel Chronicles: I Want to Retire - Idia Shroud x reader

You write a novel that reads like a dumpster fire and while trying to delete the draft, you accidentally get isekai’d into it. Now, as the villainess you have to get Idia Shroud on your side as well as survive high society. You have your work cut out for you.

Series Masterlist

You’ve lived a life. A noble life, full of honor, glory, and caffeine-fueled late-night writing sessions.

You're an aspiring author.

An aspiring author who, unfortunately, just created the most stupid novel plot of all time.

At least, that’s how it feels. You sit back, staring at your screen, utterly defeated as your latest creation flickers mockingly before you.

You’ve named it: "The Battle for Genius Prince Idia’s Hand" (working title, don’t judge). And wow, it’s a mess.

Here’s the breakdown of your disaster:

You’ve got your heroine—a girl so sweet she’s practically made of sugar, like one of those cookies that look good but crumble the second you bite into them. Naturally, she’s fighting for the affection of your male lead, Prince Idia, who is a socially awkward, genius mechanic prince (because you thought it’d be fun to make him hot and bad with people).

Then there’s the villainess. Ah, the villainess. She’s smart, sharp-tongued, and has enough sass to level a small city. Her entire personality? Sabotage. And she’s also after Idia—because apparently, that’s the only thing women in this story care about. (You regret this immensely.)

But oh no! Plot twist! Idia gets kidnapped by some unnamed evil force (you’ll figure it out later). The heroine? Well, instead of rescuing him, she falls for some Bland Prince. You don’t even know why. You think his name might be Greg. Or Gerald. Honestly, he’s that unremarkable.

Meanwhile, the villainess doesn’t even care anymore about Idia. Instead, she’s full-on dedicated to ruining the heroine’s new, bland romance because… well, that’s her whole schtick.

It’s… awful.

You sit back, hands in your hair, groaning aloud. “What is this? Who would even read this?”

You glance at your notes. They’re a chaotic mess of random scribbles: “Idia = genius, but hates people,” “Villainess needs more fire,” and “Heroine? Too boring. Spice her up. Maybe dragons?”

Yeah. This isn’t working.

You slump in your chair, utterly defeated. The characters are good, great even! But the plot? Oh, the plot is a dumpster fire. No, worse. It’s a flaming dumpster floating down a river of bad decisions. You can’t believe you spent hours writing this.

That’s it. You’re scrapping the entire thing. You’ll keep the characters, sure. But the story? Gone. Deleted. No one needs to suffer through this mess.

Determined, you crack your knuckles and reach for the keyboard, ready to hit the big red “DELETE” button on your disasterpiece.

“Say goodbye to this trash heap,” you mutter, “and hello to some actual good writing.”

But, alas, the universe has other plans.

Just as your finger hovers over the delete key, the worst possible thing happens. Your elbow, as if possessed by the forces of chaos itself, nudges the precariously balanced coffee cup on your desk. The liquid inside, which you had so carefully placed right next to your laptop like a ticking time bomb, tips. In slow motion, you watch the dark, caffeinated doom spill over the edge and land directly onto your keyboard.

“No, no, no, no, NO!” you shout, lunging forward, but it’s too late.

The coffee floods your keys like a tidal wave of misfortune. Your laptop makes a sickening little noise, a soft bzzt, and the screen flickers ominously. You sit there, frozen in horror, watching your computer sizzle as if it’s been cursed by the gods of terrible life choices.

And then—just when you think it couldn’t get worse—it gets worse.

There’s a small, but very real, spark. You flinch back, because nothing good ever comes from sparks. The screen flickers violently, the keys start to buzz, and then—before you can even process what’s happening—you feel it.

ZAP!

Electricity courses through your body. Your vision flashes white, your muscles seize, and in one horrifyingly comedic moment, you realize you’re being electrocuted by your own laptop.

You’d scream if you could, but all you manage is a high-pitched whimper before everything goes black.

Dead. You’re dead. Killed by your own coffee and a poorly thought-out novel. Fantastic.

You blink your eyes open, your head pounding like you’ve been hit with a ton of bricks—or, more likely, an electrical charge. Slowly, your vision clears, and you find yourself… staring at an unfamiliar, ornately decorated ceiling.

Where the hell are you?

You sit up with a groan, and that’s when it hits you: the bed. It’s massive, plush, and absurdly luxurious—definitely not your usual ratty mattress. Panic sets in, and you scramble out of bed, only to catch your reflection in a nearby mirror.

It’s not your reflection.

Oh.

Oh, Shit.

Staring back at you is her. The villainess. The sharp-tongued, drama-fueled antagonist of your novel. The one with a penchant for ruining lives and stealing the spotlight. The one you made up.

You gasp, gripping the sides of the mirror. “No. NO.” You stare at the dark hair cascading over your shoulders, the perfectly arched brows, and the terrifyingly intense smirk that seems to have a life of its own. “Why am I her? Why this of all characters?”

You step back from the mirror and slap your cheeks, half hoping that’ll wake you up from this fever dream. It doesn’t. You’re still stuck in the body of the villainess, and with each passing second, reality—or whatever twisted version of it this is—sinks in deeper.

“Of course,” you mutter, throwing your hands up in frustration. “Of course this is my life now. I write the dumbest novel in existence, and this is what I get.” You pace in front of the mirror, ranting to no one in particular. “Who even thinks it’s a good idea to make me the villainess? Me?! I didn’t sign up for this!”

After a few minutes of thoroughly berating yourself—and by extension, the cosmic forces that brought you here—you finally stop, resting your hands on your hips.

“Okay. Fine. FINE. I’ll play your stupid game, universe.” You throw one last glare at your reflection. “But I’m not tormenting the heroine. Nope. She can have her stupid one-sided rivalry for all I care. I want nothing to do with this mess.”

The decision made, you shake your head and take a deep breath. “Alright, what’s next?” You glance around the villainess’s extravagant room, trying to figure out your next move. And then, a lightbulb goes off in your head.

Prince Idia.

In your novel, he’s socially awkward, reclusive, and definitely doesn’t deserve to get caught up in this disaster. He’s just collateral damage in your sorry excuse for a plot, and honestly? You feel kinda bad about it.

You snap your fingers. “That’s it. I’ll find Prince Idia. Save him or something. Maybe I can even get a reward for rescuing a royal!” You’re feeling pretty good about this plan—much better than sticking around and causing drama with the heroine, at least.

With a dramatic flourish (you are still the villainess, after all), you head for the door, ready to track down Idia and redeem yourself in whatever twisted way you can manage. Who knows, maybe this whole situation won’t be as bad as you thought.

Or… maybe it’ll be even worse. But you’ll cross that bridge when you get to it.

After what feels like hours of arguing with your stubborn, uptight butler—who is absolutely convinced that your decision to head straight for the abandoned palace at the edge of town is the worst idea you’ve ever had—you finally break free.

“If anyone was kidnapped, that’s where they’d be!” you shout over your shoulder as you march toward your carriage, ignoring his protests about "safety" and "reckless behavior."

Butler or not, you’re on a mission. And after a bumpy ride to the palace, here you are, standing at the entrance, waiting for the traps or menacing guards to pounce.

...Nothing.

It’s strangely anticlimactic, actually. You push open the door, expecting maybe a cackle or some ominous fog. But no, just dust and an eerie silence. You frown, stepping cautiously inside.

“What kind of royal abduction is this? Budget cuts?”

Just as you’re about to chalk this whole thing up to a monumental waste of time, you hear it—a low curse, followed by the distinct sound of tinkering. You freeze, listening closer.

Definitely someone messing with something.

Your hand instinctively reaches for your trusty gun (bless past-you for deciding guns belonged in this novel), and with practiced ease, you pull it out and slam open the nearest door.

"Hands up!" you yell, pointing the barrel directly at—

A very, very scared Prince Idia, crouching beside what looks like a half-assembled mechanical gadget. His wide, shocked eyes meet yours, and he lets out a startled yelp, nearly knocking over the tools scattered around him.

"Wh-What the hell?!" you blurt, lowering the gun slightly. This was not the daring rescue scene you imagined.

Idia flinches, awkwardly raising his hands. “I—uh, I don’t know who you are, but how did you even find me?!” he stammers, looking at you like you just kicked his favorite gaming console.

"How did I—? Are you kidding me?" You gesture dramatically with the gun, still in shock. "I’m one of the people you were supposed to choose from! Remember? The whole ‘Battle for the Hand of Prince Idia’ thing?”

He blinks at you, deadpan. “Oh… Oh, no,” he mutters, more to himself than you. “Absolutely not. I’m not going back. I staged this whole thing for a reason.” He crosses his arms, stubborn. “I’ll just stay here with my gadgets. You can go back to… whatever you do.”

You stare at him, flabbergasted. “What do you mean you staged this?” You glance around the dusty, decrepit palace. “This is your brilliant escape plan? Hiding out in the palace equivalent of a haunted IKEA?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, it’s quiet, it’s out of the way, and no one bothers me here. I didn’t get kidnapped, okay? I just—didn’t want to deal with all the royal court nonsense.” He shrugs, as if staging a fake kidnapping is the most logical thing in the world.

“You do realize that Ortho is still at the palace, right? Your little brother? Alone? Without you?” You raise an eyebrow, watching the slow dawning horror creep across Idia’s face.

“Yeah, so?” He huffs. “He’s the Crown Prince now. I’m sure he’s fine—"

“Bro,” you interrupt, “have you seen high society? Ortho’s gonna get eaten alive. Not to mention the other princes aren’t just gonna let him waltz around with a crown on his head without making his life miserable.”

Idia’s eyes go wide, his brain clearly working overtime as the realization hits him like a ton of bricks. “Oh… Oh no. I didn’t think of that.”

You nod sagely. “Yeah. Big oops.”

He stares at the ground, looking like he’s physically shrinking under the weight of his own bad decisions. And then—something unthinkable happens.

“Help me,” he says, his voice desperate. He looks up at you with pleading eyes. “Please. I’ll—I’ll make you anything you want, build you gadgets, whatever you need! Just help me navigate high society while I… hide in the shadows or whatever.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “Are you… Are you asking me to pose as your fake fiancée?”

Idia flushes crimson, his hands flailing. “N-No! Well, maybe? Yes. I mean, yeah, but it’s not like I want to—" He groans, burying his face in his hands. “Just… ugh. Yes. Please.”

You cross your arms, tapping your chin. “Hmm. Fake engagement, huh? Alright, but only if you give me a beach house when this farce is over and Ortho officially takes the crown.”

Idia looks up at you, blinking in surprise. “A beach house? That’s your condition?”

You smirk. “Hey, I know what I want. So, do we have a deal?”

He hesitates for a moment, but then sighs, defeated. “Fine. You get the beach house. Just… make sure no one talks to me. Or atleast, you have to handle almost all the talking.”

With a satisfied nod, you extend your hand. “Deal.”

Idia, still red-faced and awkward, shakes your hand. You can’t help but wonder what sort of chaos you’ve just agreed to—but at least you’re getting a beach house out of it.

Sneaking Idia back to your manor wasn’t the most glamorous affair. He insisted on wearing a cloak, “for dramatic effect,” even though the streets were practically empty.

"You know, for a guy who's supposed to be a genius, you're real bad at blending in," you deadpan as he stumbles over his own cloak.

"It’s supposed to make me inconspicuous," Idia mutters, pulling the hood down further. "People see a cloak, they assume you’re some weirdo and leave you alone. It’s basic stealth mechanics."

“Uh-huh. And tripping on it helps too?”

“Shut up.”

Once inside the manor, you sit him down to discuss the details of how you’re going to spin this whole ‘rescue’ thing. Idia, now a little more at ease, starts fiddling with some gadget he pulled from one of his cloak’s hidden pockets. You can't tell if he's actually paying attention, but you figure you’d better get started.

"Okay," you say, leaning in like you’re about to hatch the greatest scheme of your life. "We need a story. Something grand. Heroic. Full of intrigue, mystery—"

“Or we could just say I, uh, got lost?” Idia offers halfheartedly. “And you happened to find me by accident. That sounds more plausible.”

You shoot him a look. "Idia, this is high society. No one ‘just gets lost for 3 months.’ We need something more exciting. Like, I fought off a band of rogue kidnappers—"

“Did you now?”

“And there was this epic battle—"

“With what? Your sense of direction?”

You glare. “Focus. We need an alibi."

Idia sighs. “Fine, whatever. Make it sound cool, but not too cool. If it’s too impressive, people will start thinking I owe you something.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I already have an idea of what you owe me,” you say, smirking.

His eyes narrow in suspicion, but you move on.

"Alright, so I 'bravely' tracked you down to the abandoned palace—"

"Because obviously that's where I'd be hiding," Idia interrupts sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"—and I singlehandedly defeated a gang of ruthless kidnappers, saving you from a life of captivity. You, overwhelmed by my gallantry, are forever in my debt—"

Idia snorts. "Forever in your debt? Yeah, right. You're more likely to find me dead than in your debt."

“Just go with it. It’s a good story.”

Eventually, you both settle on a suitably ridiculous tale where you, after days of tireless investigation, heroically rescued him from an evil plot to overthrow the royal family. It's unnecessarily elaborate, full of conveniently absent witnesses and a dramatic escape from a non-existent dungeon. The whole thing’s so ridiculous, you almost feel bad for making anyone listen to it.

“Right,” you say, standing up. “Now we just need to sell this at court.”

When you arrive at the palace, Idia hangs back while you step forward, playing your part as the "heroic rescuer." Ortho’s the first one to spot you, and when his eyes land on Idia, they widen with shock and excitement.

“Brother!” Ortho shouts, practically flying over to tackle Idia in a hug. “I knew you’d come back!”

Idia, not really one for public displays of affection, awkwardly pats Ortho’s head. “Yeah, yeah, don’t make a big deal out of it,” he grumbles, though you can see the tiny smile tugging at his lips. “I was, uh, working on some top-secret stuff. Y’know, important genius-level projects.”

Ortho beams. “That sounds just like you!”

You have to hold back a snicker. Yeah, real “top-secret.” Like avoiding social interaction at all costs.

Soon, you’re ushered into the royal court. The king—who clearly knows something is up—doesn't look remotely surprised by the "revelation" that Idia was never actually kidnapped. But, because royal politics are weird, he plays along.

“So, Prince Idia,” the king says, raising an eyebrow, “I suppose you’ll want the Crown Prince title back now that you’ve returned?”

Idia freezes, panic flashing in his eyes. "Uh, absolutely not. Hard pass. Nope. Ortho’s got it handled, right? He can keep the whole… crown… thing.”

Ortho nods eagerly from behind him. “I’ve got it covered!”

The king sighs but nods. “Very well. And what about you?” He turns to you. “Surely, a brave soul such as yourself deserves a reward.”

Here it comes. You’ve rehearsed this with Idia, but now that you’re on the spot, you can’t help the dramatic flair in your voice as you clasp your hands together and say, “All I ask… is for Prince Idia’s hand.”

The king looks thoroughly amused, while Idia, beside you, is turning a very interesting shade of red.

“What?” Idia hisses under his breath. “That was not the line.”

You grin, leaning closer. “Yeah, but you have to admit, it’s funnier this way.”

To his credit, Idia doesn’t collapse on the spot, though he does look like he’s reconsidering his life choices.

Meanwhile, from across the room, you catch the third prince—your so-called "male lead"—glaring daggers at you. He looks like he's about to burst a blood vessel, while the heroine next to him is scandalized beyond belief.

“B-but Idia’s hand was supposed to be won!” she protests, clearly flustered.

You tilt your head innocently. “Oh? Not satisfied with the third Prince?” you ask, batting your lashes at her.

Her face goes red, and the Bland Prince—whoever he is—looks equally scandalized.

Next to you, Idia quietly high-fives you behind his back.

“Nice one,” he whispers.

As you both walk away from the court, Idia glances over at you, his usual sarcasm softened by relief. “You know, I really thought I’d end up hating this whole scheme, but you’re not bad at playing the part.”

You chuckle, nudging him. “Told you it’d be fun. And now I get a beach house, so it’s a win-win.”

Idia sighs but can’t hide the smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t make me go to any more parties, okay?”

“Deal.”

You’re sitting across from Idia in the study, supposedly "spending time together" to prove to the world how deeply smitten you both are. In reality, though, you’re plotting out your beach house retirement plan, while Idia is hunched over his latest gadget, muttering like a mad scientist.

"Okay, so if I tweak this—boom, self-repairing AI drone. Easy. The idiots at court would never get it," he whispers to himself, eyes glued to the wires and gears he's fiddling with.

You’re busy doodling floor plans of your dream beach house, adding an extra pool for fun. “Yeah, totally, sweetheart,” you mumble, pretending to listen. This fake relationship thing is going swimmingly.

That’s when the door flies open, and in waltzes the male lead—of course he doesn't knock. The guy practically drips entitlement as he saunters in, admiring himself in the reflection of a spoon he’s for some reason carrying.

Without missing a beat, you and Idia scramble to look like actual lovers. You slide closer to him, casually tossing an arm over his shoulders, and he—already flustered—just stiffens like he’s been caught in a trap.

“I see you two are enjoying each other’s company,” the male lead says, not even looking up from his spoon reflection. “I came to invite you to the tea party. You know, with all the nobles. The whole ‘Idia’s too traumatized to socialize’ excuse isn’t gonna fly anymore. It’s been three months.”

Idia’s eyes widen, and you can practically hear his soul leave his body. You give him a reassuring nudge.

“Don’t worry,” you whisper. “I’ll do all the talking. You just have to sit there, sip tea, maybe nibble on a pastry, and nod at Ortho. I’ve got the rest covered.”

Idia doesn’t look convinced, but he nods anyway. “Sure, sure, as long as I don’t have to, like, interact.”

The two of you arrive at the tea party, and the moment you step into the garden, you realize you're absolutely screwed. It’s not a tea party at all—it’s some weird medieval Olympics with archery targets set up, and a bunch of nobles are taking turns shooting arrows while their wives cheer them on.

“What… is this?” you whisper, horrified. “Why are there archery targets at a tea party? Is this... a misogyny power trip?”

Idia looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. He’s already backing away slowly, trying to make his great escape, but you grab him by the back of his cloak before he can bolt.

He shoots you a look like you’ve just committed the ultimate betrayal. “This... is not a tea party. You said tea and pastries. Where are the pastries?!”

“I didn’t know!” you hiss back. “I thought we’d just sip tea and gossip about whose cousin married whose horse!”

Before either of you can make another move, the heroine spots you and immediately latches onto your arm, dragging you to the tea table. At the same time, the male lead grabs Idia and hauls him over to the archery side.

"Wait—no—uh—" Idia stammers, but he’s already been thrown into the testosterone-fueled chaos of nobles trying to outdo each other.

Thinking fast, you impulsively declare, “I’ll be the one doing the archery! For my fiancé, of course. You know, because those thugs that kidnapped him? They had bows too!”

Idia, catching on, immediately puts on his best terrified expression. “Y-Yeah! Bows! I’m… I’m still traumatized! Please don’t make me relive it.”

The crowd collectively gasps, and you inwardly pat yourself on the back. Nailed it.

Somehow, despite knowing absolutely nothing about archery, you end up winning the whole thing. Turns out, none of the nobles have actually seen a bow before. You didn’t even hit the bullseye—you just got the arrow near the target, which was apparently enough to impress them.

The prize? A complex-looking mechanical device, something straight out of Idia’s dream workshop. You look at it, completely clueless, before handing it over to him.

“Uh, here. I have no idea what to do with this.”

Idia stares at the device, his eyes wide in disbelief. “You’re… giving it to me?” He looks touched but also suspicious. “You’re not gonna ask for some crazy favor in return?”

You shake your head. “Nah. It’s all yours. Consider it a thank-you for not leaving me to deal with this disaster alone.”

He blinks, clearly not used to receiving gifts without strings attached. “Well… uh, thanks. And… good job on the archery. You, uh, really sold the ‘traumatized fiancé’ bit.”

Before you can respond, the rest of the nobles start talking about "true love," and you can practically feel the heroine’s eyes boring holes into you. She’s fuming, glaring at the male lead—who, by the way, didn’t win—and looks like she’s about five seconds away from tearing out her hair.

You shoot her a smug grin, thoroughly enjoying her frustration. Idia, who’s been watching the whole thing with mild amusement, lightly bumps you with his elbow.

“Thanks for… you know, saving me from whatever that was. And for giving me this… thing,” he says, holding up the device.

“No problem,” you reply, smirking. “I think we’re pulling off this whole ‘smitten lovers’ thing pretty well.”

Idia snorts, trying to suppress a smile. “Yeah, well, if you keep dragging me to ‘tea parties’ like this, we’re gonna need to come up with a better plan. Preferably one where I don’t have to socialize with archery-obsessed nobles.”

“Deal,” you laugh. "Next time, I'll find a real tea party."

"Please don't."

You’re lounging on a comfy chair, lazily chatting with Ortho, who’s happily explaining some new contraption he and Idia worked on. You’re half-listening, more focused on sipping tea and enjoying the rare moment of peace in this chaotic castle.

That is, until Idia suddenly appears in front of you, looking unusually determined. He stands there, awkwardly shifting his weight, before thrusting his hand out in front of you.

Without thinking, you blink up at him and, in your confusion, place your chin on his outstretched palm. You give him a questioning look, waiting for further instruction.

Idia’s face immediately flushes a deep red. “W-What are you doing?! That’s not—I didn’t—gah!”

Ortho’s trying not to laugh, but it’s clear he’s barely holding it together.

“What?” you ask innocently. “You held out your hand, so I thought…”

Idia runs a hand through his hair, clearly flustered, before spluttering, “I—no, I was asking for your gun!”

“Oh. Right.” Without hesitation, you hand him the trusty weapon you always keep on hand, because at this point, you’ve learned to never question what Idia needs. It’s always better that way.

“Thanks,” he mutters, grabbing it like he’s on a mission and rushing off to whatever secret lair he retreats to.

You glance at Ortho, who’s giggling to himself. “Do you think I should be worried about that?”

“Nah,” Ortho says with a cheerful shrug. “He’s probably just making modifications. He’ll be fine!”

The next day, your luck runs out. Just when you were hoping for another peaceful afternoon, the heroine arrives for a surprise visit, dragging along her little posse of noble followers. You’re seated in a stiff parlor chair, forced to endure the barrage of small talk and fake smiles, feeling as if the universe is punishing you for all the nonsense you wrote in that novel.

One of the heroine’s cronies leans in with a sickeningly sweet voice, “Oh my, Lady Heroine, I just love your new gown. You look positively radiant. Unlike some people who seem to… dress for comfort, I suppose.”

You shoot her a withering glare, but it’s hard to focus when the heroine herself joins in, adding with a falsely sympathetic tone, “It must be so difficult for you, pretending to fit into high society. I can’t imagine how exhausting it must be, keeping up appearances.”

You’re just about to snap back when, suddenly, the door bursts open. In comes Idia, holding your gun, looking both determined and completely out of his element. For a brief, terrifying moment, you wonder what kind of chaos he’s about to unleash.

Before you can ask, he walks straight over to you and hands it to you, his expression serious. “Here. I finished the modifications.”

Your jaw drops as Idia starts rattling off a list of improvements. “So, I increased the firepower by 30%, added a cooling mechanism so it doesn’t overheat, and now it’s got an auto-targeting system that can scan multiple threats at once. Oh, and I swapped the trigger to be more responsive, so you won’t have any lag—”

You can’t help but notice how animated he looks. His usual deadpan expression is replaced by a lively spark in his eyes as he talks about all the intricate details. He’s completely in his element, and you find yourself enchanted by the way he speaks. It’s rare to see him so passionate, so alive.

The moment is shattered when he finally notices the others in the room. His face drains of color, and he gives a forced smile that screams I don't want to be here. Without another word, he turns on his heel and flees the room. But you notice something strange—he had been holding your hand the entire time. His grip, tight and warm, leaves a lingering sensation even after he’s gone.

You’re left holding your newly modified gun, your face heating up as you process what just happened. The heroine's entourage are all staring at you with wide eyes, as if they’ve just witnessed the most romantic moment of the century. Even the butler, who’s usually the epitome of professionalism, is grinning like he’s just uncovered the secret to eternal happiness. The maids nearby are giggling behind their hands, clearly entertained.

You glance down at the gun, then back to where Idia disappeared. Great, you think to yourself. How am I supposed to survive this?

As if reading your mind, the heroine gives you a smug smile. “It seems your fiancé is quite… attached. How charming.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the sudden rush of blood to your cheeks. “Yeah, he’s a real romantic,” you mutter sarcastically.

But even as you try to brush it off, your thoughts keep returning to that sparkle in Idia’s eyes, the way he had held your hand, and the way his enthusiasm had made your heart skip a beat. Maybe this royal con is going to be more complicated than you expected… but also, maybe not as bad as you feared.

Dragging Idia to get fitted for the imperial ball is like trying to drag a cat into a bathtub. He’s actively resisting, feet planted as you haul him toward the tailor with all the enthusiasm of a man being led to the gallows.

“Why do you keep doing this to me?” he groans, leaning back so far you think he might just throw himself on the floor in protest. “An angel loses its wings every time you make me do this. Do you want heaven to be wingless? Is that what you want? To singlehandedly destroy heaven?”

“I’m aiming to open a black market for wings, yes,” you say, deadpan, yanking him forward. “The profits will be incredible.”

“You’re a menace,” he mutters, shuffling along behind you, still resisting like a particularly stubborn mule. “Just put me in a broom closet with a bag of chips and leave me there. I don’t need to go to this ball. No one wants to see me.”

“I do,” you quip. “I’m dragging you into society, one unwilling step at a time.”

By the time you actually manage to get him dressed, you feel like you’ve aged five years. But when you take a step back to admire the result, it’s worth it. Idia looks stunning, even if he’s fidgeting like his clothes are secretly made of fire ants. He’s basically the human version of a rare collectible: usually hidden away, but absolutely jaw-dropping when you finally get to see him.

“Alright, Prince Drama,” you say, exhaling, “I’m going to get dressed. Try not to set anything on fire while I’m gone.”

When you return, you immediately notice something’s up. Ortho’s whispering something to Idia, and whatever it is, it’s causing a nuclear-level blush to spread across his face. He’s stiff as a board, and when he turns around and sees you in your ball attire, he goes straight from “mildly panicked” to “catastrophic system error.”

Without warning, he chucks a flower at you. Just full-on throws it like it’s a projectile weapon.

“Here,” he croaks out, his voice cracking halfway through.

You blink, catching the flower mid-air with one hand. “Uh, thanks? Were you... trying to plant this on me?”

Idia’s face somehow manages to get even redder. “No—I mean yes—I mean—” He looks around for help, but Ortho just gives him an unhelpful thumbs up from the corner.

You grin, deciding to help the poor guy out. “Why don’t you pin it in my hair instead?”

His hands shake as he fumbles with the pin, and you’re pretty sure he’s using every ounce of self-control not to stab you in the scalp. You bite your lip, trying not to laugh, but the whole situation is just too funny. Especially when Ortho gives you a conspiratorial wink from behind Idia’s back like he’s this close to winning a bet.

The ball itself is, as expected, a social hellscape. You and Idia survive by sticking together like conjoined twins, fending off the waves of nosy nobles and fake smiles. You can practically see the stress radiating off of Idia, his expression one of pure misery.

And then, the king makes his grand address, signaling the start of the first dance. You feel Idia stiffen beside you.

“Oh no,” he mutters, “Oh no. This is where it all goes downhill. I’ll trip, I’ll break my leg, and then they’ll throw me in the royal dungeon for embarrassing the family.”

“Relax,” you say, squeezing his hand. “It’s just one dance. I’ll lead, you follow. Easy.”

“I hate this,” he mumbles as you drag him onto the floor. “I hate everything about this. I should have just set myself on fire and gotten out of it that way.”

But despite his protests, you manage to lead him through the first few steps of the waltz. To your surprise, he’s not completely hopeless. He stumbles a little at first, but with you guiding him, he starts to get the hang of it.

“You’re doing great,” you say encouragingly.

“Stop lying,” he grumbles. “I’m one misstep away from taking us both out like a bowling ball hitting pins.”

The music continues, and with every turn and spin, you notice the room around you fading into the background. For a moment, it’s just you and Idia, navigating the intricate steps of the dance together. He’s still anxious, but he’s keeping up, and more importantly, you can tell he’s starting to trust you. He’s letting you take the lead, and for someone like Idia, that’s huge.

From Idia’s perspective, this entire ball is a waking nightmare. He’s completely out of his element, surrounded by people he’d normally go to great lengths to avoid. But then there’s you. You’re handling everything with this... ease, this grace that he can’t even begin to comprehend. You’re not just dancing with him, you’re actively navigating the minefield of court politics like it’s no big deal.

And you don’t need to do this. This isn’t your problem—it’s Ortho’s succession, not yours. But you’re here, by his side, going all out to make sure Ortho’s future is secure. Idia’s heart twists in his chest. He doesn’t get it. You’re way too cool for this. Too cool for him. You wink at him mid-spin, and he feels like his brain’s short-circuiting.

"Oh no. I like them. Like, really like them. And soon, they’ll be gone. This whole engagement is just for show. After Ortho’s investiture, we’ll go back to our separate lives, right?"

He swallows hard, trying not to freak out, but it’s too late. He’s in way too deep.

After the dance, you lead him off the floor and start mingling with the other nobles, making alliances and doing your whole “political mastermind” thing. Idia stands awkwardly to the side, trying to blend into the wallpaper, but his eyes keep following you. You don’t have to do all this for Ortho, but you are. And that’s... that’s really cool. He admires you, he can’t help it.

And then—oh no. The lower nobles. They spot him and beeline toward him like sharks smelling blood. Before he can make a break for it, they swarm around him, throwing party invitations at him like confetti.

“Prince Idia, you simply must attend our garden soirée next week,” one of them gushes, eyes sparkling.

“And our evening gala!” another pipes up. “You’ll be the guest of honor, of course!”

Idia’s face goes pale, and he shoots you a look that screams, HELP ME.

You swoop in like a knight in shining armor. “Ah, yes, well, unfortunately, Idia can’t attend. He’s... uh... allergic to sunlight.”

The nobles stare at you, blinking in confusion. Idia stares at you too, his expression a mix of disbelief and amusement.

“Allergic to... sunlight?” one noble repeats, frowning.

You facepalm. Smooth. “I mean... it’s a joke! Ha! Obviously! What I meant to say is... uh...” You scramble for an excuse. “I need a nap.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“I—uh—can’t sleep without him,” you blurt out. “It’s, uh, a couple thing.”

The nobles blink at you again, thoroughly bewildered.

You grab Idia’s arm, muttering, “We’re leaving,” and make a quick exit, practically dragging him behind you.

As soon as you’re out of earshot, you let out a groan. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I said that. ‘Allergic to sunlight’? Really?”

Idia is doubled over laughing, completely losing it. “You what?!” he howls. “You need a nap? And you can’t sleep without me?!”

“Shut up!” you say, cheeks burning. “I was trying to save you!”

“You saved me? More like doomed me!” He wheezes between laughs, clutching his stomach. “Oh man, you are terrible at this. You make me look good, and that’s saying something.”

You glare at him, but his laughter is so infectious that you can’t stay mad. And honestly? He looks free. Unbridled, even. It’s the first time you’ve seen him laugh so openly, so without reservation, that it almost makes you forget how embarrassing the situation was.

Almost.

It's finally time for Ortho's investiture, and to say you feel unprepared would be an understatement. Not for any political reason—you've long since mastered the art of navigating court intrigue. No, the issue is far more personal, far more heart-wrenching. After today, once Ortho is declared Crown Prince, Idia will no longer have any excuse to stay in the spotlight. He'll retreat, back into the shadows, probably even fake his own kidnapping to get out of any future public events. And you?

You'll finally get that peaceful beach house you’ve been dreaming about.

But the thought doesn’t feel like a reward. It feels bitter. You don’t want that beach house—not if it means losing Idia. The man who’s wormed his way into your heart with his sarcasm, awkwardness, and hidden kindness.

But you know he’s not someone you can tie down. Idia doesn’t do well with permanence. And as much as your heart begged to hold on to him, you also know he’d likely slip through your fingers if you tried.

So you do what any self-respecting person would in this situation: put on a brave face, slip into your formal attire, and prepare to smile your way through heartbreak.

When you walk out to greet Idia, he’s already dressed in his formal robes, looking every bit the reluctant royal. His eyes widen slightly when he sees you, but he says nothing, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.

You muster up the strength to smile and reach for his hand. “Ready?”

He nods, but neither of you can meet the other’s eyes.

From Idia’s perspective, today should feel like a victory. He’s been planning for Ortho’s investiture for months, and now that the day is finally here, he should be feeling nothing but relief. But no—he’s filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. It’s not about Ortho. His little brother is brilliant, and Idia knows the kingdom is in good hands.

No, what he’s not ready for is letting you go.

If someone had told him a year ago that he would care about someone—want someone—so desperately, he would’ve locked them up in a mental facility. But here he is, standing on the precipice of his worst nightmare.

You, who shine in every public setting, who effortlessly charm everyone around you, are going to move on. He knows he can’t tie you down with his reclusive lifestyle, his constant desire to escape from the world. How could he? You’re everything he’s not—bright, resplendent, beloved. He can’t ask you to give up your life for him.

But when you come out and take his hand, his heart skips a beat. Neither of you are able to look each other in the eye, but the gesture says more than any words could.

The investiture itself goes off without a hitch. Ortho’s speech is flawless, full of the hope and wisdom of a ruler who will no doubt lead the kingdom into a golden age. You’re so proud of him—of the boy who’s become like a little brother to you.

But even as you smile and clap with the rest of the court, you feel a heaviness in your chest that has nothing to do with the political spectacle unfolding before you.

A few tears slip down your cheeks, and you don’t even know if they’re from the overwhelming pride you feel for Ortho or the quiet heartbreak you’ve been trying to suppress all day.

Before you can wipe them away, Idia silently hands you his handkerchief. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at you, and that just makes the ache in your heart a little worse.

You take it with a quiet, “Thanks,” dabbing at your eyes, and you both stand there in tense silence, watching as the formalities continue around you.

Once the investiture concludes and the guests filter out, you and Idia retreat to a balcony to catch your breath. The sky is darkening, and the cool evening breeze does little to soothe the heaviness you feel in the pit of your stomach.

Idia breaks the silence first. "I've, uh... already arranged the beach house. It’s in your name now."

You blink, looking over at him. His voice cracks slightly, and when you finally turn to face him fully, you realize that he looks like the very picture of heartbreak. He’s not meeting your eyes, staring out into the distance as if it’ll keep him from falling apart.

You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “Idia... do you want me to leave?”

He freezes, still not looking at you. "I... I want you to be happy. I mean, that's the whole point, right? The beach house, everything—you’ve been wanting that for ages."

“I didn’t ask if you wanted me to be happy,” you say quietly. “I asked if you want me to stay or go.”

The silence between you stretches, heavy and suffocating. You hold your breath, waiting for him to answer. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“I... I don’t know what I’m gonna do if you’re not here anymore.”

That’s all the confirmation you need. Before he can say anything else, you step forward, cupping his face and pulling him into a kiss. For a split second, he stiffens, shocked, but then he melts into it, his arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go.

It’s everything you needed and more—sweet, desperate, and filled with all the words neither of you have been able to say. When you finally pull away, you rest your forehead against his, both of you breathing heavily.

“Come with me,” you whisper. “To the beach house. We can... we can figure everything out from there.”

Idia lets out a watery laugh, one that’s half-disbelief, half-relief. “You really want a shut-in like me hanging around your dream house? You’re gonna get sick of me in a week.”

You smile, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “I don’t think I could ever get sick of you. So... what do you say?”

He hesitates for a moment, then gives a small nod, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “Yeah... okay. I’ll come with you.”

And just like that, the weight that’s been pressing down on your chest all day lifts. It’s not the end—it’s a new beginning. One where you and Idia don’t have to part ways, where you can move forward together.

As you both stand there on the balcony, holding each other close, the world feels a little less daunting, and the future a little brighter.

The grand hall is slowly emptying out, nobles drifting away after offering their congratulations to Ortho. You and Idia maneuver through the lingering crowd, dodging overly-friendly dukes and avoiding eye contact with barons hoping to extend the festivities.

Idia clings to your arm like a cat being dragged to the vet, mumbling, “Please tell me we’re not about to be emotionally ambushed again.”

You smirk. “Relax. It’s just Ortho.”

“Yeah, that’s what you always say before things get sentimental and I have to deal with ‘feelings.’”

You spot Ortho standing near the dais, still wearing the ceremonial robes from his investiture. Despite the long night, he looks bright-eyed, waving cheerfully at some departing courtiers. When he catches sight of you two, his face breaks into the biggest grin, and he hurries over like an eager puppy.

“There you are!” Ortho beams, practically glowing with excitement. “I was worried you left without saying goodbye.”

“Us? Leave without saying goodbye?” you tease. “What kind of villains do you think we are?”

“Exactly the kind who would sneak away in the middle of a banquet,” Idia mutters under his breath. “And you know what? That plan still sounds great.”

Ortho rolls his eyes fondly. “You’re impossible, brother.”

“Only when I’m awake.”

“Anyway,” you cut in, shooting Idia a playful glare before turning back to Ortho, “we wanted to talk to you before we go.”

Ortho’s smile falters, just a bit. “You’re leaving already?”

You nod, squeezing Idia’s arm. “Yeah. We’re heading to the beach house.”

Ortho tilts his head, curious but not upset. “You’re moving there?”

“For a while, yeah,” you explain gently. “Idia and I need a break from all the court politics. But don’t worry. We’ll visit you. Often.”

Idia shifts beside you, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, uh... It’s not like I’m leaving forever or anything. Just... you know, temporarily escaping society.”

Ortho laughs, but there’s a softness in his gaze now. “I get it. I don’t blame you for wanting to leave all this behind for a bit.”

You take a step closer, voice lowering. “And hey... I know you’ve got a lot on your plate now. But we’re still family. If you need anything—anything—we’ll be here for you.”

Ortho’s grin returns, full force. “I know. I’m really glad you two have each other. Honestly, I was worried for a long time that Idia might never find someone willing to put up with him.”

“Gee, thanks,” Idia deadpans. “Glad my personal development arc has been so inspiring for you.”

“But seriously,” Ortho says, his expression softening again. “Thank you. You’ve done more for us than you had to. I know you could have just... gone back to your world or left things as they were. But you stayed. And you helped him.”

Oh no. Not this again. That suspicious prickle starts in your eyes, and you blink rapidly to fend off the tears. Not now. Not in public.

“You’re not... making me cry,” you insist, even as your voice wobbles. “This is just... allergy season.”

“Oh no, it’s happening,” Idia groans dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please don’t cry. If you cry, Ortho’s gonna cry, and if Ortho cries, the nobles will definitely blame me.”

“Shut up, you big baby,” you sniffle, swatting his arm before pulling Ortho into a hug. “Come here, you. Group hug, now.”

Ortho barely has time to react before you’ve wrapped him up in your arms. He laughs, squeezing you back. You reach out blindly and grab Idia’s sleeve, yanking him into the fray.

“Wait—wait, what—!” Idia stumbles forward, sandwiched awkwardly between you and Ortho. “This is... I don’t...”

“Shhh,” you whisper, patting his back. “Feel the love.”

“This is emotional ambush!” Idia protests, voice muffled against your shoulder. “I want it on record that I was forced into this.”

“Noted,” Ortho says with a laugh, hugging both of you tighter. “But you’re not getting out of it.”

For a moment, the three of you just stand there, huddled together in a ridiculous knot of limbs, nobles glancing your way but tactfully avoiding comment.

Idia mutters into your ear, “This... this is basically treason against introverts.”

You grin. “Consider it penance for being emotionally stunted.”

“You’re both the worst,” he grumbles, but his arms stay wrapped around you.

Eventually, you pull back, wiping your eyes with the heel of your hand. “We’ll be back soon, Ortho. I promise.”

“I know.” Ortho smiles warmly, giving you one last squeeze. “And when you do, I’ll make sure you never have to attend another dull court event again.”

Idia perks up at that. “Oh. Now that’s what I call incentive.”

With one last shared laugh, the three of you break apart. Ortho steps back, standing tall and proud in his new role, though his smile still holds all the warmth of a little brother seeing his family off.

“Take care of him,” Ortho says quietly, glancing meaningfully at you.

“I plan to,” you reply, meeting his gaze with a small, reassuring smile.

“And you,” Ortho adds, looking at Idia. “Don’t screw this up.”

Idia gapes, indignant. “I—why does everyone assume I’m the one who’s going to screw it up?!”

You and Ortho exchange amused glances before both of you answer in perfect unison:

“Because you will.”

Idia groans. “Yeah, okay. Fair.”

With that, you bid Ortho one final goodbye, tugging Idia along before anyone else can rope you into small talk. As you leave the grand hall and step out into the cool night air, the weight on your shoulders feels a little lighter.

Idia sighs in relief. “Well, that’s over. Time to hibernate for the next decade.”

You chuckle, lacing your fingers through his. “Hibernation in the beach house?”

“Hell yeah.”

And with that, the two of you set off into the night, leaving the court behind—for now.

Oh, what happened to the heroine and the male lead, you ask? Let’s rewind a few months before Ortho’s investiture—back when they were still blissfully unaware of the elaborate downfall that awaited them.

You knew that the heroine and the male lead would try to make a spectacle of themselves during Ortho’s rise to power. The way they pranced around, flaunting their superficial charm and good looks like they owned the place—it was insufferable. And, of course, they were always scheming in the background, hoping to secure power and glory for themselves. You couldn’t stand it.

So, you set up the perfect trap.

It began at a lavish gala, one of those unnecessarily extravagant events where nobles gathered to network, gossip, and throw subtle insults at each other. You arrived fashionably late, as any proper duchess would, with Idia reluctantly in tow, mumbling under his breath about how every social event felt like “one of those long quests with zero rewards.”

“The rewards are emotional, Idia,” you whisper, linking arms with him.

“Yeah, emotional damage,” he mutters.

You suppress a smile, but your mind is elsewhere. Tonight is the night. You had planted the seeds weeks ago, a few well-placed rumors, some whispered insinuations, and a letter you’d accidentally left behind in a well-trafficked corridor. It was all coming together like a beautifully chaotic symphony, and now, the climax.

You spot the heroine first, her radiant smile masking the venom beneath. She’s making a grand entrance, arm-in-arm with the male lead, who, as always, looks like he’s stepped straight out of a romance novel. His hair is perfect, his jawline sharp enough to cut through glass. But you know better. They’re both so predictable.

“They’ve arrived,” you murmur to Idia.

He gives you a blank stare. “Yeah, cool, I’m just here to not die of social exhaustion. Whatever you’re planning... don’t tell me. I don’t wanna be involved.”

“Suit yourself,” you reply with a grin.

You watch them mingle, waiting for the right moment. And there it is—the heroine, attempting to cozy up to the king, laughing a little too loudly at one of his mediocre jokes. You slip through the crowd, making your way to where a certain nosy noblewoman is holding court. A noblewoman known for her love of gossip and her even greater love of ruining people’s lives with it.

Perfect.

You lean in, feigning concern. “Oh, My Lady... I probably shouldn’t say this, but I heard the strangest thing about the heroine. You won’t believe it.”

Her eyes gleam with curiosity. “Do tell, my dear.”

“Well,” you drop your voice to a whisper, “there’s talk that the heroine and the male lead are involved in some... unsavory business dealings. Something about embezzling funds from the royal coffers for their own gain? I don’t know how true it is, of course... but it would explain some things, wouldn’t it?”

You leave the rest unsaid, letting her imagination do the rest. The best part? It’s all technically true. You had orchestrated it so well, the heroine and the male lead had no idea that their “private” meetings and “innocent” financial maneuvers were anything but secret.

She gasps, her fan snapping shut. “I knew there was something off about them! Oh, the gall! I must inform the king immediately!”

And just like that, the gossip spreads like wildfire. Within minutes, the entire room is buzzing with scandalous whispers. The heroine and the male lead notice the shift, the way people start looking at them, and for the first time, they’re on the back foot. They try to smile, but their unease is palpable.

You sit back, watching the chaos unfold, sipping your wine as nobles begin to distance themselves from the pair, shooting them suspicious glances.

Idia sidles up next to you, looking around at the suddenly tense atmosphere. “What... what did you do?”

“Who, me?” You bat your eyelashes innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He gives you a side-eye. “You’re terrifying.”

“You knew that when you asked me to be your fake fiancée.”

The next day, official inquiries are launched into the heroine and the male lead’s finances, and though they try to clear their names, it’s no use. The damage is done. Their reputations are ruined beyond repair, and they’re forced to withdraw from court life entirely. A fitting end for their ambitions.

Which brings you to the present...

It’s a peaceful morning in your beach house, and you’re sitting on the veranda, enjoying your coffee while the sun rises over the horizon. The sound of waves crashing against the shore is your only company, and for once, there’s no looming political intrigue or royal drama to worry about.

That is, until Idia stumbles out of the bedroom, his hair a messy blue cloud, his eyes half-closed with sleep. He groans as he sees you, one hand on the wall to steady himself. “Why are you up so early? It’s like... the middle of the night.”

“It’s 10 AM,” you reply with a laugh.

“Exactly,” he grumbles, shuffling over to you. Without another word, he flops down beside you, his head immediately finding its way to your neck. He nuzzles into you, muttering something unintelligible, and you chuckle softly, patting him on the cheek.

“You’re such a big baby in the morning,” you tease, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

Despite being married for the past two years, Idia’s face turns tomato-red every time you do something affectionate. He blushes furiously now, burying his face in the crook of your neck to hide it.

“Y-You’re unfair,” he mumbles, voice muffled. “Saying stuff like that... it’s embarrassing.”

You grin. “But you’re so cute.”

“I’m not cute. I’m a grown man. And you’re a villain for making me get up before noon.”

You laugh, running your fingers through his messy hair. “Maybe, but I’m your villain. So deal with it.”

Idia groans dramatically but makes no effort to move away, too comfortable where he is. You continue sipping your coffee, enjoying the moment of peace, when he finally speaks again, a little softer this time.

“Y’know... you really did a number on the heroine and the male lead. They’re still laying low, huh?”

“Maybe the rumor I spread was truly a masterpiece,” you say with a smirk, remembering how perfectly everything had gone according to plan.

Idia snorts. “A masterpiece of destruction, maybe.”

You chuckle, pressing another kiss to his forehead. He sighs contentedly, the two of you basking in the quiet comfort of your shared life. It’s moments like this that remind you just how far you’ve come together, from court intrigue and scandal to peaceful mornings at your beach house.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

For the next part,

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #idia x reader #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud x you #idia shroud #idia #idia x you #trash novel chronicles

834 notes · View notes

ashdreams2023 · 8 months ago

Note

Hiii, could I request a severus snape and little sister reader where she's the opposite of him and so all the students love her until someone insults him one day and she's all snarky and a miniature version of snape and everyone's like ".....maybe they are alike....." while severus looks on like a proud parent??? I love your fics so much!! Thankss!!

The same tree

Severus snape x professor sister reader

The student body was in shambles the day you were announced as a new staff member, the name snape was enough to send shivers down some students backs.

They barely handled one snape, let alone two!

Everyone expected the worst, 2.0 snape female version then you got to your first class, it wasn’t like anything they had in mind.

Heck you gave house points and they paid attention to the lessons.

"She’s human, oh my god she’s not evil!"

It spread pretty quickly how nice and patient you were, you didn’t show any favoritism towards anyone nor did you encourage any rivalry in your class, as long as they passed it was a win for you.

Your office hours were filled with students coming to you for help, some even asking for help of topics other than what you teach, sometimes asking about stories of your youth but none dared to ask about your brother.

But there were times were kids can get way too comfortable in matters that have no business with them, unfortunately for a certain fourth year Ravenclaw he learned his lesson the hard way.

"I can’t believe that git took points because I added a point to his lesson! It’s fucking ridiculous, he’s a selfish idiot who only wants his way and everyone else is wrong"

"Jesus calm down mate, it’s only ten points you’ll live and he’s like the professor so…"

The Ravenclaw rolled his eyes "I know the book, I read it piece to piece I know my way around this stuff, he’s just one bitter old son of a bitch-"

"Excuse me you little bird" the boy froze as he felt a hand touching his shoulder, he looked up to meet your piercing dark eyes, they had the dangerously familiar feeling to those of their potion master.

"Professor i-"

"No no no…go on, continue what you were about to say so the oh so great Ravenclaw knows everything, because what? Because you read an outdated, basic, dusty ass potion book"

The boy swallowed, your tone was so different, you weren’t smiling and it reminded him of being schooled by severus snape himself.

"Why so quiet? Snake got your tongue?" You smiled proudly at the look of terror on the boy’s face "Let this be a lesson to you little bird, my brother is no idiot and without him little airheads and know it alls would be dead by now, so know your place, am I understood?" You tightened your grip on his shoulder.

"Yes ma’m!"

"And 30 points from Ravenclaw for showing disrespect to faculty staff members"

The boy’s jaw dropped but didn’t dear argue back and sprinted away with his friends, you couldn’t care less that students were watching, they call all spread rumors or whatever.

"Oh my god…she is like him…"

"Shush she’s gonna hear you! At least now we know not to overstep it"

You sighed and left the great hall, you pumped into your brother by the end of the day, he arched an eyebrow at you when you causally sat down and sipped your tea.

"I see you’ve made quite the impression today"

You shrugged "They’re just stupid kids, it was about time they learn anyways"

Severus leaned back on his armchair "You sound awfully familiar to me, I suppose I am rubbing off on you"

"The apples may look different but they all belong to the same tree" you smirked.

"You’re still terrible at potions though" He remarked knowing well how atrocious you were at his best interest.

"Hey! I was defending your honor"

You glared at him and he glared back then after a few seconds of intense looks you two snorted at each other and went back to having your regular sitting for the day.

Thank you for your kind words and glad you do 🥰

#imagine #pro severus snape #severus snape x y/n #platonic severus snape x reader #severus snape fanfiction #severussnape #harry potter requests #severus snape headcanon #severus x reader #severus snape x you #severus snape x reader #severus #severus snape #snapedom #pro severus

314 notes · View notes

pollenallergie · 1 year ago

Text

🫶🏻🫶🏻

Enough | A Make Up Story | Tom Grant x You | Series Masterlist

Chapter 10: The Lies You're Telling Yourself Words: 2.8k

You woke with a smile.

Tom was pressed tightly against your back. His arm was wrapped around your waist, and you could feel him breathing on your shoulder. If anyone else dared to breathe on you like that, you'd be plotting their demise. But with Tom, you didn't mind. He was so warm, and soft, and sweet… you wanted all of him you could get.

It was like you were made for each other. No matter what you tried, you were a perfect fit. No one had ever made you feel this way before; sure, he'd made you see stars several times last night, but you were just as obsessed with the way your hands fit together, and the way he bit his lip when he was trying to hold back, and the way his eyes fluttered when he needed to rest. He was beautiful. He was perfect. And right now, he was all yours.

For one glorious night, you'd both set aside all your bullshit and just enjoyed being together. And then the crackle of Tom's radio burst your bubble and sent you hurtling back into the real world.

"Tom." Click. "TOM." Shirley was growing impatient.

"Tom?" you asked, reaching for the hand that was resting on your stomach. He acknowledged you with a little moan and a squeeze. "Shirley's calling for you over the radio."

"Fuck," he grunts, rolling out of bed and slipping on yesterday's boxers. He pads out of the room and picks up his radio.

"It's Tom, I'm here."

"Come to the office. Now."

You look at each other with fear.

"On my way."

He drops the radio on the bed and rushes to the closet, pulling out clean clothes. You sit up and pull your knees to your chest. You don't know what to say, but Tom notices how worried you are.

"Don't panic, she probably wants just to bitch at me for fighting with Kai again," he says as calmly as he can, pulling a shirt over his bruised face.

"Would she fire you for that?"

"Nah. If I'm fired, they'll have to train somebody else. Too much work. It'll be fine." He leans over to kiss your forehead, then sticks his feet in his shoes without tying them. "Stay here, I'll be back as soon as I can." He's out the door before you can respond.

You dress, make the bed, and clean up everything you'd knocked over last night while you wait. Your thoughts race through the most awful scenarios, each imagined situation worse than the last. What is that creepy old woman doing to Tom that's taking so long?

When Tom returns, you're sitting at the table with a leg jiggling so ferociously, it's probably making the whole van shake. You pop up when he enters… with a smile?

"What happened?" you ask nervously.

Tom grins. "April wants us to come see her."

That was not one of the scenarios you'd imagined. You fall back into your seat and let out the breath you've been holding since the radio crackled. Tom sits across from you.

"She's broken her hip. Her granddaughter arrived last night, she's there with her. She'll be down for a bit, but she's asked us to come see her, and bring Bonnie and a few other things."

"Bonnie?"

An adorable grin splits Tom's face. "C'mon."

You get up and follow him out of his van, across the grass, and into April's house. He goes to her reading chair by the window in the living room and picks up a bonsai tree. "This is Bonnie. April's had her for decades. Keeps her company while she reads."

"Hello, Bonnie," you smile. This is the cutest thing you've ever heard.

"Find me a bag?"

You fetch a tote from the kitchen cabinet where you'd stashed them after your shopping trip. Tom pulls out the list April had dictated to him over the phone, and you help him collect the things that'll make her hospital stay a bit easier. Her slippers, her robe, the afghan from her reading chair, the book she was currently reading, and a box of proper tea from her pantry. "Says she can't stomach that weak hospital stuff," Tom explains.

Loaded down with April's necessities (and her dear Bonnie), you and Tom happily walk toward the work truck. Shirley had given him the morning off, since it technically was a task for a resident.

"We should stop somewhere and get her flowers," you muse.

"And breakfast," Tom grumbles, just before his stomach does. As you pass the office, Shirley pokes her head out the door.

"Tom." You both stop and turn. "Doug called for you. Tell your new girlfriend her car's ready."

You were literally right next to him. She saw you. You heard her. It made you feel about a centimeter tall.

"Alright. Thanks, Shirley."

Tom keeps walking as though nothing strange had just transpired. Has he grown immune to her weirdness? Are you overreeacting?

You reached the truck, loaded it up with April's treasures, and got in silently. Tom put the vehicle in gear and slowly exited the caravan park. You stared out the window.

"Hey." You look over at him. "You alright?"

"Yeah, just dreading that mechanic's bill," you lie, focusing on the window again. Well, half a lie. You're dreading that too.

But you'd just been served a hearty reminder that this perfect little Tom-filled bubble you've been living in wasn't built to last. Just like your time with Jade; this had an expiration date. You're still here because you're waiting for your car to be fixed. And it is.

"I'll help you out."

"No, you won't."

"I'm the reason you crashed."

"It's my car, Tom, I'll take care of it."

"But I--"

"Tom, you've already put me up for nearly a week, I'm not asking you for more."

He falls silent, and you feel horrible. You didn't mean to snap at him. But maybe it's for the best. You should probably just get out now, before you can feel Tom losing interest in you, like Jade always did.

"You didn't ask," he says, slowly and quietly. "I offered."

You finally glance at him, and he looks like a kicked puppy. You hate yourself.

"I'm sorry, Tom," you say gently. "It's just… the car being ready means I have to go home. And I've really enjoyed hanging out with you." Don't cry, don't cry, don't you dare fucking cry.

Tom reaches across the seat for your hand, and you take it. You tilt your head toward the window so he won't see the tears slipping from the corners of your eyes.

"What do you say we forget about the car for a bit. We'll go get something to eat, spend some time with April, take the rest of the morning just for us. Deal with everything else later."

"I'd like that," you croak. Tom holds your hand tighter. The rest of the drive into town passes in silence, and he doesn't let go of your hand until he pulls into a parking spot in front of a bakery… two doors down from a florist. "Flowers or food first?"

"I'll get the flowers and meet you back here," you offer, sliding out of the truck. One minute alone should be long enough to clear your head. Or at least let loose the tears you've been fighting since you left the park.

"Want anything specific?" Tom asks as you meet on the sidewalk.

"Surprise me," you smile. He returns it, and kisses your forehead before walking past.

You try to push the feeling of dread aside as you walk toward the florist. You don't have to leave him right now. Stop worrying about that and enjoy the time you have left with him, idiot.

The shop isn't open yet. Yet another thing you're not going to worry about. It just means more time with Tom. You take a deep breath and walk back to the bakery, where he's still standing in line. He's studying the menu on the wall like he's going to be tested on it.

You stand silently behind him for a moment, just admiring him. He's so invested in the menu, he doesn't notice you're there. Finally, you can't resist anymore, so you reach forward to place your hands on his sides. He jumps and yelps and you stand there innocently, like you have no idea what's gotten into the random man freaking out in front of you.

Tom fixes you with a fake glare, then hooks his arm around your neck and pulls you to him. Your arms wrap around his middle, and you grin up at him.

"They're not open for another 20 minutes," you inform him. "Have you decided on anything yet?"

"I was thinking half a dozen of the ones on special. We can eat here, then take the rest to April and her granddaughter."

"That's a good idea." He smiles down at you, and you rest your head on his shoulder to keep from melting into the floor.

When you arrive at the front of the line, you detach yourself as Tom orders the pastries and two coffees. You find a table and enjoy a quiet breakfast somewhere other than his van for a change. Not that you were complaining. You quite liked it there.

Tom stopped by the truck to deposit the remaining pastries, then you strolled hand-in-hand down the sidewalk toward the now-open florist. You picked out a pretty bouquet, paid - after a small argument with Tom, who'd already bought breakfast - and were on the road again.

The hospital wasn't far away. You stopped at reception, got directions to April's room, and found it quickly. A nurse poked her head in to make sure April wasn't sleeping, then announced that she had visitors. She held the door open, and you followed Tom in.

"Hello, love," Tom greets with a smile that lights up his whole face.

"Hi, April!" you chirp from behind him.

"Oh, you three are a welcome sight!" Three? Oh. Right. Bonnie the Bonsai, who Tom is placing beside the bed. You deposit her flowers on a nearby table, approach the other side of April's bed, and begin unpacking her bag for her. You spread the afghan over her legs at her request. Tom straightens out the other side. Teamwork, Grant.

"Have you already had breakfast?" Tom asks.

"If you can call that gruel breakfast," April sighs dramatically.

"Good thing we smuggled you in something decent, then," he winks, handing her the bag of pastries. She opens it, inhales deeply, and looks to the heavens with bliss on her face.

"My heroes," she grins. She pulls out a pastry and a napkin and hands you the bag. You place it on her bedside table, and Tom pours her a cup of water.

"Tommy, what happened to your face?" she asks, digging into her pastry like it was the best thing she'd ever eaten.

"I took a little tumble too," he claims. It wasn't a lie. There was tumbling involved.

There were chairs on either side of her bed, so you each took one. Tom filled her in on what she'd missed at Sleepy Sunrise over the last day - mundane little details that she seemed to enjoy - until a woman in a yellow sweater came in and hovered awkwardly by the door.

"Amelia, come meet my young friends!" The woman steps forward hesitantly, and Tom gets up to introduce himself, then you. "Amelia is my granddaughter. She wants me to come live with her!"

"You're leaving me, love?" Tom asks, hands over his heart like he's hurt.

"You want to take care of an old lady with a broken hip, Tommy?"

They both grin, but you know he would.

Tom surrendered his chair to Amelia and came to sit on the arm of yours. You didn't mind at all; in fact, you had to fight the urge to wrap your arm around him. April told the three of you - four, if you count Bonnie - all about her favorite nurses, and how bland the food was, and eventually surrendered one of her treasured pastries to Amelia.

"Might I have a moment alone with the patient?" a doctor asks politely, as if it were actually a question. The three of you clear out and gather in a waiting room at the end of the hall. The silence is awkward, but only lasts a minute.

"I've asked Gran to come live with me," Amelia forces a smile, "but she's trying to fight me on it."

"Why's she fighting?"

"Says she likes it where she is," she shrugs. "Don't know why." Tom's shoulders tense. "No offense intended. It's just that she's all alone there."

"She's got me."

"And where were you when she wandered off this week? And the time last week?" Before Tom can defend himself, she continues. "I can't believe she's gotten this bad, and no one bothered to call me."

Tom is clenching his fists. You decide to speak before he says something he'll regret.

"Amelia, it's wonderful that you're here, and that you've asked your grandmother to come stay with you. But when she's at home, Tom's the one who fixes things for her, and takes her shopping, and keeps her company when he's not working. He's trying his best."

They both stare at the floor.

"I need you to convince her to come with me," Amelia states. "She won't even be able to get up the steps to her caravan for ages. If she comes with me, she could probably leave next week. Enter from the ground floor, be looked after, and get to know her great-grandchildren."

"What's keeping her from agreeing to go?" Tom asks.

"I don't know. Which is why I need you to find out, and convince her it's for the best. She speaks highly of you. Trusts you."

Tom rubs his eyes and sighs.

"All done!" The nurse from earlier reappears. "You can go back in now."

Tom and Amelia stare at each other.

"Amelia, would you like to come downstairs for a drink with me? Give Tom a few minutes with your grandmother?"

She nods and rises from her chair, and you and Tom do the same. You give his shoulder a squeeze and follow Amelia to the elevator. You can see him entering April's room as the doors close.

You and the woman you've just met order coffee and sit awkwardly at a small table in the bright white cafeteria.

"How long have you been together?" she asks.

"Uh…" you can't fight the smile on your face. "Technically, we're not. I'm just here 'til my car gets fixed, then I'm headed home."

These are facts, and you're not even a little bit devastated over having to say them out loud.

You ask about her kids to distract from the lies you're telling yourself, and just like any mom, that's all it takes to make her open up. She carries the rest of the conversation, and you smile and nod when it seems appropriate.

When Amelia finally stops for a breath, she looks at her watch. "It's been thirty minutes. D'you think he's had time to charm her yet?"

"He probably did that twenty-eight minutes ago," you wink.

You clean up your table and return April's room. Amelia enters first.

"What took you so long?" April grins from her bed. Tom sits next to her, sporting a matching expression. He pats her hand and rises from his chair, coming to you.

"Can I talk to you a minute?" You nod, and he tilts his head toward the door. You lead the way.

"April's going to go live with her granddaughter," he says when the door closes.

"You talked her into it?"

"Yeah. But, uh… one of her worries was strangers coming in and going through her things. Amelia told her they would hire movers to come in and take care of everything. She didn't want that. So… what if we did it?"

You look at him strangely. What is he getting at?

"I mean… I know your car's ready, and nothing's stopping you from leaving. And I can do it myself, if you want to go. But if you didn't mind staying for a little longer… I'm sure she'd really appreciate it."

"She would?"

"Are you really gonna make me say it?"

"Make you say what, Tom?"

"Please don't leave yet."

You launch yourself into his arms so he can't see the tears streaming down your face.

30 notes · View notes

sanyu-thewitch05 · 4 months ago

Text

F! Yuu’s Dad in Twst Wonderland pt. 5

Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.6

Please save Yuu’s dad from the boys in this world.

Turns out the boys at RSA are a different type of annoying

Instead of selfish brutish boy, it’s selfless boy polite boy who lives in a fairytale and doesn’t have the self awareness not to be handing out pre-engagement rings to the first person they fall in love with.

Like he has to give Yuu the “Don’t be a Disney Princess talk”

🦀: Yuu, what’s on your fingers?

🦐: My platonic engagement rings.

🦀: You’re what? W-what’s a platonic engagement?

🦐: They said I was really pretty and could tell I had a nice personality and warm spirit in need of help and a permanent place to stay so they slipped a ring on my finger and said that if I still needed help I could stay with them in their manors and castles and all they wanted in return was my love and companionship.

🦀: That last part doesn’t sound pretty platonic.

🍎🐦: Ah, Yuu, here’s the rest of your platonic engagement letters.

Yuu’s dad snatches a letter and opens one.

🦀: My dear Yuu, I crave your presence and companionship wherever I am. Would you please do me the honor of living with me after your graduation?! Oh God, I’ve made a terrible mistake!

Yuu’s dad shakes the rings off her fingers, grabs Grim, and runs out of RSA.

🦐: Dad, where are we going to go?

🦀: Well we haven’t tried NBC?

~~~~~~~~~~

Spoilers: It didn’t last an entire day due to Rollo’s obsession with Yuu not having magic.

Yuu’s dad literally found Rollo on his knees, hands clasped with Yuu’s, begging her to be with him forever so she’ll never have to deal with those “magic freaks” again.

And so, the father, daughter, cat crew is back at Ramshackle.

Which is also where they see a pile of cards on Ramshackle’s doorstep.

🦐: They’re all Valentines Day cards! I completely forgot today was Valentines Day! Malleus’s card is so sweet!

🦀: Lemme see that. “Dearest-“ ugh- “My thanks for such a truly wonderful present. It is only fitting that I should give you something in return. How about the gift of beauty? Perhaps the gift of song? Or…Well, never mind. Just a joke based on the legends, you know. I shall give you something I picked out myself. -Malleus Draconia.” Sweetie, you do realize he indirectly called you ugly, right?

A/N: Real talk, do not accept the feelings of someone who offers you the gift of beauty. Please do not accept the feelings of someone who says they love you but is indirectly calling you ugly at the same time. I am telling you your self-confidence will plummet if you do.

🦐: Well…you know what it does sound like he’s saying I’m ugly. He thinks I’m ugly…HE THINKS I’M UGLY!! *Wails*

🦀: Don’t worry baby, he wouldn’t know what a pretty girl looks like if she hit him. Hell, his father probably abandoned his mother when he found out what her face looked like and realized it passed onto his son.

🦐: Dad…

🦀: No boy is going to insult my baby directly or indirectly and get away with it.

And so your dad storms out of Ramshackle, leaving you alone.

🦀: Malleus, come here!

What ensues is your dad grabbing Malleus by the collar and giving him this interesting sentence.

🦀: Malleus, I swear to God that if you ever make my daughter cry like you did with that stupid fucking letter, I will cut your horns off and have them displayed as a trophy.

⚡️: Let go of Waka-Sama!

Your dad drops him to the ground and gets a phone call from you.

🦐: He’s here and I lost sight of him.

🦀: Who’s at Ramshackle?

🦐: Rook! I saw him in the bushes with a pair of binoculars, and when I looked back he was gone!

🦀: Oh for fucks sake! Honey, don’t worry, I’m coming back as soon as I can.

🦐: *the phone call suddenly ends*

🦀: Shit, this is so not good. Maybe the cat got him and burned him to death. I hope the cat burnt him to death.

When he returns to Ramshackle, he finds you dancing, albeit very uncomfortably, with Rook in the backyard.

🦀: Hey! Hey! HEY! Hands off my daughter, French creep!

🏹: Non, Non, don’t misunderstand my intentions. I was simply inquiring her status about a visitation to Pomefiore. Vil wanted to see if she wanted some of his unused makeup.

🦀: But why are you dancing with her? Why were you in the bushes? Why didn’t you text her? You have her phone number! All of you do actually!

🏹: well quite frankly because you blocked us, and who wouldn’t want to spend time dancing with such a girl under the moonlight while waiting for an answer to a questi-Ah!

Yuu kicks Rook in the crotch and your father couldn’t have been happier

🦀: Good job, sweetie! Though you might want to kick a bit lower next time so instead of hitting the base of his penis, you hit his testes. Lemme show you.

Your dad picks Rook up and stands behind him so Rook’s body isn’t sliding downward.

🦀: Take another chance, honey!

You take another kick hitting Rook in his balls. You squeal in delight that you accomplished your dad’s helpful tip.

🦐: Yay! I did it! Did you see that?!

🦀: Sure did! Let’s bring the cat for a night time treat out in the town.

Your dad goes inside to get the baby carrier and Grim.

Meanwhile your first and second year friends are slowly walking up to you out of fear for what they just saw.

🦐: Oh, hi! What are you guys doing here?

♥️: Umm…💧💧💧….we were going to invite you to a beach party *sees Yuu’s dad walking out with Grim in a baby carrier strapped to his chest* but now I think we should leave and let you get a good nights rest for tomorrow’s academic activities hahaha!

🦐: Oh no, I can totally come to the party! I’m just going with my dad to the town for a snack!

🦀: *mouthing: you better not try anything or let anything happen to my daughter or else everyone will find you like this* *moves his hand to Rook’s body on the ground*

♥️: ….Yessir!

🦀: Come on, Yuu, let’s take you out for a snack and then you can enjoy your party.

You laugh and skip along with the your first and second year friends while your dad squishes Grim’s toe beans.

#twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #f! yuu dad au #yuu dad au #ace trappola #malleus draconia #twst rsa #rook hunt #rollo flamme

106 notes · View notes

florenceafternoon · 8 months ago

Text

━。゜✿ jily fic recommendations ✿ ゜。━

Some more AUs I've been loving. I'm trying to alternate between AU and canon verse rec lists so bear with me. Remember that if you like a fic you should definitely let the author know as such.

For reference, anything in italics is taken from the summaries on ao3.

theogony by @clare-with-no-i

The trip that Lily Evans expects to go on is the annual pre-dissertation jaunt to Athens with the rest of her Classical Civilizations PhD program. The trip she does not expect to go on is to 479 BCE, right on the cusp of one of the most important battles in the Greco-Persian war. Now, she has to navigate antiquity as she tries to find her way back to the 21st Century, God—or gods—help her.

James wants to win this war. No, James needs to win this war. He is a man of honor and duty, and even if it means dying a gruesome, bloody death, he will go down in history as one of Athens's great warriors. He will suffer no distractions; not even beautiful ones who speak strangely and refuse to listen to his orders.

-- OR: The Outlander-Meets-Ancient-Greece Jily AU that no one asked for Maya dreams of.

I can't believe it took me this long to read this fic but OH MY GOD!! Clare's writing is phenomenal, I've known this for a while now, but THE DEDICATION TO HISTORICAL ACCURACY, I'm so impressed. If only I could put even half that amount of effort into my major essays for school. EVERYONE GO READ THIS NOW

Sweathearts' Special by @tinyluminaryzombie

What happens when your coffee shop nemesis, asks you to pretend to be a couple?

Or "I’ve been staring at the stupid cupcakes for the past hour, and they look way too good. Anyways, would you be willing to join forces and pretend to be together for the free cupcake and coffee?”

Welcome to Pettyville by @women-inthe-sequel

When Lily Evans accidentally sends a text to the wrong number, she isn’t expecting to find the right person behind it. She can’t stop talking to Prongs. The only thing is, Prongs can’t stop talking about the girl in his class. What could go wrong, other than the number?

A love square but it's just the same two idiots

Tall Dark and Glasses by @jamesunderwater

Tall Dark and Glasses (or TDG as he is more affectionately known) is the mysterious, painfully good-looking stranger who has been frequenting Lily's favourite coffee shop for months now. But despite having an embarrassing acronym for him, Lily, a burned-out STEM major, is too comfortable being a wallflower to go up to him herself. Thank god for playing cards, I guess.

coffee shops and copious amounts of sugar by @mystinkysocks

James decides to finally start revising, the coffee shop he attends introduces him to someone new!

As someone who spends an ungodly amount of time studying in public (at cafés and libraries), all I dream of is to one day live out my very own coffee shop AU

Unlicenced by @ohmygodshesinsane

Lily Evans begrudgingly agrees to get in the car with classmate and sometime-foe James Potter and his not-quite-earned P-plates after a particularly rubbish day.

Drop-Off also by @/ ohmygodshesinsane

James Potter takes Lily Evans home, and wants to make something clear.

Disclaimer that they’re Australian in this AU. You guys don't understand how much Lily Evans means to me. I want to give her a hug.

pretty, pretty boy by rosiemary0 (on ao3)

Pretty face, with golden brown eyes and strong cheekbones (one of which is adorned with a smudge of charcoal). Pretty hands—very, very pretty hands, Lily’s thoughts interject—which hold a jar each, one with water and the other paintbrushes.

Or the one where James is an artist and Lily hates socialising.

I'll Manage by @kaymardsa

James and Lily fall in love during the war.

In which Lily runs a refugee camp and James is an ex-sniper

I can't remember if I've recommended this fic already but again I recently re-read it and wanted to share

'Tis the Fucking Season by @thequibblah

Six-year absences. Yearly photograph burnings (figuratively). Low-cut tops. Two nosebleeds. Little red notebooks. The Past, with a capital P. The desire to pour your heart out to strangers (maybe pathologically). The desire to do unspeakably bad things to one James Potter. These are the ingredients that make up Lily Evans's holiday season.

Shelby the cabbie is in for a fucking ride.

I have been searching for this fic for two months and nearly gave up. An absolute classic that everyone should read!!

Two's a Crowd also by @/ thequibblah

Regency AU in which "the only thing Lily Evans can share with the Earl of Devon is a healthy dose of mutual dislike."

In Search of Something More by @kay-elle-cee

In the sunlit garden of her sister’s home, Lord Potter had promised Lily a life of her own design, with minimal expectations—her presence at community events, companionship, and an heir. As the two stumble into the routine of marriage and work to make a life together at Stinchcombe Hall, unsolicited feelings provoke each to start wondering if this is merely a marriage…or if it could be something more.

No, I will not shut up about this fic. Anything that Kelsey writes is bound to be amazing but this one holds a special place in my heart. Note that this is an ongoing fic though. I tend to recommend completed works but this one is too good not to include.

Pinkest Bluestocking of the Ton by @wearingaberetinparis

Dearest Reader, the ton are abuzz with the latest gossip, and so it is my honour to impart to you the news that the Duke of Peverell has returned to London at last! A year after setting off on his tour of Europe, Lady Peverell's son has returned and rumour has it that his mother is preparing for the most joyous of occasions: a late summer wedding that sees her son wed the next Duchess of Peverell. It is my sincere hope that you have stored a bottle of wine for this most delightful of upcoming events for if ever there were a more determined mama, this writer is Icarus and this society paper has been scorched for flying too close to the sun.

A Jily Regency Romance inspired by Shondaland's "Bridgerton".

Again this is an ongoing fic, but it's too good not to include in this rec list! I haven’t caught up with all the chapters yet but I love the story so far!

A Heart of Coal also by @/ wearingaberetinparis

They say fortune favours the bold, yet Lily Evans was given her death sentence at seventeen. As soon as midnight strikes on the eve of her eighteenth birthday, her heart will turn to coal. Gryffindor knight James Potter, however, is the last to accept such a fate. For while Lily Evans’ curse foretells her death, his foreshadows a life without his unrequited true love at his side.

Fairytale AU in which the love is requited they're just idiots

Three Lemons and a Dragon by @thelighthousestale

Once upon a time, there lived a Prince named James who had to save his father's Kingdom by getting married. One day an older woman gifts him three lemons that will lead him to his true love.

Dillweed in a Fancy Metal Can by @eastwindmlk

When Lily gets dragged to a Renaissance Faire, she reluctantly agreed to go to the jousting event where she is pulled into the show against her will, or is it?

Lily represents me

Queen Foxtail also by @/ eastwindmlk

Once Upon A Time...

There was an arrogant prince who turned down every suitable match and drove his parents to do something drastic. Marry him off to the next merchant that steps through their gates.

across the universe by rcdwings (on ao3)

“So, you’re saying that in these other worlds, James Potter and Lily Evans exist, too?”

She hadn’t expected to hear that, hadn’t even thought about it that way. She was too busy thinking about if in those other worlds, she and her friends could be seventeen and free instead of the war torn teenagers they were. Now that he’d put it that way, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander.

“I would assume so,” she swallowed. “Not sure what we would be like, though.”

A beat, then a soft hum. “Anything,” he smiled at her, “There are countless worlds, right? We could be anything.”

only love can hurt like this by @fireblts

Lily doesn’t quite know everything, but it feels pretty close.

The main thing she still doesn’t get is soulmates. Love doesn’t seem like something that should be painful. Or rather, love seems like it’s painful enough on its own without any help.

Soulmate AU - whenever your soulmate is hurt or in pain, you can feel it too.

Soulmate AUs are my comfort genre of fics. I haven't been feeling to well lately and rediscovering this fic was a delight

The Librarian of Hogsmeade Village by @ohmygodshesinsane

Lily's work as a librarian in the small village of Hogsmeade has kept her occupied for the past six years, forever keeping the wheels of the town on the track. As the holidays approach, she prepares to settle in with a nice mug of tea and a well-thumbed old book. When a new resident and his son arrive at her weekly story-reading, with cheeky smiles and big hearts, those plans are tossed out the window in favour of chasing love, for once - not escaping it.

Lily living the cozy life of my dreams. I think it's well known by now that I love reading about single parents and well James with his baby boy always puts a smile on my face.

Spitting Image by @charmsandtealeaves

James Potter always knew he wanted to build a family, he just hadn’t found the right person to build it with - yet. Freezing his sperm at Gringotts Sperm Bank was a no-brainer really. He’d have children when he found the right person, and now he had an insurance policy. Then Lily Evans walked into his place of work with her son - the spitting image of him.

linking this art that the talented @constancezin drew inspired by this fic

Every time I see that Ray has updated, reading the new chapter becomes the highlight of my day

The Stag Prince Across The Sea also by @/ charmsandtealeaves

The realm of Hogwarts had lived for decades in a carefully negotiated harmony between the leaders of the four clans. However, when the time came for son to marry daughter, the Slytherin King refused to offer his daughter's hand to any of the other grand houses’ suitors. As the Slytherin King departed the shore, bound for the ship that would allow him to escape across the Green Sea, he cast a curse on the great families.

“Let ye be marked. Marred by tooth, hoof, and claw. May your sons never be fit for any bride!”

Slytherin invoked an ancient magic, which transformed each family's eldest son into creatures under the light of the full moon. The Kings searched far and wide for a cure to no avail while trying to keep secret the wrong that had been done to them. Years passed and with them grew a sense of unrest, a kingdom on the precipice of collapse...

what love is, I think by @potterandevans-blog-blog

It's James Potter's birthday, his nineteenth to be exact. Some people, if they're lucky, find a tattoo on their back on their nineteenth birthday, a tattoo that can help them discover their soulmate. And if the antlers on his back are anything to go by, James might just have a soulmate of his own out there, somewhere.

oil be there for you by @abby10fanfic

Texting/Social Media AU: Lily and James haven't spoken for 2 years. But that's all about to change thanks to Peter and his involvement in an essential oil pyramid scheme. Featuring boss babes, toxin-free lifestyles, binding contracts, and a very oily journey.

#if you're like me and check the jily fic tag nearly every morning you've probably read most of these already #but I just wanted to share my recent favourites #lily evans #james potter #jily #jple #james x lily #lily x james #jily fic rec list

159 notes · View notes

paulyenvol6 · 3 months ago

Text

Byka Atroksia (Chapter 4)

Contains: just a little angst and Rhaenyra being bipolar

Wordcount: ~2.40k

Masterlist of this story

Just when you were about to fall asleep you could feel Daemon roll off you.

It made you open your eyes again and you were back in the present moment. He exhaled loudly and stared at the ceiling while you felt weird at the loss of his weight on you. You felt exposed and cold suddenly.

Now that you were fully awake again more thoughts were floating through your head and a lot of emotions were washing over you. Slowly, you left the beautiful haze you had remained in after the intercourse and were pulled back into reality. You had just lost your virtue, your honor. Gods be good, what had you done? You weren’t married and yet you had just lost your maidenhood to your uncle. It wasn’t uncommen in your family to marry relatives but the point was that your father had no intentions marrying you to Daemon.

You felt your hands starting to shake. That was a catastrophe. A big, fatal mistake you had made. Maybe it was a dream, you thought. Maybe you would wake up in a couple of seconds and find yourself alone in your bed, right where you were supposed to be at this hour.

But then you turned your head and saw your uncle next to you, still breathing heavily and you felt yourself panick. If anyone would find out about this it would have terrible consequences. Your father would be furious, probably disinherit you and not call him his daughter anymore. Rhaenyra would look at you with disgust and suddenly you felt so dirty and filthy.

"Daemon.", you said with tears in your eyes. He slowly opened his eyes. "Mhmm…?", his voice sounded tired and annoyed by your disturbance.

"W-We shouldn’t have done this.", you whispered desperately and sat up on your uncle’s bed. "It was wrong, I-I was supposed to – How could we have – " Tears ran down your face and you pressed your hands over your mouth shocked by your action.

Daemon sighed deeply and slowly sat down on the bed as well. He reached out to you, grabbed both your upper arms, pulled you towards him and held you against his chest. He would have prefered to get some sleep now and wasn’t delighted by your outburst but did what he had to do. So he caressed your hair as he felt his skin getting wettened by your tears

"It’s alright…" "No it’s not, I – They’re gonna put my head on a spike for this." Daemon shook his head even though you couldn’t see it.

"They’re not, Vhaela."

"But w-when I'll be married some day my husband is gonna notice that I have lost my maidenhood already." Daemon exhaled. "Every woman is different. Some are tighter, some not. Some bleed, some don't. Perhaps he will be too much of an idiot to notice."

"But he COULD notice. And that would be… a disaster!" Suddenly you pulled away from him and looked at him with a serious look on your face.

"Please don’t tell anyone, uncle. They can’t know." He reassuringly nodded. "Yes. I will not."

You took a deep breath and tried to collect yourself. "We – That was so stupid, Daemon." He rolled his eyes and took your hand. "I think it was rather nice.", he whispered slowly as he pressed little kisses on the back of it.

"I didn’t know you were such a filthy, wicked beast." You blushed and there was the hint of a smile on your face.

"But now you need to rest, gevie riña (beautiful girl). You’re exhausted." You nodded in response and Daemon reached to the end of the bed to grab the blanket. He pulled at it to cover you both with it but you uncertainly watched him and played with your fingers.

"But, won’t they see us together in the morrow if I stay here in your chambers?" Daemon didn’t answer you immediately but put his hands on your waist and moved you so you laid next to him.

"No, they won’t. The servants don’t come in here in the morrow. I’ve told them not to countless times." He moved the hair out of your face.

"You don’t need to worry so much, little owl. I’ll protect you." You looked up to him with big eyes and it felt good to hear him say these words. They gave you comfort and made you think that actually everything would be fine.

"Such a sweet, little, innocent thing.", he whispered and kissed you on your forehead. "Sleep now."

~~~~~~~~~~

You were woken by the daylight in the morrow and needed a moment to remember what had happened the night before. You felt a little tension in your belly and you weren’t certain if it was caused by the memory of Daemon’s hot touch on your body or the fear what might happen if someone was to find out about your sins.

Daemon was still asleep next to you but only a few minutes after you had woken up he opened his eyes as well.

"Mhmmm.", he grunted and yawned. "Good morrow, uncle." He stretched his arms and turned to his other side. "Good morrow."

Did he really want to go back to sleep now?

"Daemon, I have to go now. The risk is too high that someone is gonna see me here." You looked at him with big eyes and Daemon slowly sat up. "Then go. There is the door." You frowned and he chuckled sleepy. "Sorry."

"I didn’t know you were so grumpy in the morrow."

He didn’t answer to that but got off the bed to grab his clothes which you did in the meantime as well. Then he turned to you.

"You should go through the secret tunnel from my room into the city and then back to the keep." You were confused and looked at him questioning. "What?"

"My sweet Vhaela, you’re the one who’s so concerned so this is me trying to come up with a plan that will make sure no one will suspect anything." You still didn’t know what he was talking about.

"We left the feast yesterday and there were probably enough people to tell my father that we left together. If you want to avoid rumours we have to give them an explanation for what we were doing. If you leave the keep through the tunnel that leads from my chambers right into the city and you enter the Keep now in the early morrow they will think that you have spent the night out. Which is exactly what you’re gonna tell them. And as nobody has seen either you or the two of us together they will believe it. You and I left the feast together and I shortly after went up to my chambers. You, on the other hand went out to… I don’t know, come up with something. It wouldn’t make sense to assume that we were together in the city if you return alone and I myself remain in my bed until noon."

You slowly nodded. Everything he had said made sense and you admired him for how quickly he had thought of a clever plan. So you let him lead you to the wall behind his bed but when your gaze fell on the bed you stopped.

"Daemon.", you said. He turned to look at you and then his eyes followed yours. There was a red stain on the sheets and of course you knew where it came from. You had bleeded when you had lost your maidenhood and now there was proof on the bedsheets. Daemon understood and shrugged his shoulders as if he thought it was nothing.

"I can get rid of it. I can burn it if necessary."

"Really?" He kept walking to the wall and left you looking at the blood stain.

"Yeah, of course." You gulped but then followed your uncle. Then everything happened very quickly. He opened the door to the secret passage and you stepped out of the chambers and into the tunnel.

"Be careful, little owl. Promise me that." You nervously looked at him. "Is it gonna be…. I haven’t been to the city a lot. Is it dangerous?" Daemon caressed your cheek. "If you keep your head down and your Targaryen hair hidden…", he adjusted the scarf he had just wrapped around your head. "Then you’ll be fine."

You nodded. "Alright. I… I’ll see you soon." Your uncle nodded and couldn’t hide a smirk looking at his not so innocent niece.

~~~~~~~~~~

You felt a stitch in your side as you walked up the many stairs. You were out of breath and the sun was already burning down at you which you had appreciated once you had arrived in the city but now it was too hot. Everything had worked so far and you hoped that your father would believe the story you had come up with during your walk.

You had fought with your sister (which wasn’t a lie), then talked to your uncle who had noticed your bad mood. He had suggested you needed some fresh air and escorted you out of the hall and into the gardens. There, you had said that you needed some time alone and Daemon had gone to his chambers while you, who had felt out of character and risky last night, had decided to go down into the city to just be in a different environment for once. You had strolled through the streets, watched all the attractions one could find and then fell asleep on a hay ball in a shed after drinking a little too much. You knew that you father would be angry nevertheless. His daughter, the Princess drunkily spending her time in bars and sheds? You gulped. But it was better than telling him the truth.

The guards at the red keep let you pass once they recognised you without asking what you had done in the city at that early hour. You felt miserable when you entered the hall. Not only did you fear the upcoming conversation with your father but thinking about you activities last night put you through hell as well. You had sinned, had committed an unspeakable crime. And you hated how much you had enjoyed the time with your uncle. You should feel disgusted now, thinking about his touch, but you didn’t. Because you hated that you did that, that you had lost your honor and virtue and that you had such a lack of will strength but at the same time it made your breath go faster thinking about Daemon’s hands on your body.

"Vhaela!" You quickly turned around with widened eyes and saw your sister walking towards you.

"Vhaela, where have you been?" Rhaenyra wrapped her arms around you and held you tightly. "We were so worried, has something happened to you?" You gulped loudly and felt tears in your eyes.

She and your father had been scared for you while you had done such a terrible action. And why did Rhaenyra had to be so caring and kind to you right now? It only made you feel worse than you already did.

"No, I’m fine, sister." Rhaenyra ended the hug and observed you intensely. "But where were you? I saw you leaving the feast with uncle, what did you do?"

You tried to look as honest as possible and started speaking. "After our fight… I didn’t feel very well and uncle saw that. We went out to get some fresh air and then he left me alone and I… I went to the city." Rhaenyra looked at you with an open mouth.

"What? Vhaela, you… Why? How could you do that?" You looked to the ground. "I’m sorry, I-I felt so odd yesterday. After everything I just felt like I needed a change in my environment. See something else than the keep."

Rhaenyra let out something that sounded like a cry and took your hand. "Vhaela. I’m sorry."

"What? What are YOU apologising for?" Your sister shook her head and looked sad. "Our fight… I was nasty yesterday. I don’t know what it was, but I’m sorry. Gods, and you brought yourself into such danger because of me…"

"No. No. I acted with full responsibility. I promise you this, Rhaenyra, it’s not your fault. And nothing happened to me anyway." Rhaenyra sighed deeply.

"What exactly did you do, Vhae?" You gulped and just wished you could tell your sister the truth. You didn’t always get along but right now she was kind and genuinely cared about you.

"I aimlessly walked through the streets and watched all the street artists. And then I… I drank some wine in a tavern and fell asleep on a hay ball."

Rhaenyra looked to your interlocked hands and desperately shook her head. "The things that could have happened… Gods be good, Vhaela, you could have get hurt. Someone could have used your drunk state and rape you." You intensely looked at her, trying everything to make her calm down and not making her feel responsible for what she believed to had happened.

"But nothing did happen, Rhae. I swear this to you, I’m perfectly fine. And I will not do this again. Ever."

Rhaenyra once again pulled you into a hug. "You will not. Oh Vhae, I can’t believe you’re 16 already.", she then whispered. "You’re my little sister after all. My little sister that needs to be protected."

You rolled your eyes and chuckled. "I don’t need to be protected." Rhaenyra looked stern and bit her lip.

"Just promise me. Promise me you won't act so stupidly again." You nodded a few times and tightly held your sister’s hand. "I promise you, Rhaenyra. On our mother’s memory." Rhaenyra exhaled loudly.

"Now you will have to listen to father’s outburst but I guess you deserve it a second time. And I also have a few things to say to uncle." Your head rapidly turned to your sister. "I simply can’t believe him, I can’t believe he’d leave you alone in the gardens at such a late hour."

As you didn’t know what to answer to that you just silently followed your sister who brought you straight to your father’s chambers. You both knew that you couldn’t avoid this conversation and like your sister you thought it was best to get over with it as quickly as possible.

142 notes · View notes

manygeese · 5 months ago

Text

wrote something valgrace again. you can’t stop me I’m a supervillain

~*~

It was a cool summer morning at Camp Half-Blood. The birds were singing, Apollo was riding his chariot across the blue sky, and- wait, was that screaming?

If it was, Jason didn’t hear it. He had just woken up in the Zeus cabin, groggy and grumpy. Usually, he would have been up hours ago, but he had stayed up late with Leo last night. The other boy had been planning something, but Jason didn’t quite catch what it was, as he may or may not have been staring at Leo’s lips.

Oh, who was he kidding. Jason had definitely been staring at Leo’s lips and he had a big, devastating crush on him. Honestly, he should’ve known sooner; with all that time spent laughing at stupid jokes, listening to passionate rants about screwdrivers, and helping assemble mechanic animals, you’d think he would’ve clued in weeks ago.

There was the screaming again. The Stolls must have hidden a speaker somewhere in the cabin. Jason dismissed it, pulled the covers back up, and turned on his side to face the wall.

What he couldn’t dismiss was the voice whispering in his ear. “Jason.”

Jason sat up like he was waking up from a nightmare, only relaxing once he saw who was talking. “Oh my Gods, Leo, why are you here?”

Leo shushed him. “We talked about this last night! I need to hide. Did you clear out enough room under your bed like we planned?” His eyes darted around frantically, but he still had a bright grin on.

Shit. This was what he got for having a stupid crush. “Sorry, I forgot.”

“Damn,” Leo mumbled. “Well. Get out of the bed.”

“Huh?”

“I need to hide somewhere, and since I can’t be under your bed, I’ll have to be on it.”

Jason obeyed, getting up and standing around awkwardly after Leo shimmied under the covers.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” Leo peeked up over the blanket and gestured to the spot next to him.

Jason blushed. This was, once again, what he got for having a stupid crush. He accepted his fate with a sigh and got back in the bed. Trying to look casual, he picked up a book from under his bed and started to read.

He felt Leo cuddle closer to his side. “Hide me better, Superman.”

This was what he got for having a stupid freaking crush.

Jason was snapped out of his reverie by Piper bursting into the room. “Jason Norman Grace.”

“Piper Ethel McLean.”

“Where’d you find that name- the 1940 census?”

“I feel like we’re ignoring the fact that you just called me Norman.”

“Do I look like an eighty year old, Norman?”

“Not particularly.”

“Then do not call me Ethel.” She had murder in her eyes, so he was compelled to listen.

“Alright,” he relented, closing his book with one hand. “What’s the matter, Pipes?”

She groaned and tapped her foot impatiently. “Do you have any idea where Leo is?”

Jason made a deliberate attempt not to look to his left, where the boy in question was lying still. Luckily, from where Piper was standing, she couldn’t see the lump next to him in bed. “No. Why?”

“Did you not hear the screaming coming from the Aphrodite cabin?” She gestured outside exasperatedly. “The little shit activated a glitter bomb in there and it got Drew. It’s gonna take a blessing from Aphrodite to get all the sparkles out of her hair.” She crossed her arms and breathed out a laugh. “I mean, I’m proud of him, but I’m also contractually obligated to find him and bring him in for execution.”

Jason hummed thoughtfully. “Try Bunker Nine.”

She shot some finger guns at him. “Thanks, Norman!” She darted out of the door, presumably to find Leo and kick his ass.

“No problem,” he called after her. After he was sure she was out of hearing distance, he elbowed Leo in where he estimated his ribs would be. “They’re gonna kill you, you know that, right?” He hissed.

Leo giggled and popped his head out from under the comforter. “I’m prepared to sacrifice myself to defend the honor of my cabin,” he said as he saluted.

“What’d they ever do to you?”

Leo rolled his eyes and sat up. “Do you ever listen to Piper and I when we gossip? Seriously. This has been going on for weeks.”

“Sorry,” he said truthfully. “I’ll listen next time.”

“It’s okay, man.” Leo patted him on the shoulder. “Basically, at the start of Summer, the Aphrodite cabin stole Jake’s screwdriver. I know it doesn’t sound like a big deal, but Jake really loves that fucking screwdriver, so we weren’t gonna let it slide.”

He went on and on- about how he and his siblings had retaliated by stealing Mitchell’s hairbrush, how the Aphrodite cabin teamed up with the Hermes cabin to paint the forge pink, and how the Hephaestus cabin melted down their rival’s jewelry to make an evil barbie that dyed people’s hair barf green and spat acid. After they released it into the other cabin, Lacy had walked around looking like a deep sea creature all week.

But the biggest prank so far was the one the Aphrodite cabin pulled last week. They had snuck into the forge when everybody was sleeping and rearranged every single tool they had. When the children of Hephaestus got there early in the morning, they couldn’t find any of the right tools and spent five hours putting them back in the way they were used to.

“There’s gonna be multiple stages- this is why we had to stay up so late last night- and the glitter bombs were only the first. Notice how I said glitter bombs, plural.” Leo grinned mischievously. Jason couldn’t help but return it.

“But where are you gonna hide out all day?” Jason asked. “I think they’re getting out the guillotine right now.”

Leo laughed. “Nyssa and the others have been battening down the hatches ever since Aphrodite’s last stunt. There’s a code on the door now, Celestial Bronze covers on the windows, and bear traps in front of every possible entrance. It’s practically a bomb shelter now! Once the final stage of the plan is in motion, I’ll be able to take cover in there with little to no resistance.”

Jason furrowed his brow. “But where will you be until then?”

Leo snuggled back into the sheets. “I think you already know the answer to that, Jace.”

~*~

The second stage of the plan involved more screaming.

“There it is,” Leo noted, waking up from his nap. “The paint sprinklers.”

Jason looked at him incredulously. “The paint sprinklers?”

“We replaced the water in the pipes with thinned paint early this morning. The plan was for Harley to sneak in while the enemy’s at the lake, light an itty bitty fire to activate the fire prevention systems, and the endgame is a cabin covered in acrylic.”

Leo’s hair was smushed adorably into his face, pillow lines on his cheek. The late morning light filtered through the sunroof and lit up the frizzy edges of his curls. It made him look like a bronze statue or an angel.

Whoops. That was lovesick Jason talking, not… actually, he was fairly certain every part of Jason was lovesick Jason now.

“Uh. Um. When will the third stage be… commencing?” Jason stammered eloquently.

“You’ll know,” Leo answered ominously, nodding with certainty. “Trust me. You’ll know.”

~*~

It was 7:30 in the evening and Leo had been in the Zeus cabin all day.

Piper had been in and out every so often, asking after Leo, getting increasingly frustrated yet amused.

“Norman. I am begging you. Please tell me where Leo is,” She implored while they ate dinner. Leo had skipped to avoid being caught by the camp-wide manhunt.

“I’m telling you Ethel, I have no idea,” he lied straight through his teeth.

When he got back, Leo greeted him with a big smile. “Hey, Superman! How was dinner? Any warrants out for my arrest?”

“It was good. Most of the Aphrodite cabin wasn’t there. They were standing watch instead,” he said, tossing a protein bar and a bag of potato chips at the other boy. “Got these for you.”

Leo caught the bag, but the bar hit him lightly in the forehead. “Aw, thanks, man. You didn’t have to do that.”

Jason was about to respond when another round of screaming erupted from outside. When he peeked out of the window, it was utter chaos.

For once, it wasn’t the Aphrodite cabin doing the screaming. It was everybody else. Lacy was serenading a Demeter kid, who was awkwardly enjoying it. Mitchell was gazing lovingly at some other boy from the bushes. Drew tackled Clarisse to the ground and declared her undying love to her. The rest of them chased random campers around like they were piranhas. Oddly enough, their eyes were all pink.

“Aerosolized love potion. Temporary, but potent,” Leo explained when he saw Jason’s confused and horrified look. He shuffled out of bed and pulled two gas masks out of his belt, handing one to Jason. “Take this if you want to live.”

Jason handled it awkwardly. “Why do I need this? I’m staying here.”

Leo laughed as he put on his mask. “You’re coming with me, man. Unless you wanna be executed as a traitor?”

Jason shook his head.

“Then you need it. It serves two purposes- one, keeps you from breathing too much of the love potion in, and two, keeps your face hidden so they don’t fall for you.” He took the mask Jason was holding out of his hands, then putting it on for him.

Leo laced his hand in Jason’s, leading him to the doorway with his free hand on the handle. “We’re gonna need to book it as soon as we’re out there, got it? On three.” Jason nodded.

“One.” Drew yelled in the background.

“Two.” Something crashed. Maybe a window?

“Three!” The door flew open, and the two boys ran straight towards the Hephaestus cabin through the chaos. Leo hopped over a lamenting son of Aphrodite, while Jason nearly tripped on the poor guy. He muttered an apology as he was pulled along to the cabin porch.

Leo punched in a code next to the bank safe door, which both unlocked it and disabled the giant bear trap in front of it. All the same, Jason stepped over it apprehensively.

The door clanged shut behind them as they entered the cabin, shutting them in with Nyssa and Jake, who were there to greet them. He watched as Leo took off his mask, shaking out his hair like a wet dog. It still looked amazing.

Leo turned his eyes to Jason, a small smirk gracing his face. He wordlessly helped him take off his mask. Honestly, Jason had forgotten he had it on.

A scoff made him painfully aware that Leo’s siblings were in the room. “Leo,” Nyssa sighed, “why’d you bring boy wonder?”

“He’s an accomplice. Once Piper finds out he hid me all day, there’s gonna be a manhunt for him, too.”

“Fine, but he’s staying in your room,” Jake said with a wink. Leo blushed a pretty shade of sunset orange, but nodded.

Nyssa got up and pulled on a string, which made all the lights turn off. “Alright, everybody,” she announced, “it’s tinker time. Retire to your bedrooms. Come up with some prank ideas in case Aphrodite doesn’t accept defeat. Have fun.”

Leo pushed some buttons on the wall, which brought up a human-sized capsule. He gestured towards it as it popped open, revealing a bed, a fridge, and even a TV. “After you, my lady.”

Jason blushed, although it was probably more rosey pink than the warm red Leo had on. Gods, why was he still thinking about that?

He clambered into the bed, which began to lower into a bigger room underground. There was a cork board taking up a whole wall, with sticky notes and Polaroids tacked onto it. A desk was in the corner, with scattered blueprints all over it, plus several notebooks labeled “LEO VALDEZ’S AWESOME IDEAS”.

As soon as he got out of the bed, it rose back up and returned with Leo. He scooted off the mattress nonchalantly. “Um, so, this is my room. Make yourself at home.”

~*~

It was the middle of the night and Jason was trying, unsuccessfully, to sleep.

Leo had been tinkering and scribbling in his notebook all night, with a small lamp on in the corner of the desk. Meanwhile, Jason took up nearly the whole bed, even when he laid on his side.

“Hey, Leo,” Jason whispered, getting up to lean on his elbows, facing the other boy. “Go to bed.”

Leo eyed him warily. “No, no! Um, you can have the bed, man,” he laughed nervously. Jason could see the bags under his eyes.

Jason sighed and got up, approaching Leo silently. He scooped Leo up and carried him to the bed.

“Jason? What are you doing?” Leo whined, wrapping his arms around Jason’s neck anyways.

“We’re going to bed,” Jason stated, lying back down on his side and hugging Leo close, even as he squirmed. Jason just shut his eyes, trying to fall asleep, but he got the feeling of being watched.

Sure enough, when he opened one of his eyes back up to check on the other boy, he was met with big, brown eyes with a foreign feeling behind them. “Hey, Leo.”

“Hey, Jason.” A tired smile grew on Leo’s face. “Can I tell you something?”

Jason nodded.

“I think I love you.”

Jason’s eyes widened.

“I know it’s weird, and kinda coming out of left field, but you’re. You’re just… so nice and kind and thoughtful and amazing. Y’know?”

Jason’s breath quickened.

“I couldn’t’ve had this much fun today without you. Or planned it, either. Whenever I’m with you, you make me want to be better. To do better and to make better stuff and all that.”

Jason could feel his heart racing. Could Leo feel it? He hoped he could.

“Sorry. Um, I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way. Probably breathed in some of that love potion, huh?”

Jason was hit by the undeniable urge to wax poetic about Leo’s eyes, his hair, his crooked grin, the way he lit up when he got an idea, or how his voice sounded when he rambled. So he did.

“Does… does this mean-”

“That I love you too? Yeah, Leo, it does.”

Jason had a feeling that he wouldn’t wake up groggy or grumpy the next morning, as long as he had Leo in his arms.

#leo valdez #jason grace #valgrace #piper mclean #drew tanaka #lacy pjo #mitchell pjo #heroes of olympus #nyssa barrera #jake mason #harley pjo #aphrodite cabin #hephaestus cabin #percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus fanfic #fanfic

79 notes · View notes

cocogum · 6 months ago

Text

The Great Wave - Chapters 9 + 10 Review

‼️SPOILERS FOR THE CHAPTER‼️

Warning(s): watch me bully an old man, aurora slander, osamodas king slander, fat shaming, excessive use of foul language, racism, misogyny, did I mention I loath Aurora?, they’re both bad antagonists your honor, cyberbullying, PURE LOATHING.

I’d like to add a side note here:

I initially planned on reviewing chapters 9 and 10 separately but when I saw that confrontation between Aurora and Amalia, I decided to fuse the two instead. I did NOT want to talk about these specific chapters in their distinct posts because it would’ve sucked to see the conflict between Aurora and Amalia getting cut off in the middle of it.

We’re back.

Let the pummelling begin.

Aurora immediately starts making a fart face as she begins diving down to “attack” Amalia.

Are we impressed? No.

Should we be scared? No.

Should we expect any twist in the fight? No.

As soon as Aurora stupidly declared she wanted to fight, we all knew she was gonna get beat up to shit. Tot and Cathiane were trying very hard not to cringe while showing this. You can trust me, I was there in the room with them when they were thinking about this scene.

This is just very painful but my god was it funny as fuck.

This blue bitch with the witch face really thought she could take on a Mother Nature wielder with her chicken fingers please someone get this moron a brain.

Also what reason could Aurora possibly have to have wanted to beat Amalia to a pulp all these years? She claims she’s dreamed of doing this for so long but based on what reason? The fact that Amalia rejected all of Aurora’s weakass brothers and cousin for marriage? The fact that she would respectfully and calmly try to talk to Aurora even though she never liked her??? Bitch, what was the reason that would have made her so mad you wanted to beat her up????

Even Bonta will hear her scream in pain??? Girl, what the fuck are you babbling about? She clinically does not have a brain, where the fuck did it go? Aurora, YOU KNOW Amalia goes out and travels, right??? You know that her squad is filled with divinities, right??? What part of you thought it was a good idea to say that out loud AND think you had THE ADVANTAGE?????

This bitch wouldn’t survive a day outside of her kingdom, this is so fucking embarrassing. I loath her guts but imagine how embarrassed I’m feeling for her. She’s mentally slow. She doesn’t realize anything that’s coming out of her mouth and doesn’t use whatever’s up in that head of hers to properly think of any situation she’s in. She can’t think for herself, she can’t talk for herself if she wants to claim something, she can’t figure out the level of danger that she’s in, she can’t fight, she can’t lead, she can’t speak politely to servants, she can’t even be honest in a normal situation. I bet she can’t even make a sandwich for me, this hoe is even useless in the kitchen, on god.

And finally. FINALLY.

WE FINALLY GET TO HEAR AMALIA SAY THOSE WORDS.

You have no idea how much I fucking wanted Amalia to beat the living crap out of her and tell her how fucking weak she truly is compared to her. I’ve been waiting for this moment ever since we saw her stupid ass “family” make its entrance in Chapter 1.

YES, TELL THIS CUNT THE SEVERE GAP OF YOUR STRENGTH LEVEL ‼️‼️‼️

TURN THIS BITCH INTO A MCSANDWICH ‼️

Amalia is speaking our thoughts so coherently. Not once did we think Aurora was a menace, let alone even an antagonist. This bitch is just so braindead and one-dimensional that even calling her “self-aware” or “sentient” is odd to say.

With all the shit she’s been doing, Aurora is not even an annoyance, she’s a migraine.

This shot of her just getting the shit get beaten out of her made me so happy, you have no idea.

Like Tot must’ve been WAITING to see this hoe get wrecked too.

@geekgirles once explained how the osamodas’ strength might just be very weak compared to other races and how that weakness reflected itself based on where it was positioned in Oropo's tower. Coqueline can also be considered as a preview of what Aurora and her dad's strength would've looked like in the great wave because even Coqueline STRUGGLED to throw good attacks while fighting Oropo. She was canonically confirmed to be the oldest of the Siblings (even older than Echo) and yet the only thing she could have come up with while fighting Oropo was to use her teeth to try to tear Oropo's new form?? She literally went on all fours and tried to attack him with basic primitive skills. Literally what the heck.

So yeah, Aurora is unsurprisingly getting beat up and thrown around like a rag-doll by Amalia.

Amalia, honey.

Aurora’s not naive, she’s just really slow.

And yet that’s not even what we can describe it either.

Your pride is still here dumbass cuz you don’t look fine at all.

You got thrown so hard you couldn’t even fly, bitch.

Hoe thinks she was fine after the beating AND the throwing and then lies again about it.

Fucking pathetic.

I bet if she got a sword stabbed in her womb, she’d be like “i’M FiNe FaThER, bUt I cAN’t SaY tHe SaMe fOr mY pRiDe.” SHUT YOUR DUMBASS UP-

When Amalia comes up to them, this is where the osamodas king pulls out another weak manipulation tactic by saying this:

Motherfucker, you attempted to kick her out of her kingdom, her home, what the fuck are you talking about? Bitch is clarifying that Aurora’s child is Amalia’s nephew now??? He is so fucking weak, he’d pretend like he never tried kicking her out like a complete stranger just to save his own skin.

This dick dared to throw the “he’s your family” card on her as if he didn’t just encourage Aurora to tell Amalia she doesn’t belong in her fucking kingdom a few hours ago.

Dude thought he ate, this is so embarrassing.

Look at him trying to scramble his way out of this.

Now that he realizes how weak and pathetic he is against A PRINCESS WHO BECAME QUEEN JUST A FEW MONTHS AGO, he’s trying to do anything in his power to do what he does best to get out of this alive: lie and manipulate.

Only this predictably fails since Amalia had enough of his and his trophy daughter’s bullshit of constantly being forced to have them around.

And Amalia is absolutely pissed off that they can just say whatever they want so SHE ENUMERATES THE THINGS THAT THEY DID JUST SO SHE CAN BE SURE IT FINALLY DRILLED IN THEIR HEADS.

Even though what she said wasn’t exactly everything they did, she still has a right to point out the main thing they are known for since the necrome war.

But nah, they’re too stupid to actually get it and don’t even bear a second to the idea that their actions could have cost AN ENTIRE FUCKING RACE TO ERASE FROM THE WORLD. Imagine not having a full grasp of the idea that you could have been responsible for an entire race disappearing but also be the reason why the world had suddenly lost about 15% of its population in under a second.

No jackass you’re not leaving.

You’re dying here.

Also what the fuck? He got backed to a corner by a queen newbie and he still has the balls to say that he’ll come back???

Is he trying to see his daughter get her ass kicked again???? Or is he trying to see how long he could last the next time they meet????

How the fuck is he king??? What the hell is that strategy he came up with???? You call that a STRATEGY?????

Now I understand why we never saw him in any of the past seasons before. I understand why his fucking advisor has to be king for him.

Cuz he sucks at his own fucking job.

That guy hired his counsellor to represent him which is why every time the royal council of the world had to reunite, it was always the old white-bearded dude who spoke and was actually present.

This fucking gorilla was so absent from his own duties. So much so, that for an extremely long time, since 2012, we all thought the white-bearded guy representing the osamodas race from Season 2 was actually the real osamodas king. It wouldn’t surprise me if his own people thought his counsellor was their king because not only did WE think that way, but it was also because we learned in Season 4 that this fucking gorilla stayed in caves for long undetermined amounts of time and would hang around with THESE UGLY CRUSTY BATS WE’VE SEEN IN THESE TEN CHAPTERS while he’d be there doing god knows what with them.

This man, actually no that’s not a man. I’d be insulting them if I was insinuating he was one of them.

This fat ugly gorilla not only thinks he can just come back from a fight he already lost without any shame or awareness, but he thought he could handle TWO KINGDOMS AT THE SAME TIME WHEN HE WASN’T EVEN PERSONALLY TAKING CARE OF HIS OWN TO BEGIN WITH.

We don’t even know why he’s been in the caves on his own for so long but it sure as hell couldn’t have been more important than taking care of A FUCKING NATION, YOU FUCKING IDIOTIC CUNT-

I was so ecstatic when I saw that panel cuz not only did that mean I was going to see more prolonged pummelling, but it also means I get to see Aurora act like a total dumbfuck more.

Ew.

By the way, I love how @articwolfclawartist noticed the parallels with the choking here.

Amalia then commits animal abuse and that’s how these two ended up on the ground looking like disheveled and panting losers.

So Amalia not only beats AN OSAMODAS PRINCESS but also AN OSAMODAS KING AT THE SAME FUCKING TIME.

Must be embarrassing for the osamodas king above all. This fat gorilla is much older, more experienced than Aurora, and has been a king for a long time even before Amalia and Aurora were even born.

And who did he lose to?

To a young Sadida princess who became queen just a few months ago.

The fight hadn’t even lasted 30 minutes and he already lost by forfeiting the battle when he realized he and his trophy daughter had been cornered by sadida bomb dolls.

I repeat.

This “man”, who was king for decades, lost a deadly battle against a princess who became queen a few months ago.

He is such a fucking clown and so are all his offsprings cuz my god he has so many.

….she’s incredibly slow what the fuck.

I bet my whole bank account that the entire iop race can skillfully determine when their opponent wants to kill them better than Aurora.

Aurora: “ShE…sHe’S rEAlLy tRYinG To KiLl uS…”

Aurora a second ago: “I’d rather die than run away from that little brat…”

@pinkysgallery summarized it perfectly here.

And just like animals being hunted in the wild, Amalia corners them with freaking bomb dolls and makes these two look terrified as shit. Good. Their fears make me ecstatically happy.

But AURORA has the fucking nerve to speak again and make her look even more braindead than she already was.

I have so many things to say about this moment:

1) What is bitch talking about? This is the shit she can come up with? “ShOrt TeMpErEd”??? You guys didn’t even talk during the fight so how was she short-tempered if she didn’t speak about anything that would have made her look short-tempered???

2) Aurora is a fucking hypocrite but she’s such a hypocrite that she can’t connect the dots and realize how slow she looks when she quickly snapped just for seeing a female sadida servant being scared of her crusty bat, a male Sadida and a female eliatrope getting married, and knowing that she couldn’t fight Amalia so she still went on and tried doing that and expectedly failed miserably.

3) Contradicted to what??????? What is the chicken yapping about????

I believe she took her worthless manipulation “skill” from her dad. If you pay attention to her ugly chicken claws in the panel above, it’s shaking meaning that she’s genuinely scared of Amalia when she FINALLY learned that the boss-ass queen was trying to kill her.

See, here’s the thing I don’t get.

Sure, the osamodas king did not poison Yugo because we see who it was later on after the osamodas king’s interaction with Amalia ends.

But, here he is again telling Amalia she has no place IN HER FUCKING HOME ANYMORE.

According to who??? Who said she doesn’t belong here??? You??? The fucking outsider??? The king to ANOTHER FUCKING KINGDOM???

Oh yeah, right. You don’t rule your own kingdom that’s true. Your fucking counsellor does your job for you so that you can chill with some ugly crusty bats in caves and probably fuck them too while you’re at it.

He just said that she shouldn’t have hurt her nephew but bitch, if she’s his nephew, that then technically means she has to stay in her kingdom to teach him the Sadida way cuz he’s technically gonna be the future Sadida king. Literally what the fuck????

Ever since these two loser clowns came, they told her she had to leave but why????? When Armand got married to Aurora, Amalia stayed and there were no objections. So why is it a problem now??? If anything, now is the best time for her to stay cuz she’s the only one in the royal Sadida family who’s left and can teach her nephew the Sadida culture.

These people treat kingdoms so badly and have poor organisation to the point that the osamodas king had to be replaced by his fucking counsellor.

Fucking kill me already.

I don’t believe Amalia will receive any severe consequences. If she was ever interrogated and she told them the story from her perspective, these two bozos would look extremely suspicious. Cuz from Amalia’s pov, this is what she could say: “I was having a normal day, these two show up and demand the thrown and tell me to leave and on the very same day, my husband gets poisoned so I attack them and fight them. The fight hasn’t lasted 30 minutes and they easily leave.”

Also from who is she going to get any kind of consequence??

The other rulers??? They wouldn’t dare do anything when Yugo’s acting so unhinged right now.

From Gorilla and Chicken’s “family”??? They are so many, I’m pretty sure one of them wouldn’t mind taking the osamodas throne if it means taking the side of Amalia.

Sure, Amalia will learn that Gorilla and Chicken weren’t actually responsible for Yugo’s poisoning but do you really think she’d still give them her position after knowing they weren’t guilty? Hell no.

This fight meant more than just punishing them for thinking they had committed a crime. This fight also meant the beginning of her separation from the osamodas. For too long she had been forced to get used to them around her when Armand was alive but now she’s queen and gets to finally decide to cut them off for good.

In a way, this is also ironic. Gorilla and Chicken were expecting to cut off Amalia from her kingdom and yet here she is cutting them off from what they thought would be theirs if they just yapped and acted like fake responsible royals.

YEAH FUCKING KICK THEM OUT MAKE THEM WISH THEY WERE NEVER HERE ‼️‼️‼️‼️

I’m so happy she finally fucking beat the shit out of them so that they can FINALLY learn that they have no place here.

YOU BLUE-SKINNED DEVILS HAVE NO PLACE WITH THE SADIDAS GO BACK TO YOUR OWN COUNTRY ‼️‼️

Man, they’re such racists too cuz they realized the eliatropes stayed here, can you believe that? The audacity.

I’m just pissed that she didn’t kill them off though. They might come back for whatever fucking reason which infuriates me to no end cuz like…how the fuck do you come back after getting your ass beat the fuck out by one person when you had someone with you???

I swear if they come back wearing a smirk, I’m eating raw chicken and gorilla brain on the same day.

Fuck these people and fuck anyone who thinks they’re good antagonists. These shitheads gave me a daily migraine during the first volume and I’m so fucking glad they’re not acting like they’re the shit right now.

Look at them running away with their tails between their legs.

THIS IS THE SECOND FUCKING TIME THEY RAN AWAY WTF

If they think they’re royals and can take care of a kingdom, then why the fuck do they run away constantly???

Can you imagine having them as your king and princess? I’d rather die cuz I might as well vanish from the face of the earth if I was a sadida while being aware that these two animals would rule my kingdom.

I bet that the simple inconvenience that could impact the sadida kingdom would make them run away. If that happens, I wanna know what’s Aurora’s excuse this time.

The two people who shouldn’t have interacted so much in the necrome war were Eva and Armand. Eva was able to fight while handling two hyperactive children, and Armand was a fucking king and yet he was fighting on the first line of the battlefield.

Plenty of people, myself included, focused on Aurora leaving during the necrome war but now that I keep thinking about it more, the osamodas king was a bigger deal because he DID NOT have a reason to tell Aurora to run before running first.

If anything, because of the gorilla hanging around in caves and Aurora doing god knows what when Armand used to do his royal job, these two goobers are just royal cosplayers.

Literally. They’re just royal cosplayers.

Gorilla doesn’t do anything besides hanging in caves and Chicken just stands around.

I want you to know how big of a deal this is.

This is serious to think about cuz why the fuck WOULD ANYONE ENTRUST ANYTHING TO THESE CUNTS?????

Anyway, now that we’re done with whatever kind of circus that was, we go back to Yugo and Adamaï trying to balance the poison.

Yugo stop stressing me out with your words.

I know you’re not thinking straight right now and you’re having trouble thinking optimistically in a time like this, but YOU’RE THE SAME PERSON WHO KEEPS SAYING THAT THERE’S ALWAYS A SOLUTION TO EVERYTHING.

You’re gonna be fine AND you’ll find a way to get rid of the poison. You’ve got six Dofus, which can turn any demigod, and mortal, into a god! I’m pretty sure a deadly poison has got nothing on you if you’ve got these artifacts with you.

You’ll be fine (I’m definitely not trying to calm myself down rn)

Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve all been waiting for…

The mysterious dragon and the female sadida servant were accomplices all along.

Not gonna lie, I seriously thought the Gorilla and Chicken hired this sadida servant for sharing the same hatred towards Yugo and Amalia, but now that I learned I was wrong, I have to keep reminding myself that the blue-skinned “royals” should not be taken seriously but should be treated like NPCs instead.

What flabbergasted me at this moment, however, was the reveal.

I can’t believe I’m saying this, but the female sadida servant wasn’t real. Instead, it was just a disguise. The actual culprit was…

Julith.

Freaking Julith.

She had been ordered by the dragon to poison these two which ended up making Yugo drink it alone instead. @onyichii once theorized, back when chapters 7-8 came out, that the female sadida servant in question could have been Julith and they ended up ACTUALLY BEING RIGHT.

Hi daddy 🥰💕 help me instead 🥰🥰

It was Grougalorasalar guys….

I-

I really thought the mysterious dragon in the dream was Draconiros…

Ever since Chapter 1 came out, I went on a legitimate rant/theory explaining why it would make a thousand times more sense that it was Draconiros and not Grougalorasalar.

Last time I checked, both dragons were the best choice for this theory but I was still shocked that it was the black dragon all this time. I was mainly surprised because Grougalorasalar had been part of Ogrest’s chaos when he was fighting Yugo and Dally back in the ovas which would be weird if he was the same dragon who traumatized Yugo in his sleep for unintentionally causing chaos around the world.

Not to mention that he’s smirking here almost like he’s enjoying the sight of Yugo suffering like this. Now yes, he technically hates Yugo so it would make sense to see that he’s enjoying his pain but then why did he tell Julith that they’ll put a traumatized Yugo and a confused Adamaï out of their misery if he’s now saying this? :

“We’ll talk about it later” ???

What do you mean by that?

When the poison didn’t fully do its job due to the six Dofus in his body, didn’t you just come out in the open to kill Yugo once and for all? Why then tell him that “we’ll talk about it later”?

This makes me wonder if there’s more to this poisoning than we’ve been let on.

Because there’s a possibility that since Grougalorasalar noticed the poison hasn’t entirely worked, maybe he’ll try something else or severe the effects of the poison by moving Yugo and Adamaï away from the Sadida kingdom right now.

mom come pick me up

Grougalorasalar is weird. Not in a bad way but not in a good way either.

He’s just weirdly weird? Does that make any sense?

At first, when I read chapter 10 for the first time, I thought Grougalorasalar being the one responsible for the poison wouldn’t have made sense until @kerubimcrepin explained how black dragons tend to be more inclined to cause chaos.

So I guess it would make sense why he’d be perfectly fine prolonging Yugo’s suffering if it meant it could slowly kill him? But then again, we have no idea if the belladone is even deadly enough to kill Yugo because he’s still breathing. The belladone poison should’ve killed him instantly so maybe the poison is only effective enough to severely injure Yugo but nothing more than that.

Man, I hate that it ended on a huge cliffhanger like that cuz how is Yugo supposed to get out of this one and how will they all react when they find out it was Grougalorasalar and Julith who tried poisoning them?

Do people know that Julith was supposed to be dead? Amalia knows her world of twelve history pretty well given her royal education so maybe she learned of Julith’s death in one of her classes teaching her about the Dofus era when she was younger.

Either way, it doesn’t matter.

Yugo, Adamaï, and Amalia will all be shocked as all hell in the 2nd volume.

My god, I already need it so badly I can’t wait anymore…

I’m scared and I don’t wanna throw up when I see what’s next for them…

80 notes · View notes

wrathofrats · 5 months ago

Note

May we please have the comprehensive ghouls fingering the swussy guide?

@aweisz

THANK YOU FOR ASKING!!!!!!

These are kinda ranked but don’t take it too seriously. Also no old ghouls for now unless someone cares

Aether: fucking thick fingers. Biggest of the ghouls and god they have Swiss drooling. Feeling his hands on his pussy? Just large palm cupping him before he even does anything? Swiss swears his brain shuts off when aether touches him. Also he definitely uses some of that magic to stretch him out so he can get a third in there. Just coos in his ear what a sweet boy he is while he finger fucks him stupid.

Mountain: long, can hit any spot he needs to. Think he’s real slow and sweet with Swiss to make him a mess. Holds him and rubs his clit while Swiss clenches around mountains fingers. Likes to see how wet he can get him, how much of a mess he can make before he cums.

Cumulus: smaller hands but she knows damn well what she’s doing and Swiss is such a fucking sucker for praise. Likes to sit in her lap and make out with her while she touches him, she always tastes so sweet and Swiss loves a bit of kissing.

Cirrus: honestly kinda the opposite of cumulus. She has big hands and an awfully dirty mouth. Gets him laid with his legs spread, shames him for being so tight, for not being easier. If he acts like such a whore he should open up like one right? It’s kinda pitiful.

Rain: ohhh beloved mean rain. Don’t think he really likes to take his time with Swiss. Gives it to him fast and rough like he needs sometimes. Slams a hand over his mouth because his whimpers are annoying while rain is just trying to play with his toy!!! Wishes that thing could be quiet. Comments on how wet he gets and swiss just can’t help it. Not his fault rain makes him so wet and sloppy.

Dew: fucking hard and fast. Skinny little hands but god he’s going to make sure Swiss can’t fucking think around them. Always a touch of brat meanness just to give it an edge, keep Swiss in his place.

Phantom: he’s so enthusiastic. Think Swiss has to talk him through it, really show him how he wants to be touched because phantom is just so good at listening to directions. And when he gets the hang of it Swiss just melts, phantom is so sweet to him and Swiss is so sweet back they’re IN LOVE YOUR HONOR!!!!

Aurora: littlest hands, doesn’t prefer to use them but god seeing Swiss beneath her just writhing and begging for her to touch him is such a sight. Focuses on his clit, likes how he whines when he has to clench around nothing, makes him needier for when she gets her strap in him

#I’m so normal about hands Swiss pussy #and everything in general #like I’m just so very normal #(:#Swiss ghoul #shitghosting

66 notes · View notes

twola · 2 years ago

Note

Wanted to say I looovvve how you write Arthur! Since you’re taking requests I was wondering if you’d do something like the nsfw alphabet for him or just general headcanons for him? Thank you:)

I’ve always wanted to do one of these. Thanks for the nudge! For reference, our boah is high-honor for this.

Drop a line and tell me which one is your favorite!

NSFW Alphabet : Arthur Morgan

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He’s usually a panting, groaning mess after orgasm, but as soon as he catches his breath, he’s peppering your face with kisses, heaping praise upon you.

“Such a good girl.” He’ll rumble in those low timbres, his deep voice sex-hoarse as he gently wipes his spend from your skin.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Arthur loves the gentle slope - the long curve of your neck. He loves kissing it, suckling at it, leaving marks and bruises as he not so secretly enjoys you having physical signs that you’re his.

He’s not one to think much of himself, he’s known to degrade himself, but if you were insistent on an answer, he would say his arms. Broad and strong from years of hard living - heaving hunted animals over his shoulder, roping horses, beating men. His arms draw you into the line of his body, wrapping around your waist and keeping you secure and safe.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He’s not an idiot. Not at this point in his life. Having had gotten a girl pregnant and living in proximity to John’s stupidity with Abigail, he knows that the temporary high of spending into a woman wasn’t worth the risk of conceiving a child.

Doesn’t mean he doesn’t wish, want, so much, to spend within your warmth, not to pull himself from you jerkily.

If he were another man, in another life, not running in an outlaw gang - he would love to stay inside, to create life within you - to watch you grow and birth his child. If only. If only.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Big, bad gunslinger - outlaw - criminal, god, he would never hear the end of it if others knew how he whimpers as you nudge that spot beneath his testicles, your fingers pressing against that skin, and it feels so good he could cry.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

While in his later adult years, he has had fewer partners, in his youth, Arthur was a wild stallion. Rolling into a saloon with a sly smile and a bag full of gold coins from a robbery, working women flocked to him, and he certainly enjoyed their company.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Arthur certainly enjoys any way he can have you - and he certainly has enjoyed an array of positions - holding you up against a brick wall in a back alley in Saint Denis, bending you over the table in an empty cabin, watching you gyrate above him- riding him as he fucks up into you.

But deep down, this grisled outlaw is a romantic at heart, though he will never admit it.

He loves the most when you’re underneath him, when he can see your pretty face when you come, when he can spread himself out over you, when you cross your ankles over his hips to draw you in.

In this cruel, hard world, he loves you safe and secure beneath him, where he can shield you from all of its ugliness, if only for a few moments.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Arthur’s sense of humor is notoriously dry, and frankly, it's not brought to the bed, or whatever surface he’s having you on.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Well, it is 1899. And he’s a man that lives out in the wilds. Baths are hard to come by.

But you do enjoy trailing your fingers along the trail of dark hair that begins at his navel and spreads across his pelvis - straight to the chestnut curls at the base of his cock.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Arthur worships you as the two of you fall into bed with one another. God, he told you he loved you before he slept with you - of course the moment is thick with emotion.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Sure, if a job takes him away from you for several days, he’ll get lonely. Arthur will pull the flaps on his small tent and lay himself on his bedroll, unbuttoning his union suit and taking his length in hand, closing his eyes and picturing you there: the way you whine into his ear. The way you clutch at his shoulders, the way you roll your hips to take him deeper. The way you grit out his name as you’re reaching the edge, the way your cunt pulses around him-

He spills over his hand, moaning as he comes down from his high. As he catches his breath and wipes off his hand before tucking himself away, he knows, he knows, that he will have to have the real thing as soon as he returns to you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

For someone with a mind-numbingly high bounty on his head, he should not like getting tied up so much.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Not that he has many options most of the time, his cot within his tent being the normal spot, but he does love to have you in a big bed, naked and squirming on fresh sheets. He takes you to hotels when he can, enjoying the ability to press you down into a soft mattress.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

There’s nothing that gets his blood pumping like successfully pulling off a heist. Riding back into camp loaded down with riches, swinging down off his horse, after depositing the take, he will seek you out, taking you hand in his and kissing it gently before walking you back to his tent and laying you down on his cot.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He may be a killer, a criminal, a bad person. But he does have a code. He has never and will never force himself on a woman. He would never force you to do anything for him if you said no, even though it would be more than easy enough for him to overpower you.

Fortunately for him, you don’t like saying no.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Christ, you wonder as you throw your head back in the pillow, was there anything this man couldn’t do well? He’s between your thighs suckling at your clit, tongue lapping at your entrance, pressing inside you as his warm breath ghosts over your core. Arthur loves diving between your legs, even drawing up your skirts out in the wild and tasting you. And god, is he good at it.

While he likes to give, give, give, he cannot help but groan as you sink to your knees in front of him, babbling near incoherently as you suck his cock until he spills hot and fast down your throat.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends on the setting. If he’s forced to go quickly, it is a brutal, punishing rhythm. But oh, if he’s got you in bed with nothing but time, he savors each slow, long stroke, and the whimpers that drip from your mouth like ambrosia.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Not his favorite. He’d rather take his time to painstakingly take you apart - to feel every inch of you against him, to see and taste and love you. To give you the attention he believes fully you deserve.

But sometimes, the man just needs to be inside you, sheathing his cock in your warm, wet cunt. With your clothes still on and undergarments shoved to the side, Arthur groans as he sinks inside you, wanting never to leave.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’s willing to try just about anything - unless it has the ability to hurt you. You hear talk in the saloons from working girls of acrobatic positions that you tell him about while blushing. He’ll try, as long as its not something that verges on dangerous.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

“I ain’t a teenager any more.” He’ll grumble, but he always, always, draws you to come multiple times before he actually does.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Again, it's 1899. Besides, he thoroughly enjoys bringing you over that edge with his fingers, his tongue, or his cock.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

You wouldn’t say he likes to tease you, but you find it completely unfair when he refuses to let you touch him, drawing orgasm after orgasm from you before he is ready to come himself.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Growing up in an outlaw camp, in close proximity to everyone, Arthur knows how to be quiet. But the second he gets you away, whether out in the wilds or a hotel room, he grunts and moans into your ear, his gravelly voice fading into primal noises the closer he gets.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He doesn’t know why he allowed it to happen - he should have been the one teaching you to shoot. Not Javier.

Or maybe it’s a good idea. He’s not sure how much learning would get done. Not after he’s seen you aim a repeater, tensing against the recoil.

He’d be bending you over the fence that Javier has lined up empty bottles on, pressing inside of you, his little gunslinger.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

As much as he’d deny it, Arthur is not diminished at all when stripped of his clothing. While he’s a bit self-conscious about his stippled and scarred skin, you fully enjoy tracing his life’s story with your fingers or your lips.

Arthur is not a small man. He’s tall and broad shouldered, muscular and solid. The first time you fish his cock from his union suit, a flash of panic shoots through you - how the hell were you supposed to take all of this?

You shouldn’t have worried, considering how much Arthur would work you open with his fingers and tongue before sinking into you - the stretch of him entering you never hurts.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Now, sometimes unfortunately, much like coffee, Arthur awakens and needs to have you to seemingly function. Sleepy, gentle sex as the sun rises lets him get out of bed on the right foot.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Even after bringing both of you to orgasm, panting, breathless, he won’t fall asleep right away. He’ll always have enough energy, at the very least, to clean your skin of his spend and draw you into his embrace, winding your legs around each others’, and holding you close until you both fall asleep, completely satiated.

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #red dead fanfic #red dead fandom #rdr2 #arthur morgan smut #rdr2 fanfic #rdr #red dead redemption #tumblr prompt #red dead smut #twolafic #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #voluptatem

950 notes · View notes

magicalbats · 1 year ago

Text

Day 14: Orgasm Denial

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 7925

Warnings: Afab!reader, (lots of) gendered language, social power dynamics, boss/employee, upperclass/lowerclass, tbh I’m not entirely sure how to tag some of this xmdkxkdnd, manual masturbation, dacryphilia, I wanted reader to be a bit of a bimbo in this one so if she seems stupid that’s why lol

A/N: sorry this one is late! I am officially behind on my prompts now but regardless of how long it takes I WILL be completing this Kinktober challenge! Unfortunately the real world demands attention sometimes but I’m not giving up 😤

⭐

Stamping down the urge to nervously fiddle with your hands, you clutch at the front of your arpon to keep them still and try very hard to focus on what the man in front of you is saying. The Palais Mermonia housed a great many regular faces, some of which you only saw from time to time and could not seem to commit to memory, and yet you’d been seeing mister Danon’s more and more often than anyone else’s recently. You didn’t understand why that would be though, and had at first written it off as mere coincidence. A simple matter of happenstance and nothing more.

But then it kept happening at an ever increasing frequency until it seemed like you were running into him almost every day now. Only then had it occurred to you, in a far off, distant sort of way, that he must have been making a concerted effort to talk with you like this. That was the only reasonable explanation for it that you could glean, because the one person you saw at the Palais with any amount of real regularity was the honorable Iudex himself and certainly not the man who’s job description you could not seem to recall. But that didn’t exactly explain why.

You wanted to understand what would make him seek you out like this, so you attentively listen to mister Danon when he speaks even though you sometimes find him a bit difficult to follow. He seemed like he was probably a good person and respectable enough, but he had a strange habit of jumping from topic to topic without much rhyme or reason that you could discern. One moment he would be talking to you about matters of work, about documents he needed to have signed or the latest gossip that had everyone all in a buzz, and the next … why, he would suddenly say something off hand about recreational activities to do in the city or places to dine, a book he’d read recently and even the types of food he fancied.

It was all very strange, and listening to him talk does not help in the slightest. In fact, it actually seems to make it worse.

You didn’t have the slightest idea why he would want to discuss upcoming stageplays with you nor why he should feel the need to announce that his favorite dish was aspic as if it was something that should be of great interest to you. It was all really quite strange.

“You see, if you take a few fish when they’re still flopping around and fresh,” He tells you, eagerly gesturing his way through an explanation you hadn’t asked for. “That will guarantee their taste and ensure your aspic comes out just divine. Like something straight from the Gods themselves, if you want the honest truth of it. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything more sumptuous!”

“A - ah,” You make a valid attempt to smile politely but it was difficult to keep up with him like this. What did you care for the precise steps to make such an unappetizing sounding dish?

“You know, if you were interested, cherie … I could make it for you to try, if you would like. Ah, what I mean is — it might be nice if we can sit down together and chat over a meal at my residence. Just the two of us.”

Your brows slowly crawl straight up to your hairline. “Oh.”

Before you can think to say anything else, an attention grabbing thud against the marble floor makes you spin around and a smile quickly overtakes your face.

“Monsieur Neuvillette! It is a pleasure to see you today.”

The kindly man sends you a slow, vaguely bemused half-smile. “Good afternoon, mademoiselle. Mister Danon. You looked like you were having a rather lively conversation just now. I hope I didn't interrupt anything important?”

“Of course not, monsieur. It was nothing important at all.” You beam up at him, eager and happy to hang on his every word no matter how benign or minuscule. Much to your surprise, though, he sends another unreadable look over your shoulder and when you turn back to Danon you’re more than a little surprised to find him slouched as if in defeat. Your eyebrows quickly make the climb up to your hairline again. “Mister Danon, are you alright? Goodness, you suddenly look quite unwell.”

“Yes, everything is fine. Nothing to worry about.” He waves off your concern, but it doesn’t escape your notice that he makes a concerted effort not to look directly at you now and instead turns his attention towards monsieur Neuvillette. “Forgive me, your honor. I’m afraid I must be going now. My break is almost over and my presence will be sorely missed if I fail to show up on time.”

The stately Iudex inclines his chin in a brief nod of acknowledgment. “You needn’t apologize, mister Danon. On behalf of all of Fontaine, thank you for the hard work you do.”

Giving monsieur Neuvillette a stiff bow, he turns to do the same to you. “Mademoiselle.”

You quickly bob a perplexed curtsy back. “Monsieur?”

Ignoring or perhaps not hearing the question in your voice, Danon pivots on his heel and makes a hasty retreat down the long corridor without so much as a backwards glance. You can’t seem to shake the feeling you’ve said or done something wrong though, and you watch him go with a tiny flutter of anxiety in your chest until another soft thud of monsieur Neuvillette’s cane on the marble floor pulls you around again.

With a small frown in place, you tip your head back to look up at him when he comes to stand next to you. “Monsieur Neuvillette?”

He offers you a small, gentle smile, no doubt meant to placate and soothe, though it does little in the way of good. “Please do not look so put out, mademoiselle. Would you like to accompany me to my office?”

Nodding, you fall into step beside him. You find yourself listlessly fiddling with your hands now, unable to stop it when it felt like you'd made some horrible faux pas, and they anxiously flit over your front to smooth out invisible wrinkles. What a strange and confusing situation to end up in, and with no idea how to navigate it either. It seemed like you’d done the exact opposite of what you’d initially set out to do … you didn’t understand it in the slightest.

“Forgive me for asking you such a strange question so suddenly, but … did I say something to offend mister Danon just now?”

Noising a quiet sound of consideration, monsieur Neuvillette thinks on that for a brief moment. “I am certainly no expert on the topic, mademoiselle, but if I am not mistaken I do believe mister Danon harbors a romantic interest in you. I believe he may have felt slighted when you said what you were discussing was of no importance, and he took it as a sign of rejection.”

You jerk to a sudden halt with an inelegant scuffle of your heels. “Romantic?” Eyes widening in mute horror, you feel your cheeks start to grow uncomfortably warm. That did make sense, you were more than just a little stunned to realize. The way he made the effort to find you wherever you were working, stop you and talk to you; the way he would casually sprinkle in bits and pieces of his personal life and subtly suggest food, diners, places to go and things to do … had he really been laying out suggestions this whole time hoping you would show an interest in him back? But — “But he never said … oh, monsieur Neuvillette, I had no idea!”

He looks at you with a soft, sympathetic smile where he’d stopped half a pace in front of you. “It is alright if you didn’t know. Situations like these can be difficult to — parse sometimes, and I do not think you acted with malicious intent. Come, let us continue this over a cup of tea.”

Embarrassed and roiling with a crushing sense of guilt, you slowly trail after the Iudex to his large, exquisitely furnished office where you quickly fall into your usual habit of preparing the chinaware while he situates himself on the ornate lounge. It is muscle memory alone that sees you through your task, motions practiced and subconscious after working at the Palais for so long, which comes as a great relief in that moment. You were far too preoccupied with this startling revelation to give the pouring of the tea much thought. Mister Danon’s intentions were shocking enough but, perhaps even more so, you’re surprised at your own lack of awareness on the matter.

You felt rather bad now, for listening to him so attentively and humoring the conversations he was always keen to share with you. Had he mistaken it for budding affection on your part? Have you unknowingly encouraged him to keep trying or, somehow worse, made him believe you were merely toying with his feelings this whole time? What a terrible thing to do to another person, intentionally or not.

Monsieur Neuvillette silently regards you when you bring the tea over on a silver tray but you can’t bring yourself to look at him while you set everything down on the low table in front of him. He was always nothing but kind to you despite your lower station of housekeeper, just as he was with all of the staff that kept the Palais functioning as it should. Everyone from the notarizers and the title clerks right down to even the janitors were treated with nothing but respect and dignity, and that very much included you. But you were a bit too ashamed, too guilty to meet his gaze right now, and you quickly shuffle back a polite distance once everything is laid out so you can further avoid his eyes.

A stretch of quiet settles over the room, and you have to try very hard not to start fiddling with your uniform again.

“Won’t you make yourself a cup and join me?” He ventures at last.

“I couldn’t, monsieur Neuvillette. But thank you.”

He seems to deliberate over something for a short beat before half turning his body on the lounge to look up at you. “I must apologize for prying like this but what about the situation with mister Danon has you so upset? If you didn’t know what his intentions were then you certainly cannot be held responsible for not acting accordingly.”

You hesitate to discuss this matter with him, well aware that it was improper and impolite to talk over such things with not only the aristocracy but also the man who was effectively your employer. It felt very much like an unspoken boundary that should not, under any circumstances, be crossed but … when you take in monsieur Neuvillette’s imploring expression your resolve starts to crumble. He was a wise and exceptionally astute figurehead who always treated every case laid out before him no matter how small or insignificant with the utmost care and consideration. Perhaps he would have some insight to share with you, or at least some advice.

“Well,” You finally relent, tipping your chin down to shyly regard your buckled shoes. “I’m aware that this might sound a little odd but I just feel so guilty about everything … I should have realized sooner why he kept seeking me out like he did. As silly as it is, I can’t help but feel like I tricked him somehow.”

“That is a silly thing, isn’t it?” He agrees in a soft, endlessly patient tone. “How could you have tricked someone if you weren’t aware of what they wanted from you? In the unlikely event that a case such as this were presented to me, I wouldn’t even be able to rule in favor of misrepresentation on the defendant’s part. You have to act with knowing and intention to be held accountable for trickery.”

You despondently mull that over for a long stretch. Logically, you knew what he was saying to be true and you, as everyone else in Fontaine, trusted his judgment implicitly. It wasn’t so much that you doubted him but, rather, your guilt was so great that it couldn’t accept this answer. The thought alone that you might have broken mister Danon’s heart after stringing him along for months almost brings tears to your eyes.

“Does that mean you wouldn’t deign to punish me for it?” It’s barely more than a whisper.

“No, not unconscionably. No one in their right mind would.”

It feels like you're withering on the spot. You didn’t understand it yourself, why you were so upset to hear this rather than relieved at finding you hadn’t broken any laws or regulations that would hold you accountable. Even if mister Danon were to try to file a suit against you to mend some of his bruised ego it sounded like he wouldn’t even have a case to stand on — and that was good.

So why did it feel as if you were skating by without making proper amends for the transgression?

“Mademoiselle?”

You finally bring your head up to look at him. “Do you think mister Danon will forgive me if I apologize?”

Monsieur Neuvillette’s expression softens, taking on a truly remorseful edge. “I don’t know, little one. He might. I can’t see into the future any more than you can, but I think if it’s something that bothers you so much then it certainly wouldn’t hurt to talk to him about it.”

Blinking back a sudden deluge of tears, you take an impulsive step towards him with the tray clutched to your chest. “Oh, monsieur Neuvillette, I don’t know what to do! How can I possibly ameliorate my actions if he might not even accept my apology? I — I didn’t mean to lead him on!”

Very neatly, calmly, monsieur Neuvillette folds his gloved hands on his lap and studies you for an indeterminable amount of time with that closed and shuttered expression. You aren’t sure how many minutes pass when you’re a right mess inside, all your emotions kicked up into such a veritable whirlwind that it’s all you can do just to hold it together. But, at length, he eventually draws a careful breath.

“What I’m hearing is that your guilt over this matter will not be dissuaded until you feel appropriate action has been taken against you to right what is, in your mind, a very serious wrong, intentional or not. Is that correct?”

You blink, more than a little surprised at how concisely he’s grasped your thoughts on the matter. It almost sounds foolish when he puts it like that, in such blunt terms, but there is no denying the pang that resonates within you. “Yes, monsieur. I feel terrible for what I’ve done …”

He seems to hesitate, his brows drawing inward almost imperceptibly. “Guilt can function as its own form of punishment as well, and a very effective one at that. But you must understand something, mademoiselle. The law simply is not applicable here. There is no legal recourse and, therefore, no system in place to enforce any sort of repercussions against you.”

You take another step closer, feeling fervent and hot. “Then will you punish me, monsieur Neuvillette?”

Abruptly, he goes very still. “I am hardly in any position to mete out such discipline,” He says slowly, carefully. “And, far more importantly, I’m not quite sure what you would have me do. I don’t believe this situation would call for a monetary fine or even any corrective action on an employment level … and I’m certainly not going to spank you over my knee like a child.”

Flustered heat crawls up your neck to settle in your cheeks. You hate the way your knees grow weak and knobby at the thought of that, but you were decidedly in agreement with him. It would have been inappropriate for him to strike you in any capacity, least of all over something like this. Still, though …

“Isn’t there something to be done?”

Monsieur Neuvillette’s expression settles back into that somber mask again, eyeing you for a drawn out beat before he finally issues a clipped sigh. Leaning back to recline against the lounge, he stiffly crosses his legs and once more settles his folded hands atop the bent knee. “Come here, little one. Stand next to me.”

Your feet almost don’t want to move from the spot but you force them to uproot so you can cautiously shuffle forward. You aren’t sure what to expect when your cotton stuffed head was such a mess, but all he does when you come up beside him is hold out an expectant hand. It takes you a moment to realize what he wants and you flush even hotter as you pass him the tray. Taking it from you, he sedately sets it aside on the cushion before fixing his attention on you once again.

“This is another topic in which I lack expertise but I might have something in mind that could satisfy your need for penance. However, I will not force or otherwise coerce you into it, and you will likewise be free to walk away at any time. Once you have decided you’ve made the appropriate dues for leading mister Danon on, as you put it, then this arrangement will end immediately. Is that agreeable to you?”

You bob your head in a quick nod. “Yes, monsieur Neuvillette. Thank you.”

Squaring his broad shoulders, the usually kindly disposition with which he carried himself outside of the courtroom fades and is replaced by the stern set of his mouth, the slight tension along his brow, to indicate that it is the Chief Justice sitting before you now. A chill runs up your spine at the change in him, so subtle yet unavoidably obvious, and a sharp look from pale lavender eyes stops you from saying anything. You’d never before been subjected to such a hard expression from him and you can’t quite stop yourself from sympathizing with whoever was unlucky enough to find themselves standing before him in court. It really wasn’t any wonder why he held the title of supreme judge in all of Fontaine when you saw him like this.

“Do not thank me yet, mademoiselle. If you would be so kind, please lift your skirt for me.”

Your spine stiffens with a tremor so powerful it very nearly bowls you over on the spot. Obediently, though, you reach down with numb hands to gather the full, flouncy material of your uniform and shyly hike it up along with the lace petticoat underneath.

“Higher.” He commands, intently observing the slow ascension of your skirts. “That’s it, up around your waist. Good.”

Sucking in a faltering breath, you sway unsteadily on your feet and try not to lose your nerve. The thought that you would be able to alleviate your guilt with this steels your resolve though, and your hands start to shake as your stockinged upper thighs are revealed to him, the simple garters holding them in place and, finally, your lace panties. Your face is on fire while you nudge everything up a little further to make sure it was satisfactory and to his liking despite still harboring some very real doubts about this in the back of your mind.

He did say he wasn’t going to spank you … didn’t he?

Casually, monsieur Neuvillette reaches out a hand to slip long, elegantly poised fingers into the space between your thighs and you suck in a sharp gasp when he nudges them up against your cunt just so. The touch is featherlight and barely there, but it makes more blood rush into your face to leave you rattled and a bit dizzy. But you don’t pull away from him as he takes his time petting over the apex of your fleshy mound and the slit running along your body, determined to see this through. Somehow having him touch you like this was not nearly as embarrassing as the way his expression doesn’t change while he does it, you’re quite ashamed to realize.

“Are you sensitive here?” He asks you softly, prompting you to swallow. Hard.

“I … I don’t know. I’m not sure.”

Quietly clicking his tongue, monsieur Neuvillette presses up against you a little more firmly, gloved fingertips digging into your defenseless clit to make you jolt and give a startled yelp. “You seem responsive enough to me. I only know of this particular activity in theory but … well, it doesn’t really matter. I believe we should have no problem at all using this method for your penance.”

“W - which is, monsieur?”

“I believe I’ve heard the people call this ‘edging’ before. It sounds rather dreadful, doesn’t it? Like some sort of barbaric torture technique.” Carefully observing your face, he pushes up even harder to grind tight, mean little circles against that sensitive pleasure button, and your eyes grow big as you stiltedly rock forward on your toes. “I suppose it could still be called that, depending on who you asked. The instigator or the receptee. I’m sure they would have drastically different opinions on the matter.”

Whimpering, you numbly readjust your hold on your skirt to make sure it stays up and out of his way while he’s doing this. Not that you were entirely sure you liked this specific method in terms of punishments when it was so obvious your body was eagerly responding to it – from the way your pussy clenches around nothing and starts to slick for him and even to the way your nipples stiffen against the inside of your shirt – but perhaps that was a good thing. Would you have really been able to say your penance was paid in full if this trial were not appropriately challenging?

“Wh … where?”

Blinking at the little mouse squeak noise, monsieur Neuvillette just keeps rubbing over you with that steady motion of his hand. “I beg your pardon?”

Trying valiantly to keep the fluster off of your face and failing miserably at it, you shyly avert your gaze. “I was just curious … where did you hear of this?”

“A reasonable question.” He relents, allowing the smallest note of humor to color his voice. “While it is true I don’t often partake in such crude conversations, it can be a little hard to avoid at times. Even here, in the Palais Mermonia. I believe they refer to it as ‘water cooler talk’.”

“Oh.” You’d overhead such things before too, now that you thought of it. The other women who worked at the Palais were more prone to gossip, joint complaints about their husbands or beaus, fawning over babies and first days of school, and academic achievements, while the men … they would sometimes change topics when they saw you coming but more than once you’d caught snippets of inappropriate conversations. A recent visit they’d had to a brothel or perhaps how they fantasized about doing certain things to their partners. You always felt mildly scandalized whenever it would happen, shocked that such discussions were being entertained at the Palais, and yet —

Letting out a slow, stuttering breath, you carefully glance down at yourself to look at monsieur Neuvillette’s hand disappearing between the soft pudge of your thighs. This was vastly more inappropriate than any ‘water cooler talk’ and that realization embarrasses you a great deal. Your cheeks feel a little hotter, your blood pumping harder, and you whine, very low in your throat. Was this really an acceptable form of punishment?

You think it probably is, because the shame that comes with it is potent and cloying, especially when your hips give a weak judder at what he’s doing. To think that the Iudex himself was touching you like this …

“Does that feel good, little one?”

Twitching at the sound of his voice, you give a stilted nod. “Yes, monsieur, thank you … but — but I don’t think I quite understand. Are punishments supposed to feel good?”

“Not necessarily, no. But this is only a part of it. Relax, sweet girl. I will ensure your guilt is appropriately mitigated in due time.”

You still don’t truly understand it, but you allow yourself to ease into it anyway. Relax into his touch. Slipping your eyes closed, you just take a moment to feel the sensation of him rubbing over your cunt. The press of his firm fingers pudges your lips to highlight how soft and pliable they are, the blunt tips of his gloves sinking into the slit. Even the thin layer of your panties is not enough to lessen the drag in any meaningful way, and it doesn’t seem to take long at all for you to start feeling sticky with arousal. It’s copious and excessive, almost implausibly so considering that he’d only touched you in this one specific spot thus far. Hardly at all.

You hadn’t thought you would be so easily excitable and yet the proof of it is in the way you tremble for him, the way your breathing gradually picks up to make your breasts heave under your blouse, and it quickly becomes difficult just to stay standing in place. You wanted to twist and pull away, give your drooling cunt even a moment's reprieve, but you don’t give in to the urge. That wasn’t what he’d agreed to, and you trusted his judgment …

So you stand there, trembling, while your stiff nipples cut up into your shirt in search of the same friction, and you try not to cry out. Your pussy tingles against his hand, the pressure it exerts so constant and steady that it rapidly starts to feel like the building pressure in you is reaching critical mass. Much sooner than you could have anticipated or guessed, it was as if your body was particularly weak for monsieur Neuvillette’s dutiful attention.

Softly wheezing when your legs buckle and threaten to give out, you subtly tip your pelvis further into his hand and it becomes that much more apparent how wet you really are. How stiff and engorged your clit had gotten. A violent shudder tears through you at the meaty, swollen drag of it under his fingers, head tipping back and. - -

He retracts his hand so suddenly it leaves you lurching in place. Raggedly gasping at the sudden loss, you turn wide, wild eyes on monsieur Neuvillette but he merely gives you that same somber expression as he interlaces his fingers on top of his bent knee once again, unfalteringly casual about it.

“That will be all for right now, mademoiselle. Thank you.”

You just gape at him, stunned and confused, with your skirts still hiked up around your waist like a shameless fool. “Wh - wha —“

A look of sympathy flashes across monsieur Neuvillette’s face. “This is the penance you wanted so badly. As many times as you like, I will bring you close to orgasm but I will not let you actually reach climax. It is the only suitable punishment I could think of for your specific … transgression.”

It takes a great deal of effort for you to do it, but you suck in a slow, shuddering breath to steady yourself. “I … I see. Thank you, monsieur. I understand now.”

“Very good. Now, run along. I’m sure you’ve got work to do elsewhere.”

He offers you a small smile that you think is meant to be reassuring but it does very little to distract from the throbbing ache in your cunt or calm your pounding heartbeat. Numbly, you drop your skirt and petticoat back into place and run your hands over it to smooth out the (now real, not imagined) wrinkles as you slowly make your way towards the door. It was like you were in a trance.

“And mademoiselle?”

You pause, turning to look back at him. “Yes, monsieur?”

“I would like to see you in my office again around noontime. Please do not forget and don’t be late.”

~*~

It hadn’t taken you long to realize just how insidious and cruel this strange brand of punishment truly was. You left his office such a sticky mess between the legs that even trying to clean yourself in the powder room did little good against the slick oozing out of you to stain your panties and make them stick to you, moulding against your cunt. It serves as a near constant reminder of how close you’d been to climax, how monsieur Neuvillette’s fingers had felt touching such an intimate part of your body, and how torturous it had felt to have that friction taken away so suddenly.

The wisdom of the Iudex impresses you even now though, for you did indeed see why he’d deemed this the only appropriate corrective measure that would fit the crime. You had unknowingly strung mister Danon along with your feminine charm and wiles, so it did indeed make sense to turn that back around on you in some way.

And although it does take a while, the distracting pulse in your cunt slowly fades into an afterthought in the back of your mind while you flit about the Palais tending to various tasks and seeing that everything was as it should be. At some point you even start to forget how your damp panties cling to you and that makes it much easier to view this trial as an easy obstacle to overcome. You would simply allow monsieur Neuvillette to carry out this task a handful of times, consider your self flagellation completed and then move on with your life.

Yes, this really was the best method of making your peace with the situation.

Comforted in your conviction, you return to monsieur Neuvillette’s office at the appointed time and issue a gentle rap at the door. His voice filters through without missing a beat, calling for you to come in, and you enter without reservation.

Perhaps you should have been more wary of underestimating him or this game you were playing but you think nothing of it as you make your way across the room to stand in front of his stately desk. He looks up at you with a brief smile that inexplicably makes your pulse thrum a little faster, and that surprises you slightly. Catches you off guard.

“Thank you for your punctuality, little one. I have a meeting scheduled after lunch is over so I wanted to tend to you before I got too busy.”

Self consciously, you avert your gaze. “Are you sure this is alright, monsieur? I don’t want you to go hungry because of me.”

“Nonsense. I planned accordingly and already ate before you came by.” Not lingering on the thought for very long, he takes a moment to straighten a stack of papers and neatly set them aside, out of the way. Nudging his high backed chair out from under the desk, he half turns and situates himself first before reclining against the backrest and finally looking up at you again. “Come. No need to feel shy.”

His words have the opposite effect of making you feel ten times more shy than you originally did, and you can feel yourself starting to blush again as you slowly round the desk to come up beside him. Standing just a scant few inches from him like this it occurs to you, suddenly, that you probably should have been a bit more apprehensive about returning to his chamber like this. He was going to touch you again … oh, perhaps you had not thought this through all the way.

“Here.” He says, drawing you back into the moment with a gentle pat against his leg. “Sit on my lap, little one. This should make things a bit easier for both of us.”

The flush that crawls up your face is an intense and overwhelming one. “M - monsieur, I — I couldn’t possibly be so presumptuous!”

“Is it presumptuous if I’m telling you to do it?”

Your spine stiffens at the slightly hardened tone in his voice, the edge that seems to cut across any of your weak excuses, and you quickly realize it is once again the Chief Justice sitting before you now, not the kindly monsieur Neuvillette. And he was looking at you very expectantly.

Swallowing your nerves, you reluctantly shuffle closer and turn to lower yourself onto his leg with a slow, stiff motion of your body. The firm pressure and warmth of him underneath you is almost enough to send you running from the room in hysterics, but before you can even think to change your mind his arm comes forward to secure itself around your middle. A surprised little yelp bursts out of you when he hauls you back against him to settle more firmly on his lap, completely disregarding how you tense up and shudder on top of him.

“There. Isn’t that much better?” He softly coos at you, tugging you back to lean against his front. Your face feels like it’s on fire but you don’t fight it, only whimpering quietly when he at last has you situated how he wants.

“M - monsieur …” You mewl into the suddenly statically charged office, unable to stop it, but he just quietly tuts at you as he turns his head to press his mouth against your hair.

“Now, now, you’re alright. I’ve got you. There isn’t any reason to be so nervous.” A violent tremor tears through you when you feel his lips purse against the side of your head in what you think must be a brief kiss — but you don’t get the chance to fully process the significance of that as he bends a little closer to put his mouth near your ear now. “Spread your legs for me, little one. Let me see you.”

Dizzy with the surge of white hot arousal that abruptly crashes into you with all the force of a sack of bricks, you give a weak, twitchy roll of your body against him and reach down with trembling hands to grab at your skirt. Slowly inching it up, you tip your chin down to watch with him as more and more of your thighs are revealed. The soft pudge around the tops of your stockings embarrasses you somewhat but not nearly as much as your panties do. Even from this angle you can see a dark, wet spot staining the crotch when you ease your legs open and you whimper softly at the sight of it.

“Goodness, you certainly soaked yourself earlier didn’t you? Poor thing,” With a quiet click of his tongue, monsieur Neuvillette reaches down past cotton and lace, and voluminous frills to slide his hand over your mound. Your breath hitches as you watch him do it, cupping your pussy with an almost apologetic squeeze, and you quickly turn your head away before you can say or do something else you’ll regret today.

You had to admit, it was very naive and shortsighted of you to consider this an easy penance just because it was not a constant, pressing concern at the forefront of your mind. How very foolish you had been.

“I was thinking about it earlier and I found myself quite curious,” He admits, still just holding your cunt in the palm of his hand. “Would it be too impolite of me to ask how often you usually pleasure yourself?”

Your chest dramatically heaves with the ragged gasp you suck in. “Monsieur Neuvillette, that’s … why would you ask me something like that?”

“Oh dear, I hope I haven’t offended you. That was not my intention, little one. Please forgive me.” A pause, while he turns his head to press his lips against your hair again. “It is just that you are so shy and your body is so sensitive. I wondered if perhaps you were too ashamed to take care of your own needs in this manner, that’s all. I’ve heard some women are.”

Lungs painfully constricting inside your chest, you stiffly lift your hands up to cover your face. Having the Iudex pet you so intimately was one thing, but discussing such matters with him was something else entirely!

“P - please forgive me, monsieur … you haven’t offended me it’s just — I have no experience with this sort of thing. I do it, sometimes. Pleasure myself like that. But I’ve never had anyone else t - touch me in that way before …”

“I see.”

Silence settles over the room for a long, drawn out stretch that soon starts to ride the line of being uncomfortable. You can just start to feel the sting of hot tears creeping through at the corners of your eyes when he gently pats your cunt with the flats of his fingers, startling a surprised noise out of you. Lowering your hands enough to see, you gape down at yourself as he somewhat possessively cups his hand around you again and gives the pudge of your labia a light squeeze.

“Such a silly thing you are.” He says against your head, displacing some of the little flyways there to send them dancing at your peripheral. You barely even notice it though, trembling at the faintest hint of a growl in his voice when it sets your guts to vibrate and seems to reverberate inside your chest cavity. You’d never heard him sound like that before but don’t get the chance to linger on that thought or question it, because he nuzzles further into you until it feels like he’s speaking directly into your ear now. “In the future you should try not to be so forthcoming with your body when it comes to men. Had I been any less honorable I could have all too easily taken advantage of you earlier and I could still do it now had I wanted to. I understand your desire for wrongs to be appropriately righted as that is the very foundation Fontaine was built on but this is not the way to go about it, mademoiselle.”

Your mouth warbles open but nothing comes out. All you can do is sit there, quaking on monsieur Neuvillette’s lap, while his fingers slip into one side of your panties and tugs them aside. The sight of your own cunt lips, puffy and flushed with arousal, surprises a faltering animal noise out of you that seems to echo endlessly inside the room. He pays it little mind though and simply curls his thumb to brush over your slit and the clitoris hiding within, smearing sticky slick with that fine leather glove and nudging your body into opening up to him. Legs twitching, you jerk your hands down to latch onto the arm locked around your middle, clutching at him even as you fitfully writhe against the sensation.

All at once your earlier arousal comes crashing back with a vengeance, temporarily forgotten but not near as snuffed out as you would have liked it to be. Your clit thrums under his stilted caress as if the climax you’d been close enough to taste but not able to experience had lain dormant this entire time while you ensured the water pitchers were filled, the snack tables stocked and the fireplaces were appropriately stoked wherever they were needed. It shocks you a great deal to realize how powerful your arousal truly is, and you buck your hips with a whiny moan that would have embarrassed you under better circumstances.

But better circumstances would not have found your cunt absolutely flooding with a deluge of fresh slick, nor would your clit have been swelling as eagerly as it does. You can feel the meaty, engorged drag of it under the soft petting of his thumb, almost idly drawing it back and forth with a total lack of urgency that makes your head spin perhaps even more so than the sharp stabs of pleasure do. You wanted to cum, and the knowledge that he would not permit you to just makes you want it even more.

“Please, monsieur —!”

Softly humming, he presses his thumb down a bit more firmly. “Are you already getting close, little one?”

You tip your head back to rest on his broad shoulder, panting up at the ceiling while shuddering waves of yet unrealized ecstasy crash over you, each somehow more powerful than the last. Instinctively, you inch your legs further apart even as they tremble fiercely for him and you think, idly, you probably would have vibrated right off him had he not been keeping you pinned against his front. You’re helpless to do anything except sensitively quake like this, and you do so with great enthusiasm.

“It is too much … I - I can’t take it!”

“You will.” He assures you, his voice soft again but it still carries that subtle hint of an edge underneath the surface. You didn’t understand it, why he would sound like that. What had brought it on. Was he even more displeased with you than he’d suggested?

The thought alone brings tears to your eyes almost as much as the cresting pleasure making you writhe on his lap, and you squeeze your eyes shut to keep them at bay. You didn’t want to make him feel bad for causing you to cry when you were the one who had asked for this … but oh, it was so very hard not to give voice to the sobs threatening to wrack your body when it was all so much. The firm, weighty pressure of his thumb petting over your cunt, his other fingers idly teasing along your slit where they were still holding your panties aside. The smell of him, the taste of him lingering on the back of your tongue, his sturdy weight underneath you. It was all too much, and it felt like you were drowning in him.

“Let this be a lesson to you,” He continues, unconcerned with the way you twist against him and choke on stuttering gasps. “Even more pressing than the matter with mister Danon, I’m far more concerned about how easily you gave yourself up to a man to do with however he pleased for the sake of penance. Needless self sacrifice is not justice, sweet girl. I do hope you’ll remember that.”

Bending his head close once more, monsieur Neuvillette presses his mouth to your hammering pulse, and you mewl at the contact. It is not so much a kiss, you abruptly realize, as it is a not very subtle threat. Like there was a beast lurking beneath that kindly gentleman facade …

“Oh, monsieur, I — I’m going to —“

“No, you are not.” He cuts across you, practically hisses it against your jugular, and you nearly jolt right off him when the arm around your middle slides up to lock across your front at an angle. Suddenly he pinches your nipple through your shirt where it’s stiff and straining against cotton, giving it a mean little tweak to make your back bow. Trying to twist away proves futile and you yelp at the pleasure laced pain even as your cunt drools even more obscenely in response.

You felt like you were going crazy. Truly wild with potent, cloying arousal so powerful, so overwhelming, you can’t even process what’s happening to you while you shake right to the edge of your release.

And just like that, the hand on your pussy retreats, pulling away altogether to leave your panties shamelessly askew in favor of latching onto the swell of your inner thigh and keeping them spread when you frantically buck your hips in search of that fleeting touch. You heave and groan, reeling at the total loss of friction, but it is useless. Monsieur Neuvillette is an unyielding presence at your back no matter how earnestly you squirm against him, and his gloved fingers give your aching teat another cruel tug to further stave off your release.

You’re more than a bit horrified, in a delirious, hazy sort of way, to find that the pain serves its purpose in chasing away your climax enough to leave your pussy absolutely throbbing in the wake of this denial. No longer teetering right on the precipice, it seems to force you back a pace or two and all you can do is look on longingly at the promise of oblivion beyond with yearning and desperation. Wanting, but not allowed to have.

You truly had underestimated just how tortuous this punishment technique could really be …

Through the murky fever you feel monsieur Neuvillette brush his mouth across your cheek to press at the corner of your eye, effectively drawing you out of your groaning stupor. Sucking in a ragged gasp, you clutch at his arm all the tighter and try in vain to lean away.

“M - monsieur?”

“You’re crying.”

Noising a soft sound of confusion, you blearily blink your eyes open to realize that they were in fact clouded with a swimming sheen of tears making them burn. Sniffling sadly, you start to reach up to swipe them away in shame but the hand on your breast comes up quicker and locks under your jaw, physically turning your face towards him.

Laying spread out on top of him with your head forced back against his shoulder, you look up at monsieur Neuvillette from just a scant few millimeters away. His expression is still somber and unreadable but … the glint in his pale lilac eyes makes your chest hitch. It wasn’t hunger the same way you’d on occasion caught other men looking at you — men like mister Danon, you realize in retrospect — but it is a hunger all the same. Something old and primal, from a long forgotten dark age that inspires a slow curling tendril of uncertainty low in your gut. You don’t think it’s lust per se, not in the usual sense, but a kind of lust, perhaps. One you didn’t have a name for.

One you weren’t sure if you wanted to learn the true nature of.

After silently studying you for a long moment, he finally drags his gaze from your face to regard the tall, stately clock standing sentry in the office, the only witness to this lurid state of affairs. “I still have some time before my meeting. I think we should be able to squeeze in one more session before I have to go.”

You very nearly give voice to a hysterical, broken sob, just barely managing to choke it back with a frazzled whine instead. “Monsieur —“

“Hush, little one.” He murmurs and leans close again, stunned surprise washing over you when his tongue flicks out to lick up a wet tear from under your eye. You gape at him in shocked disbelief when he pulls back enough to look at you again, leaving behind residual moisture on your skin, but he doesn’t even look the least bit put out or sorry for it. Like it was a perfectly normal thing for him to be doing. Perhaps it was. You had no idea – and if he recognizes your surprised reaction for what it is, he certainly doesn’t show it. “You have nothing to fear from me. I will ensure your punishment is properly administered and then we shall further discuss your other behaviors in greater detail. Rest assured, you will be appropriately corrected in time. I will personally see to that myself.”

⭐

Crossposted: here

#genshin impact #neuvillette #neuvillete x reader #self insert bullshit

148 notes · View notes