#more at the audacity of the statement than anything else...

[cherryswisherz]

ITS BEEN A WHILE

♱ CONTAINS: smut, aubrey strap game on 10

♱ NIYAHSPEAKS: ahem... hey yalll !

"i'ma ned you deeper than six, it's not a coffin"

sex with me (rihanna, 2006)

♱♱♱♱

"aubrey, you've lost your rabbit ass mind if you think that is going inside of me."

laying in our bed, fully ready to have hot, sweaty, sex with my hot, sweaty, sexy girlfriend, i was thrown off when she pulled away from our kiss to ask me a question. 

"you still want the strap baby?"

do i want the straaaaap????

the fuck kinda question is that??

"yes, please." i nodded my head. 

the smile that grew on her perfect fucking face was doing things to me as usual, but when i saw her walk into that closet in nothing but her briefs?

BAM! pussy flooded.

but as i waited for her to get what she needed, my mind started running. 

i haven't had anything but fingers since junior year of highschool.... im a senior in college.

how much do i need to prepare myself?

is she just gonna go for it or is she gonna make this easier for me?

but when i saw her walk out of that closet with the harness around her waist and the length of the strap the only thought i could form is... 

HO IS U COO????

which brings us to my first statement. 

"aubrey, you've lost your rabbit ass mind if you think that is going inside of me."

and this girl had the AUDACITY to giggle as my frustration. "you talk allat shit but can't take dick?" 

"its been awhile bro, that shit's gonna hurt." i said sitting up on my elbows and fully looking at the length of her..... enhancement. 

its big. not ridiculously big, but big enough to make me question why the fuck was i the one that suggested we do this.

suddenly, aubreys long-legged ass is stalking towards me and laying besides me, strapless. 

when the fuck did she take it off?

her hands move a curl from my face, and her dark brown eyes lock with my even darker brown eyes. 

"you really think i'd hurt you?" she spoke so softly, i remembered who i'm dating. 

" i know you wouldn't."

"so why you scared?"

"i'm not scared... more nervous."

her soft lips meet mine for a second before she says "i got you." 

and all i could do was nod because i knew she was telling the truth. 

but she didn't get up. 

she kissed me. deeply. slipping her tongue into my mouth and slipping her hand down the front of my body, leaving a trail of pure heat on her wake.

and i was wet, practically dripping as i unconsciously spread my legs for her. i was a mess, and it was honestly embarrassing. 

everyone else knew me as aubrey's loud, smart mouth girlfriend, but when it was just us two? when aubrey and i were all over each other, the only thing i could think about was her mouth on mine, my mouth on hers, my everything on hers.

i must have been moaning too much because aubrey slid two of her fingers past my lips, silencing me as her teeth scraped my nipple. 

but even with my mouth full of her slender digits, i sucked in a gasp when i felt her bare knee slid between my legs, relieve a fraction of the frustration that was building in my core. i dug my nails into her shoulder and tried my hardest not to bite her fingers off. i didn't hesitate to grind into her knee like a bitch in heat, trying to give aid to my aching clit. but it wasn't enough. i needed more. and i had no problem asking for it.

"more.." i whined but my demand was muffled by her fingers so after she removed them, i repeated myself. "more, aubrey-

i was cut off by my own moan when her perfect lips attached to my clit and sucked. my eyes rolled shut as i arched up into her, feeling my legs practically tremble when her tongue started circling my click with the speed that always drove me insane. 

"fuck- yes, right there-" a plethora of loud moans left me when she sucked even harder. "oh my god, right there, please..."

aubrey hummed into me, vibratinf my core and managing to send me further to my peak.

and right when my legs tangled around her shoulders and my nails gripped the sheets for dear fucking life, she pulled away. 

i squeezed the sheets even harder as  panted. "aubrey," i eyed her as she licked her lips. 

"yes, love?" she question as if everything as peaches and fucking cream. 

"i wasn't do- where the fuck are you going?" i asked as she got up from the bed and walked away. but my question was answered as i watched her put the strap back on and climb on top of me. 

i didn't have time to question anything because her lips crashed onto mine and my brain became foggy. 

"if you need to pause, or stop just tell me. okay?" aubrey reassured me. 

this is why i loved this hoe. 

i nodded and she captured my lips in hers again. 

i gasped and squeezed my eyes shut as i felt the tip push into my entrance, and at that moment i instantly understood why she didn't let cum earlier. i was soaked. so wet that i barely felt the friction as she slid into me. and i was so sensitive and desperate for a release that i couldn't even focus on the stinging feeling of being stretched out as she slowly pushed all the way in. 

she was so deep. i felt so full. i don't remember it being like this. i wanted more. no, i needed more. i opened my eyes and met aubreys as she searched my face for and sign that i didn't want to continue. 

i wish the fuck she would stop right now. 

i wrapped my hand around the back of her neck and brought her down for a deep kiss to let her know that i was okay, and i wanted her to keeping going. 

she started slow, letting me get used to the feeling. and trust that when i did, i couldn't get enough. 

i grinded my hips to meet her strokes, even though we were in missionary. and aubrey quickly picked up on the fact that i was ready for the real thing because she untangled one of my legs from her waist and pushed my knee to my chest, hitting a spot that drove me fucking insane. 

my eyes rolled shut as she picked up her pace and began drilling into me, her free hand meeting my clit. touching pieces of me that i forgot existed, digging her nails in my calf, sucking that spot on my neck. 

 as moans and whimpers poured from my lips, i felt like a mad woman. like i had to be going crazy. there was no way it was possible to feel this fucking good. 

it all was becoming too much, too fast. i felt that knot in my stomach grow tighter and all i could to was scream, but when my mouth opened, nothing came out. my legs were trembling and my hand grasped at whatever they could as my back arched off the bed. 

i heard aubrey talking me through it but she sounded like she was underwater. i was on another planet right now, riding my orgasm out. 

i didn't come down until i felt aubrey pulling out of me, saw her tossing the strap to the side, and heard her whispering in my ear. 

"you did so good for me."

i just laughed as i tried to find my breath. 

"we are for sure doing that again."

♱TAGLIST: @patscorner @riyahatnight @mattslolita @thaatdigitaldiary

[exquisiteserotonin]

The Senator's Daughter

Rating: E is for Explicit - 18+ only 🔞MDNI🔞

Pairing: Emperor Geta x Female Reader

Word count: 5.5K | AO3

Summary: A personal invitation from Emperor Geta to a lavish dinner party at the palace gives your more than you bargain for.

Warnings: Dubcon, Oral (F and M receiving), Finger fucking, cunnilingus, blow jobs, semi-public sex, inexperienced, but strong reader, Geta is scary but you kinda like it

TW: One particular scene could really be troubling to some, especially as far as consent goes

A/N: Thank you to my darlings @pink-whiskey-woman and @redhotkitchen for being my beta readers for this one! Enjoy my loves, any comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

Also this does have a bit of plot because I honestly can't help myself.

As a senator’s eldest daughter, you revel in societal privileges that so many only dream of indulging. Opulent banquets, the best seats for theatrical performances and the gladiator games, the list is long and the invitation is always open. You’ve always had a fear of missing out on anything even remotely exciting even as a child. Two decades of life have passed for you and that feeling intensifies. You beg your protective father to go to the Gladiator games and banquets for the entire kingdom — all you know to be merely an excuse to showcase the wealth and opulence of the empire. Yet it is a request he gladly fulfills. But they exhaust you, especially with the loud, raucousness of sycophants, trying to capture a glimpse of someone important. It makes you feel like you’re just like everyone else. But you aren’t: you’re better. It’s your father’s fault really. He didn’t spare the expense of educating you in all the subjects and languages. As you’ve grown older, you walk with confidence in the fact that not only is your status deserved, it is earned. 

You’ve been begging your father to take you to one of the more private dinners reserved for only the most important but he always says no. You’re of age you tell him, practically shouting it loud enough for all in the Forum to hear. ”You weren’t invited,” he tells you, ”I was.”

Hearing the whispers of another invitation-only, luxurious gathering, you are fully prepared to argue with your father again about why you should be able to attend. He sees you coming, your stola flowing swiftly as though in a storm. He holds a hand up to stop your argument before it even starts. The audacity of him to tell you no again has you shaking. 

“Before you begin another tirade, daughter,” he asserts, ever exhausted but also ever proud by your keen, discerning candor. He hands you a roll of parchment, “the Emperor, Geta, has personally asked for your presence at the next palace gathering.”

The unexpectedness of this news nearly causes you to stumble over the bottom of your gown. Your father keeps his eyes on you as you unroll the parchment. The invitation is simple and handwritten, requesting your presence in Emperor Geta’s impeccable script. Your excitement can hardly be contained and you are nearly jumping as you hold the parchment tightly in your hands.

“I needn’t remind you of how you must comport yourself as a member of this family,” he says, but by saying as much he is reminding you. 

“Father, when have I ever comported myself in a way that reflected anything less than all you have given and instilled in me?”

A smile and proud admission of this form on his face. But you also nod, taking stock in his words. You intend to walk away, but watch him closely as he wrings his hands together—a sign that all is not well with him. Your hands find his aged ones and they tremble beneath your touch. 

“Father, something troubles you.” 

It is a statement, not a question. 

His eyes turn to you and you can see they are glassy with the onset of tears. Your heart softens for him. Your stoic father rarely shows anything but unwavering fortitude and strength. 

“You are no longer a girl,” he states, his chest rising and falling with a deep sigh, “but a woman, a stubborn and sometimes impetuous one, but a woman nonetheless.” 

Your eyes crinkle as you share a moment of laughter with your father in acknowledging this truth.

“But you are still my daughter,” he affirms, pride brimming from his very soul, “my beautiful, intelligent, headstrong daughter—do not take this request from the emperor lightly.” 

You breathe in his words and the ambiguity behind them. He squeezes your hand before he speaks again. 

“The road to power and influence is rarely paved solely by integrity and good intention,” he declares as he brushes a wavy tendril from your face. “Do you understand?”

You lean forward and squeeze your father’s hands again with an assured confidence—one that almost feels like defiance within you. You hold your head high and a smile forms on your face. 

“I believe I understand exactly what you mean.” 

***

The day of the palace gathering arrives faster than you anticipate. You’ve been busying yourself with reading the latest in literature while acquiring the perfect garment for the evening. Sparing no expense, you find a gown of saffron yellow, that when hit just right with sunlight, shines like satin fields of gold. The palla you wear is reminiscent of the clear blue waters of the ocean. You sit before your reflection and dip your fingers in a small bowl of water tinted a rich coral-pink from crushed poppies tapping them lightly on your cheeks and lips. Then you lightly comb your long waves until they cascade down your back and shoulders. You take one more look at yourself in the mirror, more than satisfied with your appearance. The time to leave is here. 

The moment you step foot inside the palace walls, you have to take a breath at the grandeur of all that surrounds you. Familiar faces greet you, of course, they’ve known you even as a child because of your father. Some steal more than one glance in your direction, perhaps it was the gown or maybe they hadn’t seen you in some time. Men approach you, making small talk of how you’ve grown. You surprise them with your talk of literature, language, and politics and some are more impressed than others while the fools are not at all. You are quickly ushered to the private wing of the emperors’ home where most of the revelries will occur. 

A servant approaches you offering an ornate chalice filled with red wine which you gladly take. You scan the room as you bring the chalice to your lips. As you do, you catch the Emperor Geta, his eyes set upon you while his hands palm the opulently, gold-embroidered robes at his thighs. You smile into your chalice as before taking one more sweep around the hall, intensely aware that the emperor’s eyes follow you around the room. And it reminds you of what you have always known: You are better than anyone else invited in this room. 

A well-dressed guard finds you and bows his head as he presents an arm to you. 

“My lady,” he begins, “Caesar has reserved space for you with the imperial family and the other dignitaries.” 

Your breath hitches for a moment and you hope you’ve done well enough to keep your composure. In your periphery you see Emperor Geta leaning forward upon his chaise, his fingers are stacked with rings and he is grazing his lips with them as he watches and waits for you. You make your way to him from across the room and despite being the one on the move, it feels as though you’re being hunted. In seconds you are standing before him, his eyes are traversing the expanse of your body from your head to your toes and back up again. The intensity of it, of him, is heavy and it envelops you like a fog. 

“Sit,” he directs you and gestures to an empty, cushioned space beside him on his lectus, smoothing the cushions with the palm of his hand. 

His brother and co-emperor Caracalla interjects with a pout as he feeds his pet monkey, Dundas from a bunch of grapes, one by one, “Brother, she is a lady of society and your personal guest, you should say please!!!” 

He takes a deep breath through his nose, his lips tightening at his brother’s words. The moment he turns his gaze back to you, the late afternoon sunlight hits his eyes just so, making them glimmer a rich, golden amber. He gestures next to him again with his right hand as he squeezes his armrest with the other. 

“Please,” he pauses for emphasis, “sit.”

Emperor Geta holds a hand out to you and you take it. His eye contact with you is unmatched as he presses his lips to your hand. This close, they are fuller than you imagined and even softer than you could dream if you allow yourself. 

“First a personal invitation,” you say with a light smile, “and now what certainly must be a most coveted space next to you, dear Caesar. To what do I owe such an honor?”

“Your father has served us well in the senate,” he begins, “we used to play together as children, do you not recall?” 

You laugh, knowing the reality is different from his recollection. You played in the vicinity of each other as very young children. Age and influence would separate you, year after year. 

“I’m hardly the girl I was,” you say, meeting his eyes with the same intensity, “and you barely knew me then. Why summon me now, if not for nostalgia?” 

“To know the woman you are now, the one that makes every person’s head turn the moment she walks in the room.” 

Before you can respond, a melody rings out bouncing off the shining, marble walls. It takes your attention from the handsome emperor and takes your breath away with its beauty. Already, this is everything you have dreamed of and the evening is only just beginning. The music builds as more musicians enter the triclinium. A masked pantomime dancer pirouettes before you, each step a story, a declaration of love, the agony of war, and the tragedy of death. Each step echoes from the music into your soul and holds tightly onto your heart making you feel everything through each wave of an arm, a tip of a head, flicks of a fingertip, and the point of a toe. Through it, you hear Caracalla giggling and elated, clapping his hands and waving his body around with each musical change. As the audience stands and claps at the pantomime's end, tears are falling freely from your eyes. 

You feel Geta’s bejeweled fingers wrapping around your arm and pulling it close to him. 

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his eyes on you. “Is it not?” 

You nod, squeezing his hand in response to his.

Caracalla’s ear splitting laughter rings out again as Dundas scurries around the lectus, stealing scraps of food from people’s fingers. You watch as the monkey creeps towards Geta’s fingers as she attempts to steal whatever she can from him. He quickly lets go of your hand to wave her away before turning to his brother, fighting to keep calm as he seethes through his teeth to keep Dundas away from him. 

“Every military conquest is a show of our power to the world,” you hear a guest nearby, “by might, we will see the glory of Rome flourish!”

You turn towards the direction of the conversation and see some faces you recognize as colleagues of your father. 

“And you believe that’s where the glory of Rome lies? A forced hand? Barbarism?” Their talk compels you to join in their discussion. “The glory of Rome rests in her ability to exchange knowledge, to expand what we already know through partnerships, to make what we have better.”

They pause and chuckle under their breath. 

“You are a fool hardy idealist just like your father!”

They laugh, passing judgement upon you. 

“My father is a scholar and a pacifist,” you retort, “I fail to see how that should be misconstrued as weak and defamatory.”

“Conquests are how we absorb the best of the knowledge we find,” one of the men says as he waves a dismissive hand at you. 

You feel a shift next you and notice that Emperor Geta is returning his focus to you and your discussion. He leans in, placing a hand upon your knee. In an instant the men’s expressions tighten at the corners of their wrinkled eyes. Any ease they hold in their body disappears almost immediately as the emperor attends to you. 

“Through war? Through death?” you counter, “At the cost of the lives of our finest men and our most precious resources?”

“Expanding the empire expands our resources.”

Emperor Geta moves his eyes, deep in thought between you and the senators. He measures your composure in your responses and places a thoughtful hand on his chin. A sense builds in you that he is intent on listening to the next words that are ready to leave your lips.

“Senators, war is an unsustainable solution for Rome,” you assert, “and it will only contribute to her downfall.”

The old men remain silent at your words and it amplifies the chatter around you. The buzz in the air intensifies as you turn to see Emperor Caracalla stand with his arms stretching out in greeting to another guest. 

“MACRINUS!” He cries out with an excited clap of his hands. “What gifts do you have for us this evening?”

The arms dealer Macrinus walks in, his flowing robes of blue billowing behind him. He approaches the lectus like he belongs here. His bravado is too much, you think, as you watch him greet Caracalla with the smallest of bows and it fills you with unease. It is a sign of how little he respects the throne. Geta’s brother doesn’t seem to notice and continues to smile with the utmost elation. Macrinus presents two men, their hands are bound in chains and their faces contort in both despondency and fury.  One of the senators with whom you had just shared a war of words steps out calling attention to all the guests. 

“Gentleman and ladies,” he looks at you with a smirk, “what better way is there to celebrate Rome’s strong hand and influence than to see these two men battle?”

You hate him more than you did even just a moment ago. You tighten your lips and take long deep breaths to your nose to stave off your shaking anger. 

“To the death!” Caracalla screams, taking a drunken sip of wine before leaning on the shoulders of one of his lovers. 

The applause around you is deafening as each and every guest breaks into fits of screams, hoots, and gasps. The air around you feels thick as the two prisoners are leashed upon each other. Their sweat and blood simmers and it makes you feel dizzy. Every punch, kick, and strangle the men inflict upon each other makes you wince. You’ve been to gladiator games in the coliseum, but seeing a battle so close, within arms reach, evokes a different feeling entirely. Your head feels light as the smell of iron blood grows thicker and you grow sicker. You lean forward bracing your hand on Geta’s shoulder, while closing your eyes tight.  You hear grunts and screams of anger and pain resound across the room. Geta has taken a hold of your hand pressing it to his chest as you lean your face into the shoulders of his robes, anything to fend off the visual of two men killing each other from your mind. With each strike the men make, the guests provoke the most brutal of blows until you hear a squelching sound and a chorus of gasps. 

“It is over,” Geta calls to you, before joining in on the applause. 

You open your eyes to see a loyal guard dragging the body of one man off the floor, leaving behind a trail of blood while the other one is back in chains and taken away.  You draw your hand to your lips and pull in a deep breath, but it makes everything you feel worse. The blood is thicker and you’re swallowing the metallic flavor that has penetrated the air directly on your tongue. 

“Your excellency,” you say faintly, “I can’t breathe, I need air.” 

No one seems to take notice of your plight but the Emperor. He takes your hand and ushers a loyal guard to you. He takes your right arm, while the guard takes your left. You feel lighter as soon as the smell of fresh air and flowers float to your nose. You close your eyes as he leans you against a column. The rattling of the guards armor shuffles quickly and you feel a cool, damp cloth against your face. The softness of the touch tells you it is Geta who holds it there.

“Leave us,” he orders and you hear the guard’s quick march disappear into the distance.

“Caesar,” you sigh, opening your eyes as you brace yourself against the column, “I am sorry.”

The sun is already dipping well below the horizon and as he removes the cloth from your head, you find yourself being drawn in by the pools of honey that are his eyes. This quiet sunset is a calming foil to the frenzied and severe nature he usually displays to Rome and all her citizens. 

“You were raised witnessing the spectacle of gladiator games,” the smile he gives you is smug. “How was bearing witness to a more private show such a difficulty for you?”

You snicker quietly as you shake your head, “the proximity of the…final act was something I’ve never accounted for.”

“And yet you’ve always wanted to be here,” he says, moving closer to you, backing you further into the stone column. “My dear, I’ve heard the whispers.” 

You could counter him, deny his allegations despite their truth. Denial in this moment would serve neither one of you. You merely raise a brow at him and lift your shoulders in a slight shrug. 

“Will you show you me the rest of the garden until I’m well enough to return to the party or return home,” you ask standing forward from the column. 

Geta’s eyes twitch when you offer the idea of returning home. He offers his hand and you begin a slow amble around the imperial gardens. The oxygen that every plant in the garden releases helps to push the sickness away. The beauty of how the myrtles and mulberry trees line the sides of the garden and the way peony bushes form a perfect grid among the fountains is the medicine you need. 

“You speak so freely to the senators, without thought of repercussions or judgement,” Geta observes aloud. 

“I speak to anyone when I am able to offer the truth,” you reply with a sigh. 

“You hold judgement for them,” he takes another bold step forward, “what makes you believe you have a better understanding of politics, of what the Roman people need?” 

“Caesar, I am not blinded by power,” you respond, “I seek knowledge and understanding and I’ve no need to impress anyone in a position of power.”

“You do nothing to hide the disdain on your face when you speak of those in power,” the emperor observes, “do you speak of me with such disdain?”

“Those senators were sycophants for your father and would do anything to further his agenda,” you contend as you walk past a nearby peony bush, dancing your hands over the blooming, fuschia buds. “Even if it means manipulating you as a means to your deceased father’s end.” 

You can see Emperor Geta beginning to shake and take quick breaths through his nose. He rushes at you with gritted teeth and you raise your arms ready to push back against him if he were to strike, “Tread carefully, you speak of things of which you have no understanding.” 

“You can build this reign to leave your legacy for Rome,” you maintain, holding your arms in front of your body, “not for those senators, not for your brother, not for Macrinus.” 

You wait to gauge his response at the mention of the arms dealer. You wonder if the Emperor has any inkling that Macrinus is not to be trusted. 

“Macrinus is a trusted adviser and has played a valuable role in the expansion of Rome,” Geta informs you, stepping forward to close the space between you. 

“He walks in your palace and sits at your throne as if it belongs to him,” you say, unwavering in the way you speak each word. “He is making you fight his war.”

“I am not a warmonger.” 

“I did not say you were,” you assert, gritting your teeth to hold back your frustration, “but everyone will believe you to be if you do not take charge of your own reign, dear caesar.”

He stops and looks at you, his expression softening in the moonlight.

“Geta,” he says, his voice clear and unwavering, “you may call me Geta.” 

“That’s quite familiar, is it not?”

He takes a few steps forward and traces the curve of your face with his fingertips and caresses your arms before grabbing and pulling you towards him. It’s a little rough and your breaths grow quick and heavy as he hesitates before bringing his face close to yours. He is so close that only a slip of fabric could fit between. 

“It’s something true,” he answers and pulls you in for a kiss. 

He presses a hand to your chest before he brushes it upward to place it at our cheek, intertwining his fingers in your waves before pulling you deeper into his lips. You know his lips were soft from the way you let them brush your hand earlier but the way he kisses is wet, rough, and desperate. He breaks free for a moment so you both can come up for air. You lean your head against his, listening to his breath on yours. 

“Tell me something true,” he asks and you swear you hear a hint of pain in the deepest parts of his voice. 

“Your brother is mad,” you declare, a laugh curling up the corners of your lips. 

It is an unexpected delight to see him throw his head back in laughter, especially one that isn’t manic as those you’ve heard before. It is a truth even greater than the permission granted to call him by his name. He holds an arm out for you to hold before continuing your stroll around the garden. 

***

Even as the moon rises higher and higher into the deep night sky, the guests continue to revel in the luxuries of the palace. More food and wine are shared with excess and abandon and in the quiet of the night you hear overbearing shrieks of laughter and depravity from his brother, his lovers, and other patricians who have remained to enjoy the wealth of the throne. They are jumping up and down like monkeys, mirroring and playing against Caracalla’s Dundas. Every now and then you see a splash of wine dancing in the air, you hear the clanging of goblets and the shattering of plates, and so much wine is spilling that the aroma of it inundates the garden. 

The scene from afar is unsettling, like all those who stay have gone mad. You lean over and admire the large garden fountain, your fingers are dancing through the waters when Geta advances on you from behind, seizing your arms and whipping you around to face him. His hands grip your arms with unexpected strength as he pulls you towards him. 

“You touch water with the gentleness of a butterfly,” his breath, smelling of sweet wine, is hot on you, “tells me you’ve not known the touch of a man.”

You’re frozen in a fusion of fear and excitement as he spins you back around, pressing your body onto the fountain’s cold, wet stone. He presses his body to yours, and you can feel how hard he is beneath the lavish fabric of his robes. You nearly scream as he gathers the bottom of your gown, exposing your bare lower half to the cold night air. 

“No, Geta please!” you gasp, with tears forming from the corners of your eyes. 

Not this way. You plead in your head.

He comes around to look at your face shining in the moonlight. He wipes a single tear that has fallen down your cheek. 

“Do you think me to be a savage?” his voice quivers on the edge of sanity. “That I would steal your innocence?”

You shake your head as he wipes your salty tears onto your soft lips. On instinct and desire you act on your urge to wrap your lips around his thumb. He groans at the motion and rolls his eyes in ecstasy.

“May I touch you?” He asks with unexpected earnesty.

It’s so disarming, that you nod in agreement almost immediately. You can feel his eyes admire and with immediacy his hands are roaming your derrière until his fingers find your folds. You can feel the cold metal of his rings touching your skin the deeper he pushes them in. The novelty of feeling the touch of someone’s fingers but your own is arousing and intense. You squeeze him tightly and your eyes shut tight as he moves to where you remain unbroken. 

You twitch and take a deep breath whining when he halts his ministrations. Responding in kind to your body, he takes his fingers from your pulsing center. You’re panting, scared to look  behind you to discover his next move. You tremble and shake at the touch of his hands at your bottom. You hear him drop to his knees and before you can say a word his fingers are caressing your outer lips and his wet, hot tongue licks a long thick stripe at your opening. 

“By the gods,” you almost let out a loud scream. 

The reverberations of his laughter resound at your center and he continues the worship of your womanhood. Your breath is coming out in desperate pants as he devours you. Tears of euphoria peek from the corners of your eyes as you hold an arm to your mouth to silence your screams. 

You writhe against his face, your entire body on fire as he pleasures you. Your thoughts are chaotic as you glance at the crowd inside, knowing they might hear you, knowing they might find you at any moment. But even more, your body responds to every new sensation brought on by Geta’s tongue and mouth. The fullness of his lips imprint themselves on your body and soul as he devotes particular attention to the bud at your center—kissing it, sucking it as though it were a honeycomb given to him, personally, as a gift from the gods.

How were you to stifle your moans, how were you to hide this unbridled pleasure as he drinks you with the thirst of a man who has traversed a desert? Your breaths grow faster as though you are running a marathon and with each twist and brush of his tongue his name slips repeatedly from your lips. The quaking that emanates from your center is traveling to every part of your body in waves of pleasure you never knew possible. You come to the understanding that perhaps Emperor Geta does not care if you are found, perhaps he even wants it. 

“I---I can’t!!” You cry out, clutching the fabric of your gown between your fingers. 

“Yes,” he groans, then shakes his head, with a deep, voracious growl as he squeezes your thighs and buries his face deeper into you, “yes, you can.” 

In that moment you believe him and let go. And as your sex spills all over his face, you cry out his name into the night and the garden air. A laugh of satisfaction floats from his chest as he stands, allowing you a brief moment to compose yourself. Still catching your breath from your climax, he pulls you up to face him. You look at him with apprehension, unsure of what he will do and what you should do next. He caresses a few wayward tendrils of hair away from your face and lifts your chin with an unexpectedly gentle hand. Your slick shines on his face as he draws you near and kisses you, You can taste yourself, him, and the small remnants of wine that linger on his tongue. 

You stare at each other in silence, the raucous laughter, conversation, and music continues to permeate throughout the garden. They barely notice you through their hypnotic decadence. Geta then takes you by the hand leading you through the moonlit garden to his study. You notice the same palace guard from earlier following you. Scrolls and books line the wall and you can’t help but admire how the silver moonlight fills the room. 

“Wait here,” Geta commands, leaving you at a chair in the center of the room as he leaves with his loyal guard. 

Your eyes travel over the room, imagining what wonders and knowledge await you in the scrolls and books. Is it something that Geta would even allow? 

After several moments, Geta returns, his face free of any remaining makeup that adorned his face. His ornate, multi-layered tunics are gone in favor of a simpler robe yet still opulent with its gold embroidered leaves. He holds it at the waist and your body reacts to the sight of his bare chest he’s chosen to reveal to you. You grip the corners of your seat and the feeling of him stalking you comes over you again, despite only two of you being in the room. What did he want from you in a room where there was no escape?

And suddenly, he is standing before you. He takes a hand to your hair, a palm to your face, and his fingers to your chin tilting your gaze up to him. Your hand finds his arm, caressing it until your hand meets his. You lift his hands to your lips, placing a soft kiss on each finger. 

“Tell me,” you request, feeling your want grow for him, “how can I serve my emperor?” 

He looks upon you in an amalgamation of disbelief, desire, and appreciation. He licks his lips and smirks before opening his robe. A deep sigh escapes you at the sight of him. In the lamp light, his cock is perfectly lit, standing at attention for you. You know what he wants, but you want him to say it. 

“My lord?” You ask again. “Geta?

“Kneel.” He demands. 

Your heart and core pounds in equal measure as you bring your hands to the base of his cock. You wrap your right hand around him and pump up and down the length of him. He moans a prayer to the gods as you work on him. It turns into an even louder gasp as you take each of his balls into your mouth, rolling them along your tongue. Then with a long, wide flattening of your tongue, you taste him all the way to his weeping tip until you wrap your lips around it. 

“I am the gods’ favorite son,” he moans to the heavens, “to have been blessed with this.” 

You look up at him, his mouth agape as you move your mouth on him. He grabs your hair with his ring adorned fingers and pushes deeper into your mouth. With tears forming at the corners of your eyes, you fight against your gag reflex. A few adjustments at the back of your throat is just the thing you need to return your focus on taking him in your mouth. You hollow your cheeks, pulling him deeper until his cock-head hits the back of your throat.

His hand still holds on firmly to your wavy tresses while you keep your eyes on him. You know he is close from the way his breath comes out in desperate gasps and moans to the way his legs shake beneath him. After a few deep and unrelenting sucks, you focus your tongue and mouth on the head of his cock with quick shallow sucks. His praise for you echoes against the walls of the study until you return once again to slow, deep sucks until his voice quivers and his entire body follows with it. He pushes in a few final thrusts to the back of your throat and as he softens you taste him release within you and you swallow it all. A bit tries to escape your lips and you savor the last of it with your tongue. 

You hold each other’s gaze, breathless and knackered. Geta’s eyes are heavy and glassy with bliss and his neck and chest are flush with lust. He pulls you to standing and pushes your mussed hair from your face. He crushes his lips to yours in gratitude. 

“Only the gods could have promised a woman like you for me,” he says with undeniable pride. “A woman like you are what empresses are made of.”

Your heart skips a beat and beyond one lick of your soft, puffy lips you smile at him. Confidence presses your shoulders back to meet the same posture as your dear emperor. You bask in this moment, in this position knowing it is not only the one you deserve, but the one you have earned.

[yesimwriting]

Known

A/n i see this as taking place a little after  this , but they're both separate drabbles that can be read on their own :)

Summary: Late night drinking turns into reminiscing between friends. Or, in which you realize that you've always felt safe around Logan.

Warnings/info: age-gap (both characters are of consenting age!!), casual drinking, unnoticed pining, technopath!reader

----

The colors and voices radiating from the TV screen are easier to feel than experience, the electric current buzzing against your skin.

You move to sit up a little straighter, hands pressing into plush cushioning as you adjust. There's a distance to the way you're feeling, as if some odd lightness has managed to wedge itself between you and the world around you.

You lean forward, reaching for the bottle abandoned on the coffee table in front of you. Your fingers press into the glass as you move back into place, the side of your thumb tapping against the neck of the second beer you've finished tonight. A third might be nice, but the darkness around you makes the door feel too far to even think about getting to the kitchen.

There is a bottle of whisky only an arm's length away...it'd be easy to--

"No." The word is flat in its finality.

A soft laugh gives you away immediately. You press a palm against your lips as if that'll take the sound back. Sometimes Logan reads you so well you have to wonder if he has secret psychic abilities he hasn't told anyone about. "I didn't say anything."

He turns his head, lips pressing together in what feels like an attempt to dismiss the amusement behind his eyes. "Didn't have to." Logan's attention shifts back to the glass in his hand. "You're not drinking it."

You shift, turning to better analyze him. There's a stiffness to him that doesn't suit the amount of alcohol in his system. Maybe he's overcompensating for something, like his level of commitment to the stance he's taking. "Okay," the response is warm, cheery.

Logan lets out a breath as he leans forward, angling himself so close his forehead nearly touches yours. He watches you with an openness that's more dizzying than the alcohol in your system. "I mean it."

His proximity is so disorientating you nearly forget that you're meant to respond and not just stare at him.

"Fine," a genuine concession. Nothing else comes to mind, and you can't bring yourself to look away from him. The overwhelming desire to look at him is far from rare, but you're usually better at suppressing it.

You set one of your hands against the space between the two of you. "I'm gonna go get another beer."

He sighs, as if something about the statement has deeply drained him. "You're not."

Your lips part in a mock gasp. "Are you cutting me off?"

The joke seems to ease him, the corner of his mouth pulling itself upwards. "You're drunk."

Please--who gets drunk off of two beers? You narrow your eyes, not sure if you're more offended by the assumption or his hypocrisy. "Am not."

He has the audacity to smile fully. "Then let's keep it that way." The side of his hand moves to rest against the back of your palm. He's--Logan's always so warm. "Don't need to make putting you to bed any harder, princess."

An uneasy warmth begins to crawl its way up your neck. "Y'know you've had twice as much to drink as me, and you're still going."

You press your lips together in an attempt to hide the fact that you're arguing for the sake of it more than out of a desire for more alcohol.

There's a beat of silence as Logan tilts his chin downwards, making the distance between the two of you feel even smaller than it really is. "And when you're my age, you'll get a third beer."

You let yourself openly frown. "You're no fun."

He sighs, attention shifting back to his glass. "Don't pout."

"I'm not," it's a little more directly dishonest than you'd usually be, but the mood seems easy enough for you to get away with it. "I'm just...talking."

Logan watches you for a moment, doubt etched into his expression. "Sure, kid."

You roll your eyes as you shift away, arm stretching forward to place the bottle back on the coffee table. When you lean back, body pressing into the couch, a strangely poignant wave of drowsiness hits you.

The show you had been forcing Logan to watch has been replaced by something bright and loud. The sitcom had been familiar in that slightly off way, the theme song and characters like something out of a recurring childhood dream.

Before your thoughts can snag on the blurriness of your past, you lift a hand. You let your mind give into the draw of the electric current, the two melding until all you have to do to change the channel is flick your wrist. You flick through a few of them before settling on a show you're much more familiar with.

"You're a regular universal remote."

Despite yourself, you smile. The more you've worked on using your powers, the better you've gotten at motor control. Before, sometimes so much as touching something plugged into the wall was enough to make you lose control. "Much cooler than being the person that blew up the toaster."

He laughs once at the memory, the sound low but warm. "Or electrocuting me."

You glare. "I never electrocuted you." It's the truth. Your first few days here had been hectic, the stability you were being offered seemed too good to be true; every instinct in your body begged you to get out before it was too late. But you hadn't hurt anyone.

"But you thought about it." You don't have decent response. When you met Logan, you were running on nothing but adrenaline. "It's okay, I didn't make the best impression."

When the two of you first met, Logan had been...gruff, and maybe defensive in a warranted way, but you can't remember ever not liking him. Maybe that's why you felt more comfortable around him than anyone else, Logan never spoke to you in a way that felt like a facade.

But he doesn't need to know that, so you just shrug. "We're good now, though."

The show cuts to commercial break, an ad for detergent filling the screen. You let yourself relax further into the couch, your head moving to rest against Logan's arm.

"Yeah," he mumbles, "We're good."

You're aware of your blinking, of the weight of your eyelids and the focus needed to pull them back into place. Logan's presence makes it easier to accept the sluggishness and the vulnerability that comes with it. This isn't the first time he's made you feel okay about something like this.

"Logan?" He hums once in acknowledgement. You let out a quiet breath, the words briefly tangling in the back of your throat. "I'm glad you were the one that found me when I was like that."

He's quiet for a moment, and then his hand squeezes yours. "Me, too."

His voice is so quiet it almost feels like an extension of the electricity floating through the air, another thing that's easier to feel than to know. Your eyes fall shut, and you're comfortable enough to let them stay that way.

----

Taglist: @whyausername99

[so-long-soldier-writes]

It's a Cruel Summer, With You

kai parker x reader | requested

summary: kai's never had anyone tell him they love him. he panics when he hears it for the first time.

tags: based on cruel summer by taylor swift, mild enemies to lovers, drinking / alcohol, secret relationship, summer love, love confessions, fear / panic, past trauma affecting relationships, emotional hurt, unrequited love (but not really), break-up, heartbreak, unhappy ending, one teensy edgar allen poe reference

word count: 5k

a/n: anon, i apologize once more for the amount of time this took! i hope you like it, and i hope i did taylor swift justice. 🩷 i also hope it makes sense bc sometimes i feel like my thoughts are just all over the place 😅

You were staring daggers into the back of his head, three days after a drastic turning point in their lives. And he, feeling your eyes upon him, turned to face you and smiled. That enraged you like nothing else; no man had ever had such an audacity with you, to raise the hell that he had and still offer a smile. You looked back down at your drink, still fuming, and still aware of him watching you, and texted your friends about it. One replied with an equal disgust, another sent a funny-to-her joke, and there was no response from the third. 

“Maybe he’s got a sweet spot for you,” she had said.

“Ha.”

A sweet spot that’d make him kill you last, maybe.

You rolled your eyes exhaustedly, but by the time you looked back down, someone had slunk into the booth across from you. You jumped, then rolled your eyes a second time at the realization of who it was.

“Hey cutie.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Kai shrugged, unbothered. He kept eye contact with you in a way that made it hard to look away; his blue eyes seemed to pierce right into your soul. They weren’t bright, like Damon’s, but instead had a touch of darkness in them. Like storm clouds rolling in on a bright, sunny day. They threaten rain, but you’re not sure if the downpour will come today or tomorrow.

Kinda like how he came into Mystic Falls. 

“What do you want?” You bit, after about thirty seconds of staring.

“Are you scared of me?”

“Excuse me?”

“Are you afraid of me?” He repeated, eerily softly. 

“Why would you think that?” Forced bravery is better than none, especially when faced with Kai Parker. 

“There’s a slight tremor in your voice. Only one finger touches the table, as if you’re unable to settle. You struggle to meet my eyes.”

“What are you, a psychologist?”

“I’m a sociopath.”

Shocker. 

“So?”

“I notice things.” He took a sip of your coffee. Reached out across the table, met your eyes, and sipped your drink. Again, the audacity. “I spent a lot of my childhood isolated. I had a lot of little brothers and sisters, and they were all taught to be afraid of me. I know how to read the signs.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“That’s what they’d say, too.”

“Well I’m not your siblings, and I’m not putting up an act. I don’t trust you, and I think you’re an ass, but I’m not afraid of you.” Your statement’s bold, but he had struck something fierce in you. A nerve, maybe on purpose, that wasn’t going to let him win this time. 

Kai smiled at that. His gaze dropped to the table, surveying your hands once more. His own pointer finger dragged along the wood. “I like you, Y/N. You’re plucky.”

The words took a moment to register - Kai saying he liked you. Kai didn’t like anyone. 

He got up to leave, causing you to turn towards him, prepared to jump out of the booth if you had to. “Well don’t.”

He cocked his head. “What?”

“I don’t want you to like me. I want nothing to do with you; you said it yourself, you’re a sociopath, and I don’t need that kind of bad energy in my life.”

That seemed to be funny to him, judging by the way he chuckled. “Okay, Y/N.” He put his hands up in surrender. “I won’t like you then.”

And with that, he was gone. 

Of course, he wasn’t gone - gone. Kai was never gone - gone from anything, even when people yelled at him to leave. He would disappear for a couple days, but he always came back. 

And somehow, after your interaction, you’d see him more frequently at the grill, too. He’d never talk to you, but you could feel his gaze. His stone cold blues would linger on you, almost like an animal stalking prey. 

It made you anxious, jittery. But somewhere, secretly, also a bit excited. 

He was dangerous in a way that drew you in. He had this aura about him that intrigued you as much as it scared you. You knew what he had done, and what he was capable of, and yet he still occupied the curious corners of your mind. 

And somehow, he seemed to know that. 

♫

How it happened from there is something you still question. Death glares became stolen glances, became blushing smiles, and by the next time he joined you at your booth, you didn’t try to fight him off. Kai ordered an uncharacteristically pink cocktail to match your own tropical choice. Neither said much as you both drank the rum mixtures down to the ice. You communicated in eye contact, mostly, as if daring the other to speak. Your stubborn personalities that should’ve clashed seemed to meld together instead. An intense staring contest was born. You found yourself entertained in the game, and quickly, enjoying it, too.

The booze soaked your brain as you continued to drink; your thoughts were fuzzy, and whenever you tried to catch them, they’d dissipate like cotton candy dropped in water. When Liv closed the restaurant around midnight, she unknowingly crashed the floodgates that weakly stood between you two. Ten feet out onto the street, you fell into him and he held you up. You laughed in his arms, partly due to your own drunken state, but partly that it’s Kai keeping you on your toes. He held you tight until you found your footing, just for you to crash your lips onto his unsuspecting own. The witch, taken aback but not opposed to it, let you taste him for a moment before kissing back. He pushed you up to the nearest wall, feeling and exploring, before hailing a ride back to your place. 

It had been forever for both of you. The uber driver with a ‘no touching’ rule sobered you up a little, but not enough to make you think twice about it. By the time he laid you down on your sheets, any doubt in your mind had fizzled out. He was a gentle lover, much to your surprise, likely because it was such an unfamiliar feeling to be so intimate with another. The little control you tried to take was met with a laugh, and you understood the signal. You didn’t mind being underneath him, though, nor did you mind him staying the night.

Guilt struck you when you first woke up in his arms, but not enough to barr yourselves from meeting again. The first few times you had to be drinking to convince yourself it was okay, but the more morning-afters you spent together, the less ashamed you started to feel. With time, nights started to feel less like hookups and more like something else. He became something you adored when you had, and craved when you did not. The feelings were mutual, though harder to pull out from the siphon, until you asked him directly, putting both your hearts out for the other to grab.

“What are we?” You asked, head leaning on the vending machine as he fetched himself a post-high gatorade. A bag of cookies were held in your own hand from the exchange you made one minute prior. 

“Having fun,” Kai replied.

“Kai…”

“Or so I think,” he followed his words, questioning the look on your face. 

“Are we anything more? Will we ever be?”

A loud voice down the hall that vaguely resembled his sister made a sharp remark to another person. His response sounded closer, as if they were heading in your direction. Kai grabbed your arm and muttered a simple cloaking spell until they both passed. Liv and Tyler both disappeared into her room, then Kai removed his hand. His touch lingered on your skin for a moment. You’ve grown to quite like the feeling. 

“I don’t know,” he confessed, “I’m not exactly the person for relationships, if you aren’t aware. I’m a sociopath that was locked in complete isolation for eighteen years.”

“I don’t care.” You grabbed his hand and laced your fingers together. “I like you. I don’t want this to stop. I want it to be more.”

“I’m not built for this.”

“But do you want it?”

His mouth went dry as he already knew the truth. He did. He wanted you so much, but fear held him back like a dog on a leash. He didn’t have much slack. “I want you,” he finally said. “I want this to work.”

“I’m not good at relationships, either. We’re figuring this out together.”

Kai seemed to accept that better, and two minutes later, he climbed back under the sheets with you, turning on a movie and sharing snacks until you fell asleep. 

♫

As your relationship progressed, it was tested, like all relationships ever are. You grew closer, more comfortable, as summer went on. Much of your time spent together was at night; you hadn’t told your friends, not ready for their questions nor their judgment, nor did you want the word out to his coven yet, afraid of whatever wrath his father could bring if he were to disapprove. You were still figuring things out, still learning about each other, and testing yourselves through time, and that was okay. Life isn’t something to be learned in a day, it’s something in which to be present to see where it takes you.

So, you let yourselves live, to do just that. On top of rooftops and beside small creeks, you snuck out to enjoy each other’s company. Mystic Falls has a lot of places to hide if you know where to look. 

A couple times, you’ve almost ran into others. More than anyone being Liv and Tyler, also avoiding her father. Once, you’ve ducked under bushes to hide from Bonnie. Kai kissed your neck while his hand was clamped over your mouth, daring you to give away your position, while playfully inhibiting your chance to do so.

Sometimes, you were drunk when you found yourselves venturing the town together. The bar in which neither Matt nor Liv worked became a hotspot for you. But instead of ending the night short, you opted to explore the late hours in each other’s company. The alcohol wore off quickly, but the drunkenness brought on by your unconfessed love never did. 

Kai, as it turns out, was easy to fall in love with. He was charming when you first met, but you were tickled to learn that underneath his manipulation tactics, he could be just as endearing authentically. He was a jokester and a flirt, whether across a room when you’d spot each other in public, or when you were hanging out together alone. You were never afraid to be alone with him. If your friends knew you were out with him, alone, at night, they would’ve freaked, but he always made you feel safe. And, once he felt comfortable being vulnerable with you, he revealed a side that could be sweet, too. 

Even after arguments, you were able to patch things up as if they hadn’t happened. Sometimes, he’d be bristling and volatile, but you knew that a lot of his anger came from a place of fear. You learned what to say that would calm him down; you told him what he needed to hear to feel safe again. You’d provide him with the comfort he’d always desired, and when he settled, he’d melt into your touch and softly request forgiveness.

You complimented each other perfectly. And while it took you a moment to name the emotion, the feeling had been there all along. It was love. 

♫

You were only slightly drunk the first time you realized the truth. Kai was painted in perfect, purple lighting, and his eyes seemed to sparkle when they met yours. You stumbled towards him and put your arms around his neck. He caught you, hands finding your waist. The music seemed to fade out as you swayed with him to the beat. It was as if a bubble captured you both, drowning out the rest of the world, making him your world, and in that moment, nothing else existed. You kissed him quickly, desperately, like an addict gone too long without a hit. He met you halfway, equally addicted. 

And then, because you were young, and stupid, and courageously in love, you blurted out the words swimming restlessly in your mind,

“I love you.”

You looked up at him, not expecting an answer just yet, but to offer an encouraging smile. Before your gaze even reached his, his body tensed. His hands felt like ice upon your nervously warmed skin, and his once-strong grip on your waist loosened. Kai wore an expression of confusion, different from the emotion that you tasted on his lips. You opened your mouth to retract the words, but nothing came out. The bubble that consumed you seemed to crack; the music previously blocked filled your eardrums once again. 

A fraction of a second later, you were guided to a hallway by your fingertips. The narrow path reduced some of the music, but most of the traffic. The man of your affection took to one wall, leaving you in the middle. You tried for his hand after he let it go, but dropped it at the discomfort he seemed to feel in having you hold it. 

You racked your brain for the right words, but nothing seemed perfect. You stared at the ground beneath your feet for a half second longer until he spoke, 

“You can’t do that.”

“What?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m sorry? I don’t. What did I do wrong?” He only shook his head, prompting you further. “Was it what I said or when I said it? Because I don’t think it’s wrong of me to confess what I feel for you when I know that it’s true.”

“It can’t be true. You can’t feel that for me.”

“Why not?”

“Because…”

“Provide me with a reason,” you interrupted, “or let me do as I please. I want to love you. I do, and I won’t apologize for it.” 

“Y/N-”

“We’ve had some tough times together, I know we have, but we’ve gotten through them. We - us, together - have worked through so much to get here. Of course I love you, there’s so much effort and, and, love, that connects us.” You paused, letting your thoughts catch up to your mouth. “You don’t have to say it back. You don’t even have to acknowledge it, if you’re not ready. I know it’s a big step.”

“You can’t go there, Y/N.”

“I know, okay, maybe it was too much, too soon. I’m sor-”

“No, you can’t ever go there. You can’t love me and you shouldn’t. I’m not designed for relationships, they’re not meant for me. Do you not remember the things I’ve done?”

“We’ve talked about this, Kai. You confided in me about your fears, but we handled them, I thought. Do you not remember what I said?”

“I do, but-”

“‘Tell me every terrible thing you ever did, and let me love you anyway’.”

“By Poe,” Kai finished.

“And it’s true. I don’t care about the things you’ve done. I want to love you, and I do.”

“But you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t excuse the things I’ve done just because you want to see me for someone who I am not. You shouldn’t be so desperate to see a difference in me that you convince yourself you love me.”

“What?! Kai, I’m not excusing nor am I desperate. I know you’re different from the you that wrought pain upon the town. That guy’s gone, buried, with this you in his place. And I quite like this you, and I’ve learned to love him, because his progress is worth loving. He is worth loving. You are.”

“The old Y/N would never say such things about her sworn enemy. You’d never dare hold his hand, nor kiss his lips, nor say such things, because you’d know better, and if you did, it’d be because of some horrible nightmare, or some instance where I spelled you to get what I needed, because Y/N, we’re living in a fantasy, and none of this is real.”

“I don’t understand! This is real! We’re here, together, and we were dancing, and we were happy, and now we’re in this hallway. Still together, but now questioning if the summer we’ve spent together has all been a hoax, or if that’s the booze talking.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“You have to be, to think what you’re saying is true.” You paused, heartbroken, and afraid to show it, but pretty sure the choke in your words already had. “So are you saying you’ve never meant it? All the times you’ve kissed me were just folly? Or the nights we stayed up until the sun rose again were only dreams I made up?”

“That’s not what I meant, Y/N. I know what we’ve done, and I know we’ve shared moments, but a fantasy is all this is for us. Something we want, but cannot have. We have to wake up some day.”

“I disagree, I think we can make it work.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. This was never supposed to be a long-term thing.”

“But we said it could be! We said it could make it work!”

“And that’s what makes it a fantasy! We both know that’s a lie.”

“Kai, I don’t understand. Ten minutes ago, we were fine. Yesterday, you gave me a kiss that swept me off my feet; that replaced all my organs with butterflies; that made me feel like full-bloomed roses on the nicest day of the year. You made me feel cherished, and happy, and beautiful, but now, I feel like I’m on the end of a well-thought out joke, and everyone’s finally allowed to laugh.”

“I’m not saying this to break your heart. I’m just trying to be realistic.” He reached out to wipe a tear from your cheek, but you smacked his thumb away. 

You couldn’t stop the tears from falling, but you still tried to talk through them. “I thought we were being realistic when we stayed up talking, all those nights, about how we knew each other’s flaws but were willing to work through them anyway. I would think, if we weren’t, we wouldn’t have spent a whole week together and considered getting an apartment to share, because we work just that well.”

“That only proves my point further. We haven’t been together long enough to make big decisions like that.”

“Then we’ll put it on pause and address it later.”

“Y/N-”

“Why are you doing this? Why does it seem like you’re giving up on us? Why are your words sounding like a preface to a break up?”

“Because they are,” he confessed, “because they have to be.”

“What do you mean, ‘they have to be?’”

“We can’t work. You can’t love me.”

“But I do, and I want to, and we do! We’ve managed to make it work, despite our-”

“But how long do you think we can keep this up? When will our differences outweigh our desires to stay together? When will we tell your friends about us? My family? We are too different for us to work, and I’m too damaged to be loved by you. We have to stop living in this fantasy.”

“I can’t believe you’re saying this. Do you even know what you’re saying?”

“I’m not drunk, Y/N.”

“So what, have you been planning this? Have you been waiting for the perfect time? Funny, that the perfect time seems to be when I tell you I l-”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, “don’t say it again.”

“What?”

“The less you say it, the less you’ll believe it.”

“That’s bullshit. I believe it in the deepest corners of my heart. You’re etched into my bones. You’re the shimmer of light in the darkest parts of my mind. I love you, Kai Parker. I love you, and I don’t want to apologize for it, and I won’t believe that I’ve made this all up in my mind. It’s okay that you don’t love me, but don’t you dare try to say you feel nothing.”

“Y/N-”

“‘Tell me all the terrible things you’ve done, and let me love you anyway’.”

“You can’t. I won’t let you.”

“You don’t have a choice. I don’t. I can’t control my heart nor its desires. It wants you; you have it. Tell me you don’t crave it. I know you crave love, Kai. I know it in the way you kiss me, and in the way you hold me. I know it from the time you confessed, at two in the morning when you were too tired to hold back, and I know it from when you told me, clear as day, on that Wednesday afternoon. I love you, and I’m not afraid to love you. Why don’t you give in to what I know you want?!”

Because your love isn’t mine to take. 

Because I don’t deserve it.

Because you’re a gemstone, perfect and pure, and I’m the dirt from which it was pulled.

“Because I don’t feel the same for you,” he said instead, “I’m not capable of love. I’m a sociopath, and anything I’ve ever said was for my own fleeting pleasure. It’s over now. I’m done. I’m bored with us.”

“What? No. Something’s wrong. This is not the same Kai I spent the summer falling in love with. Are you Damon in disguise? Pulling some sick prank?”

“I’m not, Y/N. It’s me, being realistic, and telling you I don’t love you, and I never will. It’s time to go home, Y/N, and to your own bed, in your own sheets.”

The tears streaming down your face run your make-up, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. “But my sheets smell like you.”

“Then wash them.”

The harshness in his tone was unlike anything you’ve ever heard before. When you finally brought yourself to meet his eyes, there was no light inside them, no humanity. His jaw was tensely set, and for the first time in months, you saw the Kai that everyone feared when he had broken himself free of his eighteen-year punishment. Scared and sorrowful, you backed away from him. He didn’t follow. You backed further and further away until you were stumbling out of the bar. The wicked August heat kissed your neck like he used to -  passionately. You grabbed your hair, fumbling it up into a bun to get it off your skin, then searched for your phone to call a ride. 

As the white sedan approached your meeting spot, you trained your blurry vision on the door, but Kai never came out. He never shouted your name, hurried down the steps, nor caught you in an apologetic embrace, blaming his temporary ignorance on too much to drink. He never peered through a fingerprint-stained window, watching you from the glass, wondering if it's too late to take back what was said. It was just silent, as car engines roared and drunk couples chattered around you. 

When your ride finally came, you cried harder than you ever had in your life. Your driver glanced to the backseat, but didn't know a good time to interrupt, so he didn't. He offered a polite smile as you got out, thanked you for the five-star rating, and made sure you got in your apartment safely before pulling back onto the road. 

You barely made it through the door before crashing on the couch. Exhaustion settled in your bones halfway through the drive, and you couldn’t even think about climbing the stairs. The worst headache of your life pounded in your skull. Water was too far of a walk, so you let it throb. 

You tried your best not to think about Kai. His words rang in your head on repeat like an old antique bell - loud, heavy, constant. It almost felt like the whole night was a fluke. A nightmare. A spell, perhaps done by his father, or one of your disappointed friends. When you wake up, he’d be there, kissing your fingertips as the smell of coffee fills the air. You let this thought comfort you, and let it soften your heart. Although, deep down, you knew the truth. 

He wouldn’t be there. He didn’t want you. 

You’ve never known pain like this before.

♫

You can only ignore your friends for so long. Blaming a long to-do list can only give you so many excuses, and when Caroline messages you mid-afternoon on a Friday if you’d meet them at the Scull Bar, you realize you don’t have any more excuses left. So, cautiously, you pull yourself from your bed and drag your feet to your closet. You still haven’t washed your sheets, despite wanting to be rid of his once-comforting smell. It’s more stubbornness than anything, refusing to do the chore. If he thinks throwing a piece of fabric in the wash will rid you of him, he’s a damn fool.

You hadn’t been lying. He owns a part of your heart, and that can’t be simply washed away with some eco-friendly detergent.

Truthfully, you think, ignoring the heaviness in your bones as you enter the Scull Bar, the only way to remove him would be to carve out your heart entirely; to separate it from its lifeline and from all that’s familiar. But, you can’t, so you choose to let it bleed instead, and hope it doesn’t seep through your clothes. 

A vague sadness hangs above your heads, but none of your friends know the cause. You told them you were tired before joining them. You must not have gotten a good night’s sleep.

After all, it’s the first time in Mystic Falls where something tragic isn’t happening. Damon and Elena are planning out their lives, Stefan and Caroline are newly together, and Bonnie and Enzo, a quite unexpected pair, seem to be happy. Jo is five months pregnant, and Kai has left her alone. The girls wonder if that’s of his own volition, or if someone or something is distracting him, but you don’t offer any suggestions. When they then ask you about your own dating life, you only shrug. They tease playfully, having no idea about the wreckage your heart is still trying to piece back together. The cause seems hopeless. You don’t even have the energy to confide in them. 

The topic finally changes, but only because the one who dropped your glass heart enters. You turn when you catch a bit of his familiar cologne, but remind yourself he’s no longer yours and turn again just as fast. The girls let their gazes linger on him as if daring him to bother them, and for a moment, Kai wonders if you told them. But then, as they shrug and go back to their conversation, he knows you didn’t. Otherwise, they’d be hurling bitter words and sharp tools at him for breaking their best friend’s heart. 

And honestly, he wishes they were. 

It’s what he deserves, after all. 

♫

“I love you,” you had said, only a couple weeks ago. 

His heart stopped. His throat went dry. 

The words seemed to have been shouted at him, despite the booming bass around them. You weren’t yelling, though, you were simply telling the truth. 

A truth he wasn’t ready to hear. A confession he didn’t know how to process. 

How could you, a perfect person, love him, someone so tainted and dark? 

How could he ever love you the way you deserved? 

He did love you, of course. He knew it long before you ever confessed, but it was never something he felt okay to share. 

You always made him feel safe. Comfortable. Dare he say it, loved. 

But love was something he had never felt before, and to have something means that it can be lost. And to not lose it tragically, he must be the one to take it away. 

Hearing the words fall from your lips was both the best and the worst thing he could ever hear. He craves love, he knows he’s admitted it. He craves it more than anything else in the world. But wanting it and having it are two very different things, and now that he has it, he regrets asking for it. 

He had to hurt you then, before your soul could be completely shattered later. He had to stop it. Right then. Before he let you in too much and you got too attached.

So, he lied. 

He broke his own heart with every word, but it was nothing compared to the damage he knew it was doing to your own. He wanted nothing more than to sweep you into his arms, hold you tightly, and say it was all just a spell - an outside force trying to drive you apart - but he couldn’t. His fear of hurting you triumphed over his love for you. His mouth spoke before his mind could process the words he professed. He became unrecognizable to himself by the time he delivered his final blow. Your tears stained your perfect face and your posture was defeated, but he was no longer the one that could offer any solace. He was now the one that ruined you, and there was no coming back from what he had done. 

How terrifying it is, that three little words can make or break you. 

How terrifying it was, to wake up the next morning and realize the damage caused. To have to come to terms with the fact that he had broken the only good thing in his life. To imagine the love of his life sitting on the couch, stirring coffee, with a head full of questions neither will ever be able to answer. 

“I love you, Kai Parker. I love you, and I don’t want to apologize for it…”

“I love you,” ain’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?

[urcrowley]

Floral Flame

— Florist!Touya X Reader —

(NO QUIRKS AU , I NEED TO HEAL 🤚🤚🤚)

YOGiNotes: I can’t believe I’m writing this but here we are!! We need more male reader fics guys.. I feel left out /j

(EVERYONE LITERALLY DRAGGED ME TO THE DABI BRAINROT!1!1! STOP THIS MADNESSSSSS)

Completely made this in a rush and out of boredom! I apologize for any spelling and/or grammar mistakes. It is a bit short for my liking but I do hope you still enjoy! 🙏

Warnings: some swearing ig (?) ; very unfunny author ; angst will cook soon (not in this chapter though….)

“My flower…”

Y/N muttered to himself, staring at the now-wilted flower. With a gentle touch, he reached out and tapped one of the fragile petals, watching as it detached from the wilting bloom and fell to the ground.

“I should probably ask that old hag for some advice again, huh?”

He was talking about the older yet amicable woman who ran the flower shop just a few blocks away from his apartment. He regretted not remembering her name. With a less-than-careful tug, Y/N detached his backpack from the corner where it had been gathering dust and carelessly dumped its contents onto the bed, each item making a soft thump sound as it hit the mattress. Y/N cautiously placed the flower pot into his bag once everything was out and grabbed a random coat from the rack beside the door. As he walked out, he tried to tie his shoes while keeping up with his pace.

Almost causing himself to fall.

Well, almost.

He strolled over to his locked bicycle, hopping on it shortly. He rode his bicycle to the shop. But when he arrived..

He was not greeted to the usual ‘good day’ of the kind old woman; rather, a man who didn’t look too far off his own age.

‘This guy definitely listens to mcr..’

Y/N thought to himself, as he waved at the guy. Putting up a front, smiling politely.

“Excuse me? Do you know where—“

“She’s not here today.”

…okay, rude?

“Oh.. When will she—“

“Next week.”

This guy was getting on Y/N’s nerves if he was being completely honest.

“Who are you anyways?”

Y/N was only met with silence and a cold blank stare. He stared back because— well, to be Frank, he didn’t know what else to do.

“I work here.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

He could hear the man click his tongue in annoyance.

“I don’t have to answer to you,” he rolled his eyes, “now, do you need help with anything or something?”

“Is that how you usually treat your customers?”

“…yeah? So what?”

“Nothing, just saying it’s a big.. contrast to what I’m used to.”

The man's gaze fixed on Y/N with a steely glare, his eyes narrowing as if affronted by Y/N's audacity to utter such a statement. “Whatever.. just tell me what you need so we can be done here.”

“Right.. so um..”

Y/N withdrew the flower from his backpack and gingerly placed it on the counter of the checkout. He then glanced up at the man, a sheepish smile playing on his lips.

“I don’t know what went wrong.. I did what I was told and kept managing my watering time..”

Dabi, as indicated by his nametag, meticulously examined the flower, leaning closer to get a better look. It was clear the flower was already dead, leaving him to ponder Y/N's actions beforehand. Y/N, however, contemplated if Dabi was thinking something profound like 'this plant hadn't received the precise amount of water it required,' or if it was something stupid simple and meaningless like ‘I wonder what I’ll have for dinner later.’

Jokes on him, Dabi was thinking of both.

Dabi let out a sigh and rolled up his sleeves, revealing the tattoos on his arms. Y/N was tempted to take a peek, but quickly reminded himself not to be nosy. However, despite his best efforts to focus, he couldn't help but sneak a quick glance at the intricate ink designs on Dabi's skin.

‘Shittt.. that’s sick.’

Y/N thought before quickly snapping out of it.

“Did you make sure your flower gets enough sunlight every day?”

“…what?”

“Your flower?? Gets sunlight?? Hello??”

“……”

Dabi slowly shifted his gaze towards Y/N, his face betraying a mixture of disbelief and surprise. His expression seemed to convey a silent question, as if wondering what on earth Y/N was even doing to this poor plant.

“Are you fucking with me right now?”

“…no.”

The two stared at each other…

After a moment of silence, Y/N spoke up again. “How was I supposed to know this flower needed sunlight?”

“Google exists.”

“I’m a busy man!”

“Busy doing what? Being uneducated?”

DAMN, that hurt more that it was supposed to.

“Okay.. okay, it’s a dumb mistake on my part. Can I buy another one to try again?” Y/N puts his hands on his hips, waiting for Dabi’s answer. “Well.. I don’t have a choice I guess.” Dabi said, the sound of defeat evident in his tone. He walked away to find the same flower as Y/N stood there.

Y/N found himself strangely familiar with the odd man before him. There was something about him that he couldn't quite pinpoint, and it frustrated him. Crossing his arms in annoyance, Y/N observed Dabi carefully examining the flower selection. He realized maybe he should cut the newbie some slack since he just started working here after all.

Dabi finally located the specific flower Y/N had requested and assisted in transferring it to a fresh pot. He then helped Y/N carefully tuck the potted flower into the latter's backpack, gently securing it in place.

“Thanks, I appreciated the help.”

“Ugh, please never come back.”

Y/N snorted at that, almost unable to hold his laughter. He handed his payment to Dabi, and waved goodbye.

“Unfortunately for you, new guy, I’m a regular here!”

He said as he walked out of the store.

Dabi— no, Touya exhaled a frustrated sigh once that idiot guy was gone. He hated working at the flower shop but knew he had no choice. His current situation forced him to hide, and this job was a means to keep a low profile. He longed for a better life, but for now, he was stuck here in this cramped shop, surrounded by fragrant blooms.

Welp, that’s the life of a man on the run he supposed..

YEEEE HE HAS EDGY BACKSTORY WOAHH 🫵🫵😮😮😮😮

This chapter is just me trying to get the idea out of my head, I swear I’ll cook better in the next one ☹️☹️☹️💥💥💥💥

This was supposed to be an artwork idea but I couldn’t really draw rn

Also, mind you, I’m posting this at 3AM in my timezone, PLEASE PLEASE EXCUSE THE BADWRITIGNNFNF 😭😭😭😭

(I am ashamed of myself 😞)

[kisaxiii]

Laudna’s “I already apologized for that” enraged me so much because no, actually, she didn’t. She never once said “I’m sorry for hurting you” what she said was “I didn’t mean to” and there are key differences there

1. She never acknowledged with her own words that she attacked and did damage to Orym while he, and everyone else, was ASLEEP and DEFENSELESS.

2. “I didn’t mean to” is not an apology, the word “sorry” or “apologize” are not included in that statement. “I didn’t mean to” by itself is an excuse, not an apology.

3. Even if “I’m sorry” came before or after “I didn’t mean to” that’s still not a real apology, because the very nature of throwing that “I didn’t mean to” in there is to garner sympathy for yourself, relieving yourself of at least partial blame, and if anything, apologizing more for being caught than for attacking a sleeping member of your party.

From the moment everyone else woke up Laudna spent the rest of the episode trying to deflect, garner sympathy for herself, and put blame on Orym.

Her argument for why she ATTACKED a SLEEPING member of the party changed every time someone rationally stated why her excuses weren’t entirely valid.

She also continued to ignore and downplay Oryms own experiences with the sword, as though his and everyone else’s experiences weren’t as significant as hers. Yes, she died by that blade, but so have almost everyone else in the party, and so did Orym’s family. Except they didn’t get revived. And while this isn’t a contest, Laudna isn’t the only one who deserves to decide what is done with the blade. Orym should have maybe talked with the rest of the group first, sure, but Laudna is acting like she is the only one who deserves to decide what to do with it and she simply is not. If ANYTHING, I feel like this outburst means she shouldn’t be included/involved with the decision at all.

Yes, I understand that all of this is because of Delilah in her head, but Delilah only made the initial suggestion. The attack, the fight, the multiple attempts to steal the sword and run, the outlashes, the things she said, all of that, was Laudna. Not Delilah. Matt even said as much after she rolled for it. It was her decision to act like she did, and do the things she did.

And after all that, for her to have the audacity to not only claim she has never lied to Imogen, but also to claim she apologized? Absolutely not. There was nothing even remotely close to an apology in anything she said, because Laudna doesn’t think she did anything wrong. Even after being told by everyone she was.

[spinebreak]

goku firefighter au

oh goku he is just a sweet boy 

his occupation was destined for him, this is what he’s wanted since he was a child 

now hes doing what he loves (smirk emoji)

he comes home from work, dirt and ash caked on his steel toed work boots and sweat permanently perspired all over him despite the cool weather 

his steps are heavy, his eyes nearly half lidded as he walks up the steps to your sweet little home

the smell of your house alone could have him falling to his knees out of pure joy 

he doesn’t even have enough time to react to that before he sees you

you’re standing in the kitchen, making dinner for the two of you

you’re wearing his shirt of course, hair pulled out of your face messily and your face scrunched up into a pout as you continue to cook 

at the sound of your husband entering your home, you turn to face him

“hi, babe. makin’ dinner.”

now, this happens nearly every day. goku comes home, his wife makes dinner, and hes a happy man. 

but today, for some reason, the sight of his wife knocks the breath out of him more than it usually does 

he drags himself over to you, your back to his chest

he wraps his big, muscled arms around ypur small shoulders, burying his nose in your neck.

“goku, it’s almost done, baby-“

“not why im doin’ this” he mumbles

you pause, confused, yet you let him lean on you

he breathes you in, his eyes closing 

this is everything he could ever want 

this is worth every injury, every singed piece of clothing, every burn 

just to see you in a big tshirt making him dinner

“go sit down, goku. finishing up.” you say, a loving attempt to get him off you

“im in love with you.”

“goku, please-“

“you’re perfect. just for me.”

he buries his face into your shoulder now, his hand sliding over your tummy, squeezing the skin there

he knows you usually push his hands away when he does that, but hes so sleepy and soft and clingy that you can’t bring yourself to 

“what has gotten into you, silly boy?” you ask, fully giggling now

“god, id do anything to hear you laugh like that. what do i have to do to hear that again?” he says, voice so whiny you would think he’s begging for something else

(maybe he is begging for something else, you can’t really tell at this point)

“you’re ridiculous.” you yelp as you feel his nose brush up against your neck

“what i gotta do to hear that again? asked you a question..”

you don’t even know how you manage to respond after a statement like that but you do anyway

“i… i don’t know.. it comes natural with you..” you try, your voice involuntarily pitching higher 

“mm, that’s what i like to hear.” 

you are completely speechless, what on earth has gotten into your sweet boy?

suddenly, he grabs your hips tight before letting go to sit down for dinner

you grab the counter, not because you were about to fall over, but because you are in disbelief of this man 

you worry he might put you into an early grave because of his spontaneous nature

“come sit with me, pretty girl.”

you try to ignore the way that pet name makes you swoon

you bring dinner over, usually he would but you notice how exhausted he looks 

not exhausted enough apparently if he’s being so bold

you set the food down go go to sit next to him

“no, here.” 

he pats his muscled thigh 

“absolutely not. eat your dinner.”

he pouts, (the audacity) his lower lip caught between his teeth 

(and the oscar goes to…your husband!)

“why not?”

“because im not sitting on your lap while we eat dinner.”

“why?”

“because you’re exhausted and nothing that involves me sitting on your lap ever stays that pg with you.”

guilty!

eventually, he eats his dinner and once again he’s a happy man

you eat your dinner too, though he insists on holding your hand under the table 

he is such a physical touch as a love language enjoyer

that is all

[ibuprfn]

You have no idea how much it means to have someone say what I've been thinking. I'm not really capable of using or understanding the post modernist type of obfuscating rhetoric that gets thrown around the moment any bisexual woman on radblr mentions an unpleasant experience exclusive to them lol so I just get overwhelmed and second guess if the very real experience of marginalization I literally just had is real or not because I didn't phrase it in a way that was peer-reviewed by every lesbian and febfem on Radblr prior. And though I'm being cheeky and joking here I am getting exhausted at seeing the same old dismissive attitude pop up time and time again from other women who would rather do anything other than show empathy or be quiet when we talk about bullshit we see and know is happening. It's true we need our own community, but I do worry that because of the constant vitriol between lesbians and bisexuals on Radblr women would feel a bit worried to join if that meant being labeled as "likely lesbophobic" by anyone else. In fact a lot of being openly bisexual on Radblr just kinda feels like you're having to prove your existence isn't some chosen homophobic statement but just an unchangeable part of who you are. Making it seem like we're just being insecure reminds me a lot of how TRAs will dismiss you lol. At this point I think it would be satisfying to see bisexuals have more audacity because many of us are caring too much about making every woman happy when it's just not going to be like that. Even when we trip over ourselves to police our language in a way that we're told will be acceptable to lesbians we're always going to piss them off because they always see us as on thin ice. They don't trust us, because so many of them see bisexuality as either homophobic or just too difficult to understand. I would love to talk in a space where it's only radfem bisexuals, or even just rad leaning bisexual women. Idk I'm just rambling. Sorry.

When talking about biphobia I avoid singling out or generalizing lesbians because 1) they are also a marginalized community and 2) the brunt of biphobia is not actually from them. But no matter how carefully I word things, some people on here will still call me lesbophobic for even the most basic statements (like “bisexuals don’t have straight privilege”). And that happens even if my post never mentions lesbians to begin with.

At some point it starts to feel like they’re just trying to shut down any meaningful discussion of bisexuality. How are we supposed to fix the disparities bisexuals face when even acknowledging those disparities exist becomes an argument every time? It’s annoying and I agree bisexuals have got to start getting meaner. We’re allowed to prioritize ourselves and talk about our own experiences without constantly having to defer to other groups.

[atefingersdagger]

"They have to go through me." Peak clatoism

"They Have To Go Through Me First"

(Kinda gave up on this one halfway through, so apologies for the lower quality than usual. Still, I hope you enjoy it, and thanks for the ask prompt!)

-

“They have to go through me first.”

“Cato.”

She sighs his name, fingers going to pinch the bridge of her nose in an attempt to keep them from swinging at him. He is going to induce a headache that would be as painful as a rock straight to the temple. Fuck, he pisses her off and she’s known him for less than a week, them in the lounge late, all in dimly lit dark. They should be asleep.

Clove is capable. Able to take care of herself. His help is not warranted nor wanted.

“I mean it.” Cato growls.

“Why? You’ll be trying to kill me soon enough.”

“Because you’re mine to kill.”

Her laugh is a scoff, then a bark, so loud it causes him to clench his fist. They both have a particular talent in making the other physically react to anything they do. The audience will have a field day with the drama and tension once they are in the arena, leaning in towards their television to see who snaps first.

“Oh, your ego is outstanding.” She sneers, lip curling at the audacity.

“That’s how it’s supposed to be; an honorable death.”

Of course, he is spouting the bullshit of their district. The loyal dog he is to tradition, trained up to be a follower. So, it’s funny he’s dictated himself to be the leader of their alliance. Their little group that hasn’t always been and never will.

“You wouldn’t know honor if it bit your dick off.”

He breathes, exhale close to steam. “I’ll kill you, and I won’t let anyone else do so.”

“You’re so possessive.” Clove gets closer to him, unintimidated by his height that towers her. “Poor baby. Must be a torturous existence for you.”

Cato gets closer to her. With his devouring stare, she can’t tell what it is he wants to do with her exactly, but she has a feeling it’s something physical. The uncertainty is exciting in the same way having a new sparring partner is; the unknown skill, learning their techniques, and the anticipation of seeing who is better. She finds the tingling to be a nuisance.

“Are you telling me that you’d prefer the hands of some lower district scum to be your end, or worse, the 1s to kill you instead of me?”

His insinuation that she’d dare die thanks to another, let alone by an undignified tribute, makes her lips purse and clench her teeth like she is the honor that would bite his dick off. Did he not see her thorough abilities in training earlier today? Or notice that she can hit him from a pretty sizable distance before he could even get his hands on a weapon, or her, for that matter.

“Screw you.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“I won’t let you kill me. No one will be the death of me.” (Actually, he might be if he gives her a hernia or aneurism with his whole personality) Clove spits. “Unless it's myself.”

“Plan on forfeiting?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Cato shows his teeth like a proud dog. “Well, you will also have to go through me first.”

----------------------------------------------------------

“They have to go through me first.” She repeats his previous statement, but with as much conviction.

“Clove.”

He almost whispers her name, fingers gripping the handle of his sword that hasn’t started to wear after all the blood, sweat, dirt, and time in the arena. She had snarled her words as deeply as a canine mutt would sink their teeth into skin. Fuck, she still can’t wrangle him and they’ve known each other a while now, or it at least feels as thought they have in this forest. They should be hunting.

Sure, Cato is more than capable. He is strong, can withstand much, and doesn’t lose easily. Unless it's his shit, in that case, he needs her help with that.

“Well, I mean it.” Clove yearns for a knife in her hand. “We don’t have to kill each other anymore, so we better get each other out alive.”

“Alright, but you’re randomly protective now?”

“Its not out of no where, you know?”

She doesn’t look at him but rather the ground, studying an insect that crawls over the pine and fallen twigs. The spindly legs remind her of the wasps that stung her, and she steps on it with spite for its appearance and her disgusting sentimentality. Honesty tastes rotten on her tongue here.

“Where is it from then?” Cato asks, standing too close to her already.

“Selfishness.”

He raises his brow. “Selfishness?”

Of course it’s that, because what else could it be with her? She’s known loneliness her whole life, it is something she thought would help her here, but the idea of returning to a state of being isolated completely makes her sick. The sounds of the arena will drive her insane, and she’d never sleep again without having someone watching her back.

“Yes.” She answers plainly.

“Suppose that makes sense for you and your outsanding ego. Taking everything from most of our water to the kill of the girl from 12.”

“Right.”

“It’s almost like you wouldn’t know selflessness if it ate you out.”

“Cato!”

Her district partner gives her the most cocky smile ever. The fucking asshole, saying shit on live television. Clove can only hope that they aren’t being broadcasted or that the censors caught it. Having anyone at home hear that could result in assumptions about what they have done together.

Besides, the Gamemakers would squash them as she had that bug if they were seen as too raunchy. Their views on what is explicit and too far completely twisted and hypocritical. If you ask her.

“Don’t worry.” Cato tells her as he puts his lips to her ear. “I can do that for you again, and I won’t let anyone else do so.”

“You’re so possessive.” She huffs, ignoring the tingle she feels everywhere. “Poor baby. Must be a torturous existence for you.”

“Actually, it’s the best kind. And you aren’t telling me you’d rather deal with the hands of some lower district-“

She kisses him then, hands on his cheeks and pulling him against her firmly. He’s better when he shuts up and puts his mouth to far better uses. Such as eating her out.

Cato gives a growl, this one satisfied and less angry than she’s heard previously. They’ve lost their clear boundaries, having muddled them until they became the other’s; lips, tongues, and hands on each other. It just makes them closer, quite literally, as allies.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Cato chuckles once they part.

“Don’t forget I can still kill you.”

“Sure.” He squeezes at her waist. “Which means if anyone else wants to-“

“They’ll have to go through me first.”

[smilingangel582]

Weeeeheeee uuuuu guyyys beeeen waiting tooooo loonng.

This will be my first ever daaadaaadaaa will you doo the fandangoooo!

Ahh yes scara -oopse who's thT? I mean wanderer and I named him "Yuki" cute neh.

Ne, ne... in case you guys want to ask me things pls ask kk Away

Tragically however I'm clumsy and by accident I deleted some asks and I want you to forgive me of I have forgotten u....I'm a little busy and I didn't have time to think straight sooooo I made time for u this timeeee meeee trying kkk?

Genshin impact will soon launch version 3.8, and I'm excited because after that, the wanderer banner is coming....finally, u can pull for that bratty puppet! Called the wanderer Yuki, so if you are confused, I named him Yuki OK.

Enjoyyyy, no spoilers, cuz it's a game... but still, u can play it before reading! I love iiiim

Weakness of the former all mighty God

It was an understament to say Yuki hated the traveller. Yet he finds his ability to smile every situation and be laid back is puzzling.

The wanderer was the name he went by. He gave up his past and became a free spirit. He was seeing new sides of the world. He hated people, but now it's more of an antisocial trait than wishing annihilation on the human race.

Yuki, the name was appealing to him. The traveller even went so far as to share his own name with him, and he didn't mind. But naming him, Yuki felt somehow warm despite it meant snow.

"Oiii Yukii dont get lost in the traveler's teapot alright?" Paimon's voice clammered, and he looked up with an eye roll "your too loud,"

"And you're too slow for someone so fast"

The traveller laughed at the petty dispute between them. He had his golden eyes on Yuki, making him feel conscious as they began leisurely moving around the large space of the new world he was in.

"You're quiet today... something wrong?

Yuki noticed Aether's concern. He looked away with a sigh "Yeah just thinking... it was not too long ago. I wanted to kill you, and now you looked like you could die for me"

He expected a denial of that statement but surprisingly Aether gave a sheepish laugh "I know, it had been so long"

"W...what?" He blinked twice, unable to apprehend this sudden sensation of warmth.

Paimon and Aether exchanged happy smiles. "Come on..." it was his flying companion."We're friends... we smile and laugh like anyone else. You don't need to be so stiff"

Yuki's smile didn't reach him, he smirked sure... but a smile? Is it different from what he expressed before?

Before he could say anything more. He felt a poke in the side from Aether. He had a mischievous grin "Careeeful Yukii~ let your guard down like that, your friends will expose a weakness from you" then brightly perking up and wiggling his fingers he giggled "And that's what friends are for so take that!"

Tackling the wanderer in their own teapot, where the grass touched him, he was shocked when the traveller began to dig his fingers to his ribs.

"What in the world -gah!! Wahahit whahat ihihis thahaht?"

He felt a spread of electric waves from his sides, like the traveller was using electric powers, but not it was just his blunt fingers.

Paimon snickered absurdly. "You seriously haven't been tickled before? All the more reason that it is fun!"

Tickled? Not a word he knew, but it didn't hurt. He just felt it funny and the urge to let out laughter. It was certainly humiliating.

"Haah?? Thihihis ihihis weheheheird stahahahap ihit!" Yuki squirmed under the blond, who also laughed in thrill at the sight of blushing wanderer. Paimon sneaked in a few prods to his toes that were poking out from his sandals.

"Isn't this fun, though?" Aether said softly, now pinching his lower ribs."Aren't you relaxed?"

The lower ribs were bad, and Yuki cackled now. "Gaaaah! Wahahahahait wait wait wait! Thehehereee! Ihihitd bahahahahad! Whahahat are yohou dohohoiing!!!??? Cuhuhuhut it outttt Aetheheher!"

Laughing at the sudden burst of laughter Paimon had the audacity to take pictures of them from the Kamera.

"Gehet her away from thahat! Nohoho stahahap!" He giggled sweetly when he covered his face. Smirking, he drilled his fingers under his arms through the cloak, and that made him lower his arms.

"So cute..." Aether murmured and then he stopped for a while "That's called tickling,"

"Tehehe... whahat a funnehehey wohord..." he breathed giggles, now settling to a calmer mood."Why did I laugh thoho?"

To emphasised he poked his ribs making him squeal adorably "This touch, its something humans have but I didn't expect a puppet like you to be ticklish....its adorable"

"Wait... ticklish... tickled... so many words tho..."

"It's both a verb, a noun and an adverb of it silly..." Paimon said poking his ears now.

"Gaah enough," he pulled away from the teasing and blushed furiously. "Mark my words, and I will get my revenge tenfold!

"And I'll just tickle you again," he began to chase Yuki, who had failed to make his threat more real. He thought as he escaped the evil clutches of the traveller...

I will certainly get him back for sure!

[666writingcafe]

You Are So Lucky

Leviathan

Some time ago--I don't know when, since I've been too focused on making these costumes to glance at a clock--MC poked their head in my room to ask if I wanted to go out to eat with them and the brothers. Not wanting to stop, I told them no, but asked that they bring something home for me to eat later.

The sound of my phone buzzing interrupts my concentration, and I mutter angrily as I check to see who had the audacity to call me. Any irritation I feel melts away when I see MC's name on my screen.

"Is everything alright?" I ask when I answer the call.

"No." MC's voice is faint, as if they're trying to keep this conversation a secret. "Just listen."

"I told you, I want to order another special Babel parfait!" Great. Beel's throwing a tantrum at the restaurant that they're at. "What about that do you not understand?! I already ate the one you brought earlier, and now I want another!"

"But sir--" I feel bad for the waiter. There's no explaining anything to Beel once he's angry.

"So what if I just ate a parfait that's meant to take four people an entire hour? So what if I did it in 15 minutes? Is there something wrong with that?!"

"We only have so many ingredients, and it's a seasonal item--"

"How is that my problem?! I'm hungry! I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm hungry!"

"That idiot..." Whatever else Lucifer says is drowned out by a bunch of voices yelling at each other.

"Why am I listening to this?" I ask.

"Evidence," MC answers quietly, frustration evident in their voice.

"For what?" Before MC can reply, Mammon yells for people to duck as plates begin breaking.

"This is really getting out of hand." Then why aren't you doing anything to stop it, Asmo? You have the ability to charm people into doing whatever you want, after all!

"Honestly, it's high time Beel learned some patience, which is why--" Silence. Did the line go dead as Satan was talking?

"A plate of pancakes hit Satan in the face," MC commentates softly.

"Oh shit," I respond. This can't be good.

"You! How dare you throw something at me!"

"Satan, calm down." Are you dumb, Lucifer?! You never tell an angry person to calm down, especially if they're the Avatar of Wrath!

"Shut the hell up!"

"What did you say?"

"I'm sick of you and your older brother act!"

"Well, I am your older brother, after all." Lucifer pauses. "Although, in your case, I guess I'm something even greater than that?" He did not just go there.

"And if you're going to criticize me, what about you?" I guess Lucifer wasn't done berating Satan yet. "Do you have to be defiant and hostile all the fucking time? Are you capable of behaving in any other way?"

"Do you need me to come get you?" I ask MC.

"Not yet," they whisper. "Just stay on the line."

"This is all Mammon's fault." Belphie's being unreasonable. I may not like Mammon a whole lot, but even I can acknowledge that he's innocent this time.

"What?! Why?! I didn't even do anything!" You tell them, Mammon!

"If you hadn't dodged that plate when it flew at Satan, it wouldn't have hit him in the face to begin with!" I actually face-palm at Asmo's statement.

"Oh, so you're sayin' it would've been okay for it to hit me?! Well, how would you like it if a plate hit you?!" More yelling and breaking plates.

"Levi." MC's voice is the most audible it's been this entire phone call. "In case I don't make it out alive, I want you to know that I love you and care for you deeply."

"What do you mean, in case you don't make it out alive?!" Silence. My screen indicates that the call has ended.

"Son of a bitch." I get up and stretch before grabbing a jacket off the floor and rushing out of my room. "If MC dies because of this, this entire realm will feel my wrath."

[meowww-ffxiv]

Yukinko x Zenos

Note: NSFW mentions / AFAB terminologies related to sex. (Yukinko, that is.)

.

Thancred wanted to ask.

Yukinko felt his restraint like it was a physical thing, whenever they were in the same room together, which was thankfully not too often these days.

Tataru could not say when she would be able to secure that ship to Old Sharlayan, and in the meantime, the Scions were run off their feet gathering reports about these grim towers and their deadly penchant for summoning twisted primals. The Rising Stones were empty more often than not, or otherwise its dwellers were scattered in different corners, poring over maps and records, speaking in hushed but urgent tones.

Even Yukinko was starting to feel the drag of stress on his nerves. So this was how Thancred caught him: sitting at the bar at two in the morning, pouring himself a shot of vodka.

At least the man started things on the right foot. As Yukinko was about to knock back his sleep aid, another glass slid to him on the table. Thancred dropped heavily into the seat next to him a moment later. "Share the spoils, will you?"

Yukinko paused. He glanced at the bottle of vodka -- closer to Thancred than it was to him -- but then remembered that his truly had brought it back from the Urianger-plus foray in Garlemald. Grudgingly, Yukinko picked it up, poured Thancred's glass, and then drank his.

The burn hadn't even fully faded before he heard: "Zenos didn't happen to tell you anything about that Fandaniel's plan, did he."

"No," Yukinko replied. "We do not talk."

Thancred sighed. "Not even pillow talk?"

"There weren't usually pillows."

Thancred took the shot. He shuddered, then cursed. "How the hells do you drink this thing straight?" he asked.

Yukinko didn't reply. He wasn't good at small talk, had never been. Instead he poured himself and his...friend...each one more glass. Well, full for him, half for Thancred. Then he got up and went around the bar, and started fishing around for the tools he'd seen F'lahminn used for her drinks-mixing.

When Yukinko straightened, he found that Thancred was staring at him.

"I know that you know what you're doing, and how much," Thancred said, "but just-- tell me one thing. He's not hurting you."

Yukinko tilted his head, torn between amusement and mild affront that Thancred had phrased it like a statement rather than a question. Then a dawning feeling of being impressed, that the lad had the audacity to bring this matter up at all. Everyone else, even Estinien, had largely and uncomfortably overlooked whatever "relations" Yukinko clearly had with Zenos.

Thus frankly approached, what could Yukinko reply with but the frank truth, in turn?

"I told him three things when he began to seek me for our sparring matches, after his return," Yukinko said, measuring tomato juice and pouring it into the tumbler. "That he shall not apply aetheric force into his weapon, that he shall not ask me again should I refuse his advances that night, and that he shall not take me in the back."

Thancred snatched up his shot glass and downed the vodka, then poured himself another one. But he said around a grimace, "Go on."

Mildly disappointed that Thancred didn't flee, Yukinko continued, "He hadn't once violated any of those conditions."

Even if sometimes their tryst was so intense that Yukinko felt like his abdomen was bruised from the inside, in the morning after... but all those trysts were had while deadly sober, and Yukinko was deadly sober when he gasped, Harder, and also meant it when he answered Zenos thrust for thrust, nails digging red lines into the corded muscles of his waist, taking him as deep as he could until Zenos growled into his collarbone and bruised his neck with another biting kiss. Until heat flooded Yukinko's belly, and then again, and again, until both their considerable stamina were spent.

Yukinko sighed harshly at the reminder, in the presence, and shifted his legs.

He knew that Zenos probably had no idea what the hells Fandaniel was planning either, solely because he did not care to know. But the thought that a possible answer had been in his grasp for months, and Yukinko had not thought to ask Zenos about it at all, angered him.

At least the fool did not have the audacity to paw at him through their resonance for another meeting since Paglth'an. Yukinko had a feeling he would not, for a time.

"I'll be damned," Thancred said. "Zenos yae Galvus is a considerate lover?"

Yukinko slowly shook his head. "You give him too much credit. Sex to him is an accessory to battle; he does it for the adrenaline. We just happen to enjoy it in the same way."

The thought had occurred to Yukinko, once upon a time, to ask Zenos to finger-fuck him like one of those Lominsan sailors used to do. Slow and sensual, and at least better prepare him for getting his pussy stretched like a lalafellin sock on a Roegardyn foot on that oversized Garlean cock.

A naive dream. Zenos barely tolerated Yukinko stroking him before he wanted inside. He only controlled himself because he knew that if it hurt in a bad way, this entire privilege would be revoked, and he had come to consider said privilege the natural second part to sparring. And when he was inside...

Actually, if the enthusiasm and the sheer savagery of his hunger hadn't blown out all of Yukinko's rational sense every time they lay together, he'd have to say that Zenos was quite mediocre at the deed. Yukinko himself had to do the task of maneuvering them both most of the time, lest the lethal beast of a man really ruptured something they would both regret.

...Or maybe this was what Yukinko was telling himself now, because he knew his dock shall not be welcoming that warship anytime soon. He might even kill the bastard the next time they meet.

The most irritating thing was, Yukinko already missed him.

Yukinko sighed again, harsher this time, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Then he reminded himself where he was in the recipe, finished adding the other ingredients and the vodka, and shook the Tumblr.

Thancred watched him pour a glass without much enthusiasm. Yukinko, for all his discernment of body language and expression, could not tell whether the man was feeling pity or horror.

Yukinko considered asking. Just for a brief moment.

But then he shrugged inwardly. It wasn't as if an answer would change anything, at this point. So he just pushed the glass at Thancred and settled back down with his own, gloomily swirling the liquid around as the reality of his chaste and desolate near-future slowly sank in.

[lady-gravity-129]

It feels wrong to not make a post addressing what I’ve seen more than 24 hours after making a different post wrongly calling out the wrong people.

-leans into microphone-

If you respect others opinions and don’t harass them over it, go on with your day. This doesn’t concern you.

Anyways,

Certain Sabezra shippers (you know who you are), don’t think you’re off the hook.

You can’t say some of the most heinous and awful things I’ve ever read and then have the audacity to get upset when you’re called out on it.

Oh? What’s that? This all started because they commented their ship on one of your posts?

Wonderful!

That doesn’t excuse harassment or what you guys said no matter which way you look at it.

If you’re that upset at the mere mention of a ship, that’s on you.

That’s all I’m going to say, I don’t want to even see you try to defend yourselves. I have screenshots of the awful, hurtful things you’ve said. You don’t say stuff that can genuinely be triggering or just overall homophobic or hurtful statements and then proceed to get upset when called out on it.

“Oh but all the fics depict (insert the triggering thing here)!” You need to tag that stuff on Ao3 in a warning. Of the 224 fics in that ship that you can see when not logged in, only a measly 3 have that warning. Unfortunate that stories with that warning exist at all but saying “all fics” depict it is just not true and you know it.

I will not be responding to anything else regarding this topic, not in new posts, reblogs, or replies. Consider this my final post on the whole situation. Irregularly scheduled posting resumes whenever I want to post something (I usually make writing posts now and I write very irregularly aka whenever I feel like it)

Again, if you respect others opinions and don’t harass others over it, then move on with your day. This post doesn’t concern you.

I’m posting this now while everything’s still relatively fresh rather than posting it at another time and coming off as trying to stir everything up again.

I’m also posting this before I go to sleep so whatever ends up happening happens while I’m asleep.

[clairehadenough]

I have received a couple of asks saying something similar and I honestly don’t understand what’s that about? Please can you guys explain? When did I wish terrible thing on anyone?///

Please don't throw stones then try and hide your hands. You tried hiding behind faux-concern and sarcasm, but that's a pretty specific outcome from what you interpret as "jealousy". You're basically saying they deserve cancer for their negative feelings (plus, from a medical standpoint, that's not totally sound).

And I don't think everyone who's pointed out her connection to Chris as a reason she ever got to meet these people is necessarily jealous. 1) it's kind of true. 2) There seems to be this undercurrent of conflating her getting married to Chris and getting to meet these people with her overall skills as an actress. With all the talk of people getting ahead in life based on who they know vs talented people who don't have those connections who loose out in opportunities, I expected people to take a more nuanced approach to how they talk about this. But I guess not. 🤷��♂️

Sorry it’s going to be a long reply because I am actually baffled at the audacity of what I have just read.

First of all I don’t try to hide anything or send messages that have to be read between the lines. When I have something to say I say it point blank. I think it’s pretty clear on my blog but I don’t know, you must be new here.

Like I said, I literally googled what were the medical consequences of jealousy and the first article I got was from the University of Rochester medical center. I did not make it up to be funny. Here’s the link :

So you saying ‘from a medical standpoint, that's not totally sound’ is a bit ridiculous. Unless you’re a doctor and have another theory, in that case, please educate me.

Another nonsense statement you made was ‘You're basically saying they deserve cancer for their negative feelings’. Don’t you dare put words in my mouth. I send my dad articles day in day out about how bad smoking is for him and how he risks having lung cancer if he doesn’t. Does that mean I’m saying he deserves cancer????? Of fucking course my father’s health is more important to me than the anon’s but I don’t wish them or anyone else any harm. I was showing them what they are risking for being so jealous about someone so insignificant to their live.

And finally, you again put words in my mouth and that’s really annoying. That specific anon was saying that Alba didn’t ‘deserve’ to be there or to meet big names like Scarlett and Stanley because she wasn’t in their league. That was a very stupid thing to say and -I insist- is only a sign of jealousy because she wasn’t there as an actress that Chris was trying to shove in front of their faces to maybe get her an opening or a role. In that case, yes what that anon said makes sense. But she was there as his (then) girlfriend/fiancee and no matter who was around that table, she had every right being there. So spare us the ‘but lots of talented people don’t always have connections to get the opportunity’, because IN THIS SPECIFIC INSTANCE, it doesn’t apply.

Can’t believe you want a man to keep his wife home for a dinner with friends because said friends are more talented than her in the job they all do.

I will not be replying to any more asks about this specific subject, I think I said enough and only made my stance clearer because some people MISUNDERSTOOD and were offended. In the end, I an only responsible of what I say, not what you understand.

[obsessivelollipoplalala]

Sometimes I wonder if they also hate what Brian says because in their mind the only image of Freddie that exists is the rockstar Freddie you know the big macho man everything that the media describes him as.

But for Brian Freddie is a human first, someone he spent years with and loves him like family.

Because there's absolutely no reason to question anything Brian says otherwise. It's almost like people don't want Freddie anything but the media image.

I think this is true for every person who can't cope with what Brian says about Freddie, that he says something which fundamentally challenges their headcanons about him. Since Brian has always seen Freddie as human first, as you said, and has been one of the people who has emphasized his shyness, struggles, and heartbreak the most, that must play a role in people dismissing what he says and having the brain worms audacity to think they know a deceased stranger better than one of his best friends did. It's really strange to see statements from Brian about one of his closest friend's behavior in relationships and struggles with love, or struggles with rock 'n' roll culture and being used by fake friends, and go:

I don't know why people are so wedded to the wild, shallow, hedonistic version of Freddie that the media runs with, because if nothing else, that's just boring. Brian telling us about the shy man who was vulnerable, generous to a fault, and yearning for love beneath the wacky persona is a lot more interesting.

[rambling-madwoman]

Midnight Cinderella - Louis Howard - 2

Read on Ao3

And part 2, from Louis' perspective. I'll switch around Lettie or Louis' POV because why have one sided pining when we can have 2.

“Is he the one that came and took her?”

“No, that was someone else. I don’t know who this is.”

Louis exhaled slowly, his attention fixated purposefully on Loretta’s front door. The two girls who had joined the growing group around him couldn’t have been out of their teens yet.

“Is Lettie coming back? She makes my dad’s stuff for his leg pain.” One of them asked.

Louis hesitated, shifting on his feet. What was he supposed to say to that? “I’m sure… she’s thought of that.”

He really wasn’t sure she had. Compelling as her statements and supposed honesty had been in the King’s Chamber, they were only words. Sheer audacity had impressed his peers but her actions would make the truth of her motives and characters much more clear. He prayed Loretta would come back through that damn door any minute. The people around him had all tried asking him questions, who he was, what was going on, but he had no desire to involve himself in Loretta’s business. Her attendant had followed her up to the door, where he waited. He was happily chatting with several people there. Louis listened carefully over the crowd, but he didn’t think the attendant gave anything away either.

“Sorry,” He said with a bright smile for maybe the fourth time. “I think I shouldn’t say anything. You understand, right?”

Finally the door opened, and everyone’s attention was back on it. Loretta and her brother came out with arms full of jars and other things Louis supposed she had made for the people there. Still she hadn’t put shoes on, the heels she dusted over his hand still sitting in the carriage behind him. Her attendant had jumped to attention but Loretta said nothing to him and only deposited her supplies into his arms. At least it wasn’t just him she was rude to. Then she went back inside and returned with more. How much could she possibly have?

She and her brother handed out their things through questions and demands being shouted and pleaded at them. He had to wonder how long they had been in the capital city. How well she actually knew the people she claimed to have served. Loretta’s face remained in that somewhat annoyed resting expression she always had. She only winced slightly at the occasional accusation of running off, of selling herself to a rich husband. Perhaps Louis had judged her nerve too harshly but it made no difference. She would have been better off staying here rather than giving up her freedom. Better off with people who had the decency to look after her brother and who wouldn’t hate her for her birth. There was no true winning in this game.

Loretta stopped occasionally as she moved through the crowd and Louis could overhear her explaining things like how long a tincture had to soak or herbs she had prepared for medicines. With only a tied bundle of a dried plant left in her arms, she came to a woman with two young boys. Her face still betrayed no feeling beyond determined pragmatism.

He might have been a little intimidated if Loretta barked at him the way she did at the woman in front of her. “The charm I gave Roger has no magic. I made my requests to the saints but I don’t know what good that really does. It’s mostly lavender,”

The woman’s eyes went wide, “Well, I didn’t really think - Lettie, where are you going?”

Her short brows knitted, thin lips went tightly pursed. She was too unpredictable for Louis to guess what she was feeling. But he knew what it meant to be relied on. His duchy was home to over a hundred thousand Wysterians.

Loretta turned rather abruptly, quickly heading towards where Louis stood by the carriage.

“Loretta…” He attempted, desperate to finally get on with this night.

She didn’t even look at him as she snapped, “Be patient.”

She passed him, leaning into the carriage through the door. Quickly as she turned back, Louis saw what she retrieved. The shoes she had taken off just to spite him, a cluster of pearls and gold string on the toes catching the low lamplight. Loretta returned to the woman and held the shoes out to her.

Louis would have liked to see the look on Loretta’s face as she said, “I wore these today, but they were new before that. I don’t know if they’ll fit you - sell them for all I care, that’s what I would do with them.”

Then she turned abruptly again, heading back to the carriage and leaving the woman and her sons gaping at the finery dropped in her hands. The crowd of people tightened around them all with another wave of raucous noise. But as Loretta lifted herself onto the carriage step and looked out over them, a hush went over the entire block. Louis could see the tension and nerves creeping into her face, and that spite trying to keep them down.

She took a deep breath, “I will send someone to,”

The people fired up again with demands of where she was going, what was going on. Lettie tried to get a word in but she had no control of them, couldn’t be heard over the backlash. One person shouted and then another, asking if she was the Princess Elect. As it became the overwhelming question from them all, Lettie finally threw her hands up.

She shouted, “Alright, alright!”

Her hands balled into fists as there was quiet again, her eyes screwed shut. She had been so very bold in the King’s Chamber, proclaimed she would become their princess without any hesitation. Perhaps they had just been words. He could only hope the gravity of what she had agreed to was weighing on her.

She spoke again, forcing her fists open like letting something go. “It’s true, the King has… approved… of me,”

She opened her eyes and rushed out the most important part, “as the Princess.”

The quiet turned to stunned silence. Loretta’s freckles were hidden by near glowing red spreading across her cheeks and she glared at the uneven stone street. All around her different faces looked back, some incredulous, others still blank. Hissed whispers and murmurs of understanding began to rise. And almost all at once the silence erupted into cheers. Hands reached up and pulled Loretta back into the crowd, and she was gone again. Louis sighed, turning back into the carriage. He could only hope this wouldn’t take all night.

The noise could likely be heard across the city. It was plain to see how overjoyed people were at the news. Louis supposed if you didn’t know better, it must have seemed like a fairy tale. Or maybe they just didn’t care. The win was theirs, even if it came at the expense of one of their own. The carriage interior was colder than it was outside. There was no stopping her now that everyone in the Kingdom would know.

He couldn’t help looking out the window to watch her. She was more at ease now, easily turning her attention between multiple people trying to get it. They looked to her and even though he couldn’t hear what she said, he could see how she responded with her face and body. Easily in control without having to take it, firm in her responses but not uncaring. There was a grace to it, but not an elegance. Not quite regal but maybe almost motherly in a way. Not that he would know.

Louis almost fell asleep waiting for her. It could have been any time of night by the time the carriage door opened again. He wouldn’t be able to get home at this rate. As the carriage pulled away, Loretta’s brother was waving out the window and Loretta sat back, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes.

When the boy settled into a seat, he eyed Louis. “So… who is this guy, then?”

“The Duke of Howard.” Loretta answered.

Louis frowned. The boy didn’t look much like Loretta. He had dark cropped hair and no freckles, but they did have the same black pits for eyes.

The boy looked unimpressed. “What did he come for?”

Louis exhaled slowly, shifting his gaze out the opposite window and removing himself from their conversation.

“Ask him.” Loretta sighed, still pressing her eyes. “I am so God damn tired.”

He didn’t ask anything. Louis had wanted to try and get her away from the castle again, but just as before he was too cowardly. His emotions still got the better of him like a child. After that passionate insistence on her position in the King’s Chamber it wasn’t likely he would convince her of anything anyway. He had been thinking about it all day. It was hard to deny there was something likable about it. Something restorative about the way she bit back at him when he snapped. He didn’t know anyone else like that. And he wouldn’t for long. If he couldn’t stop her, he could at least avoid her so he didn’t have to see social performances slowly crush the audacity out of her.

As the carriage approached the palace, Loretta’s attendant rapped on the wall between him and Louis. “Eyes up,”

She looked up then pushed her brother flat against their seat as if she could hide him, “Shit, Giles.”

The carriage pulled close to him, but Louis could have seen the joy on Giles’ face from miles away. This would be inconvenient, especially if anyone else found out. He could think of several people who would find far too much amusement for too long in making up jokes about cavorting with the Princess. Louis stepped out first, then Loretta.

When Loretta’s brother stepped out, Giles’ enjoyment gave way to surprise. “What is that?”

“Theo.” Loretta answered for the boy, who only waved and said nothing.

Giles sighed, “And here I thought I’d finally caught Duke Howard cavorting, with the new Princess no less. I suppose it was naive of me to think there would be no more secrecy between us?”

Loretta gave him a challenging look, “Well I had to give it back to you a little, didn’t I? For baiting me with that useless flower.”

“Regardless,” Giles was smiling again, “you two seem to have quite the rapport already.”

From the corner of his eye Louis saw the boy’s lip curl much like Loretta’s did.

“I don’t-” Loretta started to speak but Giles addressed Louis instead.

“So if you’d permit me to make a small suggestion, perhaps you’d like to volunteer to serve as Her Highness’ dance instructor?”

His work often brought him to the palace but it would give him little reason to interact with the Princess until she took on more responsibilities. If she took them on and didn’t leave them to her future husband. The thought of a common woman being married off for political power still made him feel ill.

“Certainly.” Left his lips before he could think of it more. Louis saw Lettie’s head turn to him, but didn’t dare to check her expression.

Giles smiled and stepped aside, bowing for the Princess to go ahead of him. “You’ll begin right after breakfast.”

She walked on with a distinct lack of clicking heels on stone. Giles lifted his head, seeing she had no shoes. “Why?”