#i can use it for the book-paper pile instead

[senadimell]

I am conceding that unless I do something about it, the floordrobe will be a constant in my life. Since laundry drying racks take up too much horizontal space, I am now looking into quilt racks

[luvmila444]

SWEET RELIEF - C.S

…………………………………………….. ☆ ★ ………………………………………………

Chris sturniolo x fmreader

summary: Chris can’t help but get a bit worked up while on a tutoring study call with you, when you realise what he’s doing, you only pushing him further to the edge.

content warning: male masturbtion; dirty thoughts; praise kink

word count: 2.8k

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Chris was a little embarrassed with how fast he had picked up the phone call from you, not to mention the blush that had spread across his cheeks and his quickly paced heartbeat when he heard your sweet voice ring through the speakers. 

“Hey, Chris!” You smiled as you spread your small pile of assessments and study papers across your desk to get yourself prepared. This had been a regular thing on Wednesdays and Saturdays for the past two months. You guys would set up a phone call together as you would help him study as Chris was falling behind in class…a lot. You guys had to do it over the phone as both houses were always so busy due to Chris’s brothers and your family always occupying your living spaces, making it difficult to have privacy and quiet to help him focus and bring his grades up. Therefore, you resulted in two easy phone calls across the week, which Chris always enjoyed a little too much. 

Chris loved that you could never see him and what he was doing at the sound of your voice over the phone. The sweet ring of it through the speakers. The way you ramble so passionately about the work. Yeah… he definitely liked having the privacy of his room for these calls more then he’d like to admit. Although he can never help but imagine what you looked like, what you were doing. Fuck… he’s been on the call for no more than ten second and he’s already getting himself worked up. 

“Chris…?” He heard you voice agin. Fuck that voice. 

“Yeah... I’m here, hey y/n.” He couldn’t help the smile that rose onto his lips hearing hear giggle at his slow usual response. 

“Okay well glad you're here,” you say readying the paper you had recently got giving by your teacher, on to the top of the pill of books you had been working on, “why don’t you fine the paper that mr Hudson gave us today and we will work through that one today, yeah?” You say cutely but trying not to talk so fast so Chris could take in the information. 

“Yeah, yeah sure…” he buries his way through his overflowing piles of unfinished homework to find the paper that was given to him today by his teacher “why did he give us the paper today, anyway?” Chris huffs, flipping to the first page that you wanted to start working on. 

“I have no idea, it’s not like we don’t already get enough work given to us on Mondays and Fridays, but now on Wednesdays too? It’s getting a bit intense at this point!”

Chris hums in agreement, loving the way you get worked up about things. However, once you were done with your small rant, you let out a sign that was so quiet only the most observant person would notice it, lucky for you, Chris was that person. As you made the noise Chris felt a familiar warm feeling in his lower stomach, just imagining you making that noise in a very different scenario…

“Did you see jenny today?” You interrupted his quickly drifting dirty thought, referring to girl who passes every class, not using her smarts but her body instead, fucking her way to good grades. 

“No, why? What was she doing this time?” Chris asked slowly, trying to calm his erratic heartbeat and suppress his dirty thought of you. 

“Woah I’m surprised you didn’t see her! She was practically pushing her tits out of her very tiny top to try and get out of this paper…. practically had all the guys drooling,” you huffed. You’d always been quite jealous of Jennifer. She could literally get any guy she wanted and could always get out of these stupid papers. It was irritating to people like you who tried their very hardest in their schoolwork and seem to go zero appreciation for it, when all jenny does is gossip, do her obnoxiously babyish laugh and pop a tit, therefore having the whole classroom wrapped around her finger. It was pathetic.

“Nah, guess i don’t really care that much about her,” Chris was very aware of Jenny’s usual inappropriate behaviour, yet he couldn’t pull his eyes away from you all through that class. He was sat near the back of the class, so he had a good view of his surroundings and could easily see you sat a few rows in-front of him, at the perfect angle so her couple see you left side perfectly. Chris simply couldn’t understand how anyone could pay attention in that class knowing that you were in there, not jenny but you. 

Your short denim mini shirt that accentuated you ass and hips so perfectly and highlighting your legs. However, to keep yourself warmer and seem more modest, you through a knitted sweater over the top, making Chris’s eager to rip it off and see what you hid beneath the layers of warm wear. God, if there was nobody else in that classroom, he would not hesitate you lift you up on the desk and kiss up your legs to your perfect thighs and up your body. He would make sure to take perfect care of you, bring his lips underneath your sweater and bring his hand to you perfectly round and covered tits. 

Full, he could barely take it anymore. He could feel his harder member quickly growing underneath his get sweats, but he didn’t want to stop. No… he couldn’t stop himself.

“Huh, thats surprising, i could’ve sworn that the guys next to me literally had dribble on his chin, it was crazy.” You laughed. 

Fuck that laugh. Chris brought his hand up to his crotch and felt where he had grown harder just thinking of you. He began to palm himself, trying to relieve the growing soreness between his legs. 

"We should get started now." You unintentionally break his train of thought, as he gulps, silently cursing at himself. "Because I you barely understood what was going on it that class."

"Uh, yeah." Chris coughed, forcing himself to focus. "What did you want to start with?" 

You voice begins to drift into an explanation of what was said at the beginning of the class, only worded in a simpler way, yet Chris could barely take in any of this information. You speak so innocently, brows furrowed, as Chris furrows his own for an entirely different reason. 

He continues to palm his dick through his pants while your voice was sending small electric jolts through him. All the way down to his dick, which has begun to strain painfully against his pants beneath his hand. Christ, i can’t actually be doing this right now-he thinks to himself. He licked his lips, quickly responding to what you were saying with a hum and an "ah, that makes makes more sense." 

Chris doesn't mean to drown out your words. Because he's listening. But more so to the hilt of your voice, and how it would sound much breathier, as you gazed up at him. One of his fantasies had you on your knees, teasingly licking at his cock, as your devious eyes held his. He had orgasmed extremely quickly, multiple times, when he found this imagine in his head. 

“So thats basically the first part,” you continued to explain, unaware and completely oblivious to Chris’s hand rubbing at himself on the other end of the line.  

He won’t do more. He can’t, this is just so wrong of him Just…relieve a hint of tension. You continued to speak, and your words began to sound like something he wished he could grab, as his hand tightened on his bulge, his rubbing growing messy. His breathing had grown heavier, but he covered it up by saying ‘yes’s and ‘no’s, answering your questions. 

“Sorry, I’m rambling. Did you have any questions?” You ask, feeling as if Chris wasn’t getting everything he needed out of your words. He had to spare a glance at his incomplete work, scanning to see if he’d written down any problems, trying to remember if he had any. Because the only problem he could think of right now is how his over-the-clothes rubbing was doing little to satisfy his need. 

His cock was now rock hard, it was torturous. His mind began to glaze over with lustful thought of you “I—I don’t think so.” He mutters out, his fingers reaching into the waistband of his sweats and briefs, pulling his cock, which was now leaking with drops of pre-cum and the tip was a bright rosy, red, much like his cheeks.

He imagined the way you would touch him. Would you be gentle and slow, or would you edge him and make sure he’s extremely overstimulated as you milk him dry. Chris’s breathing stutters as he strokes himself. The little hums you make when you think have begun to make his hips thrust up into his palm. His other hand had tightened around the sheet, praying that you can’t hear him jerking off to you. Chris becomes lost in your tone as his cock twitches. 

“Chris?” You slowly ask, making his hips jolt at the utterance of his name from your lips, but he tries to keep his voice of some composure. 

“Yeah?” He had to press his lips together after a needy whimper nearly falling. 

“Are you…okay?” 

Your question makes him halt, much to his cock’s dismay. “W-what?”

“You sound… i don’t know, out of breath?” You say, behind the line trying to think of why.

“Really, you think?” He hums with a small smirk on his face enjoying the uncertainty in your tone and how innocent you mind must have been.  You nod to yourself, but then you catch the smallest of sounds fall straight from Chris’s lips. You had to be mistaken, as it had almost sounded like one full of pleasure that could have only been as a result of one thing... 

Your mouth opened in shock as you realise. He’s out of breath because he’s…

“Chris.” You say again, hearing a stuttering whimper from him before he tries to cover it up by asking ‘yes?’ again.  

“What are you doing?” 

Chris curses himself because you sound suspicious. “I’m studying obviously. Being tutored s-so well... by you.” He says, really forcing down his cock’s wanting to just ask you to keep talking so he could reach his orgasm, attempting to stop himself from stuttering his words, but he just couldn’t help it. 

“You’re sure you’re good?” You asked unconvinced, as a small smirk rose to your lips.

“No. No, I’m all good, i swear.” He says, really forcing his words to sound normal, as he had slowly begun to stroke himself again, his cock angry. 

“Ah huh, yeah…okay,” you knew what you were going to do, this was going to be fun. “Did i tell you how good you looked today?”

Chris’s eyes opened, looking at his phone slightly trying to keep a steady pace of his raging cock but if you were going down this road of compliments, he probably wouldn’t be able to take it much longer.

“Uh, n-no,” he stutters pathetically, somehow unaware of the game you were playing. 

“Well, you did, your hair…wow. I could just run my hands through it! How do you always get it looking so soft?” You paused momentarily, hearing Chris’s surprised whimper. “Sorry thats kind of a goofy thing to say…sorry.” You were basically just teasing him now, the basic matters of the studying gone.

“I- no i don’t think its goofy. a-at all…” his words are broken up by that heaving panting.

“God. really? You’re so sweet chris…wow,” You hum, making Chris’s hips thrust up into his hand, his legs having widened as you spoke. 

“R-really?” His eyelids began to feel heavy again, wanted nothing more but to see the darkness and use it as a canvas to paint his dirty images of you in his mind. 

“Yeah, i mean you’re the literal sweetest” you hum lightly, “you always make sure i havea seat in class, you listen to me when i speak and when i help you i study, you defend me in-front of your friends! You’re so sweet! Such a sweet, good boy for me” you were practically grinning at this point.

Chris could have sworn that your words could have sent him spiralling over the edge.“I a-am?” He asked, almost to clarify that this was real, that you were actually saying this to him.

“Well of course, and you’re always so busy as well, yet you always make time for me in your busy schedule. You must be stressed a lot of the time. I could always help you…relax sometime, relieve some of your…tension.” You had lowered your voice now in order to have a more seductive tone to your voice now.

Chris chokes on a whimper as he places his hand over his mouth, still thinking you don’t know. “My tension…?”

“I mean, yeah… i could alway give you a massage, rub you down, you know I’ve been told I am very good at giving…massages.” It was becoming blatantly obvious what you were doing now but Chris must’ve been blinded and in a lustful haze because he still seemed to be completely oblivious to what you were doing. Continuously pumping his dick eagerly and chasing his release.

The thought of you sat on top of him, rubbing all down him in order to relax him was definitely doing the opposite effect and only working him up more. Fuck. He had almost come from the thought of you taking care of him. the tone you had dropped to makes his hand quicken as his hips had begun to grind into his palm.

“You’d do that for me?” Chris whined, only imaging what else you would do for him almost sent him over the edge.

“Of course, i would baby, you would tell me where it feels good before i drag my hands down your body…” Chris let out a pathetic whimper at not only the simple thought but at the nickname as well. Baby? Baby??! Oh, my lord he was going absolutely feral at this point, “however, through your clothes it mind be hard to properly get that tension out.” 

Chris moans through his teeth, as his hips pathetically thrust at your words. “No clothes?” 

“No clothes.” You confirm. “Would that be, okay? I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable— “

“Yes.” His answer was immediate, cutting you short. He coughs. “That would be fine.” 

You grin. “Good. Because that way I could really relieve some tension. I’d have to straddle you of course.” You pause to hear chris’s heavy breathing and the faint sound of his hand gliding along his cock. “You may even have to flip around, because I’ve heard that the most tension can be by your collarbones and neck.” 

Chris nearly orgasmed at the thought of you straddling him, as your hands wandered his body. “As in straddling..my front?” 

“Yeah, is that okay?” 

“Uh huh.” He hums, his cock twitching with a soon need to release. 

“I could give you that massage the next time we study.” You say, making chris’s breathing quicken at the possible reality of all that. “I could come over to yours.” 

At this point he couldn’t care how desperate he sounded. “Yes. Please, come anytime.” 

“Or maybe you should cum?” You ask, your innuendo strong, as pleasure began to rock through chris’s body. 

“W—what?” 

“Come to my place, i know yours is always super hectic.” You play it off, listening to the wet sounds his cock was making as you could hear how close he was to his orgasm. 

“Fuck…yeah that sounds good, i-if you’re happy then s-so am i…” he was no biting his own lip so hard he could’ve sworn he was drawing some blood. He now had his back so far arched up off of his bed and was practically fucking up into his own hand. 

“See, again, you are alway thinking…of me,” oh he was definitely thinking of you, thats for sure, “you are such a good boy.” And that did it. His orgasm wracked through him as quiet whimpers and moans left his lips his hips grinding into nothing. Wishing the air was you. He watched as the white strings of cum coated and stained his dark shirt. 

“Fuck” he let out a relieved groan, now not even hiding the action that he had just did. 

“Maybe next time we study i should just jerk you off instead,”

Chris’s eyes widened at what you had said, before realising how blatantly obvious what he was doing was. You giggled once again hearing Chris’s heavy breathes, pleased to know that it was you who had pushed him over the edge. 

“Fuck, you can do whatever you want to me,” Chris let out with a deep breathe. 

Oh, you certainly would…

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A/n : thank you so much for reading, this is literally my 3rd time trying to post this because I keep making mistakes 😭😭I really hope you enjoy and if there are any more mistakes pls lmk

ily my angels 💞 (especially @gamermattsgf)

[mo-aiki]

I now love you, is it too late? (Yandere Fiancé x F. Reader)

Summary: Heartbreak and romance are two sides of the same coin. They both deal with love between another. Your heart is broken but you are trying to move on, but someone is preventing you from doing so.

Notes: I never thought that the previous story would blow up like it did. You can read the first part here.

Warning: alcohol consumption, drugging someone, forced love, obsession, stalking, mentions of violence, I don't condone it, I just write it.

The days after his conversation with you, he should had been elated. For the first time in his life, he wasn't bothered by you and your antics. He could finally get work done without you bother him at every corner to come visit him or play with him. For the first few days, he was able to finish everything for once in his life instead of having a pile to do the next day. But overtime, somehow he was dreadfully bored.

His office felt quiet. Almost too quiet. The only sounds he could make out were the papers shuffling, the clock ticking, and the the voices that came in and out of his office.

Also, overtime he had completed work for the month. He was used to working more the next day and having work stacked up to the point that he needed to catch up, that now he has no idea what to do once he finished work for a month or two.

Alaric thought he could read. He has always enjoyed reading in his free time. But once he got to reading, he felt bored once again. He never realized that the books he read were nothing but boring. The books were full of political theory, history of the most boring topics, and informative information.

His lunches were quiet, his dinners were quiet, and his stomach often rumbled when he forgot to eat.

Life felt repetitive, boring, and dull. He was stuck in a routine of eat, work, and sleep. Nothing ever happened.

When (y/n) was here, she would always drag him somewhere, she had wanted to go to. To go shopping, a picnic, a play, an opera, to watch duals, or to eat. He always felt tired after those things, but at least it brought him excitment.

(y/n) often made sure he would eat flavorful foods and her favorite foods, to the point that he knows everything she likes.

(y/n) often made a ruckus in his home. Always talking, calling servant’s, squealing at her romance novels, and chatting with everyone.

'At least the manor was never deadly quiet whenever she was around...' he thought of as he smirked.

Wait. Why is he thinking about her?

He should be happy that she is no longer bugging him as often as she did.

He saw you outside. He was shopping for new cufflinks. His were "getting out of style" his secretary had told him. Maybe it was just a ploy to get him out of the manor, but he still went out nevertheless. He was in a jewelry shop. Unconsciously, he went to the one you often visited. The man knew who he was anyways, so might as well cut to the chase.

"Ah?! Your Grace!"

The man seemed to be looking for (y/n). "Where is Lady (l/n)? Doesn't she often accompany you?"

He just stood quiet for a moment before his secretary popped in. "His Grace is here to get cufflinks."

The man's eyes brighten. "Ah. Lady (l/n) has already thought of that for you. Please wait here Your Grace."

He brought out a box that he had gotten from a certain part of the store. He opened it, and there were square shaped, dark blue jewels, bordered with small diamonds, the metal gold. It looked like it suited him. Very well. She knew his taste well. She knew what he liked.

"If Your Grace does not like it, you can commission another..." said the man selling him the product.

Alaric shook his head. "No, it's perfect."

He signaled at his secretary to give him a generous check in his name as he left the shop, only to find you, looking at the ocean view from across the shop.

Why did it look like you were looking for something?

More importantly, why did it look like you were looking for someone?

You wore a bright dress, your favorite lace gloves, your prettiest sunhat and carried your favorite parasol.

He was confident that he was the only man who has ever had a very close relationship with you, other than acquaintanceship.

Wait, why was he thinking this?

Why should he care if you saw another man. This is an engagement of convenience anyways. There is no point in scrutinizing every man that either comes or came in your life.

But if you were going to be talking to men after him, they better be better than him. He was not going to be beaten by some half-rate man, who has never held a sword in his life, who has never had to train often to live up to your a standard(s), who has never had to deal with the responsibilities of being a duke from the moment he was born, who has not needed attention from you, and who has never lived up to your ideas of love.

He wasn't going to lose to a man who never even knew you like he did.

But he saw you were being accompanied by a maid after his thoughts had raged through his head. He walked closer towards you. He saw you.

Your eyes had seemed like the eyes that often looked his way when he greeted someone. Not like their lively selfs that he was so used to from you. Your eyes always shone brightly when he was in your presence.

Your smile, one of formality, not your genuine one. You smiled the brightest whenever he was around. Anyone could tell with that smile that you loved him.

You looked like any other person he had interacted with. Formal and in-line with etiquette.

Even your speech was formal. It was no longer bright and cheerful. It was no longer, "Alaric! What are you doing here?", it was now, "Pleased to see you, Duke Caius."

"It's pleasant to see you too, Lady (y/n)." he responded back.

You nodded you head while a wave of silence came through. He didn't talk, you didn't talk, both of you were looking at the distance of this port.

'She is rather quiet. Too quiet..." he thought in his head. Often she was the one who started up a conversation.

"I'm very sorry Duke Caius, but I must leave. I am shopping with a friend, and I wouldn't want them to keep on waiting for me, so, please excuse me."

You started walking off slowly, but then he spoke. "Would you like for me to escort you?"

You turned your head. He thought you would be smiling and agreeing to his suggestion immediately, holding his arm in a loving manner and chatting with him the entire way, like you used to do whenever he had brought out that idea.

But you had shook your head. "No, but thank you for your suggestion, Duke Caius. My guard is nearby here anyways."

You walked off as he could only look at you and your maid walking. He didn't even realize that his secretary had came back, as he only chased after you in the same direction.

He saw from a distance, you holding the arm of some man. A dull man. He was mad at that moment, but his anger wasn't towards you, it was towards the man you were with.

You had became more distant with him. Avoiding him at every moment, like he was the plague. Every time he noticed her, she had seem to always step away from him, with every step she had taken, walking away from him instead of towards him like they used to do.

At parties, you would often avoid him, while his arm was being stuck onto by Lady Thompson.

Social events had you talking to the ladies, sparring no time for him.

Outings with no small talk.

Every little thing you had done to distance yourself from him, almost drove him insane. His head now full of questions for your sudden change in personality. In the span of a few weeks, you had all of the sudden became the most formal person on earth, to the point people started questioning the legitimacy of the relationship.

"It seems like they will break up soon..."

"Are we sure they are engaged? Lady (l/n)'s sudden change in personality must mean something..."

"How sad this relationship had to come to. It feels like they are in a married’s quarrel!"

"I heard that Marquis (l/n) is planning on annulling their engagement..."

"Really?!"

These nobles and their chatty lips. These rumors meant nothing. (y/n) would never let something like an annulment happen to them.

He was bewildered. Shocked. Almost appalled with this letter.

He thought that she had delivered a letter to write to him once again, but this time, this letter was from Marquis (l/n).

Dear Duke Caius,

I regret to have informed you, that I am making a selfish and personal decision to annul this engagement between you and my daughter. I have came to this decision after her reaction and my bewilderment at the Royal Ball from 4 months ago, after you had escorted Lady Alina Thompson instead of my daughter.

I could see the heartbreak in her eyes, and as a father, it is painful to constantly see your daughter in constant heartbreak from the very boy you had known since he was young.

When your late father and I had planned this engagement for the both of you, I knew I would have to give up my precious daughter to a man I could trust, not a little boy who has yet to grown up.

You have yet to proven to me that you could be a man I could trust you with my only child, my daughter.

I wish you well and hope you will continue to collaborate and see the (l/n) house positively and as allies.

Sincerely,

Marquis (l/n)

The letter came with the annulment papers with it. He quickly looked through the papers too see your signature on them and your thumb print.

He stood quiet for a minute, before chuckling. "(y/n)...oh (y/n)..."

He felt like ripping the papers to shreds in the very moment.

You were happy for once in your life. You had met someone special to you. Arthur Johnson.

A stableman who engaged in conversation with you when he was working for your family. He always had a kind demeanor. soft spoken, and was often willing to hear you. Despite your age gap with him (being 10 years), his status as a commoner, and his rugged appearance, you felt like for the first time in your life, you had actually met your prince charming.

He took on dates to the crowded places like small festivals and the farmer markets. Your first present from him being a cheap pendent necklace from him.

His personality was well liked by everyone as he seemed to have a good relationship with everyone.

His voice was deep and attractive, smothering your ears and causing you to blush around him whenever he talked.

He always called you 'princess' or 'my lady' whenever out and about with you, causing you to be flustered at such comments.

He had introduced you to his ailing mother. You never felt so bad for anyone. You had offered to help him, but instead he rejected such offers from you. "My lady, you really don't need to help us..."

"Nonsense Arthur! Your mother is sick and-"

He always shook his head. "I do not want to rely on my lady to always help us. Thank you for the idea though."

Elliot was boring.

Gregory was pretentious.

Adonis was suspicious.

Adrian was paranoid.

But Arthur, was a gentleman.

Until you never heard back from him one day.

He had holed up in his manor until something had happened. He had gotten news of you being spotted on dates with other men.

Afterwards he had a reason to leave the manor from this point onwards. You were with a man after man often times. Talking, chatting, flirting, and being brought around with. He had his secretary look at the backgrounds of those men.

Low-ranking noblemen, and sometimes even commoners.

The perfect people to direct his anger at. After all, what are those families and people associated with them, are going to do against the wrath of Duke Caius and the Caius Duchy.

All of the sudden, these men had been riddled with debt and their families in financial ruins.

A son of a baron, tricked by a scammer he had paid for. He had fell for it, meaning he was too naive and not needed for (y/n), who was just as equally naive.

A son of a viscount, conned and arrested for the possession and the selling of forged art. The real artwork, costing millions, and in his own manor. He "might" had hired an artist to help him with it, paying off their own debt and giving them money. He was too irresponsible that he didn't even check to see if the artwork was genuine. (y/n) would had lived a life of cleaning up after him.

Another son of a baron, swallowed by loan debt after taking out loans to do his playboy schemes. He often bought expensive stuff in order to impress the women he was trying to bed with. Where did he get the loans from? He sure doesn't know, does he? He had troubles with infidelity. He will he constantly cheating on (y/n) if Alaric didn't catch it early enough.

A son of an earl, swallowed in gambling debt by him. He had seen him in the casino houses, and he thought why not taunt him. Plus, he paid off the casino house to always make him win no matter what. He was a gambling addict, spending his days holed up and gambling his money away. (y/n) would be left to die on the streets with nothing if she had been with him.

A stableman, in loan debt as well, after he had offered to help him with his ailing mother. But now his mother dead, and the loans still needed to be paid off. Otherwise, he could just kill him and sell his organs to the black market to get all the money back from him. Guess what option he did. He was poor, and poor men don't deserve her love if they cannot give her what she wanted. Plus, he might just brag often about his now, new lifestyle if she were to be with him.

The stableman was the most annoying in his eyes. His last words before he had slain him were, "Protect her for me, please, for this old bachelor..."

All of these men strengthen his point overtime. That he was the perfect man for her.

He is skeptical and less naive.

He is responsible.

He has never had issues with infidelity that he has known of.

He has never been financially irresponsible with money, nor has he gambled.

He has always had the ability to give her everything she has ever wanted.

He came to the eventual conclusion.

No man could replace him.

You felt trapped.

A rumor had spread around about Duke Caius's wedding day coming up. You thought he was just going to get married to Alina, but instead you and your father were summoned by His Majesty.

He was congratulating you and your soon to be wedding day. "Congratulations Lady (l/n)! You must be a happy bride. And you too Marquis (l/n)!"

You and your father were confused, but still acted like everything was normal, until you brought it up. "Excuse me Your Majesty, but who has told you about this. I thought I had wanted it to be a smaller event..."

His Majesty let out a gleeful laugh. "Duke Caius came to me last week, talking about how now he had decided to plan his wedding. I thought it was a splendid idea! And thus I had given him permission to use the chapel. He seemed elated at the idea, and thus was willing to plan the wedding himself."

Your eyes widen as you nodded. Your head blanking out the entire time. 'Isn't that impossible, unless...'

You went running out of the palace, finding a carriage to use to get to the Ducal Manor. You needed an explanation of what was going on.

Once you got there, you immediately asked the butler where he was, only to see Alaric, looking happy to see you as he came down the stairs to the front of the manor.

"(y/n), my bride! You are just in time for your dress fitting."

He snapped his fingers to have the servants taking you somewhere as he followed, you resisting. "Wha-? No! Alaric, I have to ask about something!"

He smiled in front of you. The previous you would had elated and been happy at his smile. But now it felt uncanny. Like something was off.

"You have finally called my name..."

You gasped as the servants kept on dragging you to your dress fitting. His hand over his heart as he looked like a sad puppy all of the sudden. "Do you know what it feels like to be called one name for my whole entire life with such endearment, only for it to be taken away?"

"No! That's why I'm not here! LET GO OF ME!"

He snapped his fingers as the servants let go of you. He walked towards you, as he placed his hand on your cheek. All you could feel was how cold it was. Like it was ice. You looked directly at him. "I am here to ask, why are we getting married?!"

His puppy face came back, as both of his hands cupped you face. "(y/n), I thought this is what you had wanted..."

Your eyes widen as he looked directly at you. "A big fairy tale wedding, your dream dress, your knight in shining armor sweeping you off your feet, true love's first kiss...isn't this what you had wanted all your life?"

This is what you had always wanted, but not like this. Not while Alaric had this sudden shift in personality and when he felt completely different form the Alaric you had knew.

But also, when your feelings for him had wavered like tides in an ocean. "But I thought the annulment had gone through..." you had said to him.

He chuckled, soon going onto full blown laughter. "(y/n), I know you still want to get married to me. So let's have the wedding of your dreams." he said while placing a kiss on your forehead, something you would had blush at, if everything about this wasn't sketchy.

"But! But!"

"No buts. We are getting married in 9 days anyways. Now, let's go to your dress fitting!"

Everything was too sketchy these past 7 days. Alaric had a sudden change in personality. An extreme one in fact. He all of the sudden became loving.

Following you everywhere.

Bringing you onto his lap while he works.

Having picnics with you.

Having tea with you.

Being your dance partner for practicing.

Locking you in his manor and giving you a splendid guest room while at it.

Coming into your room and reading you to sleep.

Increasing security around you.

Feeding you himself, personally.

Disciplining the male servants if they had touched you.

And the most weird one, not leaving your room, even while you slept.

He had changed, but for what? Now all you felt was creeped out by his sudden shift in behavior. Every single little thing done by him almost felt suffocating. Like he so desperately needed you to either be beside him or to in this manor.

You wanted to see your friends again. You wanted to talk to people again. You wanted to see your father again. You wanted to go shopping again. You wanted to see Arthur again. You wanted to do the things you did. You wanted to leave this suffocating manor for once and do something other than being restrained by him.

So you snooped. When he left, you went around his office. Previously, you had always barged into his office, always running your mouth in a tasteless way. But this time, you had avoided his office, unless he dragged you to it to be with him.

You looked around with something on your mind. "He must have the annulment papers somewhere..."

There was a family portrait of him and his father in his office. A portrait must mean that there's something behind it. Touching the frame, you opened up a secret compartment that was full of bank statements. "Elliot Lancaster, Gregory McClain, Adonis Lovesett, Adrian Hill, Arthur Johnson..."

All the men you had been with. The bank statements had shown how their wallets had gone empty in the span of a week or two.

Elliot and his family had gone bankrupt and sent to an island in the north.

Gregory had been charged with forgery and sentenced to 3 years in prison.

Adonis had been bankrupt and charged with assault against a Marquis for mingling with his wife.

Adrian had been cut off from his family due to his gambling addiction, and has now gone further in debt.

And Arthur. The nice man Arthur. His body was never founded when his mother reported him as missing.

Your eyes widened in horror as you looked at the other pages. He had planned it. From the financial debt to killing Arthur and selling his body parts on the black market. Each paper described the reports of the deeds he had done.

Especially for Arthur. His was the most gruesome one. Chopping him up into bits and selling his innards to the black market while dumping the rest to the ocean on Beckett's Beach, where you took your first date with him.

You couldn't help but squat out of fear immediately. Were you responsible for all of these mens' demise?

Would Elliot and his family still be living in the capital in peace if he never met you?

Would Gregory go back to being his artistic and art loving self if he didn't buy from that one painter you had told him to buy from?

Adonis was already kinda shitty.

Would Adrian change if you had stayed with him?

Would Arthur still be alive if you never noticed him?

You didn't know, and that's when you started crying. Your tears fell down rapidly like waterfalls. The papers, the bank statements, the pieces of news, the reports, all of them now wet with your tears on the paper. You couldn't help but feel for them, especially Arthur.

Arthur was now dead, and his mother soon meeting him.

And it felt like it was all your fault.

"We'll always be together, my lady, this old stableman promises."

Crying alone in Alaric's study, you thought about the moments you had with Arthur. They were all going to be a faded memory of the past. If only you weren't so naive and if only you knew.

"Why is my bride crying?"

Your head turned to see Alaric at the door of his study. You gulped as you got up, dusting your dress while at it. "I-it's nothing, Alaric..." you stuttered, trying to hold back your tears.

He came close towards you as he looked at all the papers on the ground and the portrait, open. He chuckled for a bit. "Did you read these?"

You shook your your head. "I just...found them, that’s all. I swear I didn't read them!"

He looked at the papers, then at you. You could tell he knew that you were lying. He always said you were an open book and how you wore your heart on your sleeve. "Don't bother lying (y/n)."

He pointed to the part on which you had stained with your tears. The paper transparent as he put the papers down on his desk, walking closer to you. Each step growing closer, each step he took feeling like he was mad. Each step felt like an eventual punishment for your actions. "Why were you snooping around in my office, (y/n)?"

You answered with the first thing on your mind. "B-because! I just...w-wanted to l-look around, Y-your Grace..."

"I told you..." He gently pushed a piece of hair behind your ear. "Call my Alaric once agin, (y/n)."

His words laced with anger. He was speaking almost like he was threatening you. He looked at the pendent around your neck. Almost like he never noticed it before. Taking the pendent in his fingers, he looked at it obsessively. "Who gave you this necklace, (y/n)?"

You gulped instead of speaking. His hands felt cold when he touched your cheek, looking at you with his angry eyes. "I said, who gave you this necklace, (y/n)?"

"A-Arthur..." you mumbled.

"Who?"

"ARTHUR!" you said even louder before he started laughing hysterically.

"That peasant? Why bother keeping something cheap around your neck. I thought you hated these things?"

You used to, but now this necklace represented Arthur. "I-it's none of your b-business, Alaric!" you yelled out.

"It is my business. Considering you are to be my wife soon, something like this is unacceptable for a Duchess..."

He slowly got closer to your ear. "Especially if it came out that a peasant gave you such a thing...I wonder what would happen to your father...for allowing you to be romantically involved with a man of dirty origins..."

Your eyes widen. "Arthur isn't like that! You don't know him!"

You tried to walk out, only for Alaric to hug you from behind, holding you in a tight grip. You felt like you were losing air by the second once he held onto you. "He's never told you? His mother was apart of a brothel..."

You breath stopped as he whispered more into your ear. "He was the illegitimate son of a noble...people like that deserve to be killed for grasping an ounce of your attention..."

You tried to get out of his grip, but instead he had ripped off the necklace on your neck, letting it fall onto the floor and walking off to his desk, letting you go. You cried as you turned back to look at him. "You-you monster!"

He opened a velvet box with a diamond and sapphire necklace, placing it around your neck, smiling. "My beautiful (y/n)..."

He gripped you arms tight, dragging you to the mirror in the study while putting the necklace together, smiling.

"We will be together forever and this necklace, is to symbolize your new life as Duchess."

You only looked at yourself wearing the necklace as Alaric's hands kept you still.

"You can never leave me now..." he said, as he kissed your cheek.

You in your wedding dress as he went out into the hall.

Walking down the aisle with your father.

The flower petals dancing around you.

The songbirds singing their songs.

And your once dream husband at the alter.

"Do you take Duke Caius's hand, in sickness and in health, in wealth and or none, in forever lasting love?

"...I do..."

The final words of your previous life.

A/N: A part 3 for married life or not?

Taglist

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[cherie-doll]

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: You're A Bookworm

𖦹 i apologize profusely for my absence, time and writer's block decided to team up against me

༢ུ· Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Alejandro, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

Ghost

Buys a reading light for you so you don’t keep the ceiling lights in the room on and disturb his sleep

I actually think he’d be a reader, like if he got to pick between watching tv or reading a book he’d choose a book

I’d fr be salivating if I saw this man resting on the couch, pick up a book and reading while stroking our shared pet cat

Is actually a good conversationalist about topics he’s read up on

Soap

If he had long hair he’d be twirling it in his finger as he listens to you babble about books

It doesn’t matter if it’s a cute romance book, something intellectual, a classic or even a gory horror book, he’d listen to you go on ALL DAY

Whenever you visit the library/bookstore he’s ready to carry the piles of books for you

No longer asks “Want to watch a movie together?” But instead “Want to finish reading that book together?”

Emotional support cuddling when the ending is angst

Gaz

He remembers the first time he saw you it was at a cafe

Thought you looked so cute invested in your book, a drink on the table, glasses (if you wear them) that you had to keep pushing up

He had bought you a pastry and politely come up to you and ask about your book

Even now he likes finding new cafes to take you to and buys you a book everytime

Likes to write poetry or romantic notes on little slips of paper and tucking them into the books he buys you for when you open them later <3

Alejandro

Made you a book bouquet (y’all seen that one vid of this guy who instead of buying or having someone else make the bouquet he figured out how to make it instead???)

Once you complained about not having a proper place for your books which were kinda just lying around in piles on the floor, you thought it strange that he’d spent long periods of time outside until he brought in a bookshelf he built and painted for you

Helps you pot plants to add as decoration for your bookshelf

Keegan

Sometimes he worries you’re going to ruin your eyes staying up late reading

“Did a character do something stupid?” When you throw a book across the room

Gets startled when he turns to your side of the bed only to find you on the last pages of your book, “Did you seriously stay up all night reading that?”

König

He likes keeping track of your progress and constantly checking your wishlist for books he can buy for you

He makes sure you’re always stocked up on booktabs and pens + markers to underline your fav quotes with

You somehow always lose your bookmarks and he replaces them

Sometimes he likes to make them himself! <3

Horangi

Likes to distract you while reading by teasing

Finds out when your favorite author (if they’re alive lol) has events and takes you to them

Buys the special editions of your favorite series + signed by the author

Takes you to the movies when the book gets an adaptation and listens to your rant afterwards about how badly/good they adapted it

Nikto

He likes that you enjoy reading because it keeps you quiet and in one spot

He does get annoyed when you’re absorbed into your book and you go too long without giving him attention

Bought you an ereader after you begged him for one because it was more “practicable” and after he borrowed it a few times he now uses it more than you do

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

somnophilia with John wick from the prompts? 👉🏽👈🏽

jw & fem reader

gif by the wonderful @scarlettspectra. TRIGGER WARNING(s) Somnophilia (from Latin somnus "sleep" and Greek φιλία, -philia "friendship") is a paraphilia in which an individual becomes sexually aroused by someone who is unconscious. & a bit of exhibitionism

You had waited for him all day. Flitting around the house, cleaning and cooking and making sure everything was in line for his arrival. Wearing his favorite dress, playing his favorite music on the stereo, chilling a fresh bottle of his favorite bourbon.

A month and a half. That’s how long it had been since you last saw the person  whose presence gave meaning to your life. So, naturally, you were brimming with excitement, heart pattering wild and strong in your chest, body giddy and jittery—unable to regulate haywire nerves. John was coming home. 

He wasn’t often gone for this long. It was an important job. Something involving a very, very rich man paying him to complete a very, very difficult task. Of course, you knew what his tasks usually included, but didn’t like to think about it too much—couldn’t think about it too much…

It was just hard to imagine…your John killing someone. The same John that took bugs outside instead of squashing them, who cleaned up his bar table and tipped more than generously, who always held the door open and returned shopping carts. Who was sweet and kind and treated you like you were made of paper-thin glass unless you specifically requested otherwise. 

The text comes in mid-evening, just as you’re putting his untouched dinner away and cleaning up the kitchen. Hey, dollbaby, my flight got delayed until tomorrow at six AM. I’m sorry. Don’t stay up worrying about me.

It’s disappointing, but you have to admit you’re used to this. It just comes with what he does, and you’ll gladly endure it with a smile for him. However, that doesn’t mean you can grant his request and stop yourself from worrying. With a little sigh, you type back: Okay, John. Love you.

I Love you, too.

You try and pass the time; go for a late swim, read a book, snuggle up on the big leather couch to scroll TV channels for movies. Except none of that works to distract you from John’s missing shadow, and you just end up with your head buried in a throw pillow, inhaling his residual scent and pretending the cushion is his chest.

You decide to invite some friends over for a good distraction, and they bring card games and beer and wine. You have your own stash of alcohol, so between you and three of you closest, you end up drinking a little too much and passing out halfway through game night. 

John finds you in the icy blue light of breaking dawn, breathing even and slow and slung haphazardly on top of your mattress. The residual burn of spirits heat your skin ruddy, and you have long since kicked the comforter off to leave yourself bare and unsuspecting of the hungry wolf who’s cock fattens at the sight of you—his big tshirt snuggling against your curves, the hint of a panty seam visible along the soft skin of your hip

He discards his clothes into a pile on the floor, too starved for flesh to care about being his usual tidy self, and climbs on the bed to run the tip of his tongue along that delicious cut crease of supple flesh.

You stir and whine, hand coming up momentarily to bat the tickly feeling away, only to weakly fall back down onto the bed, its task lost in the dark deep of your slumber. 

With a wicked grin, he moves his mouth down your thigh, licks into the seam behind your knee, then treks a wet path of kisses over your calves. You squirm and kick, trapped by heavy sleep, defenseless under his tongue.

He knows that, by now, you’d be begging him sweetly to make you cum, arching up into his teasing mouth for more, hanging on to his beautiful throw of silky hair as he laps at your panties. Always so impatient, his sweet girl. 

God, he missed you. Missed your smell and taste, the way you buck your hips, that little tender space between thigh and cunt that makes you squeal when he flicks it with his tongue. 

He nudges your panties to the side to reveal an already glistening wet and swollen pussy, your clit ripe and fresh, ready for his mouth to pluck and taste. Even in your sleep, you’re more than ready to sheath his cock.

He suckles at your folds gently while you stir awake with a sleepy little moan. “J-joh-jjj,” you slurr, gripping at the plump pillows while your cunt tenses and thighs attempt closing. 

So sensitive in that foggy place between sleep and wake, with his familiar mouth on you, impatient and insistent.

He holds your thighs open and eats—devours your cunt sloppily from the back, groaning about how good you taste and how much he missed it. “It’s okay, baby, no no no, come’ere, I gotcha. That’s my girl.” Two fingers curled inside, coaxing a fast approaching orgasm from your perfect little pussy. 

“Gonna, gonna-ah c-cum,” you tell him, clenching on his fingers, once shy clit now grinding down onto his tongue. You’ve just missed him so much, and it’s been so long, and you haven’t even touched yourself at his specific request, so it’s no surprise that it only takes seconds of cunnulingus just the way he’s learned you love it to have you soaking the sheets below your hips. 

“Good job,” he coos, bringing you down with little kisses to your puffy lips and chafed thighs, sucking his fingers clean and closing his eyes against the savory flavor of your slick. “You okay, babydoll?” 

“Uh huh,” you tell him, still twitching from the heavy orgasm, eyes threatening to close again, too tired to wipe the little bit of spittle off your chin. 

You feel him shift behind you, and then his thick tip press against your still spasming entrance, ready to overwhelm and overstimulate and leave you a babbling mess. His cock is built for your pleasure and demise, and as he enters, invading and pillaging the sensitive walls of your cunt, your eyes fly open and you sob into the pillow.

Something like, “o-oh fuck-“

“Shhh, baby.” His warm touch finds the base of your skull, that soft tug on your unkempt tangles guiding you back into his slow, deliberate thrusts. “Your friends are in the living room, gotta be quiet for me.” 

“Y-yeah Jo-ohn.” You try and tell him just how much you missed him, but the words jumble and stick, translating to half-muffled moans. Tears bead at your waterline in submission to that first stretch of his unfairly girthed cock. 

He understands your incoherent babbles perfectly. “Fuck,” he growls, tip kissing your cervix, “I missed you, too. Missed this tight little cunt.”

You have to bite down on your knuckles to keep the animalistic sounds of pleasure at bay, as he fucks you. So often, this beautiful man makes love to you, slow and soft. This is not one of those times. 

If you could think, it would be about how loud the sound of his hard pelvis clapping against your soft ass is, as he chases that otherwise unobtainable high that only your cunt can bring—that he thought about every single minute he was gone…the reason he’s alive.

You’re sobbing from it all—the way he splits you open so perfectly, the tiny dark whispers of reassurance, the fact that he’s alive and well and all over and around you; big hand pressing your lower back down for better and deeper access inside your cunt.

The way he just knows, even in his own rough desperation, how to unravel you—make you see the cosmos and beyond, into the soupy blackness of unexplored universe. 

“You coming again, baby?” He doesn’t have to ask, because he knows you are, more than familiar with the way you unfold and shatter. 

“Y-yeah-huh.”

He puts you on your back with practiced gentleness, and cups your sweaty cheeks in his hands before sucking your bite-swollen lower lip into his mouth, managing to stay buried inside you through the easy transition, swallowing your whimpers while his cock works out the final flutters of your orgasm. 

“Oh, John,” you say, when he stops licking at your throat to allow the both of you some much-needed, panting breath. “F-fuck, John.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he says, brushing the sweaty hair off your temples and pecking tiny wet kisses over your face. “I gotcha, it’s okay. Johnny’s here. Open your pretty eyes, let me see you.” 

In a deep, stuttering thrust, when you clamp like a vice around him, he loses himself inside of you, and you are with him. Utterly overtaken, love burning through your blood, body singing in rapturous heavenly choir. This is as close to the pearly gates you will ever get, you think, as you float down from the high. 

There is a cut on his temple that you failed to notice, and you touch just below. “You got hurt.” 

“I’m better, now.” 

With him nestled beside you, arms wrapping around and sheltering your body with his own, legs supporting your bottom and cock still softening inside your cunt, you feel sleep creep back up like an old friend.

It isn’t long before he’s succumbed to it, himself, happily snoozing nestled in your hair. You don’t know what he’s been through in that long stretch of absence, but it doesn’t matter now. 

He’s here with you, and that’s enough.

[ataraxiaspainting]

Dreams Come True.

Yan Giorno x F Reader.

Synopsis: Giorno likes to hold you close sometimes in his dreams… and in his dreams alone, because the real you doesn’t let him. It’s fine though, he tells himself.

Warnings: Yandere themes, manipulation, and kidnapping.

Word Count: 1.5k.

*~*~*~*

There is a small door hidden behind Giorno’s vanity.

He does not reside in the master bedroom anymore–as he willingly chose to accommodate you with the privileges he no longer possesses. You’d make better use of it than he ever did, he thought. The once bare walls now have bookshelves all around, antiques sitting prettily up high on unreachable shelves, and there are soft piano sounds coming from the radio he gave you. Though if you ever wanted to learn piano yourself he would gladly hire a tutor for you, albeit one who has sworn a blood oath and has been a trusted staff member of his for years.

Giorno’s new bedroom is as empty as the last, with only writing utensils and piles upon piles of paper stacked on his sole desk, the trash can underneath be full of torn letters Giorno will have someone burn later. He has only dared to send you perhaps two letters, both of which were instantly sent back to whence they came. One of the letters was sent when you had first arrived here, being placed underneath the tiny slit between the floor and the door. It was past dinner time then, and since the guards stationed outside your quarters had heard no movement from inside your room, they had told the nearest butler that you were most likely asleep and would not be reading the letter until the morning.

Giorno had some second thoughts once he had heard the news, and nearly instantly wanted the letter to be rewritten, seeing it as an opportunity to fix mistakes visible to only him. That very butler opened the door with his assigned key and then saw you huddled in the corner covered by a blanket. The butler had asked if you had seen the letter on the floor, and you said you did not want to read it.

Very well, Miss [First].

The butler locked the door when he was done with his task, escorting the letter gently in his gloved palms like it was an esteemed guest.

Giorno tore the paper to shreds, throwing it into the trash can like the many others that had come before it. Dozens of them all written within a week, even though you hadn’t been here for nearly a day. Some are more eloquent than others. Some are just mere scribbles, signs of Giorno’s frustration at himself. If he could, he would have torn himself to shreds too. However, something in the back of his mind said that that was the coward’s way out, and if he were not here who else would be able to protect you?

No one. You’ll be all alone. A baby bird waiting for its mother to come back with worms. You’d chirp and chirp, desperate, but no one would help you. He can hear it now.

The second letter was sent just now, with the very same butler holding it gently in his hands. Giorno can hear the small heels of his shoes as he walks down the hall to the master bedroom. He looks at the vanity, choosing to ignore all of the clutter on it and instead pushing it toward the far right corner of the room. There the door was. It was dustier than when Giorno had seen it last, but he did not mind it in the slightest. 

The key to it was inside a copy of one of your favorite books. Chapter VIII, page 93. This part had one of your favorite quotes. Giorno knows it all too well, he spent day and night reading this novel again and again after all. 

“Oh yes,” said the other mother. “I put her in there myself. And when I found her trying to crawl out, I put her back.”

A rather grim quote you chose, but Giorno does not judge your interests.

The key is colder than the one used to open the door to your bedroom. It’s heavier and darker too. But it goes into the lock just as smoothly with a thunk.

The hallway beyond is dark. There is dust floating in the air, and a stinky, musty smell. 

Tucking his feet beneath him as he crawls, Giorno closes the door behind him. He doesn’t lock it, however. No one has ever seen where this corridor leads, and Giorno would rather die than have someone destroy his paradise.

Perhaps one day it will be yours too.

“I don’t want it.”

“Miss [First], while I do understand this situation has been less than acceptable for you, you must at least try to understand that the master has been attempting to be accommodating for you.” Giorno hears the butler say.

“I agree with Franz.” The head maid adds.

“I don’t care what you think,” You reply. Giorno can practically hear you gripping the skirt of your dress. “I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care. All of you can just go to hell.”

When Giorno places his right ear on the other side of the tiny corridor, he hears a slight squeak. It seems your vanity was not placed correctly, something he will have a servant remedy soon. Its purpose is supposed to be the same as Giorno’s; to keep this sacred place hidden from you until it is time.

“That isn’t very kind. If you really cannot read this letter at the moment, it shall be placed on your writing desk, and you will read it by tomorrow night. Is this a fair arrangement?”

“Just what part of that is fair?”

Someone sighed then. Giorno is unsure as to who made the sound. The butler and you? You and the head maid? There are infinite possibilities for that very question. It lingers at the back of his mind, yearning to be scratched.

He hears your door close, and that is the very signal he needs. He crawls back through the tunnel to his bedroom and locks the entrance with the very same key. The key retreats to page 93 once again. Giorno then places it on the highest shelf. His mission is accomplished.

“Did you hear everything, Master?” The butler asks through Giorno’s bedroom door. “I can catch you up on details if that is not the case if that is alright with you.”

“Yes, I did. Grazie.”

He hears the butler’s shoes clacking as he leaves this part of the mansion.

He, in turn, sighs.

“Master,” A high-pitched voice calls, accompanied by a soft knock. “I brought you your dinner.”

Giorno does not respond. Instead, he sits on the chair beside his writing desk. His eyes meet the ceiling. There are images of clouds, rainbows, and most importantly cherubs, their bright red cheeks and happy smiles stirring something from within him. 

He wants what they have. Pure joy.

But because of that, Giorno considers hiring someone to repaint the ceiling.

“Master?”

Giorno closes his eyes, not wanting to see the bleak reality anymore.

“Master?” A male voice asks, knocking on the door louder than the woman. “Master? Are you alright? Clervie brought you your supper. It is your favorite. Spaghetti al nero di seppia.”

Giorno lets his imagination run free within the depths of his mind. He sees you kissing his cheek, and him kissing yours. He sees you two huddling by the fireplace during the winter months with hot cups of tea. He sees you looking outside the dining room’s largest window to see the stars and moon. He sees himself watching you, not willing to break the peaceful image.

He is truly unworthy of you, that much is true. But if he is unworthy of you, everyone else is just more unworthy than he is.

“Master? Are you alright? Do you want Clervie to come back later?”

Giorno speaks up, slouching forward in his seat. “I’m sorry, but I am just not hungry at the moment.”

The butler hums. “Alright… then have a good night, Master.”

“You too, Franz.” He answers. “And… you too, Clervie.”

When they leave, Giorno relaxes once more in his chair. Little by little, the surrounding sounds vanish. They are replaced with auras fading from black to blue to pink and then to teal. He starts snoring a few moments later. Absolute bliss for someone who has been stressed out for weeks on end.

“...[First]...”

The last thing he sensed from the real world was the candle on his desk, smelling like a warm day on the beach.

It isn’t an easy time going back into consciousness. Those same auras Giorno saw with his eyes closed are still there when he arises from his slumber. Black. Blue. Pink. Teal. If it had been a pleasant dream, perhaps Giorno would have even found it beautiful.

He rubs his eyes. “Ugh…”

The first thing he recognizes in his vision is the pictures of you on the vanity, still out of place from hours before. He remembers nothing of his dream, as always. That is, aside from one thing. Your voice, for once soft and focused on him.

I love you.

“Hm…” He grumbles. 

“Master?” The second thing he recognizes is Franz’s signature knock. “It’s urgent. [First] has–”

With the sound of your name, Giorno rises quicker than someone coming back from the dead.

[bruhstories]

Muse III

p.1 && p.2

minors dni

summary: one way or another, the inevitable happens - circumstances force you to talk to viktor

pairing: viktor x painter!reader

warnings: some angst, swearing, super slow burn, p with plot?? unprotected p in v, kind of creampie, reader on top, fluff, comfort, afab!reader with she/her pronouns, some mentions of y/n (i think maybe once), canon divergent, bickering and banter

w/c: 6k...

a/n: there we go, the series is now complete! i do hope you all enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it! liking and reblogging are encouraged! thank you for being on this journey with me haha

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The constant ticking of the clock irked Viktor and he pinched the bridge of his nose. The downside of becoming a professor were the exams — sitting down, waiting, wasting hours was unproductive. He could've taught, could've researched, could've experimented with new elements. Instead, he was stuck in a classroom with a handful of students who looked like they were about to shit themselves.

And then there was you. In the back of the room, watching said students like a hawk, circling them like a predator, like you wanted to catch at least one of them cheating. He hadn't spoken to you since the academic year started — two months and two weeks, to be precise.

Viktor tapped his cane, impatiently counting the minutes until the exam was over. It felt like an eternity, watching the sand in the hourglass flowing ever so slowly. The thought of counting each particle of sand amused him. It probably would've been the most productive thing in the past hour.

The sudden noise of a book being dropped caught his attention. Viktor got up from his chair, but you were already at the source. Some little shit thought he could cheat his way through the semester, but not with you there.

"Get out." You told the student, your rigid voice reverberating in the classroom.

"Professor, please-"

"Get out of my classroom." You repeated, eyes burning holes into the poor student's head.

Trembling with fear, he gathered his belongings, tripping on his way out. You just knew the gossip that would start around the campus about you being a bitch, a horrible teacher, the worst he'd ever seen. But you only had one single rule — no cheating. That was it. You allowed your students to eat during your lessons, to call you by your first name, to approach you with any issues they had, whether academic or not. But you did not tolerate cheating.

No one dared to move until the end of the exam, and even Viktor was shaken by your hostility. He remembered you so differently, still visualising how you knelt between his legs to take off his brace, and how sweet your scent used to be whenever you visited him in the laboratory. But now you built metaphorical walls around yourself, changed your clothes, your hair, even your perfume — jasmine, bergamot, musk. Anything but sweet. And Viktor couldn't help but blame himself for that.

The grandfather clock in the classroom struck once, and every single student put their quills down. No one wanted to get on your bad side. Still watching them intently from the back of the classroom, they gathered their belongings quietly and placed their papers on Viktor's desk on their way out. With the last student out, you walked up to the desk and counted half of the papers, stacking them in a separate pile.

"Can we talk?" Viktor caved in. He couldn't stand seeing you like that anymore.

"Here's your stack of exams." You ignored his question. "I'll mark my part, then drop them off at your lab once I'm done. Tomorrow or the day after."

"Of course. I shall try to finish them as quickly as-" He watched you leave, hips swaying as you walked out the door without even saying goodbye. "-possible."

There was no denying that Viktor found your attitude insufferable, albeit it being his fault. He misunderstood you, he got that now. But you refused to give him a chance to explain himself, to apologise, and that drove him mad. The worst part? He couldn't blame you. You basically saved his life, and he repaid you with disdain. Viktor would've probably done the same if the roles were reverse, really.

You walked back to your apartment with the papers neatly organised in a leather bag, careful not mix them with other files and textbooks. The air was getting colder, winter was approaching, and you rushed to get home before the wind froze you to death. You appreciated the warmth of your apartment more than ever, and began marking the papers as soon as you took off your coat and boots.

Thinking back at how you reacted when you caught that boy cheating, you began to consider it might have been too harsh. He still had the chance to retake the exam in summer, but you scared him shitless, you could see that in his eyes. And you didn't want to be the bad professor. You didn't want Viktor to be the good one. The mere idea of him being loved by students while you were hated by them made you cringe.

No, you needed a different approach, one that wouldn't compromise your position at the Academy, or your title of Master of Arts. You needed to kill them, and especially Viktor, with kindness. But you only had two options to be able to do that. You could tell Viktor you got over whatever happened in the lab last year, which was unlikely that he would believe you, or you could actually talk to him about whatever happened in the lab last year, which was highly improbable of you to do.

Okay, so maybe being a spiteful bitch was the way to move forward, only it wouldn't work on the long run. Not when the exams were half science, half arts, and you needed to speak to Viktor about them. Or when the curriculum needed to be revised, and you needed to speak to Viktor about that, too. Or when there were staff meetings, or half term parties, or social gatherings.

The bottom line was that, one way or another, you would end up in a situation which required you to speak to him more than just hellos and goodbyes, and the longer you avoided him, the harder your life would be. And what could you even say? Sorry? Fuck no. Viktor was supposed to apologise, not you.

True to your word, like you had always been, you visited the lab to drop off the papers. Some things stayed the same — same doors, same walls, same floors. But there was something new within the laboratory, something you did not expect. A woman.

She smiled at you, a sickening sweet smile that made you gag, but out of politeness, you nodded, acknowledging her presence. Her tight curls were neatly gathered in a top bun, and she pushed back her half-moon glasses that hid the freckles on her cheeks.

"Hi." You clutched the exam papers at your chest. "Is Viktor here? I need to give him something. "

"He should be back any minute now. I can give him whatever it is you need." She still smiled.

"No, I can wait."

Why? Why did you say that? You could've given her the damn papers and left. You and your stupid mouth. Silence echoed in the lab as you shifted your weight from one leg to another, impatiently glancing at the door in the hopes that Viktor arrived sooner. She, on the other hand, tidied up the place, careful to not throw away anything useful, organising tools and materials that belonged to him. You knew Viktor didn't like it when others touched his stuff, so why was she just casually picking things up like she lived there?

"And you are?" The words came out before you could stop them.

"Oh, silly me, where are my manners?" She shook her head and walked towards you, a hand reached out to shake yours. "Sky Young. I'm Viktor and Jayce's assistant."

"Assistant?" You nodded, stunned by the newfound information. Since when did Viktor need an assistant? "Y/N Y/L/N, Master of Arts." You shook her hand, gripping it a little too tight for her own liking.

"Ah, you're the painter who saved Viktor's life!" Sky looked at you in awe. "I used to be his nurse. Whatever you did baffled the medical community! I became his assistant to help around, but to study him as well."

Study him? You studied him for your portrait, that didn't earn you a spot in his lab. Why was she any better?

"How... nice." The fake smile on your lips betrayed the jealousy in your heart. "On second thought, you can give him these papers. There's no need for me to be here."

"Are you sure? Vik should be here any minute now." Sky's nod of encouragement only added fuel to your desire to leave.

Vik?? They were on a nickname basis now? Bullshit, she wasn't just his assistant.

"I'm sure. I need to prepare the lectures for next term anyway. I don't suppose you know if he finished marking his part of the papers?" You kept your cool.

"He did, actually! Let me get them for you." The girl rushed into an annex of the lab and came back with the stack of exams.

You took a quick look through them to make sure they were all marked, so you wouldn’t need to come back, and shoved them in your bag.

"Thanks."

"No problem! What you are doing is groundbreaking! If there's anything I can assist with, please let me know!" Sky smiled.

Okay, you got it — she was nice and you weren't. Was that how she got under Viktor's skin? By being insufferably nice and sweet? It didn't matter. She was there, in the lab, working with him. And you? You went back to your apartment, alone and upset.

Viktor spent his holiday revising the curriculum for the next term. While Sky was a brilliant assistant, she could be quite overwhelming sometimes. He learned his lesson about not assuming that anyone who treated him with an ounce of respect wanted to secretly mock him, but he forgot about boundaries. As a consequence, Sky waltzed into his lab every day, talking, singing, bringing him food, coffee, tea — Viktor took your silence for granted. He missed that.

He missed you.

Snow crunched under his feet, each step heavier than the previous one. Viktor should've known better than to go to the Academy during a blizzard, but he needed to return a few books back to the library and to write down the grades in the register. Sky offered to do that for him, but there were personal details about his students that she wasn't allowed to see.

He locked the back door to the staff entrance once he was inside the Academy, wiped the snow off his brace and boots, and walked straight to the library. It was hauntingly quiet and dark, and although he appreciated silence, the empty hallways of the University gave him anxiety. Viktor was a rational man, he knew there was nothing there, but the lack of students and staff simply sent a chill down his spine.

With the books returned, he traversed the library and walked downstairs to the staffroom. He would have to write down the grades quickly — the blizzard was getting worse, and the last thing he wanted was to be stuck in an empty University for who knows how long. It would be ironic, poetic even, to die of starvation in a place where he starved for knowledge.

The door to the staffroom was ajar, and the lights were on. Strange, he didn't think anyone else was there. Not in this weather, anyway. Pushing the door open with his cane, Viktor froze on the spot when he saw you sitting down, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, forehead creased as you copied the grades into the register. He would never get another opportunity like that. He needed to finally clear things out with you.

"Hello-"

The wooden chair fell to the floor as you recoiled in fear, one hand on your thumping heart. You sighed in relief when you saw Viktor standing in the doorframe, the panic stronger than the hate you held for him.

"For fuck's sake, Viktor." You grabbed the chair to put it back in its place and sit down. "You scared the shit out of me."

He wasn't used to your colourful vocabulary, not when you posed as an elegant, educated professor. But he couldn't deny the joy it brought him to hear you say his name.

"My apologies, I didn't mean to startle you." Viktor propped himself on his cane.

"No, it's fine. What are you doing here?" Averting your gaze, you looked down at the register.

"I came to return some books and register the grades. I see you're doing the same."

"Yes, well, no rest for the wicked, I suppose." You shrugged. "Why in this awful weather, though?"

"I thought you'd do it when the term started and I didn't want you to feel obliged to speak to me then." Viktor said.

Ouch. His words made you feel horrible. You had been horrible to him. It was a deserved jab at your behaviour and attitude.

"I can come back later-"

"Don't." You almost launched yourself across the table. "You walked all this way in a snow storm, don't leave because of me. If anything, I should leave."

"Eeh, we've both been pricks." Viktor shrugged.

There it was, the crucial, inevitable conversation you dreaded for so long. The one that kept you up at night and stopped you from functioning. The one that would make or break you.

"Listen, Viktor, I-"

"I'm sorry." He cut you off. Taking advantage of your shock, Viktor pulled a chair and sat down, his leg hurting too much to stand. "There's no excuse for the way I reacted, but you must understand that I haven't met a lot of people who genuinely wanted what was best for me. Most people either mocked me or pitied me for my disability. No one really saw past that, with very few exceptions, like Jayce or Heimerdinger."

Shit, you didn't think about why he reacted the way he did. You just assumed he had a god complex and thought your art wasn't comparable to his science. You really took it the wrong way, and drowned him in pettiness and loathing. How could you not think he must've been bullied his whole life? Just because you saw past his illness didn't mean others did. Oh, you were an idiot.

"You don't need to apologise, I need to. I just thought you considered art to be beneath science, and by extension that I was beneath you." You cringed at your own ignorance.

"Why would I ever think that?"

"I don't know, I've been stupid, alright?" You scoffed. "I'm sorry, Viktor. Peace?"

"Peace. Do you mind if I register these exams? That snow storm looks terrible and I’d like to finish before it gets worse." He took out the papers from his bag.

"Not at all! I'll make us some tea, it's bloody cold in here."

When you turned on the stove, Viktor dragged his chair next to yours, and your heart skipped a beat. Rationally, you knew he did it so you could both access the register, but the idea of sitting so close to him gave you heart palpitations. You stirred the honey in his tea, and you smiled to yourself at the memory of you doing the same thing a year ago, when you were in his lab. Who knew you would do it again?

"There you go." You placed two mugs on the table and sat down.

The scent of roses, cinnamon and vanilla filled his nostrils, and Viktor couldn't think anymore. It was the same perfume you wore when you spent time in the laboratory, when you put all your blood, sweat and tears into his portrait. He wondered if wore the other perfume, the one that didn't suit you as much, just to spite him? No. Surely you weren't that petty. But if you did, it stroked his ego to know you cared so much. And just like you did in the lab, you jotted down the grades in complete silence, both of you focused, and so close to one another. It felt normal, and he realised how much he needed your presence around him.

Between writing and sipping tea, you occasionally glanced at Viktor's profile, and it sparked something within you — a burning desire to sketch. He didn't know, but you finished registering the exams a while back, and reached out for a pencil and a scrap piece of paper. Your other hand shielded the lines and circles that began to take shape and look more like him, and as inconspicuous as you tried to be, it was futile.

"I know you're drawing me."

"Damn it!" You huffed.

The staffroom echoed with your laughter, and how could you not laugh? It was such an innocent moment between the two of you that both you and Viktor found it amusing. You really couldn't stop yourself from drawing him — your muse. But all good things had to come to an end, and Viktor finished writing down the last grade in the register. You didn't know why, but the idea of having to go home left you feeling hurt.

You walked with him down the dim hallway and unlocked the back door, but were unable to open it. Something was in its way. Viktor looked out the window, amber eyes wide in genuine panic. When he didn't say anything, you scoffed and moved in his way to try and look outside, but you couldn't see anything but white. The thick snow was blocking the door. You were effectively stuck. One more push, and the door didn’t budge. Another push, and you hurt yourself more than you moved the door.

"Well, looks like we're going to have to dig our way home." You mused.

"You're joking. We'll freeze to death!" Viktor leaned again the window for support.

"I don't see you coming up with a better idea, Mr. Scientist."

"Oh, and digging through snow was your master plan?" He snorted. "I'm sure me and my leg are going to make it back home safely."

"What would you rather do, then, if you're so clever?" You folded your arms across your chest. "Go on, genius."

"We can just... wait for it to end." Viktor pondered. It was definitely better than going out in the cold, and you hated to admit that he was right.

"Ugh, fine. But it's getting late and it doesn't look like it's going to stop any time soon. We need to find a place to sleep in."

"My office has a sofa. I can sleep on the floor." He suggested and you stared at him in shock and disbelief.

"Office? You have an office? All I got was a fucking closet."

"Well, I was the Dean's assistant." Viktor chuckled.

You didn't reply, for fear of saying something you might regret later, and instead huffed, puffed and stomped up the stairs, trailing behind Viktor like a lost puppy. That part of the University was foreign to you, and you stopped to examine the portraits of some members of staff — Professor Heimerdinger had one, Jayce had one, Viktor had one, but whoever painted it couldn't capture his real grace.

"Hm, I could do this with my eyes closed." You judged the technique, the colours, the proportions. It was a fantastic portrait, it just missed Viktor's essence.

"Is it not up to your standards, Miss Painter?" He tapped his cane. You got the hint and carried on walking.

"No, the painting itself is fine, but it didn't do justice to your beauty." You said with so much nonchalance that it made Viktor short of breath.

Did you really think that about him? You probably meant it as a painter — most artists found beauty in ugliness, or in the mundane. But there was no possible way you meant it as a woman, not when you were so perfect and he was so broken.

Viktor stopped in front of an oak door with a thin tinted window in the middle of it. He pulled out a set of keys, all of them identical, but he knew exactly which one unlocked his office. Curiosity got the better of you, and with inquisitive eyes, you began examining his study. The first thing that caught your attention was the bearskin rug on the floor. A bit distasteful, you thought, but it looked soft enough to sleep on it. In front of you was a brown velvet sofa, and to your right was a fireplace. The mantle was decorated with trophies from competitions and a picture of Viktor and Jayce, which brought a smile to your face.

On the other side of the office, across the fireplace, was his desk — a few papers were scattered on it, but otherwise it was tidy — and behind it were a bookcase and a wardrobe.

"What's there?" You asked, head tilted towards a door.

"The shower."

"You have a shower, too? I'm sorry, do you live here, fancy pants?" Your reaction to his answer made Viktor chuckle, but he had a perfectly reasonable explanation for that.

"Eeh, Professor Heimerdinger found that some of us spent so much time buried in work that he had showers and toilets installed. They're powered by hextech, so regardless of the weather, there's hot water. Feel free to use it if you want." He shrugged, hanging his coat by the back of his desk chair.

"There's only one problem, Mr. Scientist. I don't have any spare clothes." You saw the grin on his lips. "Don't tell me you have that, too."

"Plenty of clean shirts in the wardrobe. Please help yourself to one." Viktor nodded.

"Wouldn't your girlfriend mind if I wore your clothes?" The hint of jealousy in your voice betrayed your nonchalance.

"Girlfriend?" He looked at you dumbfounded. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

"Come on. Pretty girl with glasses and freckles and a sickeningly sweet smile? Sky?"

"Ah, Miss Young!" Viktor remembered. "I'm sorry to disappoint, but she's not my girlfriend."

It did not disappoint you at all. In fact, it made you hopeful. You weren't sure what you were hoping for, but it felt as though a boulder had been lifted off your shoulders to know that Viktor wasn't involved with Sky.

"Very well. I shall take that offer, then. A shower will warm me up." You walked up the wardrobe and examined the collection of identical shirts. "I suggest you do the same, you shouldn't stay cold." You chose a top that looked a little bigger than the rest, as you didn't want it to be too tight and uncomfortable around your chest.

"I'll start a fire for us, then. The office should warm up by the time you're finished." Viktor dragged his feet to the fireplace.

You thanked him and entered the bathroom, searching through cabinets and drawers for a clean towel. You found one and brought it to the shower, then stripped down and let the hot water clean your body. There was nothing wrong in what you were doing, right? You were two professors stuck in a university until the snow storm settled down. Nothing wrong with taking a shower. Nothing wrong with scrubbing your skin with his body wash. Nothing wrong with drying yourself with his towel. Nothing wrong with wearing his shirt. It was just a professional predicament, nothing more, nothing less.

Gathering your belongings, you exited the bathroom, tugging at the hem of the shirt to cover your thighs. It was shorter than you had hoped, but you knew Viktor was an honourable man. He understood the situation you were both in and it wasn't as though he would jump your bones. Mostly because he didn't like you, and while that comforted you, it hurt your ego. He was an attractive man, and his mind was complex and intriguing — of course you had certain feelings for him. You didn't entirely understand those feelings — respect, admiration, adoration, leftover spite. It was an amalgam of emotions and you didn't have time to process them because you spent a whole year being a bitch.

Viktor's heart throbbed when he saw you awkwardly pull down his shirt to expose less skin, even if it was to no avail. He pretended not to notice your bare thighs and how tight his shirt was around your chest, the buttons barely keeping your breasts from spilling out of it. He poked the fire instead, and you walked around the desk in the hopes that it would cover your lower body.

"I don't suppose you have a blanket I could cover myself with."

"I only have one blanket." Viktor said, back facing you to give you privacy. "Top shelf in the wardrobe. You can use it tonight, I'll sleep in my coat."

"Absolutely not." You stretched, tiptoeing to reach the shelf and he could not stop his head from turning, eyes darting at the shirt that did nothing to cover your lace underwear as you struggled to grab the blanket. "We'll sleep on the rug, back-to-back."

If Viktor didn't know any better, he would've thought you did everything you could to get closer to him. But that was just his imagination. He had no chance to be with you, and understood you were only trying to protect him from the cold. You snatched the blanket and wrapped it around your body, and while it irked him that he couldn't see the skin he would never touch, Viktor found the way you looked all snuggled up to be adorable. It was a stark contrast from the heartless mask you wore for so long.

He left to take a shower, and you guarded the fireplace, cast iron poker in one hand like some knight of flames. The blizzard wasn't getting any better, and the darkness of the night coupled with the snow made it impossible to tell when it would stop. One thing was certain — you were grateful you brought food, and enough for both you and Viktor. Who knew how long you would be stuck there for? Surely Jayce would come looking for Viktor considering he wouldn't be in his lab any time soon.

A great friend he was, you thought. Not just to Viktor, but to you, too. It was Jayce who forced you to draw again, who managed to get you out of the house and who brought some sort of stability in your life. You should thank him at some point. Him and Mel. Things were somewhat back to normal, and it wasn't because of you, but because of them and Viktor.

As if he knew you were thinking about him, Viktor walked into his office, wearing only a pair of loose linen trousers that barely clung to his waist. Beads of water glistened on his pale chest and a few strands of wet hair stuck to his flushed cheeks. You assumed he would put a shirt on, but instead he crawled on the bearskin rug, wincing at the pain caused by his leg, even if it wasn't as bad as it used to be.

You reached out for the leather strap of your bag and pulled it into your lap, taking out the bread you baked that very morning. Breaking it in two, you offered one half to Viktor, who eagerly took it.

"We make a good team, don't you think?" He said and you looked at him with inquisitive eyes. "I provide shelter, you provide food."

"We even make a whole outfit together. You have the pants, I have the shirt." You joked and Viktor rolled his eyes at your attempt of a joke, but his smile was there.

With food in your bellies and the fire dying down, you lied on your back and pulled the blanket over you and Viktor. You could still vaguely distinguish the patterns on the ceiling in the dim light — leaves and vines, flowers and curved lines.

"Back-to-back, yeah?" You told him, turning on your side.

"Yes." Viktor murmured, doing the same.

In the silence of the night, he could hear his own heart pumping blood through his veins. Viktor could've sworn he heard your hear beat, frantically thumping against your ribcage, but he blamed it on his imagination again. You were probably sound asleep, dreaming the sweetest dreams.

You weren't sleeping, you were staring into the darkness of his office, eyes wide and refusing to stay closed. There wasn't an ounce of tiredness in your body, but you thought Viktor had already fallen asleep, and didn't want to bother him with late night conversations about the meaning of life.

His left side was going numb from the pressure of his weight, pins and needles in his arm and shoulder. Viktor sighed, uncomfortably sighing at the sensation. He turned on his back, feeling better already. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, vaguely distinguishing the shapes around him. He raised his head to look at the fireplace — the last thing he wanted was to set fire to the Academy. His mind spiralled, thinking about the next term, about the work he still had to do in the lab, about how his interactions with you would be from now on. Viktor was so used to you ignoring him that he couldn't even imagine you smiling and greeting him in the morning.

"Are you sleeping?" You whispered, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"No, not really." He said. "I don't feel tired."

"Me neither." You turned on your back and faced the ceiling.

"What happened to back-to-back?" Viktor playfully mocked you.

"I got pins and needles in my arm." You admitted. "Can I ask you something?"

"You already did."

"Oh, wow, okay, fuck off." You frowned in the darkness and he laughed.

"I'm only joking. You can ask me anything."

"Would you model for me? I swear on my life I'm not making fun of y-"

"Yes." Viktor cut you off with no hesitation in his voice. "If that will make you happy, then yes.

"Oh. Since when do you care about my happiness?" You laughed, hoping he was jesting, praying he would say something witty.

"Since I lost you." Came his all too serious response, enough to make your blood freeze in your body.

He meant that platonically. He must've meant it platonically. There was no way in hell Viktor cared for you more than a friend, not after the way you treated him. You waited for him to chuckle, to say he didn't mean it that way, but he was quiet. Only one way to find out how he meant his words.

His breathing was heavy, like he had a weight on his chest stopping him from functioning properly, and Viktor flinched when he felt your hand touch his under the blanket. He brushed it off as an accident, until your pinky found his, hooking around it.

"I'm here now." You told him, voice sweet and soothing. "If you'll still have me."

Viktor boldly intertwined his fingers with yours, and you could feel your cheeks burning. But friends held hands, didn't they? It wasn't out of the ordinary. The room was getting colder, and the thin blanket barely offered you any warmth. When your body shivered, Viktor dared to scoot closer to you, his body radiating heat. How was he so hot when he looked so pale?

"Do you want me to hold you?" He asked — platonically, of course.

You didn't reply, but instead crawled under his arm, resting your head on his chest, feeling his frantic heart beats. Friends did that, didn't they? Particularly in such a situation that required you not to freeze.

"I missed you so much." Viktor confessed, burying his face in your hair. You smelled less of you and more of him, and it drove him mad. You were so close, and so far at the same time that his heart almost exploded in his chest from the overwhelming emotions.

"Missed you too." You mumbled, intoxicated by his scent and warmth. "I don't ever want to be a petty bitch to you."

"I promise I won't give you any reason to be one." He smiled into your hair. "Although I must admit, it was quite exciting."

"Mm, how so?" You looked up at him, even if you could barely distinguish his features in the pale moonlight.

"Well, as frustrating as you were, I really wanted to put you in your place." Viktor purred, fingers combining your hair. "I still do."

There was nothing platonic about his words, nothing platonic about the way he held you, and nothing platonic about how you lifted your leg to straddle him, hovering over his body.

"So do it, then. Put me in my fucking place."

His hand slithered behind your head, pulling you into a wet, feverish kiss with newfound strength. Toes curling, you let out a guttural moan, grinning against his lips — you needed him, not as a muse, not as a model, but as a man.

Viktor's hands travelled up your thighs, up your hips, pulling the shirt over your head. There was no time for foreplay — he wanted you, and he wouldn't stop until he had you. With the shirt tossed on the floor, you leaned back for another kiss, another taste of him, and he gladly obliged.

The room wasn't cold anymore, not when you could feel him hard against your clothed cunt, and you automatically rolled your hips, aching for any bit of friction.

"So needy." Viktor's lips curved into a grin, and he dug his fingers into the plush of your thighs, earning a whimper from you.

"Not needy." You shook your head and pouted. "Greedy."

He couldn't see the lust in your eyes, but he felt your hand slip between your bodies, under the fabric of his trousers as you tugged on the waistband, yanking it down. That same hand found his cock, fingers gently wrapping around his shaft and Viktor bucked his hips, yearning for much more than just your fist.

"So needy." You mocked his words, and he found your panties, sliding them to the side.

"Greedy." Viktor corrected you, his digits poking at your entrance, slick coating them.

Lifting yourself to manoeuvre his aching cock, you pushed his fingers away to slip the tip inside of you. Inch by inch, you sunk lower, feeling him stretch your spongy walls. He was bigger than you had anticipated, and you sat there for a good minute to get used to the girth, hissing at the pain caused by the intrusion. It had been a while since you did this.

"Tight." Viktor bit back a moan, struggling not to move — he wanted you to take the lead when you were ready. Perhaps skipping foreplay wasn't such a good idea.

You placed a hand on his chest for support, slowly rolling your hips, his cock reaching deeper than you thought was possible. It was no easy feat taking him all in, but what little stinging pain you felt was soon replaced by pleasure, and the hissing turned into whimpering, weeping.

Viktor was on the verge of a panic attack when he heard your quiet sobs, almost pushing you off him until you bounced up and down his cock, riding him like it was the last time you would see him.

"Fuck- oh, fuck, Vik-" You broke when he held you in place by your hips, fucking you deeper, harder, and you were pliant for him. Obedient for him. Good for him.

Viktor wouldn't last long, not when you chanted his name like a prayer, cunt clenching around his cock. You were made to take him, he thought, his hand on the back of your head pulling you into another sloppy kiss.

"I'm close-" He shamefully admitted, wanting this moment to last forever, but his stamina was weak, and you didn't want to push his body over the limit.

Your fingers reached out for your clit rubbing frantic circles over it to help you climax. Not that his cock couldn't do that, but you could feel it twitching inside of you. He lost himself when your orgasm crashed down like a tide, having the privilege of finishing inside of you. Your body was limp as you struggled to get off him, falling backwards on the rug, his fingers firmly wrapped around yours.

The silence in the office wasn't haunting anymore, but rather peaceful, natural. You didn't feel the need to fill it with meaningless conversations, or petty bickering, or silly jokes. No, it felt good just lying there next to Viktor, holding hands and breathing. Two lost souls — mind and heart, logic and feeling, science and art — coexisting, completing each other, fusing with one another to create something so delicate — love.

[act-nat-ural]

@madlyney: Hii! Hope your day’s been good!! Could I request for smth cute with Akaashi Keiji? Preferably in a time skip!

word count: 883

The warm, inviting scent of old paper and freshly printed pages filled the quiet bookstore, where the soft hum of distant music made the atmosphere all the cozier. You had wandered in during a rainy afternoon, hoping to find a peaceful escape from the downpour outside. You pulled a few novels from the shelf, their bright covers and intriguing titles inviting you in, and you tucked them under your arm as you navigated your way through the aisles, looking for a place to sit and start reading.

But as you moved toward the quiet reading nook, a catastrophe struck.

A precarious stack of books beside you teetered dangerously. Before you could catch it, the entire pile tumbled forward, scattering across the floor with a loud thud. You cringed at the sound, knowing you had disrupted the peace of the little bookstore.

Embarrassment flushed your cheeks as you quickly crouched down, gathering the fallen books and trying to make as little noise as possible. But as you reached for a particularly heavy hardcover, another hand appeared beside yours, picking it up before you could.

You looked up to see a young man with dark hair, a calm expression, and intense deep blue eyes. He was tall and well-dressed, with a hint of curiosity in his gaze. The stranger didn’t say a word, only offering a small smile as he handed you the book.

“Thank you,” you managed to mumble, your cheeks still burning. You took the book from him and started stacking it with the others, but he didn’t leave. Instead, he crouched down beside you, silently helping you collect the scattered volumes.

Once you were both finished, you stood, brushing imaginary dust from your knees. “I’m so sorry for disturbing everyone,” you said, giving him an apologetic smile.

The young man shook his head slightly. “No need to apologize. These things happen.” His voice was soft but steady, calming in a way that put you a little more at ease. He set the last book back in its place with a careful precision, as though handling something fragile.

“Thank you again,” you said, feeling a bit flustered under his calm gaze. “I didn’t mean to cause such a scene.”

“Not at all.” He looked at you with a faint glimmer of amusement. “Most people don’t take the time to put them all back the way you did. It’s nice to see someone who cares.”

You offered a sheepish smile, trying to brush off the compliment, but something about the way he looked at you—so quietly attentive—made you feel as if he genuinely appreciated it. His eyes drifted to the books you held, and he tilted his head just slightly. “You have good taste,” he remarked, gesturing to the novels in your arms.

You laughed a little, surprised by his insight. “Thanks. I’m trying to catch up on my reading list before school starts up again.”

“Studying literature?” he guessed, his expression curious yet respectful.

“Yeah. I’m actually majoring in English lit,” you replied, feeling your shoulders relax as the conversation flowed naturally. “I just transferred here, so I’m still getting used to everything. It’s kind of overwhelming.”

He nodded, as if he understood. “New places can feel like that,” he said. “But if you need any help navigating, I’m familiar with the area. I’d be happy to show you around.”

“Oh, really? That would be amazing, actually. I’ve been a little lost since I got here,” you admitted, laughing a bit at your own expense. “Thank you…?”

“Akaashi,” he said, extending a hand. “Akaashi Keiji. And it’s no trouble at all.”

You shook his hand, feeling a faint warmth in his gentle grip. “Thank you, Akaashi. I’m (Name).”

His smile softened, as if he were pleased to finally put a name to your face. “Nice to meet you, (Name).”

The two of you spent the next few minutes talking about the campus, your favorite genres, and the nearby coffee shop that, according to Akaashi, had the best pastries in town. His voice was calm, soothing, and he seemed genuinely interested in everything you had to say. There was a natural ease in the conversation, as if you’d known each other far longer than the few minutes you’d actually spent together.

“Do you have a favorite book?” he asked eventually, his expression thoughtful.

You pondered for a moment, then named a title that was close to your heart, watching as his eyes lit up. “I’ve read that one too. It’s incredible,” he agreed, and his genuine enthusiasm only made you want to talk to him more. “It’s rare to find someone who appreciates it.”

“Well, I’m glad I ran into you, then,” you said with a smile, feeling a bit bolder.

The afternoon drifted by as you chatted, completely lost in conversation, the awkwardness of your first encounter melting into an unexpected connection. Finally, after checking the time, you both headed out together, agreeing to meet up sometime soon for coffee and maybe a little campus tour.

As you stepped outside, the rain had finally stopped, leaving the world fresh and shimmering under a gray sky. Akaashi walked beside you, and you felt a little more grounded, a little less out of place, knowing that someone was there to help you find your way.

note: almost forgot to post this ngl….

[just-a-creep-babe]

A Demon’s Ache — Part 19

Eyeless Jack x Reader

A Demon's Ache Masterlist

Dedicated to @cookiereblogss --- tysm for all the support you've provided, this series wouldn't be here without you <333

Requests are closed but commissions are open!

Masterlist: x

Just like always, parting from you is difficult

He’s helped you clean up after everything’s been said and done, but even then, he just can’t bring himself to leave

He doesn’t want to abandon the warmth of your body, doesn’t want to abandon the indulgence of your scent surrounding him

And he can almost trick himself into believing it’s mutual

Your gaze lingers on him for a split second longer than usual, and your lips part, almost as if you want to say something

Jack’s never really been a religious man, but he’d pray to every god under the sun if it meant you’d stay with him

Tell me to stay, tell me you want me as badly as I want you

But then you press your lips back together, like you’ve reconsidered your words, and part of his black heart shrivels up and dies just a little bit more

“I should get back to my room,” you say, and when you bite your lip as you say it, all he can think about is kissing you until you’re both dizzy all over again

He swallows thickly, nodding

He wants to say something, but he can’t think of the right words

Tension mounts, filling the sparse distance between you

He can’t bring himself to move

And, from the very first moment he met you, he’s almost always felt like there was something pulling him towards you

But right now, that feeling’s amplified tenfold, and God, the mere thought of parting from you is nauseating

More

All he can think about is how badly he wants more of you

He’s so fucking hopeless

He’s about to lean in to kiss you again, acting purely on some base impulse within him

But then, you blink, as if snapping yourself out of some trance

And you mumble out an excuse, turn away, and leave him behind again

He has to fight every ounce of his being screaming at him to follow you

A few minutes later, he’s lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying his hardest not to think about going to your room

It’s pointless, he knows it is

With one final breath, he sighs, summons the willpower to get up, and tries to find a way to make himself useful

He avoids the hallway that leads to your room, instead opting to take the longer route to the library

Doing research is going to help keep his mind off things, he thinks

Well, it’s either going to distract him, or make things even worse by reminding him of what he did to you

But, at this point, he’s willing to try almost anything to stop overthinking

The warm smell of old books greets him as he enters the familiar room

Rows and rows of imposingly large bookshelves press up against the walls, each of them holding hundreds of colourful books—novels, encyclopedias, bibliographies, scientific studies—whatever topic you could possibly want to read about is kept in this very room

Despite being what could almost be considered the “heart” of the mansion, however, it’s almost always empty

And today is no exception

Jack takes in a deep breath, enjoying the honeyed scent of aged paper and the intimacy of the large empty space

He takes a second to orient himself amongst the rows of information, and then it doesn’t take long for him to find the section on all things demonic anatomy

As soon as he gets settled into his research, he doesn’t notice the time going by

And every time his thoughts drift back to you, he forces his attention back to the task at hand

All he allows himself to focus on are the paragraphs upon paragraphs explaining the compositions of demons

Mating rituals, sexual reproduction, anatomical differences, cultural and generational distinguishers—

He knew the demonic world was complex, but he never realized just how complex it really is

He ends up with a pile of heavy books stacked up next to him at a secluded table

Finding specifics is more difficult than he realized it’d be, especially because he doesn’t exactly know where he fits into things

Does he classify as possessed? A cross-breed? Some kind of undead?

He knows the very basics of what the cult was trying to summon when they created him, but clearly, they didn’t know the ritual properly, or it wasn’t a functional ritual, because he’s damn sure they weren’t planning on ending up with whatever he is now

He’s a fucking walking abomination because of those incompetent assholes

After what feels like arduous hours of research, he only finds anything useful in a mere two of the books he’d initially pulled out

And with his limited information on the specifics of his “breed,” he only manages to gather a couple of points that might be relevant

One; mating marks are much less common between a human and a demon, so both the available information and known effects are even more limited to begin with

Two; the intensity of a mark’s effect generally reach their peak anytime within the first to fourteenth day, and it gradually stabilizes after anywhere between three months to a whole year

Three; the intensity of the effects further depend on the type and strength of the demon, which, while useful to know, is ultimately a null point because, again, Jack’s a fucking abomination of a monster

Four; there are no known ways to reverse the effects of a mark

Reading that fourth point leaves a bad taste in his mouth, but he tries not to dwell on its implications too much

Finally, the fifth point; because shared marks between humans and demons aren’t common, depending on the type and strength of the demon, there’s a high likelihood of the human not surviving the initial peak of the effects—which, again, makes cataloguing the anomaly all the more difficult

That last point is all he can take before snapping the book shut

Fuck

Fuck fuck fuck

He stands, his thoughts racing a mile a minute

He’s about to rush back to you to make sure you’re ok, but as soon as he takes that first step, he stops dead in his tracks

Wait

What’s he supposed to say—he fucked up and bound you to an eternal arrangement, without your consent, and now there’s a chance it’ll fucking kill you?

The implications of it all crash into him like a tidal wave, and he suddenly feels like he’s drowning in a million and one thoughts—each one worse than the last

How badly did he fuck up?

He doesn’t realize how hard his heart’s pounding or how quickly he’s breathing until the room starts to feel like it’s shrinking around him, and he’s not sure if he’s about to puke or pass out

Keep it together, keep it together for her sake

He swallows thickly

Deep breath in, deep breath out

After years of managing his instincts, he, at the very least, has gotten decent at controlling himself when his emotions spiral

Deep breath in, count backwards from ten, deep breath out

It’s ok, he’ll figure something out, he tells himself, and he doesn’t know if he’s blatantly lying to himself, but it doesn’t matter right now, anyways

Right now, he needs to think clearly

He needs a plan

He doesn’t know how much longer he stays at the library, either pacing back and forth, wrestling his frantic thoughts, or standing deathly still with his sight zeroed-in on the books splayed out on the table

It’s like he just can’t think of anything useful—his mind’s a fucking mess

He’s too tense, too high-strung to think properly

He needs to calm down if he wants to get anywhere productive, he realizes

He pauses one last time to weigh his options

And then he blows out a frustrated breath of air, picks up the useful books, and heads out of the library

Straight to his room, he dumps the books on his desk, leaving them open to re-read later, then heads out of the mansion

He tries not to think about you, but it’s just about impossible to stay distracted for more than a few minutes at a time

He registers that it’s dark and cloudy outside when he steps out, but he’s otherwise too absorbed in his own thoughts to focus on his surroundings any more than that

Hunger

If there’s any feeling strong enough to compete with the thought of you, it’s his hunger

He lets it take over, lets himself surrender to his baser instincts, and the rest of the night is basically a blur

You still resurface in and out of his mind, but whenever he sinks his teeth into that squirming human flesh, the sweet burst of blood filling his mouth snaps him out of it all over again

He’s not proud of what he does, but in the heat of the moment, he’s too indulgent to care

He’ll regret it in the morning

He always does

Surely enough, by the time the sun is creeping along the horizon, he’s satiated, yet nauseous with guilt

He returns to the mansion, makes his way to his room, and almost immediately collapses into bed

He’s filthy, covered in dried bits of blood and gore, but that’s a problem for future Jack

Having spent most of his energy, he expects to pass out as soon as his head hits the pillow, but sleep doesn’t come so easily

Instead, he simply lays there in the dark, waiting

And, waiting one minute turns into fifteen, then fifteen minutes turn into half an hour, and before he knows it, the hours are slowly but surely trickling by and he just can’t seem to fall asleep

A dull ache of exhaustion settles in his now-sore muscles

He huffs, rolling over, trying not to let the thought of you permeate his mind yet again

But he just can’t help it

How could he live with himself if something happened to you—how could he live knowing he’s the one who killed you?

He can’t keep pretending it didn’t happen; he needs to confront you and figure things out

But first, he really needs a shower

He gets up, grabs a towel and a change of clothes, and makes it to the nearest bathroom

He throws his shirt off over his head, yanks his filthy pants down, then steps into the shower and lets the warm water wash away his sins

He stands there, motionless, for a few minutes as the water running off his body turns from black, to red, then almost pink as the mess of gore is rinsed off

He grabs the soap, runs it over his ashen skin, and tries to think of a way to broach the subject

He’ll have to be open, honest and genuine; no bullshit, no hesitation, no leaving any information out

And if you hate him for it, then that’s that

It’s not like he wouldn’t deserve it, anyways

Even if you come to loathe every fibre of his being, he needs to stay level-headed enough to handle it

He needs to find some kind of solution with you; he’ll do anything to fix his mistake

The more he thinks it through, the more he’s able to rationalize things

He still feels like total and absolute shit for what he’s done, but at least now, he feels somewhat more in control of himself—at the very least

He finishes rinsing off the remaining soap, steps out, wraps a towel around himself, and returns to his room to get dressed

One last look at the demonology books splayed open on his desk is all it takes for him to finally straighten himself up and head out his room to find you

He doesn’t know what time it is, and he’s too lost in thought to remember to check, but he knows you’re not in your room anyways

Like a strange sixth sense, he feels a tug pulling him towards the kitchen, almost as if there was an invisible string guiding him right towards you

And, surely enough, there you are, sitting at the table with a warm mug of coffee between your hands

On instinct, he takes in a deep breath—and that’s when he smells it

He freezes, stopping dead in his tracks

Feeling someone in front of you, you look up from the coffee between your hands, and your eyes lock with his

Every muscle in Jack’s body tenses

There’s no way, there’s no fucking way

He takes another deep breath—just to check, just to see if somehow got the wrong impression

But there’s no denying it, no masking the scent

Hoodie and Masky—their odour is all over you

He almost doesn’t know what to think

Those fuckers

Those fuckers slept with his mate

“Jack—“

You say his name, but he doesn’t even hear it over the blistering rage pumping through his system

Something within him snaps

The demon takes over again

And all he can suddenly think about is one thing

Kill

[blessedbyahuntress]

Blessed by a Trickster

Chapter Eighteen: Nevermind, Curse the Gods for Eurylochus

Prev/Next

Warnings: Like maybe two suggestive lines? Overprotective Eurylochus, fist fight, swearing

Word Count: 1.2k

“What happened?” Eurylochus’s voice was demanding, yet soft at the same time. Polites crashed into you, wrapping his arms around your torso in a hug that nearly strangled you. You patted his back.

“Polites,” you said. “I have to breathe.” 

“Oh!” He stepped back, arms falling back down to his sides. He turned his head to the side sheepishly, revealing the side of his flushed face. “Sorry.”

You chuckled, feeling slightly better about your… discovery; you hadn’t realized how attached you had gotten to Eurylochus and Polites.

“We saw you fall,” the second in command explained, taking a step closer to peer at your face and neck. “How did you even survive?”

You looked to Odysseus who was standing beside you. 

He shrugged.

“Uh…” you muttered, trying to look anywhere but your two friends’ faces as you raked your brain for a lie. You straightened a bit, hand going to rest on the satchel tied around your waist. “That potion Circe gave me. It can mend broken bones and heal wounds beneath the surface.”

“Remarkable,” Polites breathed. 

“But,” you continued hastily. “Uh, I’m still not feeling well, so I’ll just… be below deck.”

Eurylochus opened his mouth, but Odysseus shot him a warning glare. 

“Alright, Y/N.” Your captain gave you a curt nod, gesturing to the stairs. “We’ll see you later.”

You raised your chin, trying to regain the air of confidence you’d once carried as you crossed the deck. It was eerily silent, and you felt many pairs of eyes on you. Your eyes flickered to a man who had just spilt a few boxes of rations all over the deck and weren’t even bending to pick them up- instead staring at you like a gaping fish. 

You sighed and knelt down, grabbing a crate and stacking a few pieces of fruit inside. After repeating the process for a few minutes, you glanced up, annoyance flashing in your eyes. “Stop gawking and help me,” you grumbled.

Instantly, your crewmate dropped to his knees and started helping you. You felt the lingering glances, though, and your frustration was evident in your every move. 

You finished quickly. You shoved the crate back into the man’s arms before storming off.

You weren’t sure why you were mad, but fury swelled inside of you anyway as you stomped down the stairs. 

You’d been given a private room, having insisted that a woman, warrior or not, still did not deserve to bunk with the rest of the crew. Yours was the second door to the left, right beside Eurylochus. Odysseus slept in the room across from you.

You marched in, slamming the door behind you with enough force, it rattled on its hinges. Your room was a comforting sight, something familiar when it seemed as though the rest of the world had been flipped upside down. On one side, there was a table which you used as a desk, but it was much larger than Odysseus’s. Books were piled on top of each other, others scattered across the room. Paper, some blank and some covered in your thoughts, spilled off of the table and onto the dark floorboards. 

Your bed had been shoved to the side for more space to work and pace, the thin sheets made perfectly despite the rest of the rooms’ disarray. 

You hurried to the other side of the room, grabbing a dagger and a hairbrush from the table on your way to your least favorite part of the room: the mirror. 

Stopping in front of the round, shiny piece of metal, you stared at yourself in disbelief. You were… beautiful. 

“No,” you murmured, eyes widening. Why did this goddess thing have to affect your appearance too? You liked yourself just how you were before!

But no, your hair was perfect, every detail of your face prominent and striking. Your eyes seemed to be more noticeable, perhaps bigger. You could see the flecks of other colors swirling around in your iris’s. 

Holding your breath, you stepped back. You were leaner, and- you sighed in relief- your arms were more muscular and toned. “Well, at least it’s not all bad,” you said to yourself.

You had a death grip on the hairbrush as you brought it up to your locks. Squeezing your eyes shut, you tugged the brush in a way that you knew would mess it up. Your old hair would’ve gotten staticy, or at least knotted, but not today. You opened your eyes, and your hair was the exact same, better, even.

You groaned, flopping down on your bed. 

You didn’t even bother changing; you couldn’t find the strength to get up. You didn’t even unbuckle the sword from your hip, nor the satchel that contained the golden liquid Circe gave you.

Above deck, everyone seemed to snap back to reality.

“Whoa,” Eurylochus heard one man murmur to the sailor beside him. “She- I- Did you see?”

“Did I see?” The man answered. “I will see more. Mark my words: I plan on getting into her room pretty soon.”

Eurylochus felt his gaze grow colder by the second. This man would never touch you the way he was suggesting. The second in command would make sure of that.

He started to march over, only to be stopped by a hand to his shoulder. Eurylochus whirled around, fist more than halfway to Odysseus’s stomach before the captain caught it.

Odysseus raised his eyebrows. “Who’s got you on edge this time?”

“All of them,” Eurylochus answered, gesturing to the whole crew. “Y/N shows up with some superhuman beauty, and now they all want her.”

The captain snorted, looking at his friend. “Don’t like the competition?” 

“I hate it,” Eurylochus grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck to ease the stiffness. 

And then the same crewmate's voice reached his ears, more suggestive comments getting shot around. Eurylochus’s mouth twisted into a scowl.

“Belerphius,” Odysseus said in disapproval, pointing to the man. He raised an eyebrow at Eurylochus. “If you want to go beat him up… I might turn a blind eye.” 

When the second in command opened his mouth to protest, Odysseus held a finger to his lips.

Another remark drifted into Eurylochus’s ears, this one dirtier. It set him off. 

The captain turned away, acting as if he was about to go below deck. 

Behind him, Eurylochus threw the first punch, fist landing square in the center of Belerphius’s chest. 

The man stumbled back, looking up at the second in command in rage. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He demanded, backing up slowly as Eurylochus took deliberate steps closer to his crewmate. 

Eurylochus grabbed the collar of Belerphius’s shirt, lifting the smaller man off of the ground. 

“Take it back,” Eurylochus said harshly. 

“Get your hand off of me!” Belerphius spat. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Eurylochus threw him to the deck with enough force to shake the floorboards. He planted a foot on Belerphius’s stomach, leaning down with bared teeth. “Someone who knows her better than you do. And she’s not up for grabs.”

Belerphius opened his mouth to retort, only to be cut off by you.

“Stop! Both of you, just stop!”

Taglist: @barrythestrawberry041 @thereigningking @m-carriaga2021 @jackintheboxs-world @fallenh34art @itzkingbo @sabrina-senpai @smartiepants217 @doodle-with-rhy @trashcannotbealive

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 29 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

-You dare not put it down on the big tablet on your easel where John will see, but you can’t stop yourself from drawing it out in your smaller sketchbook-journal that is easier to squirrel away under clutter, putting down marks like you mean to exorcise her from your memory. You draw her like a ghost in her field of happy white flowers, and write in the margins in your looping script, I’m sorry. I don’t know how to make him forgive you. You want me to save him but I don’t know how. I don’t fucking know how.

Maybe she’ll actually hear your plea and do something useful about it, like haunt John’s dreams instead of yours.

Maybe you’re losing your damn mind. 

You find that either way, you’re not brave enough to mention her to your captor again.

She becomes an obsession, and you keep drawing her in your little sketchbook. You’ve only ever seen one picture of her. It was in the den, but has since disappeared. Still, you feel you know the lines of her face, the brightness of her eyes. You go back to your old fixation with the ladies of Mucha, sketching her out as the Lady of the Daisies with flowing auburn hair surrounded by her stylized flowers and flowing lines.

You strive to cover your true fixation by putting down anything as quickly as you can on the easel, knowing your captor will be by for inspection. You draw sunflowers, your favorite summer bloom, something fun but you can do with your eyes closed with colorful, juicy strokes of oil pastels. You hope to keep John off the scent of the book that holds your heartfelt neuroses that you bury under piles of all your new art supplies and anything else you can find.

It was stupid, of course, to think you could really hide anything from him.

One day you find him in the chair with his legs crossed, perusing your sketch journal with one of those magnificent thunderheads of a frown.

You are certain you are fucked, when he asks, “Is this your idea of a joke?”

Trembling as you imagine what he’s going to do to you for this infraction, you answer truthfully, “No.”

He closes the book with a snap, crossing the floor to stand before you, his powerful body moving deceptively slow, the way a tiger appears slothful in the jungle.

You know he can snap you up with one bite.

You cannot stop shaking, as he peers down that straight nose at you, pinning you with black eyes that somehow burn. He does not touch you, but God. He sees everything. You just know that he sees everything, and you find you are terrified of how he’ll react.  

“Have you been snooping through my things?”

“No.” The irony of him holding your sketch diary is not lost on you, but wisely you hold your tongue.

“How did you know what she looked like?”

“You had a picture out of her, ages ago.” At least, it felt like a like a lifetime ago.

“How did you know about the daisies?”

Now you know he’s going to flip his shit. It sounds fucking absurd, even to you. Your voice can barely rasp past what feels like dried twigs in your throat to whisper, “I saw them in a dream.”

You expect him to scoff and call you a liar. But he just searches your face, his eyes a little too wild for your liking. Here we go. He’d been damn near stable the past few days, but surely this will set him off.

You close your eyes, unable to watch the unfolding of your doom. This is it. He’s going to lock you up forever. You’ll never see the light of day again. The trembling in your frame kicks up to ten, and you hug yourself just to have something to hold on to.

When his next question comes, he could push you over with a feather.

“What does she say?”

You shake your head, realizing your cheeks are wet with tears.

“Nothing. She just…offers me the flower.” Going for broke you add, “She looks so sad.”

It is the sound of tearing paper that opens your eyes; with horror you find John making confetti of your art nouveau sketch that took hours to do. However, any protest dies on your lips—if destroying the drawing appeases him, maybe he won’t take it out on you.

Without another word, just a hard look, he stalks from the room.

Only when the sound of his footsteps fade down the hall do you let out the breath you didn’t even realize you were holding, your knees quivering like leaves in a storm.

However, you are not foolish enough to believe you’re in the clear just yet.

-Later, there is no dinner. You find the kitchen cold and empty. Not sure what to make of this, you graze in the fridge, before returning to your bedroom. Not sure where John has gotten off to, you shower, then go to bed, finding yourself lying awake in the dark without him beside you, almost itchy without his steady presence in the evening at your side.

Part of it might be that you fear something is brewing, and you can’t stand the waiting…but part of it might simply be that you miss him, as fucked up as that is.

In the end, against your better judgement, you go looking.

You search the house, until the only room that is left is the garage. Silently you open the door, slipping through without a sound. You too are learning how to move quiet as a wraith. The smell of rubber and oil assaults your nostrils. Classic rock is playing low on the radio. In the far bay, the hood of the Mustang is open, and John is bent over inside, wrenching on something and muttering to himself. There is a partially empty bottle of Blanton’s Bourbon on the workbench behind him, and an empty glass.

Unable to stop yourself from committing what perhaps might prove to be suicide, you creep to the other side of the Land Rover, using it as cover as you eavesdrop on this man grumbling to the ghost of his deceased wife.  

“What do you want from me? I loved you. I loved you with every fucking fiber of my being, but you left me. I died with you the day you left me, and she is the only thing that makes me feel alive again. I need her, and she never would have come to me on her own. She never would have stayed. She never would have stayed.”

He says this to himself over and over, and it wrenches your heart, because you know it isn’t true.

You think you manage to creep back out again without him noticing, Led Zeppelin on the radio disguising the sound of the door.

When at last he comes to bed and wraps you in his arms, holding you too hard for comfort, you feign sleep, smelling the bourbon fumes on his breath. You can’t help but tense, wondering if he will forget his promise this deep in his cups.

But he just sighs into your hair, crushing you as he pulls you even closer, and you don’t know why it breaks your heart all over again.

[himasgod]

Wriothesley x Reader

(I was lazy today, so this is a little shorter and less laborious than usual, a little lighter. Enjoy it though! Remember that I appreciate every repost, comment, and like on posts, and that I accept requests! 0.7k words :P)

Where you both have a moment of rest together

The rhythmic sound of the water hitting the walls of the Fortress of Meropide was something you had grown accustomed to hearing, a melody that repeated itself endlessly under the sea. Living there with Wriothesley was not what you had imagined, but you didn't regret the decision either. Despite the harsh environment and the incessant pace of his work, there were always little moments that you shared, where the weight of the world didn't fall so much on his shoulders.

It was one of those quiet days, where the Duke had taken a little break. You found him in his office, sitting in front of a pile of papers that he clearly wasn't reviewing. Instead, he had a book open in front of him. You approached, leaning on the door frame, watching as his eyes calmly scanned the pages.

“Since when do you have time to read?” you asked, breaking the silence with a slight smile.

Wriothesley looked up and smirked, closing the book immediately.

“Let’s just say I found it between one thing and another,” he replied, leaning back in his chair. “It’s not often you get a moment to yourself down here, you know?”

You walked over to the desk and sat in a corner, watching him. Although the place could be oppressive, at these moments he looked like a simple man enjoying a break from his day.

“You deserve it,” you commented, crossing your arms as you looked at him. “You’re always running around, dealing with problems. I’d say you’ve earned this little break.”

Wriothesley smiled and stood up, walking around the desk until he was in front of you.

“And you?” “He asked, leaning slightly towards you. “Are you planning on taking a break too? I don’t remember seeing you this calm these days.”

You smiled back at him and shook your head.

“I’m used to chaos. Besides, I like knowing you’re okay. Sometimes I worry more about you than myself,” you admitted truthfully.

He laughed softly, a low laugh that echoed in the space between you.

“Really? You care about me? How cute.” His tone was playful, but there was a glint of gratitude in his eyes. It was rare for someone to remind him that he deserved to take care of himself, too.

Wriothesley leaned in a little closer, until your faces were at the same height.

“You know I’m always okay if you’re with me,” he murmured, his voice filled with a tenderness he rarely showed openly.

You blushed a little at his words, but you couldn’t help but smile.

"Does that mean I can relax then?" you asked him, joking.

"Sure. Although there is something better than being calm." Wriothesley looked at you mischievously before, in a quick movement, lifting you into his arms with an ease that surprised you.

"What are you doing?!" you exclaimed between laughs, clinging to his neck.

"I'm giving you a break. If you don't take care of yourself, I will" he said as he carried you out of the office, walking through the halls of the Fortress without caring who could see them.

"Wriothesley, put me down!" you protested, although deep down you didn't mind the idea of ​​him carrying you.

"Not until we get to a more comfortable place" he answered with a mischievous smile.

Finally, he carried you to an empty room, one of the few places in the Fortress where there was a comfortable sofa. He carefully lowered you onto him and sat down beside you, pulling you so that your head rested on his shoulder.

“Now, you need to rest too,” he murmured, wrapping an arm around you.

You sighed, knowing there was no way to refuse.

“Okay, but only because you say so.”

Wriothesley smiled and gave you a kiss on the forehead, closing his eyes as you both let yourself drift off into the silence and momentary tranquility. Though life at the Fortress of Meropide could be hard, those small moments of peace with you were what truly reminded him that it was all worth it.

However, that aura of calmness and relaxation slowly dissolved as there was an atmosphere of some implicit understanding between you and Wriothesley.

You knew that Wriothesley, being the figure that he was, certainly didn't like to waste time or beat around the bush, so it wasn't long before he found himself slowly kissing your neck as you unbuttoned the buttons of his shirt.

It was going to be a nice day of rest, of course.

Here is my masterlist, in case you are interested in any more of my work or want to send me a request <3

[moonstruckme]

We have whimsical reader in marauders

We need one with tasm peter

Oorrrr

Can you imagine (or make) a witch/wizard reader with tasm peter!!???

Thanks for requesting love!

tasm!Peter Parker x whimsical!reader ♡ 679 words

Peter comes in through the window, more out of habit than anything else now that he’s not hiding anything from you, but you don’t startle. You’re sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the floor in front of the couch, flipping through what looks like his old physics textbook. 

“Baby,” he says, “why was there an apple on the fire escape again?” 

“It was still there?” You look up, disappointed to find a whole apple in your boyfriend’s hand. “I thought Ricardo would’ve gotten to it by now. I hope he’s okay.” 

Peter scoffs, going into the kitchen to wash the apple and put it away. He scrubs it extra hard just in case the raccoon you’re set on befriending did get his grubby paws on it. 

“Ricardo can eat without your help,” he says. “He’s hardy, he’s from Brooklyn.” 

“I know,” you sigh, “but apples are his favorite.” 

Peter’s eyes narrow, but you’re not looking, your attention on something in the book. “How do you know that?” 

“He’ll let me pet him while he’s eating apples.” 

He sighs, leaning his forearms on the counter. He’s going to have to find a way to move that raccoon to another neighborhood the next time he goes out. Before it gives you rabies.

“What’re you doing over there?” he asks you. 

“Pressing flowers.” 

“Yeah?” Peter rounds the counter, moving behind you to sit on the couch. His knees bracket your shoulders. The A/C is blasting to combat the summer heat, and goosebumps prickle down your arms. “What for?” 

“I was thinking May could bring them to work,” you say, flattening a dandelion between two pieces of wax paper. The movements are deft and routined, and Peter wonders how many flowers are already enclosed between the pages. There’s a small pile of them sitting next to you, miraculously intact despite the fragile puffs. “She was telling me about some of the kids she works with last week. I thought they might like to have them.” You shrug. “For bookmarks or whatever.” 

Peter’s insides go melty soft. “I’m sure they would.” He leans forward, setting his hand on your shoulder and his lips to your head. You only keep working. Sometimes Peter feels like a weird rock or a feather that you’d picked up somewhere, put in your pocket without a second thought. But you do love your rocks and feathers, so it’s not an awful fate. “Where’d you get these, sweetheart?” 

“I found them,” you say simply. “Parks, sidewalks, you know. They grow anywhere. Do you think I should save a few in case they want to make wishes instead of keeping them?” 

It’s said so seriously Peter can’t help but grin, turning so his cheek smushes into the crown of your head. “That seems like a good idea. Mind if I use one?” 

“Of course.” You sound surprised. “Use as many as you want, Peter. I can always get more.” 

“Just one is good.” 

He slides off of the couch, sitting beside you and picking up a dandelion. He waits until you’re looking over at him before blowing. 

You squeeze your eyes shut as the seeds rush towards you. Peter’s close enough that they get stuck in your eyelashes and eyebrows, a couple in your hair. His breath weakens as he starts laughing, the last few seeds coming off the flower by way of little puffs of air. 

“You don’t have to blow it at someone,” you say, lips stretching into a pretty smile. You blink cautiously, opening your eyes once no dandelion fluff falls in. 

He lowers the stem. “I just wanted to make sure my wish went in the right direction.” 

Your head tilts. “What’d you wish for?” 

Peter combs a bit of white fluff out of your hair, grinning. “C’mon, baby,” he tsks, shifting his fingers to your jaw. You’re pliant to the touch, angling your head at the slightest cue from him. You keep your eyes open, curious, but your lips are soft against his. “You know that’s not how it works. I’ve still gotta make sure it comes true.”

[sunsetkerr]

ON MY TABLE | s.kerr

summary: you're the new physio for chelsea and a certain striker seems to be needing more sessions that usual [1.9k words]

pairing: physio!reader x sam kerr

notes: physio!reader I love you so much xxxx

“MILLIE, YOU ACTUALLY HAVE to do your exercises for your knee to feel better, you know that right?”

“oh, you’re so funny. you know that?”

millie gave you a little shove before opening the door to your office, swinging the door.

“i’ll report you to HR if you don’t watch it, bright” you used your pen to point over at millie before jotting down some minor notes about your session.

“oh, ha ha” she chuckled, “see you, y/n.”

you chuckled, signing off today’s papers and getting ready to file them. you had no more players booked in for the day and were ready to file your reports and head home. it was getting hot in london, the air conditioning in your office was the only thing keeping you sane.

“hey doc,” 

well.. not the only thing.

“sammy k,” you smiled looking up at her. she was leaning against the doorframe in her training shorts, her drink bottle in your hand. “to what do i owe the pleasure-“ you stood up from your desk, grabbing her file which was on top of your pile- “for the.. fifth time this week?” you asked her. “it’s only wednesday, sam”.

she looked down at the carpet with a shy laugh before walking into your office and taking a seat up on your massage table. “it’s just my calf,” she winced a little bit reaching for it, “it’s still really tender, i was just wondering if you could have a quick look at it again before you head off.”

you would’ve bought it if she hadn’t said the same thing twice already that week. sam was becoming a part of the furniture in your office, always dropping in before or after practice. on game days, she had you give her a rub down on her thighs and calves before kick-off. she swore that you were her lucky charm, having kicked a goal in every game that you worked on her for. 

“okay, sam” you took a deep breath, crouching down so you could feel her muscle, “let’s have a look”.

she couldn’t help herself but watch you as you worked. ever since you had joined the team at chelsea last month, sam was enamoured by you. the way you carried yourself was so attractive to her in a way that she can’t describe. a few of the girls had caught wind of her frequent physio trips, a few worried for her, a few teasing her instead. her small crush didn’t go unnoticed by her close friends. guro constantly blowing up their groupchat with small digs at sam. 

“it’s not feeling too tight which is a good thing,” sam watched the way that your eyebrows furrowed together as you felt her calf, “is it better or worse than the last time i saw you?”

“about the same,” she shrugged, lying to you. “i just wanted to see if it was anything to worry about,” another lie. her calf was fine, it hadn’t played up for the last few weeks, she was actually on a really good run with it. she was chalking it up to you working with her. 

“it’s not too concerning,” you looked up at her for a few seconds before standing back up, “we’ll keep an eye on it though if it keeps giving you grief.”

“okay,” she nodded, “thanks, y/n”

“you’re very welcome,” you smiled, “is there anything else i can help you with while i’m here?”

“uh,” she rolled her lips, blowing out a deep breath, “maybe we could book in a session tomorrow? or in the next few days before the game?” she tilted her head. you never expected sam to be a shy person, you saw her with her teammates, always loud and boisterous. but in here, she always seemed nervous to speak or to say the wrong things. “just wanna cover everything before the game,” she gave you a tight lipped smile.

chelsea was playing arsenal on saturday, you knew the entire team was nervous for this game. maybe this was why sam had been in your office so often.

“course,” you nodded. “let me put it in my calendar,” you sat back down at your desk and grabbed your calander, pencilling in ‘sammy k’ just after jessie. “i’m free after prac, just have a session with jessie beforehand,” you looked back up at her. 

“yeah, yeah. whenever works for you works for me,” she smiled, you noticed her few front crooked teeth as they peaked out of her smile. you rested your head in your hands, realising only now how tired you were.

“so i’ll see you tomorrow,” you smiled at sam as best you could.

“yeah.. yeah, tomorrow”

you saw sam four more times that week, once on thursday for your session and three times on friday. to her credit, you only ran into her in the parking lot on friday morning. so she thought she was showing some level of restraint, publicly at least- she wouldn’t tell anyone that she was waiting for you to pull into the car park so she could chat with you for a few minutes. 

the striker had started to win you over. she was getting more comfortable in your sessions and you were finally starting to see the side of sam you saw when she was with others. it was a nice thing to see, you admired it. you started looking forwards to her dropping by or messaging you calf updates, selfies of her doing her exercises at home- claiming she’s your best client… which she was quickly approaching the title of. 

it was halftime during the arsenal game, 0-0 so far. you headed towards the changerooms, bringing some more pre-wrap done for the girls who wanted it, and so you could check on lauren’s shoulder. you burst through the doors, not watching where you were going or what you were walking in on. 

when you looked up you saw sam changing her sports bra, fabric over her head, her boobs on full display. 

“oh my god!” you quickly turned away, shielding your eyes to give her some privacy, “i am so so sorry,” you apologised. sam quickly pulled her bra down, apologising as she pulled you into a hug. 

millie laughed from her locker, “she changes her bra every halftime, y/n. this is nothing new, you’ve finally lost your v-card of seeing sams tits.” other girls in the changeroom laughed along as you were still stood shocked. 

“sorry, y/n” sam shot you apologetic glance. your heart began to beat faster, her holding you close to her chest not helping your palpatations. you took a step back and left sam’s embrace.

“your changeroom, not mine” you nervously chuckled, “you don’t need to apologise to me”. you quickly handed off the prewrap you brought to sam, before turning around to leave.

“uh, y/n-“ lauren called for you.

“yep!” you turned back around, “sorry.” ignoring your awkward moment with sam and heading over to check lauren. 

you avoided eye-contact with sam for the rest of the time in the change room, leaving as quickly as you came. the girls lost unfortunately, a goal from caitlin foord in the final minutes putting the game to rest. 

as the chelsea girls finished up their post-game chat in the changerooms, you picked up your stuff that had been scattered around by the players- ready to bring it back to your office for recovery tomorrow. the players headed to the showers, one by one, sam being the last one left. it was just you and her.

she could tell that you weren’t going to speak to her, too embarrassed of what happened earlier. it didn’t faze sam, she changed her sports bra every halftime, right after brushing her hair out. half of the chelsea staff had seen her topless, but it was different now that it was you- she knew this wasn’t something you could brush off instantly. 

she was going to have to make you talk to her. sam took a deep breath before pushing herself up off her bench.

“agh!” she winced, clutching at her calf. your head shot her way and you were soon crouched down in front of her. “shit,” sam hissed.

“you okay? you pull it?” you grabbed her calf and took the pressure off of her, holding it close to you. 

“fuck,” sam sighed, a pained expression on her face, “i don’t know, i just tried to get up and it twinged.”

you suddenly felt bad for thinking sam had been putting in on all week. the possibility of her putting it on just to see you sounded too good to be true, and by the looks of things- it was. you helped sam onto her feet and walked her into your office, her arm around your neck to support herself. 

you grabbed out some off your oil and told sam to lay on her tummy. you couldn’t feel any major pull in the muscle as you rubbed it down. you tried to stay somewhat gentle for sam, but she didn’t seem to be reacting to your touch anymore. almost as if she had miraculously recovered.

“i can’t feel anything too strained,” you walked to the front of your table, so you meet her gaze. “how is it feeling?” you asked.

sam pushed herself up and sat properly to look at you, “doesn’t hurt anymore, you must’ve fixed me” she chuckled. you paused for a second before sighing at sam.

“you’re a world class actor, you know that right?”

she broken out into a laugh, “i should’ve got an oscar for that”.

“you had me,” you shook your head with a deep breath, leaning against your desk. “you’re something else, sam.”

“in a good way?” she asked hesitantly.

“some days,” you nodded.

sam wavered before speaking, “i’m sorry ive been taking up so much of your time, y/n.”

you looked up to her from your crossed arms and met her brown eyes. “so, your calf isn’t sore?” you asked her, eyebrows raised.

she slowly shook her head, “guilty”.

sam was surprised when you sighed out in relief. “okay good, because i have been trying to think of ways to tell emma that her star striker couldn’t go a day without visiting my office,” you chuckled, “not a conversation i want to have with her.” 

“you’re not mad?” sam asked.

“no, sam” you shook your head. “i don’t mind having you in here,” you admitted, “i quite enjoy your company actually.” sam couldn’t help but take notice of the flirty smirk that had made its way onto your lips.

she hopped down from your table and took a step closer to you. “oh yeah?” she raised her eyebrows, a cocky grin making its presence known.

“yeah,” you shrugged, “you’re alright.. i mean you’re no erin cuthburt, but..” you smirked.

“oh wow,” sam nodded at you. the space between you both was beginning to close, weeks of unspoken tension finally coming to boil over. “that was a low blow, even for you” she said.

“even for me?” you asked.

“even for you,” she nodded.

“hmm, you’re gonna be demoted from favourite client sam”

“oh, so i am your favourite?”

“you could be,” you smirked.

“and how could i make that happen?” 

“wouldn’t you like to know,” you leant in, your lips almost ghosting over hers.

“i would love to know,” sam chuckled, finally closing the gap between your lips and hers. as you melted into the kiss, one of her hands found your jaw and the other your hip. she held onto your with all she had, too scared to let the moment slip away from her.

when you finally pulled away from each other, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding onto. “don’t worry..” you chuckled, “you’re not at risk of losing your status”.

“good..” she nodded, both of sam’s hands now holding onto your face, “because i don’t enjoy losing.”

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Lol, love the Himbo!/Bimbo!Granger!Sibling! Concept, I can imagine the same idea with the teachers/Dumbledore as well but it's just a Student Darling that's a total Bimbo!/Himbo! and the teachers/Dumbledore just let them get away with being wrong on basically everything, even Snape lmao

Himbo!/Bimbo!Student!Darling: Aw shucks, I failed the test again! 😢

Yandere!Teacher: *Takes the paper away and raises the grade just enough for their Darling to pass because of favoritism and rewriting the answers to make them correct enough to pass and gives the test back to Darling* My apologies, it seems I've made a mistake.

Himbo!/Bimbo!Student!Darling: Yay! I passed! 🤩

Also the concept of the other students witnessing the whole thing and not even minding it cause they also fell for their Himbo!/Bimbo!Student!Darling! Because of how charming, innocent, and naive they are over everything around them and even helping them with questions from teachers like:

Yandere!McGonagall: "What item cannot be conjured, mr/mrs reader?"

Himbo!/Bimbo!Student!Darling: 😶

Himbo!/Bimbo!Student!Darling: *Suddenly feels poking from next to them and glances at Hermine who gestures with their eyes to look at the paper she slid to them* Food!

Yandere!McGonagall: *Even though she noticed what was actually happening she only smiled proudly at her Darling* Correct. 5 points to (reader's) house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yandere!Snape: What are fluxweed and Boomslang skin used for, mr/mrs reader?

Himbo!/Bimbo!Student!Darling: 💀

*Draco coughs out the answer behind you, trying to make it not obvious that he's helping you but Snape already knows what's going on*

Himbo!/Bimbo!Student!Darling: Polyjuice?

Yandere!Snape:....Correct

The students even help out with homework and tests if not even doing it for them instead and tricking the Darling into believing that they did all of the work by themselves, and the teachers/Dumbledore don't even care either!

The Himbo!/Bimbo!Student!Darling has no idea how much power they have over all of the faculty as well as the students just by existing, everything is handed to them without even knowing lmao

Ooohhhh~~ I absolutely love this!!!

I can’t help but imagine Himbo/Bimbo!Student!Reader having completely forgotten doing a piece of homework for whichever subject and tells the teacher or is trying to look for it in their school bag thinking they may have ended up doing it but just misplaced it only for the teacher or a student next to/near them to “find it” for them when in reality it’s a copied version that the teacher or student themself magically conjured up for the Reader to still get participation in the class with the added bonus of a passing grade.

I really love the idea of Himbo/Bimbo!Student!Reader knowing they aren’t very academically gifted or even the bare minimum and desperately wanting to try their best on their own but their just struggling so much. And everyone around them, teachers and students alike, just feel so bad seeing the poor Reader beating themself up about it but still trying to give it their best. That’s when ever so slowly the teachers and students individually come to their own conclusions of needing to help the Reader without making it seem like their doing it for them. The first time a teacher or student helped out the Reader, whether it was botching a grade or sneakily slipping a correct answer for the Reader to give, and the absolute beaming joy that Himbo/Bimbo!Reader radiated when they got something right or they got a good grade on something is more than enough for the teachers and students to do it all over again and again.

Like, I can’t help but imagine Himbo/Bimbo!Student!Reader staying up and studying in the library more often then not, the countless times Madam Pince or a school prefect has come across the Reader passed out with a pile of opened books scattered around them that could even put Hermione to shame and the poor Reader sleepily mumbling that they just need to keep studying for a few more minutes. But no matter how long the Reader forces themself to study or them even seeking out tutoring from their smartest classmates/fellow students, the Reader just can’t make any sense of the curriculum all on their own.

Just a thought but what if Himbo/Bimbo!Student!Reader is a pureblood who’s grown up all their life around magic and everything magic related and their parents being very strict/hard on the Reader to strive to be something great in the magical world. And that’s why they’re so distressed and trying their very best to study and at the very least get some kind of understanding or familiarity with their studies. Or maybe the Reader could even be muggle and still have an overbearing family who puts too much pressure on them when it comes to their academics. It started with their muggle studies growing up and has only gotten worse with their magical studies, at least Himbo/Bimbo!Student!Reader felt like they had more of a chance with their muggle studies but now they feel completely overwhelmed with everything going on around them in the magical world and are still trying to get their bearings but that doesn’t stop them from still going about being their happy go lucky and kind self.

Going with the Reader having an overbearing and academically strict family, imagine the yan!teachers’ and yan!students’ reactions to witnessing for themselves/hearing that the Reader’s boggart is their own parent being absolutely disappointed/angry with them for not being smarter, even going as far as calling the Reader a disappointment to the family for not doing better. The whole school would be ready to throw hands with the Reader’s parents.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: Chapter Eight

Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: You've got narcolepsy and have been visiting the Dreaming daily for years. Then its Lord and King finally return and he doesn't know quite what to think of you.

Warnings: Angst.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Narcoleptic!Reader, for you dear @aralezinspace.

Word Count: ~2.5k

Previous | Masterlist | Next

You're sitting at your desk, hunched over your computer, trying to focus on the spreadsheet in front of you once again. The fluorescent lights above flicker and hum, casting an eerie glow over the sea of cubicles that stretch out before you. It's another monotonous day at the office, and you can't help but feel a sense of restlessness creeping in.

Just as you're about to give up and head to the break room for a much-needed coffee break, Karen pops by your desk. "Hey," she says brightly, "I need some prints done for a presentation later today. Can you help me out?"

You force a smile and nod, grateful for the distraction. "Of course," you reply, standing up and stretching your legs. "Lead the way."

Karen leads you to the printer room, which is tucked away in a dimly lit corner of the office. The air is thick with the smell of toner and paper, and there are stacks of printouts piled haphazardly everywhere. You can hear the low hum of printers churning out pages as you make your way through the maze of machines.

"I need these printed double-sided on 11x17 paper," Karen explains as she hands you a USB drive filled with the necessary files. And as she speaks, her eyes seem to sparkle with excitement—a stark contrast to your own weary gaze.

You take the USB drive from her and insert it into one of the nearby printers. As it begins to churn out pages, you can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction—a small victory amidst an otherwise mundane day. You haven’t fallen asleep yet. You watch as each page emerges from the printer, crisp and clean, ready to be assembled into Karen's presentation.

As you stack up the finished prints, Karen comes back into the room, leans against one of the nearby machines and crosses her arms over her chest. "So," she says casually as she watches you work, "how are things going? I haven't seen much of you lately."

You pause for a moment before answering—unsure of what answer Karen is looking for. Lucky for you, she doesn't wait for an answer, just goes into a rant about someone not following office policy. You glance up at Karen, surprised by her sudden change of topic. "Oh, you know," you reply, trying to sound nonchalant as you finish stacking the prints. "Just busy with work and stuff."

Karen doesn't seem particularity interested in listening to your response. Instead she mutters about needing to run to the accounting department to pick up some files before leaving you alone in the copy room.

You're in the middle of stacking the printed pages when a sudden wave of drowsiness washes over you. Your eyelids flutter, and you struggle to keep them open. It's as if an invisible force is pulling you down, dragging you into a deep, dark abyss.

You try to shake off the sensation, but it's no use. Your legs buckle beneath you, and you stumble backward, your head striking the corner of a nearby printer with a sharp crack.

The world spins, and then suddenly, you're not in the copy room anymore. The smell of toner and paper is replaced by the scent of ancient tomes and a cool, otherworldly breeze. You're sprawled on the marble floor of a vast library, surrounded by towering shelves filled with books that seem to whisper secrets.

Matthew, Morpheus' raven, flutters down from one of the shelves, his beady eyes widening in surprise. "Whoa! Where did you come from?" he caws, hopping closer to you.

You groan, your head throbbing from where it struck the printer. Slowly, you sit up, rubbing your temple and wincing at the pain. "Great," you mutter under your breath. "Just what I needed."

Footsteps echo through the library as Morpheus himself appears, his presence commanding yet ethereal. His dark eyes narrow as he takes in your disheveled appearance. "You have arrived most unexpectedly," he remarks, his voice like velvet.

"Yeah," you reply, your voice strained from the headache. "Narcolepsy struck again."

Morpheus kneels beside you, his expression softening just a fraction. He reaches out a hand but hesitates before touching you. "Are you well?" he asks, concern threading through his words.

You nod slowly but can't suppress a grimace. "Just a massive headache," you admit. "I hit my head pretty hard."

Morpheus' eyes darken with something akin to guilt or worry. He gestures to Matthew with a flick of his wrist. "Fetch Lucienne," he commands softly.

Matthew flaps his wings and takes off immediately, leaving you alone with Morpheus in the cavernous library.

"You should not have to endure this pain," Morpheus murmurs as he sits beside you. He reaches out again and this time allows his fingers to lightly brush against your forehead. A cool sensation spreads from his touch, easing some of the throbbing ache.

You close your eyes for a moment, savoring the relief. When you open them again, you find Morpheus studying you intently.

"I'm sorry for startling everyone," you say with a weak smile.

"There is no need for apologies," Morpheus replies gently. "Your condition is beyond your control."

Lucienne arrives swiftly, carrying a small vial of something that glows faintly in the dim light of the library. She kneels beside you and hands it to Morpheus without a word.

He uncorks it and offers it to you. "Drink this," he instructs softly. "It will help with the pain."

You take the vial gratefully and swallow its contents. A soothing warmth spreads through your body, dulling the sharp edges of your headache.

"Thank you," you murmur as the pain begins to ebb away.

Morpheus gives a small nod before helping you to your feet with gentleness. He has a frown upon his lips and his face is etched with worry. "You say you hit your head? That is cause for concern."

You nod, feeling the residual throbbing. "Yeah, it wasn't the best landing."

Morpheus' eyes flicker with a mixture of concern and determination. "We should ensure no lasting harm," he says, his voice firm. "Lucienne, prepare a place for them to rest."

Lucienne nods briskly and heads off without another word, leaving you alone with Morpheus once more. He gently guides you to a nearby chair, the cool marble beneath your feet sending shivers up your spine.

As you sit down, Matthew flutters back into the room, landing on the armrest beside you. "How're you holding up?" he asks, tilting his head curiously.

You manage a small smile. "Better now, thanks to Morpheus and Lucienne. I think I really cracked by head open, haven't had a headache this bad in ages. I'm usually good at landing softly…"

Morpheus stands by your side, his presence both comforting and worrying. He had better things to do than fuss over you. "You should rest," he insists softly. "The Dreaming will keep you safe while your mortal body is tended to."

You take a deep breath and nod again, feeling the warmth from the vial still coursing through you. "Alright," you agree reluctantly.

Lucienne returns with a plush blanket and pillow, setting them on a nearby chaise lounge. "Here," she says gently. "This should be comfortable."

With their help, you make your way over to the chaise lounge and settle down, pulling the blanket around yourself. The softness of the pillow cradles your head as you close your eyes, exhaustion finally taking its toll.

"Thank you," you murmur again, feeling a sense of peace wash over you.

Morpheus lingers for a moment longer before stepping back, allowing Lucienne to take over. She watches over you like a guardian as sleep begins to claim you.

Matthew perches on a nearby shelf, keeping a watchful eye as well. "Rest easy," he says softly. As your eyelids grow heavy and your breathing steadies, the sounds of the library fade into a soothing background hum. The pain in your head recedes further into memory, replaced by an overwhelming sense of tranquility.

And with that final thought, sleep takes you fully into its embrace.

"It's been days," Morpheus' voice cuts through the silence like a knife, laden with an emotion he rarely shows. Worry.

Matthew's feathers rustle as he shifts uncomfortably on his perch. "Yeah, it's not like them to be away this long. You think something happened?"

Lucienne's measured tone follows. "We can't rule out the possibility. They have never stayed away for this duration without informing us."

Morpheus paces back and forth, his footsteps barely audible on the marble floor. His eyes are dark pools of concern, fixed on some distant point. "They did mention their episodes have become more frequent," he murmurs, almost to himself. "That means they should be here more often. With me."

Matthew flaps his wings and lands closer to Morpheus. "Boss, we gotta find out what's going on. What if they're in trouble?"

Lucienne nods in agreement. "We should reach out, my lord. Their absence is unusual and worrying."

Morpheus stops pacing and turns to face them both, his expression resolute yet shadowed by concern. "You are right," he concedes. "We must ascertain their well-being."

Lucienne steps forward, her eyes meeting Morpheus'. "Shall I send a messenger? Perhaps someone could visit their mortal realm?"

Matthew's feathers ruffle as he hops closer to Morpheus, determination in his beady eyes. "Boss, let me go. I can search for them in the waking world."

Morpheus stops pacing and regards his raven with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. "You would do this?"

Matthew nods vigorously. "Yeah, I know the way. Plus, I'm quick and can cover a lot of ground. They’re our friend and your— we can’t just sit around here."

Lucienne steps forward, her face softened by concern. "It's a sound plan, my lord. Matthew has spent the most time with them in the Waking. If anyone can find them swiftly, it’s him."

Morpheus nods slowly, a flicker of hope igniting in his dark eyes. "Very well," he says, turning to Matthew. "Go swiftly and return with news of their well-being."

Matthew spreads his wings wide, casting a shadow on the marble floor. "I'll be back before you know it," he promises before taking off in a flurry of feathers.

You wake up to the sensation of cool grass beneath you and the soft rustling of leaves overhead. Opening your eyes, you find yourself staring at a landscape that's achingly familiar—Fiddler's Green, with its rolling hills and vibrant foliage. But something feels off. Everything looks much larger than it should, as if you've shrunk.

You try to sit up but instead feel a strange weight shift in your body. Looking down, you see sleek black feathers where your hands should be. Panic grips you as you realize you're no longer in your human form. Instead, you've become a raven.

"What...?" you croak, startled by the guttural sound that escapes your beak.

Fiddler's Green himself appears before you, his kind eyes filled with sorrow and understanding. "Ah, you've awakened," he says gently, kneeling down to your level. "I feared this might happen."

You try to speak, but the words come out as unintelligible squawks and caws. Frustration wells up inside you until Fiddler's Green places a comforting hand on your head.

"Calm yourself," he soothes. "You can still communicate. Focus on your thoughts; You will find your tongue."

Taking a deep breath—or at least the raven equivalent—you concentrate on forming coherent sentences. it takes you a few tries, but you finally manage to get the hang of your new tongue. "Why am I like this? What's happened to me?"

Fiddler's Green sighs deeply, his expression one of deep regret. "It seems that while you slept in the Dreaming, your mortal body succumbed to its injuries."

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut. You had always said that your narcolepsy would kill you one day. "I'm... dead?"

"Yes," Fiddler's Green confirms softly. "Your spirit now inhabits the form of a raven."

You shake your head—or rather, tilt it from side to side—struggling to process the information. "But why a raven? How is this possible?"

"Those who pass in their sleep belong to the Dreaming, taking on the form of a raven. The same happened to Matthew." Fiddler's Green tells you. "If I remember correctly, you have been missing for nearly ten days. Lord Morpheus is besides himself."

10 days? What was your body doing in those ten days? Lying in the copy room? Don't be silly, you tell yourself. Karen would have found your body… the question is what happened after you had been found.

"Matthew has been desperately searching for you in the Waking," Fiddler's green continues as your mind spins.

Your heart—or whatever beats within a raven's chest—pounds as you take in Fiddler's Green's words. The realization of your death, of Matthew's frantic search, Morpheus being beside himself, sends you reeling. Without another word, you spread your wings and take off into the sky, your new form carrying you effortlessly through the air.

You navigate the familiar paths of the Dreaming with an instinct you never knew you had. Every beat of your wings feels both foreign and strangely right, as if you'd been born to fly all along. You find yourself heading toward the library where Lucienne would be found. She'd know what to do.

As you swoop through the grand entrance, Lucienne glances up from her book, her eyes narrowing slightly as she takes in the sight of you perched on a nearby shelf. "Another raven?" she murmurs, half to herself. "I don't recall summoning any more."

You gather your thoughts, focusing on forming coherent words with your new avian voice. "Hi Luce," you croak, the sound rough and unfamiliar to your ears.

Her eyes widen in shock, the book slipping from her hands and thudding softly against the floor. "Y/N? Is that really you?" Her voice trembles with disbelief and a touch of hope.

"Yeah,” you manage, flapping your wings slightly to steady yourself. "It's me."

Lucienne's expression crumples into one of heartbreak as she steps closer, her hand reaching out as if to touch you but stopping short. "Oh, Y/N... what happened? How did this come to be?"

You recount Fiddler's Green's explanation, each word feeling like a jagged stone in your throat. Lucienne listens intently, her face a mask of sorrow and understanding.

"You must go to Morpheus," she insists once you've finished. Her voice is firm but laden with grief. "He needs to know what's happened He has— He is not taking your absence well."

You shake your head vehemently, feathers ruffling in agitation. "No, I can't. Not like this."

Lucienne's eyes soften with empathy but also resolve. "He has been searching for you tirelessly, Y/N. He needs to know. Your absence, it wears on him."

"I can't," you repeat, your voice breaking slightly. The thought of facing Morpheus in this form—of seeing the pain in his eyes—is too much to bear.

Without waiting for further argument, you spread your wings and launch yourself into the air, leaving Lucienne standing there with tears glistening in her eyes.

As you fly through the corridors of the Dreaming, the wind ruffles your feathers and carries away the echoes of Lucienne's pleas.

Date Published: 8/28/24

Last Edit: 8/28/24

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