#oc x reader

[misshyori]

I guess now I know what can happened to Villainess if the mc is in the Villainess body

The Villainess' Redemption (P. 1?)

Various! Yanderes X Ex-Villainess! Reader

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Synopsis: You were once the villainess from some poorly-written romance novel, and somehow, you’ve ended up taking the place of a girl who shared your name—a girl who died while reading your story.

This world is different. Here, you’re no longer tied to a script or doomed to a villainess’s fate. Can you rewrite your ending, and find a place for yourself in this new reality? 

(aka cliche villainess reader gets transported into the modern times and suffers a lot)

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The last thing you remember is the swing of the executioner’s blade against your neck—a fitting end for all the terrible crimes you’ve committed. 

Or so you thought.

When you wake up, it’s not the fiery pits of hell that greet you, but a room unlike any you’ve ever seen before.

Through blurred vision, you make out walls impossibly smooth and white, gleaming like polished marble. The light above burns unnaturally bright. The air is sharp and clean, carrying a faint, acrid tang that prickles at your nose.

Was this the afterlife?

Thin tubes are attached to your skin, running from your veins into strange machines you can’t begin to understand. A spike of panic grips you, your breath quickening as your mind scrambles for an explanation.

What if you weren't dead? What if they kept you alive to make you suffer more?

Your trembling hands brush over your body, and your face burns when you realize they’ve stripped you of your former clothes. You’re left in plain, white garments—clean, but thin and exposing.

The indignity is almost as much as the confusion, but you swallow it down, determined to unravel the mystery of this waking nightmare.

On the table beside you lies a book, its presence almost unnoticeable in the room. Yet something about it draws your attention, an unspoken pull that makes your hand reach out despite the unease in your gut.

The front is adorned with a vivid illustration: a man and a woman locked in a tender embrace, their faces soft with affection. There’s something hauntingly familiar about their faces, though you can’t immediately place why.

The title, etched in bold, flowing letters, reads: Enchanted by Fate.

You flip the book open, its pristine pages cool and crisp beneath your trembling fingers.

At first, it seems harmless—a typical romance, the kind that young noble ladies often liked to read. But as your eyes skim the text, a dreadful recognition dawns.

The names leap off the page like venomous snakes: his name—your old lover—and her.

Your heart pounds as anger flares, spreading through your chest. You can almost see her face again, the one who orchestrated your downfall, the one who plunged the blade into your back long before the executioner ever did.

Then your fingers freeze.

Your name.

Paragraphs upon paragraphs detailing your life, your crimes, and your eventual execution. The words blur as the memories resurface—the blade, the crowd, the jeers. Your breath hitches, and the sterile air suddenly feels suffocating.

You slam the book shut, the sound echoing unnaturally in the room, and throw it across the floor. It lands with a dull thud, pages spilling open like a gutted beast, taunting you from where it lies.

That book knew everything. It was impossible. Yet it was real.

With your mind still reeling from what you've just read, you fail to notice the woman entering the room.

Then, the sound of her voice cuts through the fog.

“She’s awake!”

You must have been right. This is your own personal hell.

✦✧✦✧

Human beings are resilient.

So, despite the mental blows you've suffered in a single day, you slowly begin to adjust to your strange new existence in the hospital over the following weeks.

There's so much about this world that you don’t understand, and begrudgingly, you admit that it still frightens you. You can’t shake the feeling that this is all some form of witchcraft.

The nurses, though kind, remind you of your old maids, their faces polite but distant as they introduce you to odd contraptions you can't begin to comprehend.

They call it technology, and they show you things like a 'television,' a box that displays moving images as though alive, and a 'toilet' that can swallow waste with a single flush—something that still seems impossible to you.

They find your lack of knowledge a little concerning, but none of them have the courage to say anything about it, chalking it up to a side effect of your memory loss.

It’s humiliating beyond words to be treated like a clueless child. The condescending tones, the endless explanations of things that feel like they should be second nature—it grates on you until the frustration threatens to spill over as tears.

In your past life, you were always the one in control. You were the influential daughter of a noble family—admired and feared by many. Now, all of that feels like a distant memory, a cruel joke played by fate.

You feel lost.

But the worst part—the part you can never quite confront—is the stranger in the mirror. The face staring back is not your own. You're told she shares your name, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

You can't help but avert your eyes every time you see reflections of yourself.

“[Y/N], are you doing okay today?”

The deep, gentle voice pulls you out of your spiraling thoughts. When you look up, a handsome man comes into focus.

It’s Your Doctor ♡.

Initially, he took an interest in you purely out of professional obligation. Your case was unlike anything he’d encountered before. He had treated patients with amnesia in the past, but never one as severe as yours. Especially considering the circumstances of why you were admitted in the first place. You reminded him of a wild animal—eyes darting with mistrust and fear, shrinking away from your surroundings. And yet, against his better judgment, he found himself drawn to you, compelled by the need to unravel the mystery of your mind. While you lacked even the most basic understanding of modern conveniences, certain skills and knowledge seemed to come to you effortlessly. You could converse fluently in multiple languages. You knew the names and precise uses of every piece of cutlery, from fish forks to soup spoons, and could recount their placement in a formal table setting. It was truly strange. He began to set aside his busy work, stealing moments during breaks to visit your room. It became a routine—teaching you; how to use a water dispenser, explaining the functions of a phone, or describing the significance of certain holidays and traditions.. He relished the way your face would light up in awe at the simplest things. The wonder in your eyes made him feel like he was witnessing the world anew, through your gaze. He still chuckles quietly to himself when he remembers your reaction to the television. The way you gasped, wide-eyed and almost frozen, as moving images flickered across the screen—it was unforgettable. “Pft.” The sound escaped him, soft but audible. A nurse passing by stopped in her tracks, stunned. She had worked with the doctor for years and had never seen him laugh—let alone blush. Yet here he was, smirking to himself like a schoolboy with a crush. After that, whispers began to circulate through the halls: that the hospital’s famous bachelor had fallen for someone.

"I'm feeling fine. Thank you for asking, doctor."

"I'm glad to hear that," he replied, his tone warm. "And you don't have to be so formal with me."

He sits down by your bedside, eyes curved upwards in a gentle smile as he begins to speak again.

"You're being discharged this afternoon. You'll be able to go home soon."

"Home?"

Would that mean that you would have to meet the body owner's family?

Throughout your entire stay at the hospital, not once had anyone visited you except the doctor and the nurse who attended to you daily.

A knot of nervousness forms in your stomach at the thought of finally meeting those people. What if they found your behavior too strange? What if they saw through you?

They didn’t know the truth—that their daughter was gone. Replaced by a stranger.

The doctor seems to notice the shift in your demeanor. Without hesitation, he reaches over, his hand warm and steady as it rests over yours. The gentle squeeze pulls you back to reality.

"Don’t worry," he says softly. "If you feel any pain or discomfort, please don’t hesitate to let me know. And I can give you my contact information—you can call or text me if you need help with anything."

"I... I’ve troubled you enough already," your eyes are fixed firmly on the bedspread, unable to meet his intense gaze.

Maybe it is normal in this world for women and men to touch eachother so casually like this.

"Nonsense," He replies with a chuckle. "Helping you is my job, after all ♡."

In the end, you are sent off with a small bag containing all your belongings and a crisp white slip of paper in hand, the string of digits scribbled neatly on it.

He watches you walk away, his gaze never wavering. A part of him wishes you had stayed longer.

He exhales a long, quiet sigh, his lips curving ever so slightly into a smile. You’ll call him soon.

And when you do, he’ll be there, ready to help.

✦✧✦✧

To your surprise, a nurse leads you to what they call a “car” parked in front of the hospital entrance—a carriage without horses. You feel a small flicker of pride in yourself for remembering the term.

It moves faster than any carriage you’ve ever known. And as the scenery blurs by, you can’t help but press your face to the window, eyes wide with wonder. Towering buildings scrape the sky, their glass and steel glinting in the sunlight. The bustling streets are filled with all kinds of people from all walks of life.

The driver eventually steers the car away from the bustling scene, guiding it into a quieter neighborhood. The streets narrow, and the towering skyscrapers give way to smaller, more subdued structures. Finally, the car comes to a halt in front of a large, old building.

"Have a nice day, miss."

"Ah… thank you," you say softly as you step out, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

The car drives off, and then you're finally left alone.

You turn to face the building, its weathered facade staring back at you. Compared to the grand mansion where you spent your entire life, this place feels cramped and shabby, its age evident in the peeling paint and creaking steps. Rows of numbered doors line each floor, stretching upward in a vertical maze.

Navigating the unfamiliar hallways proves to be a challenge, every turn leaving you more disoriented. When you finally find the staircase, you hesitate. The nurse had mentioned “elevators,” those strange boxes that carried people between floors. But the thought of stepping inside one fills you with unease.

Shaking off the idea, you take the stairs instead, the journey upward feeling longer than it should. Your legs ache with every step, and by the time you reach the supposed floor you live on, you’re out of breath.

At last, you find your door. Apartment 303. The brass plaque gleams faintly in the dim hallway light.

"Hello?"

You knock on the door, but only silence greets you. Anxiety begins to coil in your chest, tightening with each passing second. You glance around the empty hallway, hoping for a sign, a clue—anything. But nothing comes.

Your gaze shifts to the pad mounted beside the door. The arrangement of numbers stares back at you. It should be easy, you tell yourself. Just enter the code.

You press the first digit, then the second. It feels right—like you’re doing what you’re supposed to—but when you hit the final key, the pad lights up red and emits a harsh beep.

Locked.

Your heart sinks. You try again. But the result is the same: a flash of red and that sharp, cold beep.

Again.

Each failure making your frustration rise. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as the sudden overwhelming pressure of everything catches up to you.

The tears spill over, warm streaks running down your cheeks as quiet sobs escape your lips. You feel pathetic.

You miss your family.

You hadn’t allowed yourself to think about them until now—not fully. But their faces stay clear in your mind.

You miss your father’s embrace, your mother’s soothing voice, the way your brothers would tease and protect you in equal measure.

But they are gone. All of them, condemned to death because of your stupid actions.

And now, here you are—trapped in this foreign land, surrounded by incomprehensible machines and alien customs. The people here don’t know you, and you’re certain they never could. You’re an imposter in a world that feels as if it’s actively rejecting you.

And for the first time since you woke up in this strange world, you let yourself finally admit the truth.

You don’t belong here.

✦✧✦✧

"Holy shit lady, are you okay?"

The last thing Your Neighbor ♡ had expected after coming home was to find you sitting on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably by your apartment door.

The two of you have exchanged pleasantries a handful of times, maybe a nod or a muttered “hello” in passing. But it had still worried him a little when he hadn’t seen you in months. Hell, he even figured you’d finally had enough of this place and moved out for good.

"Do you… need help?" he asks, stepping closer cautiously.

Your face burns with embarrassment. You quickly wipe at your tear-streaked face with the sleeve of your shirt, sniffling as you try to compose yourself.

"I just… I can’t get the door to open.."

His eyes flickers to the lock and then back to you. "What, the code’s not working?"

You nod, avoiding his gaze. "I… I’ve tried it so many times, but it keeps locking me out," you say, your voice wavering. "Do you know how to open it?"

"Yeah, I can take a look. Just give me the code."

As he steps closer to the keypad, you wipe at your eyes again, trying to salvage what is left of your dignity.

What is wrong with you? Your mother would have been disappointed at you acting like this.

"Hey," he say after a moment, glancing at you over his shoulder. "Don’t sweat it. This lock’s a piece of crap. Happens to me all the time."

"Um... do you know if anyone else lives in this place with me?"

The man tilts his head, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. "I don’t think so."

A part of you feels relieved. The idea of facing her family—the family you now supposedly belong to—had been gnawing at you since you left the hospital. At least you don’t have to pretend to be someone you’re not.

But at the same time, the thought of living alone makes your stomach twist. You’ve never been on your own before. In your old life, you were always surrounded by people—your parents, the servants, ready to spoil you rotten. You never once thought about what it would be like to have to manage on your own.

This is your punishment.

The irony isn’t lost on you. The gods must have seen how you mocked her—your father’s bastard. You used to laugh at her and make fun of her upbringing. Now you can't help but think that she would have done much better if she was in your situation.

"Thanks." you mutter finally, your voice barely audible.

She wouldn't have cried over some stupid door like this and humiliate herself in front of a random man!

"Anyway, that's how you do it. If you need help with anything else, just knock on my door-"

BAM!

Before he could finish his sentence, you were already gone.

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Your Neighbor ♡ thought that would be the last time you two would really talk to eachother.

Every time he saw you in the hallway or from across the parking lot, you’d scurry away like a startled rabbit, avoiding eye contact. He figured you were just shy—or maybe embarrassed about how you’d met. Either way, he didn’t expect to hear from you again.

So, he was surprised when, a week later, there was a knock on his door.

When he opened it, there you stood, cheeks flushed an indignant pink, holding a neatly folded napkin in your hands.

"What’s this?" he asked.

"I made it for you," you said, thrusting it toward him. "It’s a gift for helping me that day."

He unfolded the napkin and blinked in surprise. His name was carefully stitched onto the fabric, surrounded by flower motifs.

"Holy shit. You made this?"

It was the sweetest gift he had ever received.

I-I noticed you seem to… sweat a lot. Whenever I see you. I thought it might help," you added, the words tumbling out in a rush.

It took him a second to register what you’d said, and when he did, he couldn’t help but laugh. "Oh, that’s because I go to the gym a lot. Not because I’m just… sweating everywhere."

Your eyes widened, mortified. "Oh! I didn’t mean—"

He grinned, cutting you off. "Relax, it’s thoughtful. Thanks."

There was an awkward pause before he gestured behind him. "You want to come in?"

That moment marked the beginning of something—he wasn’t quite sure what to call it. Friendship? Maybe. But that night, over tea, you finally opened up and told him about your memory loss.

A protective instinct had sparked in him the day he found you crying outside your apartment, and it only grew stronger as the two of you started spending more time together.

Before long, it became a routine—going back and forth between apartments, sharing meals, and finding small ways to help each other.

You didn’t know how to cook, so he often brought over dinner and started teaching you how to make simple meals. At first, you were hesitant, your pride making you stubborn, but he patiently guided you through every step.

Grocery shopping became another shared activity, with him pointing out what to buy and explaining things you didn’t recognize. Though he did like to tease you whenever you added far too many sweets to the cart.

One day, he had casually mentioned his interest in learning an instrument, and before he could blink, you’d practically leapt at the opportunity to teach him. Your enthusiasm embarrassed him at first, but he couldn’t say no to you.

When you discovered the dusty electronic keyboard he’d tucked away in a storage box, your eyes had lit up like it was treasure. From that moment on, you became his self-appointed music tutor, insisting it was your way of repaying him for everything.

“Why do I feel like you’re only spending time with me for the keyboard?” he jokingly asked after yet another lesson.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m doing this because I want to help you.”

He couldn’t hold back his grin.

The more time he spent with you, the harder he fell. You were blunt and prideful, but also sweet and endearing in a way that caught him off guard. When he told you about his job as a club bodyguard, you had compared him to a knight, which made him burst out laughing.

On his way to the gym, a nosy neighbor had stopped him. “So, are you two dating yet? I remember her asking around about your name once.”

He blinked in surprise before the memory clicked. It must have been when you made that embroidered napkin for him. The image of you nervously going door to door asking around, too shy to talk to him directly, made his chest tighten.

Without thinking, his hand drifted to his pocket, where he still kept the cloth. He was on cloud nine the entire day.

Ah, he’d ask you to be his girlfriend soon. That much he was sure of. If only you weren’t so wary of relationships—and that other man who kept hanging around you. How irritating.

The man claimed to be your doctor, but what kind of doctor visited his patients so often? He wasn’t naive, and he could see the way the guy looked at you, the way he lingered too long in your presence. He knew those signs well enough.

Well, no matter. He’d just have to keep a closer eye on you.

After all, you were his to protect.

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EXTRA:

After slamming the door in the man’s face, you sighed in relief.

Finally, some peace.

Turning to the apartment, you fumbled around for the light switch. When the bright light flickered on, it hit you—and so did the sight in front of you.

"What the hell?!"

The walls were plastered with posters—of him. Your old betrothed. His smug face stared back at you from every direction, alongside her, the woman who ruined your life.

You froze, taking it all in. It wasn’t just posters. There were figurines, framed photos, and even a pillow with his face on it.

It didn’t take long to figure out the awful truth. The girl whose body you’d taken wasn’t just any stranger—she was a die-hard fan of the book you came from.

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A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this wacky gift for New Years. I plan to introduce 2 more love interests if I ever get to writing the second part. They're like color coded. Anyway, this was like massive compared to my other works.

I'm still writing Twisted Affections Pt. 3, but some pieces of smut are probably going to come out before that. Thank you for patience!

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[valentine-cafe]

hello (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

I'm sure ur inbox is probably brimming with requests rn, so I'm just gonna slip this in and u can take ur time with it!

[Top male] reader who's usually gentle in bed but had to go through a day full of misfortune that got him stressed, and he channels that into pounding the characters hard? When he comes back to himself, he feels so guilty and remains minimal contact with the characters for a few days. (⁠>⁠▽⁠<⁠)

The orders will be tiramisu, affogato and croissant! though, I'm not sure if the characters fit the prompt so feel free to change them out for another. (⁠╯⁠︵⁠╰⁠,⁠)

And if I haven't lost your interest, may I be so blunt to ask to take up the 📖 anon? If that isn't taken, of course.

Thank you dearly! ♡

˖⁺. “ stress fuck ! ” : 

﹙ multi bttm m. characters x frustrated top male reader ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . various bttm male characters !! 🍒 : 

you're typically so gentle with him . . . but after a bad day - you can't help but come back and fuck him senseless 

﹙ cws ﹚: explicit content ˖ penetrative sex ˖ rough sex ˖ degradation ˖ some angst | wc : 1.8k 

﹙ receipts ﹚: here you go! hope you enjoy this! and of course you can be our 📖 anon <3

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

﹙ Alessio 781. ﹚. . . !! 🍒 : He prefers it rough. Prefers his eyes rolled back into his skull and nails dragged down your back. Prefers the loud slapping and lewd moans pouring through the room as you manhandle him. Him. A 6’7”, highly trained mercenary. Have you any idea how fucking hot that is?

So when you were pounding away at his tight ass and spewing your degradation to his ear. Well, let’s just say that your cock ramming up his prostate was not the only thing sending him to cloud nine. The very notion that his soft-as-a-feather boyfriend was using him as a cocksleeve was enough to have him creaming all over himself.

Your hands left bruises on his olive skin. Ones that took his breath away when he looked at the mirror the morning after. His throat whispered memories of your tight grip stealing his breath away. Making him cling. Making him keen.

And then. . . you went distant. What the hell was that all about?

Alessio has never been good at no contact. Not texting you goodnight drives him insane as is. So don’t be too surprised when he’s crawling through your window at some ungodly hour to find out what the hell is going on.

“You - feel bad for fucking me?”

His half-hung eyes are wide for once. Before his hands grab at your shoulders and hoist you in. “You’re kidding right? Baby - I loved it.”

The puppy-eyed look he gives you is enough to melt your stubbornness. You sheepishly explain the entire situation and behold his frown. It doesn’t take much more until his arms are around you and toppling your body into the plush of couch cushions.

“No seas idiota.” ( “Don’t be an idiot” ) he huffs into your neck that he nuzzles up. “I just want you to do what you need, amore. None of that. Especially not for giving me the night of my life, yeah?” He pulls back to stare you down and then gives you a little peck when you nod.

﹙ Vespasiano 781. ﹚. . . !! 🍓 : It’s no secret that Vespasiano has almost always been on the giving end in a relationship. Not to mention his lack of experience when it comes to men — so he’s still growing accustomed to being with you. His lovely boyfriend. Who also tops him. With that in mind, he quite appreciates your gentle hands and tender pace whenever he finds himself beneath you.

With that being said, he didn’t mind getting his ass ploughed that night you came home full of huffs and tensions. Even with his shock when you had suddenly buried your hand into his hair and forced his head into the pillows. When you started grunting and calling him a whore - splitting him open and making his eyes roll back.

He doesn’t thin anyone has ever fucked him out so much before. You got him to whine. Got him to whimper. Stutter and tell you it’s too much. Him. A man of his age, his experience.

The morning after, while the ache in his body and the realisation of what occurred still left him shocked, pleasure bubbled over his entire being. That felt. . . amazing.

Then came your distance. Anxiety swelled in his chest all over again. He can’t handle that. He’s dealt with it too many times from his ex wife. This sends him right back to the panic of uncertainty. Did he do something wrong? Were you mad at him?

He’s not going to bother with calling. He knows it never gets anywhere. So he’s showing up to your doorstep with big eyes while trying to keep it all together.

“Tesoro. . . did I do something? Talk to me, please.”

He’s collapsing into you before you know it. The guilt in your heart has you spilling everything which leaves him confused through his endless kisses all over your face.

“Too rough? Please. Do you think ‘m glass? I’m sixty-six, baby.” He’s chuckling against your ear despite his shaky demeanor. Cupping at your face and letting out a soft croon. “Nonsense. Is it new? Yeah. Do I hate it? Fuck no.”

He hooks you onto his lap soon after and shoots you a look of concern. “If anything I’m more worried ‘bout that bad day of yours. Won’t you talk to me?”

 

﹙ Jìngyí 209. ﹚. . . !! 🍒 : He’s so used to his tender and gentle loverboy that the second you had him pinned down to the marble kitchen counter and fucking him to delirium — he almost thought he was dreaming.

He’s so accustomed to whispering sweet nothings to your ear, telling you how good you are, what a great job you’re doing. The last thing he expected was to have that replaced by your ragged voice muttering curses rough praises to his neck. Your nails clawing down his skin. Your hands making use of his flexible, snake-like body. With coils, pins, rough handles all over.

With all his work stress, of course he was all for you fucking him dumb and limp into the sheets. What he could not understand, however, was the sudden distance you put up after the morning of softness. Where he clung to you and murmured how much you had completely wrecked him the night before.

Good luck trying to remain distant from Mister Zhao, however. You’d find yourself confronted the second you avoided his call to check on your wellbeing.

He’s at your workstep before you can so much as blink. Pulling you off somewhere quiet and giving you a look through those amber, slitted eyes of his that told you to talk. Truthfully.

“You know how much I hate being ignored. . . sweetheart, what is the matter?”

All you can do is break when his tender hand caresses your face. Thumb rubbing below your eye while you sniffle over your rough day. How it resulted in you taking it out on him —- how bad you felt about it.

You catch his narrow-eyed stare. The look of disbelief and concern that melted through the prior irritation from your avoidance. He’s pulling you into his arms and tucking your head beneath his chin with a small frown.

“Silly boy. . . if I had an issue with it, do you not think I would have stopped you? Please, take it easy on yourself.”

You’ll have a quiet and calm day with him throughout. Anything to show you that he is fine, and so are you.

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[rennalaqotfm]

𖤓 DRAGONSPEAR | J.V (PART V)

Pairing: Prince Jacaerys Velaryon x Martell Princess! Reader

Synopsys: Upon discovering Aemond Targaryen's alliance with the Triarchy, the Blacks are pushed to the point of desperation. With the war looming over the horizon, they have no choice but to turn to an unlikely ally: House Martell.

Content Warning: Sexual content but no smut (MDNI 18+ just to be safe), angst, mild knifeplay, alcohol consumption, toxic dynamics, swearing, themes of prejudice and misogynism, and a lot of 'fucking politicking,' as King Viserys said, (not proofread).

WC: 5.1k

Series Masterlist

(A/N and taglist at the end of the chapter)

Days passed slowly as the Sun melted into the golden dunes, the once-lively festivities fading into hushed negotiations behind closed doors. In these meetings, father and daughter meticulously settled the terms with the rest of the Dornish Houses; the Princess made the decisions, and the Prince sealed them with his ink and his word.

Seated around the golden table were the heads of House Martell, House Dayne, House Yronwood, House Jordayne, House Uller, and House Santagar. Some faces remained impassive, while others betrayed unease, dread creeping into their eyes as Prince Qoren signed his name onto the last parchment, concluding the fateful meeting between the greatest Dornish Houses. 

“It’s been quite the evening,” Prince Qoren announced, his voice cutting through the silence. A murmur of agreement rippled through the room. “My daughter and I are pleased that we have all come to an agreement.”

Chairs scraped against the marble floor as the lords began to rise, eager to take their leave. But just as the tension began to ease, Lord Ander cleared his throat.

“My Prince,” Lord Ander Jordayne began, his words measured yet tinged with hesitation. “I do not mean to question your judgment, nor the Princess’… but the Targaryens—” 

“What of them?” Prince Qoren’s patience, already worn thin by restless nights and ceaseless negotiations, finally frayed. He crossed his arms, hoping the meeting could finally come to an end.

“I cannot deny that we stand to gain more than we ever dared bargain for… but what if the Blacks fail? What if the Velaryon boy falls in battle? Would the rest of Westeros still acknowledge Princess Y/n as their future Queen?”

A flicker of unease passed between Prince Qoren and his daughter. Y/n cleared her throat, her lips curling upward ever so slightly. 

“I won’t come to that, Lord Ander.”

“With all due respect, my Princess. If the Blacks lose the war, my house will lose everything. We command the largest fleet in Dorne, but…”

A wave of apprehension spread among the gathered lords. Lord Lysander Dayne shifted in his seat, his fingers tapping against the table in quiet contemplation. He had carefully weighed the losses should the Greens win the war, but the fear of losing an entire army at sea troubled him. The Daynes were more than proud to have raised the finest army in Dorne, but the Dornish were strongest in the sand against men, and this fight involved dragons. 

“Are you afraid of losing a handful of boats, my Lord?” Y/n asked, her nose twitching into a sneer. 

“O- of course not, my Princess, but–”

“I’ve said it before, and I will repeat it again,” she spoke slowly, her gaze piercing through each man in the room. “This war is inevitable. If we don’t choose to fight alongside the Blacks now, we will have to face the Greens later. Alone. Now, tell me. What chance have we got against their dragons? Siding with the Blacks is not a concession, it will simply strengthen our position. It’s better to wage a war at sea than to let it unfold in our lands. No more people should suffer in the name of the Targaryens.”

“That is easy for you to say, my Princess,” Lord Lysander Dayne pushed himself to his feet, his fist crashing against the golden table with a force that sent the wine glasses rattling. “While my men and I risk our lives at sea, beneath the fire of those beasts, where will you be?”

“Do not mistake me for a craven, Lord Lysander,” she stood up as she grabbed the edges of the table. “I will be fighting alongside my people.”

“Your courage is admirable, my Princess, but a serpent is of little use at sea,” Lord Lysander said. “Should the Gods decide you die in this war, how will we be compensated for our losses?”

“Then you had best pray, my Lord. Pray that your men can withstand the fury of the Seven Seas and the fire that awaits them,” her dark eyes narrowed into slits, making the man shake his head. “You have all sworn yourselves to this war. Should any of you waver now, it will be deemed as treason.”

The head of House Dayne clenched his teeth as he stormed out of the Council Chamber, silently followed by the rest of the lords, who dared not voice their disapproval. Yet their slouched shoulders and lowered gazes betrayed their agreement with Lord Lysander’s sentiment.

Once the Council Chamber’s doors were carefully shut by Casymir, Y/n let out a heavy sigh before pouring herself whatever was left in the jug and swigging the wine in one swift motion. She took the rolls of parchment where her brothers' fates were sealed with her father’s signature. They felt heavy in her hands, guilt gnawing at the pit of her stomach. 

“I should’ve killed the Velaryon boy,” Y/n muttered, her gaze fixed on the scrolls in her hands. “But I thought of Rhaenyra, of how she wouldn’t hesitate to burn us the moment I pressed my dagger to her son’s throat. I saw it in her eyes, Father. Her fury, her grief. Or mayhaps I only imagined it. Mayhaps I’m just making excuses to… to soothe my own conscience for making the wrong choice by siding with the Blacks.”

Prince Qoren studied his daughter in silence before reaching forward, gently prying the parchments from her grasp. 

“Your mercy is what has kept us alive until now,” he said, setting them aside. “I know you have taken lives, my dear daughter. I won’t claim you were always justified. And I’m not one to judge… I have done the same,” he exhaled, his voice quieter now. “But not knowing when to show mercy is a weakness we Martells have always carried. The hatred for the Targaryens runs in our blood. It’s in your nature to have wanted to kill the Velaryon boy.”

“And yet, despite that hatred, here I stand, bound to him in duty,” she lowered her head. “I… I keep thinking of just killing him, Father,” she admitted, the words bitter in her tongue. “I keep thinking of ways to rid myself of this fate. So tell me, did I show mercy? Or did I just simply surrender?”

“You showed mercy,” Qoren said firmly, his dark eyes steady as they met his daughter’s. “I won’t pretend that those dragonlords deserve it, but killing the Velaryon boy would've been too... simple. Yes, it would free you, but not for long. There is always a time and a place for defiance, but we are in times of war. For the first time in centuries, the Targaryen have come to us with open hands. Never in a lifetime would I have imagined those dragonlords begging for our help. 

“And now you’re plotting their war. A war that is not ours, yet one we will win. Not because of their dragons but because of our people. Our people, who stand with you.”

“It’s not as though they have much of a choice, Father.” 

“Neither did you,” he smiled sadly, placing both of his hands on her shoulders and pulling her for a hug. “Give them some time. Those lords will come to realise that what you’re doing is for the best of our people.”

“Thank you, Father,” she mumbled in defeat, too tired to argue back. 

Prince Qoren let out a dry chuckle, though it was tinged with sorrow.

“I can scarcely believe it,” he whispered, resting his chin atop her head. “My daughter is finally a woman grown.” 

He held her close, allowing themselves a moment of silence. He could only whisper an apology for the burden his daughter had been forced to bear.

It was the hour of the wolf, and the once-bustling corridors of the palace lay silent, emptied of guests, save for the weary guards struggling to keep their eyes open in the dead of night.

As Y/n left the Council Chamber, followed by her shadow, Casymir, she allowed herself to become more at ease as she found solace in the darkness. 

“My dear sister!” 

Elyas’ voice bounced on the walls, making the Princess flinch. He sauntered towards her, his steps unsteady, but she kept walking, refusing to face him.

“Busy coming back from seeing your whores?” Y/n asked, her tone sharp, wanting to put an end to the futile conversation and retreat to her chambers.

“Jealous, sister?” He grinned, staring at her with droopy eyes. “I know you never liked me seeing other women, but since you've been so occupied with your dear husband… so preoccupied you haven’t even spared me a glance… what was I meant to do with myself?” He slurred, struggling to find his balance as Leoran held him upright.

She turned away and continued down the corridor, Casymir silent at her side.

“I’m talking to you!” Elyas snarled, grabbing her arm and forcing her to face him.

Casymir’s grip tightened around his spear, his knuckles white, but Leoran subtly shook his head.

“Oh, look at you,” Elyas sneered, his breath reeking of wine. “What? You think you’re better than me?” His words were slurred, but his voice dripped with resentment. “You and Father are always looking down on me—both of you! You could've included me in your meetings. I could’ve helped you. But no! What am I even here for?” He suddenly began to laugh, though his brown eyes held nothing more than the growing hatred he began to feel towards his sister.

“You want to know what we discussed? Fine,” Y/n exhaled, pushing him away with both hands. “I know you won’t like this, but… you are to be betrothed to Lord Thaddeus’ daughter, Hylda Yronwood,” she took a cautious step back, bracing herself for his inevitable outburst. “I made sure to find you the most suitable match among the lords' daughters. Hylda is a beautiful, kind soul, and she—”

Her words faltered as Elyas’ expression twisted, his lips trembling. His drunken haze gave way to something far more fragile. His knees buckled, and before she could react, he collapsed at her feet, his body wracked with broken sobs.

“No,” he wailed, his voice echoing in the empty halls of the palace. “You can’t do this to me!” He looked up at her from the cold marble floor, his brown eyes glimmering in despair. “Whose idea was it?” He seethed. “Whose idea was it to trade me off like some slave?” 

Y/n shifted uncomfortably, unable to meet his gaze.

“Of course, it was you,” he spat, his breath ragged. “Father would never conjure up something so heinous,” he clenched his fist and slammed it against the ground. “If you want me to suffer so badly, why not just kill me here and be done with it?”

“It’s not just you,” she said quietly. “Farien as well.”

“All of this… for what? So you can sit on that throne? So you can wear a crown and call yourself Queen?” His voice wavered as he shook his head in disbelief. “And Farien… he is but a boy. How could you drag him into this? You... you have no right!”

“Every decision I made was for the best,” she countered, though the words felt hollow even as she spoke them. “House Yronwood is the second strongest in Dorne, and this alliance will secure your future. And, Elyas… you’re of age. The time has come for you to take a wife. It will be good for you… to have someone, to love—”

She faltered, not believing the words spilling from her own lips.

“You think that matters to me?” His hands shot out, gripping the ends of her skirts in desperation. His eyes, red and pleading, searched hers for mercy. “You swore it to me,” he whispered. “You swore that I would be your betrothed. That we would rule Dorne together.”

“I never swore such a thing,” she shot back.

An oppressive silence stretched between them as Elyas wiped his tears and buried his face in the crumpled drapes of her dress. 

“In my dreams, you did.”

Y/n’s breath caught in her throat.

Elyas’ words hung heavy in the air.

For a moment, she saw him not as the drunken, foolish brother before her, but as the boy he had once been. The boy who had idolised her, who had believed in a world where they could stand side by side, ruling Dorne together. Oh, how tightly did Elyas cling to that promise that never left her lips?

“Elyas, listen to me,” she began, her voice strained. “Whatever foolish fantasies you’ve thought of…” She swallowed hard, her throat tight with remorse. Elyas was insufferable, selfish, cruel… but so was she. And still, it hurt to see him in that state. “You have to stop clinging to them. Once I am Queen—”

“No!” he growled, his fingers twisting into the fabric of her dress, his body trembling with denial.

“Once I am Queen,” she continued, forcing herself to stay composed, “you will be the one to rule here,” she inhaled sharply, steadying herself. “Father and I are ensuring everything is in place for you to take your rightful position as the Prince of Dorne.”

“No, no, no…” Elyas shook his head violently, his pleas turned into screams, enveloped with both fury and grief.

Y/n took a step back, tugging her dress free from his grasp. Straightening her posture, she smoothed the fabric and exhaled slowly, pushing down whatever remnants of guilt threatened to rise.

“Leoran,” she said, softly. “Escort my brother back to his chambers.”

Elyas’ breath hitched as he lifted his head, watching her turn away.

“You dare turn your back on your own brother?” He shouted, blinded by pain.

She hesitated but did not look back.

“Just so you know,” he called after her, his voice laced with anguish. “It's you. It has always been you. And it will always be you.”

Daemon Targaryen lingered in the shadows, his presence barely visible under the dim torchlights, lilac eyes tracking every movement between the Martell siblings. 

The Princess had melted into the darkness, vanishing as if she had never been there at all, closely followed by her sworn protector. Elyas on the other hand, writhed on the ground, as Leoran struggled to bring him back to his feet.

A slow smirk tugged at Daemon’s lips. How pathetic, he thought, as Elyas clutched his stomach and fell on his knees once again, staining the marble floors with his vomit.

The real threat was the Princess. She was far too dangerous for his liking, not because she was strong, but because she understood how to wield control, even over the ones she loved the most. 

Yes. There was something here. Something worth unearthing. 

With a final glance at the broken boy on the floor, he disappeared into the shadows, saving what he had learned for when the time was right.

Jacaerys Velaryon stood stiffly as the seamstress took his measurements. His garments grew more intricate with each passing day, slowly leading up to his wedding. Yet, despite the lavish drapes adorning his shoulders, they did nothing more than weigh him down.

Neither he nor his family had been involved in the negotiations between the Dornish lords; they had been cast aside, their presence tolerated but never truly acknowledged. The lords of Dorne had pledged themselves not to the Targaryens, but to Prince Qoren and Princess Y/n.

More than once, Rhaenyra and Daemon had debated returning to Dragonstone. Were it not for the impending wedding, they might have done so, already tired of bending to every demand the Martells had placed before them, no matter how absurd.

“You look lovely, Jace,” Rhaenyra said, offering him a small, bittersweet smile. Her gaze was proud, and she felt the quiet sorrow of a mother watching her son become a man grown. “Had things been different, then mayhaps we might have enjoyed these celebrations.”

Jacaerys exhaled sharply, his hands balling into fists. He tried to ignore the memories clawing their way to the forefront of his mind: Y/n, straddling him, her breath hot against his ear as his fingers curled around her waist.

Foolishly, he had believed that moment had meant something. That she had seen him, not just as a filthy Targaryen, but as a man. Yet since that night, she had remained as distant as ever, her gaze filled with nothing but cold disdain.

It was absurd, childish, even, to dwell on it. And yet his mind wandered, time and time again, to the thought of what might have been.

If she had kept going that night, there was no doubt she would’ve stayed in control. Jacaerys could only imagine how he would remove her dress, his finger hooking and pulling down on the strap to reveal her chest as she continued grinding her core against his hardened cock, at her own pace, slowly and torturously.  

Then he would’ve tried to cup her breasts and feel the warmth of her flesh on his palms, only for her to slap his hands away, draw a dagger and press it to his throat in silent warning, should he dare take more than what she was willing to grant.

Jacaerys cursed himself every time his mind strayed to such thoughts. They were in the midst of a war and he had duties far greater than satisfying his carnal needs.

“Had things been different, there would be something worth celebrating. But these feasts are nothing but a waste of our time. Besides, you have seen how she behaves, Mother,” Jacaerys scoffed, lifting his arms as the seamstress continued her work around his torso. “She indulges in men and wine, and holds the values of a Street of Silk whore. Westeros will crumble as quickly as this marriage.”

Rhaenyra exhaled sharply, but it was Daemon who spoke first.

“But have you seen what she has accomplished in such a short time, Jacaerys?” He countered, watching the boy with an amused glint in his eye. “She convinced the greatest Dornish lords to stand with us. That is no small feat.”

“Do not be mistaken. They are loyal to her and her father, not to my mother. They know that once Y/n becomes Queen, they will remain in good standing. That is all.”

“And yet,” Rhaenyra said, “persuading men who would rather see us flayed and left for the scorpions is not easy. You see how they treat us here, Jace.”

Rhaenyra sat with her hands folded in her lap, her gaze steady on her son. She had seen the work Princess Y/n had done, how she pulled the strings during the celebrations. Not Prince Qoren. Not the Dornish lords. It was Y/n. If not for her, Rhaenyra wouldn’t stand a chance against the Greens. And yet Jacaerys, blinded by his disdain, refused to acknowledge her political prowess.

“Do not act as if she has done something extraordinary,” he muttered, irritated. “She acted in her own interest, as she always does. The Princess does not shy from showing her ambitions.”

“And yet those ambitions,” Rhaenyra said sharply, “have gained us more allies than we ever hoped for, Jacaerys.”

“At least you’ll be pleased to know that her brother is not so happy with his situation. I recently found out the Princess has arranged a betrothal between Elyas and Hylda Yronwood, and the little one to Freya Dayne,” Daemon smirked.

“I see she has no qualms about selling off her loved ones like cattle either,” Jacaerys scoffed.

At that, Rhaenyra shifted, discomfort settling in her chest as she thought of Y/n, and for the first time, she wondered just how alike they truly were.

“Mayhaps that is what she wants us to think…” Daemon mused, swirling the crimson liquid in his cup. “From what I heard last night, the Princess seemed to be quite fond of her brother Elyas, far more than she would like to admit,” he paused, a smirk ghosting lips. “And not just her brother. People talk, Jace. The servants whisper of the little adventures both siblings have with their sworn protectors and how they have been… caught plenty of times.”

“With their sworn protectors?” Jacaerys shook his head in disbelief.

“Casymir and Leoran Sand. Two of the few bastards Prince Qoren has sired,” Daemon added. 

“This is exactly what I was fearing,” he burst out. “The future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, a lecherous whore. I bet Westeros would love to have someone like that as their queen,” he scoffed. “And the future King? A bastard. How would we be any better than Aemond? At this point, the smallfolk would have him sit on the Throne instead.”

Rhaenyra looked away, stung by her son's words, knowing all too well that his judgment extended to her too, for the choices she had made, for the men she had taken while still bound to Laenor in the past.

“Jacaerys,” Rhaenyra rose to her feet, her blood simmering. “Aemond is a murderer. Do not confuse a woman’s promiscuity for evil.”

“Oh, Mother… you make the Princess sound as if she has never stained her hands with blood,” he spat back. “She is a murderer. She has killed men, innocent men who sought her hand. I could have been one of them had she not chosen to strip us to the bone with her endless demands.”

“I will not justify that, Jace. I do not know the Princess well enough to excuse her actions,” she met his gaze. “But I will say this: despite being a woman grown, she was not ready to wed. I have told you before, Jace, of the things I did to postpone the marriage your grandsire pushed upon me,” she glanced at Daemon. “Mayhaps she was only trying to escape her duty. But this time, she has chosen to fulfil it.”

Suddenly, their conversation was interrupted by three sharp knocks. Ser Domeric Uller opened the door and cleared his throat, his expression unreadable as he scanned the room and set his eyes on Jacaerys.

“Prince Jacaerys,” he spoke. “Your presence has been requested by Princess Y/n.”

Jacaerys climbed up the stairs as he adjusted his garments, a guard trailing beside him as he made his way to the Solar. The Princess had summoned him, having supposedly settled all negotiations. As they got closer, he braced himself for whatever terms she had arranged on their behalf.

The guard pushed the door open, revealing Y/n amid laughter with a cup of wine in hand. Across from her, her sworn protector, Casymir, lounged comfortably, amusement glimmering in his blue eyes.

The sound of her laughter died the moment she caught sight of Jacaerys. Casymir, slowly and deliberately, straightened himself and moved towards the door, though he didn't leave.

Jacaerys shot him a glare. 

“My Prince,” Y/n raised her cup in a mock toast and gestured for him to sit.

Jacaerys took a seat across from her, his gaze fixed on the horizon. Silence lingered between the three of them, but his thoughts stirred, still plagued by Daemon’s words from earlier.

“My Princess,” Jacaerys finally greeted, not hiding the displeasure in his voice.

“I wished to inform you of what my father and I have discussed with the other lords,” Y/n began. “As you may already know, I have secured the loyalty of Houses Dayne, Yronwood, Jordayne, Uller, and Santagar. What you must provide is a small price to pay compared to the concessions my brothers have been forced to make,” she idly traced the rim of her cup with a fingertip.

“The Queen and the King Consort should be present. As should Prince Qoren,” Jacaerys’ eyes flickered around the room.

“What for?” Y/n bit back a laugh. “There is nothing left to discuss. Everything has been settled. Besides, this marriage is between us, and we’ve scarcely had time together. I deemed it appropriate that you, my betrothed, should know first.”

“Oh, how thoughtful of you.” Jacaerys leaned back in his seat as he feigned disinterest. “Please, do enlighten me, what have you offered these lords on behalf of my house?”

“I told you. A small price to pay,” Y/n swirled the wine in her cup. “Vynce Santagar, Lord Karl’s son, and Rykard Uller, Lord Yorick’s son, wish to join the Kingsguard. They said a lonely serpent may never lie safe in a house of dragons.”

“They are not wrong.” Jacaerys scoffed. “The Red Keep will turn against you before you even set foot inside. They will not accept someone like you as their Queen.”

“Rather,” Y/n mused, her lips curving into a smirk, “they wouldn't want a bastard for their King.”

Jacaerys inhaled, fighting to keep his composure, yet his hands balled into fists. From the corner of his eye, he saw Casymir leaning against the wall, grinning.

“Bastard, bastard, bastard,” Y/n chanted. She rose from her seat and sauntered around the room, the delicate silk of her dress trailing behind her like ghosts. When she reached Jacaerys, she leaned down, her breath warm against the back of his neck. “Why are you so upset, my Prince?” 

Jacaerys exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. Then, suddenly, he jabbed his leg with a clenched fist.

“Because you are right!” He admitted through gritted teeth. The Princess bit back a smirk, watching him unravel before her once again. “I am a bastard,” he spat. “My only assurance to the throne is that I am a dragonrider, yet even that claim weakens by the day. Those mongrels have already claimed the last three dragons, and I thought if I wed my half-sister Baela, then mayhaps I could still hold onto what little claim I had left. But my mother refuses to see the problem.

“This war will not end once my mother sits on the throne. The moment she dies, one of those Targaryen bastards will come crawling back, claiming they have more rights than I do. I— I see it in their eyes. For all I know, Aegon is still out there, waiting for the right moment to return to King's Landing. Then those silver-haired bastards with more Targaryen blood in their veins will follow. The usurping will never end… and this foolish notion of uniting the Seven Kingdoms?” He scoffed bitterly. “The smallfolk will spit us out before we are even crowned.”

A thick, suffocating silence preceded his outburst, making him realise that, in the midst of his anger, he had just revealed his deepest insecurities to Y/n, someone who could easily exploit them.

But Y/n simply laughed.

It was not the soft laugh of a lady, but the amusement of someone indulging a fool, filled with something that unsettled him to his core. Without warning, she dropped onto the seat beside him, draping her legs over his lap. Her foot traced the length of his thigh in a lazy, teasing motion.

Jacaerys stiffened, his pulse hammering against his chest. He should’ve shoved her off. He should’ve demanded she behave. And yet, he didn’t. He sat there, caught between conflicting emotions, unable to decide whether her touch was a provocation or a twisted form of comfort.

“The Bastard and the Whore,” the Princess mused. “The King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. It’s rather poetic, don’t you think? That the fate of the realm rests in the hands of the very people Westeros despises most.”

“If only my mother had not bedded the first man she laid eyes upon, then I would not have been born this way,” he muttered through his teeth.

“Then you would not have been born at all,” she corrected, her playful demeanor vanishing in an instant. A flicker of something unreadable passed through her eyes, displeasure, mayhaps even disappointment. “Bastards are born of passion, are they not?” She asked. “We don’t despise them in Dorne.”

She leaned back, resting her weight on her elbows, and gave Casymir a knowing smile.

“I must have thousands of siblings. That’s why we love our people like they’re our own.”

“How tolerant of you,” Jacaerys scoffed. 

“I will never understand why the rest of Westeros look down upon us. This war your family has started? It’s the smallfolk who suffer for it. Why must your mother fight so hard for the Throne? Why is it that, the moment a woman is destined to sit on it, men claw and tear at her claim? First, it was Rhaenys Targaryen, The Queen Who Never Was, and now, your mother?”

Jacaerys wanted to talk back, yet no matter where he looked, he couldn’t find an answer that would satisfy her. 

“Look at me,” she said, and he obeyed without a second thought. “I am to become the Princess of Dorne. No one has dared to challenge my father’s succession. Not Elyas. Not my half-brothers. This war of yours would’ve never happened here.”

“Try telling that to the rest of Westerosi lords,” he argued. “They would sooner tear the realm apart than see their traditions undone. That is simply not the way of things beyond Dorne.”

“But why?” She pressed. “Why must all of you follow those rules so blindly?” 

“I–”

“Fear,” she simply said. “Fear of change. Fear of losing control. Westerosi lords don't cling to their traditions because they are right or just… they cling to them because they're afraid. Afraid that if they yield, even once, everything they own will crumble.

“I won’t claim Dorne is perfect. No kingdom is. But here, I can rule. I can lead armies and speak without being silenced. My voice is followed, not cast aside. I know the privileges I hold as the Princess, privileges ladies elsewhere can only dream of. Had you been born a woman, then mayhaps you would be grateful to be here in Dorne.”

Jacaerys’ lips parted slightly, as though to respond, but no words came.

His gaze flickered to Casymir, who now wore a small, genuine smile. And then to Y/n, who, for the first time, spoke to him without hidden pretenses.

For the first time, it felt like she wasn't trying to provoke him.

For the first time, she simply spoke.

A/N: hello hello, belated merry xmas and happy new year to you! i'm finally back after the long hiatus, but a lot happened. (warning, a bit long)

as some of you might know, i graduated last july, and ever since i've been struggling to find a job, so i had to make that my priority. job hunting sucked the life out of me. for a bit of context, i went to one of the top unis in the uk and graduated with a first. i thought that alone would get me a job (spoiler alert: it didn't). most of my mates were all doing a panic masters while others got lucky and landed a graduate job.

i considered doing a masters, but i coulnd't afford it, and i truly think that having one would not improve my chances of landing a job in the field i want.

i applied to multiple firms, only to get endlessly rejected by them. in the meantime, i tried applying for any part-time job in my town: pret, nero cafe, starbucks, etc. only to be rejected. this was extremely demoralising.

by that point, i was growing desperate and kept applying for jobs where i was overqualified and that weren't even related to my degree, just so i could get out of this rut.

well, the good news is that i finally managed to land a job as cabin crew for one of the biggest airlines in the uk. is it my dream job? no. is it related to my degree? no. but it's what i have for now, and it's not too bad, i guess?

anyway, before i went on my unannounced hiatus, this chapter was already 75% finished. i had so much fun writing the angsty dialogues between the siblings and finally having y/n and jace have a normal-ish conversation for once.

i hope you all have been well, and i want to thank you for your continued support of this story. i might take long to update, but i know exactly where this fic is going and i won't stop until i finish it. i haven't been able to read or respond to any of your messages yet, but i will get into that soon.

happy reading, my loves!

Taglist: @happinessinthebeing @deltamoon666 @dark1paradise @elz-zalarrr @v0dka4a (continued in comments)

[garez19]

yandere! vampire hunter x vampire reader

you did your utmost to hide your silly little secret from your boyfriend. a shame he was always able to see right through you.

warnings/notes: female reader, english is not my first language, mention of injury (not described), not proofread

you love your boyfriend so much. you love alkan, who is a well-known vampire hunter in your town. he’s skilled with his weapons and he knows a vampire when he sees one.

yet you, for some reason, have been an exception to this. he hasn’t found out about your true nature yet. and you’re not sure if he would be as kind as he is once he did. you’d be done, that much was true, but it’d also mean you tricked him. not only a monster, but also a liar you are.

yet, little do you know he already knows everything about you, and he cherishes every part of it. little do you know how he keeps waiting every single night for you to come up to him, crying and confessing, begging for forgiveness. he will be very accepting too, as long as you promise you aren’t going to leave ever -as you pose a serious threat to people in the town-. he will be very tolerant, because how could he do any harm to an angel like you?

as long as you promise to be good for him.

yet you are still stubborn. you’ve gotten weaker as days pass, and alkan is having a hard time waiting especially when he sees your tired body. however, he can’t help but love you a little bit more as you go to such lengths just to stay by his side.

you poorest thing.

if you aren’t willing to tell him the truth, then he would solve it in his own way.

that’s why he is always around you, not giving you time to rest up. he’s always there to watch you, and he never fails to make you feel uncomfortable, as if he knows what you think.

you understand you can’t keep going much longer, and decide to leave to figure it out. yet he still doesn’t let you, coming along with you everywhere you go. and you aren’t even able to protest, because he’s so quick with his “it’s dangerous out there.” excuse. you are trapped. moreover, you are trapped with alkan of all people—the famous hangman of your own kind.

he keeps pressing your buttons. and he finally finds the right one.

“are you okay?” you say, panicked. you knew, you fucking knew he was going to hurt himself when he kept toying with the sharpest knife in the kitchen. hell, it is almost like he did try his best to create a wound deliberately.

“oh fuck… yeah, I am,” he groans. “can you help me patch it up?” he says in pain. you take him to living room with the first aid kit. you both sit on the couch, and that’s the moment it hits you: alkan’s blood smells amazing and you’re about to die of hunger. you try your hardest to do your job as quickly as possible, yet alkan keeps getting in the way.

“wait, it’s too tight, can you loosen it up a little bit?”

“isn’t it a little bit too loose now?”

“can we get another bandage? this one’s all bloody already.”

fuck. fuck. fuck. you really fucked up real bad this time.

yet you try your hardest, and don’t listen to his protests anymore. you bandage his hand carelessly.

you’re done. thankfully, you finally make it. but oh, a shame it doesn’t matter anymore.

you know you can no longer bear with the starvation —the sharp smell of his blood burning your lungs, you find yourself grabbing him. and as your fangs find their way into his neck, you feel the wetness on your cheeks. you know this must be your last meal.

it is your last meal, and you feel blessed it is with your lover.

your hands are on his shoulders. you know alkan, a trained hunter with a handful of abilities, is most certainly able to overpower you. yet he does nothing. he doesn’t try and push you off. he doesn’t cuss you out.

he hugs you. that’s all he does.

“it’s okay, love” his voice is soothing, and it is the first time you hear him talk like this. “you’re okay.” he adds as he caresses your head. his other hand is on your back, and it feels light, like it isn’t there at all.

he winces in pain. yet he keeps soothing you.

“you’re safe,” he rubs your back. and you realize he’s visibly hurt—finally being fed, you come back to your senses.

fuck.

you are absolutely not safe, you think to yourself as you quickly pull away. you are like a scared cat, ready to attack the second alkan tries anything. yet, again, he doesn’t.

his shirt is all messed up, and his neck is bloodied. you can see his face is paler and he definitely looks drained, the scene makes the tears burn your eyes once again.

alkan pulls you towards himself. and then he kisses your tears. softly and slowly. when he finally pulls back a little, he gently grabs your face. his thumb on your cheek, making slow moves like he’s scared of breaking you.

“poorest little thing,” he cooed, “you must’ve been starving for so long.”

you gulped. there’s a metallic taste in your mouth. “I’m sorry.” is all you can manage to let out, and you feel like you can really use an eternal sleep after you just had your last meal. “I’m so sorry.” you say once more.

he doesn’t budge.

“why didn’t you tell me sooner? we could’ve figured something out.” he says calmly, and it all makes you feel like it is gonna be okay, like you are not in trouble at all.

yet you know his calmness means you are in danger.

“let’s get you cleaned, love.”

[strzxrin]

We need more moments leo and rowan !

These guys are incredible.

Just like you :)

-🦇

. . . take a look into my eyes, can’t you feel the tension !

in which . . . they show you for how long they’ve exactly pinned for you, and how much they want you.

cw. gn!reader, long time pining, edging, dumbification.

pairings . lèo jaccoud x gn!reader x rowan collins

demon x reader , angel x reader , roommates x reader , childhood best friends x reader

notes . that’s so nice of you, thank you!! but no bc i’m so surprised that people like these two a lot and i’m happy you want to know more about them !!

masterlist . character wiki

lèo jaccoud and rowan collins, your two best friends that you had grown up with, have always been so attentive to your needs. they would ensure that you’re alright, and were there for you in every moment of your life. they knew every single bit of you, and you knew every single thing about them.

at least that’s what you thought.

you thought you knew everything about the boys you grew up with, but considering how you were writhing underneath them, you don’t think so anymore.

soft pants escaped your lips as they pinned you down on the bed, lèo’s lips planting gentle kisses down your body, mapping his touch all over you whilst rowan marked your neck and teased your ears.

“a-angh! l-lèo..” you whimpered as the other muses at the sounds you were making. it was like a symphony for him, something that he wants to keep hearing over and over again.

how did you get up to this point?

well, it happened when you had came back home from a rather bad date, and you were tired and frustrated at everything. the both of them were at the couch when they heard your keys unlocking the door. did the both of them like the fact that you went on a date? no. they were going to take matters into their own hands later on.

lèo wanted to call out to you, to ask how it was, but then he saw your face and you were quick to leave to go to your room. your eyes was brimming with tears and something switched in both the men.

you plopped on your bed, hiding your face in the pillows as you tried to think exactly what happened. was it something about you? were you just that unlovable?

you hear your bedroom door knocking and you make a small noise. you didn’t want the both of them to see you sobbing, but at the same time, you can never really hide from them anyway. that’s how it’s always been.

the bed shifts, sinking a bit as the both of them sat down on either side of you. “you want to talk about it?” rowan asks softly, gently brushing your hair as you stay silent for a moment, hugging your pillow tighter. lèo and rowan glanced at each other before making it up in their minds to ensure that you are okay at all costs.

you don’t lift your head up and your voice was muffled by the pillow, but to the both of them, they can hear you clearly. “am i that unlovable?” they both pause at that question. what the hell happened for you to ask them that? lèo rubbed gentle circles on your back as rowan shook his head, even if you can’t see it.

“you’re incredibly loveable, ( name ). what prompted this question?” he asked softly as you sniffled and curled up even more. the sight made both of their hearts break. they never liked it when they saw you cry. if they could have it their way, they would keep you locked up in their shared house and never let you leave so that you would constantly be happy.

“not only did my date come two hours late,” you paused, almost hiccuping as you felt the frustration of it all at the situation. “he came in with someone else in his arms, as if he had forgotten we were supposed to meet up.” you continued.

the two of them stayed silent and there was a bubbling anger simmering in both of them when they listened to you. how dare that man do that to you, humiliate you like that? lèo gently kissed your head and looked at you, even as your face was hidden in the pillows.

“forget about him. he doesn’t deserve you. you deserve so much better, with people who actually care about you.”

“people like us,” rowan then continued as lèo nodded. suddenly you felt like all the frustration and hurt you were feeling left, all because of rowan’s words. you looked up, finally showing your face to them as you were obviously confused.

“what do you mean?”

“you’re rather oblivious when it comes to the people who actually like you, ( name )” rowan sighs as lèo smiles sheepishly but nodded along with the other. you had to take a moment to process, and put two and two together before realising what they meant.

“you two.. like me?”

“more than like, mon amour,”

and that’s how you ended up here. they had given a talk, a confession to how long they’ve loved you and how they both would have treated you far better than anyone else. they wanted to prove it, but of course, everything is done with your consent. they would never force you into doing something you didn’t like.

so when you accepted, you only gave them the condition to be slow and gentle. you were going to regret it since it’s been hours and you haven’t cummed once.

they gave you fleeting touches and would tease your erogenous zones over and over again. your toes would curl and your back would be arched but you wouldn’t get the release that you craved.

“p-please.. oh please..!” you begged out, your mouth leaking with drool as you just wanted to cum so badly. and you swore that you could see a sick look in their eyes at your state.

“please what, darling?”

“let me cum! please.. oh fuck i wanna cum so bad” you gasped out as rowan pinched your nipples at the same time when lèo hits your sensitive spot. “yeah?” lèo muses, watching as you writhe underneath the both of them.

“you can last a little longer than that, mon amour..”

“after all, every one hour is every year we kept our emotions at bay to not overwhelm you”

you realised it now, the hours on edging was the years that they’ve liked you for, and you know for a fact that you’ll be dumbed out by the time that this is over.

“m’sorry!! please m’sorry for not realising your feelings— angh!!” you choked out, tears welling in your eyes as rowan kissed them away. “we know, darling.. that’s why you can take just a couple more hours left”

“and after that, you can cum just as many times as you want.”

[coffee-and-tea-time]

♪.•*¨*•.¸¸♬ Oh, I could hear you for a lifespan and more  ♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪

Hello! Coffee and Tea talking!

We really sorry for disappearing so long but we got two things planned for y'all, first one, we got some asks directly talking to us wich we love and found very cute so we plan to make a separate post for Q&A and replying to cute asks, so if anyone feels shy about asking something or saying something, it’s your time, just shoot! We love yapping with you guys fr fr ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊ - Coffee

Secondly, we are glad to inform you guys of our Valentine’s Day special!! it will consist of any of our characters answering your asks about them directly! so if you have something cheesy you’d like to say to any of our babies, go right ahead through asks! - Tea 

if you want context, you can go here but it's not that necessary we think - the twins

count word: 3k

tw: panic, lowkey sarcastic reader, spanish words (translation at the end), yandere behavior, an idiot, little paranoia, writing in you/yours, reader always getting interrupted, overall fluff, rich yandere, willing reader 

Doesn’t it sound like an easy choice? The one that stands out the most!

 Your smile widens, imagining who might be behind this enigmatic title of “the singer” there was no spinning it, the mysterious yet extravagant summary the smiling seller told you totally bought you. Is this your wattpad moment? where you suddenly start living with Harr-

“Ejem, if you might excuse my forwardness, But I advise you to quicken this process since waiting for long can turn… complicated for our candidates, and management, and the general public. Though by the looks of it I think you’ve already made a decision, Dear. So tell me, who’s the lucky one? that gets to not turn even more crazy than they already are”

“Well, I want the singer… Please”

You give the seller a shy smile, hoping you don't look too pretentious with your choice but you don’t have time to dwell on it much. Before you knew it, the seller was already shaking your hands congratulating you for your decision before slipping away to make a quick call  to who you guess is the yandere. Now that you think about it… Why had nobody chosen him before? like, it’s a very obviously perfect option, maybe he was new in the system or som-

“Dear, sorry for my disrespectful interruption of your thoughts again, but I must inform you that the limo is here, seems like Angelo wants to give you a blissful and boastful first impression! It was a pleasure to meet you, Darling”

The seller attempts to try and kiss your hand, but the chauffeur snaps your hands away from him saying he got clear orders of not letting anyone touch you, the seller just chuckles and raises his hands before getting back into the shop.

You stood there a little dazed before finally realizing the kind of future that lay ahead of you. Following the chauffeur, who swiftly guides you into the vehicle, You find that inside there’s even some snacks for you to enjoy through the ride but a little knot on your stomach deters you from indulging. You chose and signed the papers quickly since it was what your heart desired but, shouldn’t you have asked more before choosing? You take a deep breath, reassuring yourself that  you’re just nervous, everything will be just as good or even better than what you picture it. 

Then you look out the tinted window… Where are you right now? What's this neighborhood? Every corner is covered in fancy arrangements and decor which amuses you. Eventually, you pull out your phone to check how much longer it takes getting to this place coincidentally as the car stops its movement and interrupts your train of thought yet again.

The door of the car is opened before you get the chance to even lift a finger and you are greeted by the angelic face of a man, worthy of praise and worship, smiling down at you and offering his hand as to help you get out of the car

"Hi~, welcome welcome, how are you feeling on such a joyful day as today? I hope that you are as thrilled as I am"

He says with a charming smile, holding your hand delicately for you to exit the car then  guides you into his house, his eyes ogling you like a three course meal. 

"Would you like something to drink? A water perhaps? I don't really have much sugary drinks since I have to take good care of my vocal cords, but if that's what you'd enjoy, then I'll absolutely find a way to get it for you"

"Oh, I'm really fine, don't wor-"

His step falters before stopping dead in his tracks, his smile softening in… awe? He shuffles closer as your voice trails off by the sudden action.

"Oh, Honey, I'm so sorry to interrupt your words, I just couldn't help but get closer… you speak so softly, I'd wish to hear you more clearly"

He puts his hand on your shoulder reassuringly, though it quickly moves up to your neck, his thumb caressing the side of your throat.

"You shouldn't overthink too much, your duty here is being happy with me, and when I'm not around, feel free to enjoy your free time as you wish; my only condition here is you take care of yourself and… to not look at anyone else in the eye for too long… but well, you should’ve already expected that, you signed for it, honey"

You shy your gaze away from those hazel eyes that seem to adore you so much, but he gently holds your face with his other hand, gently moving your face to look at him as he caresses your cheek with his thumb.

“Angelo. of course I-”

As you were about to get your first lovely tender moment with your dream yandere; someone interrupts, you couldn’t see who, Angelo quickly pulls you into a safe hug, with your face on his chest, like protecting a precious yet fragile gem. You also failed to see his murderous glare, silly cute fool. 

“What?”

“Angel, hay una llamada urgente, es tu manager, es algo relacionado al concierto del mes que viene” 

….Huh? Spanish? 

“¿Otra vez jodiendo con lo mismo? Ya lo cancele, que deje de molestar… Ahí voy, es capaz de venir hacía acá si no le contesto, podes irte”

Clueless of the situation, you keep still comfy in the hug as he pats your head, he really uses a good cologne, just when you hear footsteps falling away. is when he loosens his grip and looks back at you with a soft smile before kissing your cheek.

“Sorry I can't give you a good tour at this moment Honey, my manager is calling for some urgent work matters, hope you can forgive me. In the meantime, a maid can show you around our backyard or you can ask her to guide you to your room. I decorated it myself, very standart, so you can change it as you like, Darling. I’m thrilled to see your precious self around each corner in the mansion, because everything you choose or touch will be always have your print on it” 

He kisses you hand before calling the headmaid, a woman who gives you the impression of a sweet grandmother who bakes cookies and pies. As you two were left alone, she giggles and offers to walk you around the garden, which  you gladly accept. 

“Oh, look this one was chosen by one of the butlers, the name is a real tongue twister for me ‘rhododendron’ or something like that, I'm too busy to keep worrying about memorizing such a name. Oh dear, sit inside the gazebo, it has such a good view of the garden, would you rather have some tea or coffee? I’ll bring you some to enjoy this evening”

You thank her as you giddily enter the gazebo and sit on one of the chairs around a little tea table. You were enjoying the view as you imagined cute things to do with Angelo, but it seems like today is the day that everyone decides to interrupt you. A loud noise startled you, a man dressed formally was gasping for air, cold sweat on his face as if he saw Ghostface or something. 

“You have to get out of here”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

You watch him hurry to you and grab you by the arm but by reflex you pull back in the opposite direction, like if it were some siblings fighting you two on each side of the table, moving when the other moves. You remember his voice, he is the one that interrupted you earlier with Angelo.

“You need to run, he’s a fucking psycopath”

Oh, what a surprise. The yandere is a psychopath, wow.  Wait, it’s surely not common that other people around them knew about their yandere antics, what are you supposed to do now? Fuck, maybe you really should have bought that manual for 'how to take care of your yandere' when they offered it to you on the website to know what to do in this moment.

“Okey, I think I know what are you worried about, believe me, it isn’t a problem, I-”

“YOU DO NOT KNOW! That psycho, some time ago- he started saying he needed to prepare for his angel of music and at first I thought he was paroding tha phantom of the opera, but then he began firing a lot of people, he only allowed the old servants and people that weren’t able to speak english to remain, I learned the language in secret since I can’t let this happens to someone. He wants to trap you and control you in…”

And then, you stopped listening, this wannabe of a hero is kinda getting on your nerves. Yeh yeh, psychopaths are bad, you know, you care? Nope, you literally had to go through so much paperworks and half of it asked if you were sure of it, even going through a psychological test! This guy isn’t just about to stress you out on your perfect day where you finally got your dream lover for life. But before you could tell this guy to leave you alone, the maid that treated you like a granddaughter was calling for you. You were about to happily go when the weirdo grabbed you by your arm and told you to remember what he said… 

Anyways, you ignore him and act as if he doesn’t exist as you make your way to the smiling grandma waiting for you.

“Oh, sorry for making you come all the way here dear, but sir Angelo asked if you could please have the merienda with him, don’t worry. Angelo already informed us all about what would be of your taste, hope you enjoy it”

…

Ah, you really couldn’t wish for today to be more perfect, you practically spent the whole day with Angelo clinging to you and wanting to know so much about you like a cute puppy. You did not expect him to suddenly drive you to a restaurant that got your favorite food as a specialty for dinner but you sure as hell aren’t complaining. How did he know? You don't know and you pretty much don’t care, much less as when you are on your new room, in the comfiest pajamas you could ever think of, cozy laying on a damn soft bed while your hair is getting so lovingly caressed, both of you spending your time talking since neither wished to separate from the other.

“Okay Angel, I answered so many of your questions, now you answer mine….. Oh yeah, you mentioned that you liked  the process of composing a song a lot. Tell me, how is it? How does it feel?”

“Well Honey, you see, so sometimes people write music using music theory and some just go with intuition. I'm an intuition guy and… it feels kind of like pouring your heart out, how the song turns out is only partly intentional, you can say it's like love itself, you can’t fully control it, it just pops into your heart and you just need to let it out”

“And since it is like love, let me throw you another question related, how do you feel love?”

He chuckled softly as he kissed your cheek before standing up from the bed and beginning to talk as he guided you towards the door.

“A curious bunny, aren't we? Well, I don't think there's a way to properly explain love, and in our case it is even harder to put in words, you feel it. like that cute blush when I kissed you cheek, the little giggles we shared today, the loving glances,gestures, words… the endless need of protection, the endless wish for the other, the eternal devotion, the way the heart jumps overly excited nonstop and every word you precious voic-... Sorry my dear, I seem to have grown a little excited over there, hope you can excuse my behavior… I’m just so so so so intoxicatedly in love, you should rest now Honey, believe me, you will have no way to doubt my love. I will be in the room next door if you need a human body pillow to cuddle you to sleep; dulces sueños, Amor”

As he closes the door behind him, you are left there with a foolish smile, giggling as you hug your pillow while recalling the events of the day and think of what’s in stock for you. Will it be too much to really get into his room for cuddles and see his reaction? The only thought made you kick your feet yet again, before you could make a choice, a hand appeared from below the bed, scaring the shit out of you and just when you were about to scream to alert Angelo. The guy gets out from under the bed, revealing himself as the guy from before but this time wearing some spy costume.

“I’m here for you! I’m sorry I couldn’t come any sooner, it would have been so difficult to be in the same bed with that monster so close to you, you must feel so nauseous”

Yeah, so nauseous that you were just about to try to sneak into his room.

“Do not fear, I been working here for some time, I know every corner, we can escape together, I can’t let you be here alone with that, I must save you”

Buddy… there's less painful ways to die, seriously.

You stood there already seeing how this is gonna end because of this delusional man who doesn’t know how to get out of matters that don't concern him, this is no movie and he is gonna piss off the person he really should avoid getting mad.

“Hey, listen, I get that you are doing something that really shows how good morals you have, but this is entirely consensua- WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”

“What I must!”

Is he fucking deaf or something? He suddenly grabbed you and is trying to get you out of the room by force! You can’t believe that the one kidnaping you isn’t the loving stalker you signed up for…

Oh oh

You swear you can hear how you are about to get a heart attack as adrenaline rushes to your veins, while you were fighting the maniac to let you go, he manages to get you just outside your door, and when you turn your head to ask for help, in the end of the hallway there he is: Angelo, who seems to have lost the lovesick eyes, his eyes now blown wide and unblinking with a crazed look and bloodshot pupils. His smile didn't fade away; though it was no longer warm as it had been the whole day. Then you remember one of the major rules you were told as you signed the papers to have a yandere. 

DO NOT TRY TO ESCAPE

Does this count as trying to escape? You didn't even plan to! This dumbass moron is going to make your angel have a heavy mental breakdown! Fuck, think quickly, think quickly.

As Angelo start running towards you and the guy also tries to drag you on the opposite direction, you take the opportunity he is not focusing in you to grab one of the fancy little vases decorating the hallway and smash it into his face, that wouldn't kill him, it’s just enough for him to lose his grip on you. You run towards Angelo, that was a second or so to catch up to you anyways, hyperventilating as your face collides with his chest, he tightly holds you, whispering how glad he is that you are good and that you weren't really trying to escape from him. His focus quickly switches to the apparently crazy man wincing because of his wounds and screaming how this is not right.

“Llevenselo… al sótano especial, se ve que nuestro amigo se muere por conocerlo, haganle el favor. Yo iré a verlo mañana…” 

You stay here frozen as from the corner of your eye you catch a man and a woman walking out of the shadows and swiftly knock the guy out before dragging him to who knows where, and in the back of your mind, you know it’s better that way; though… Why were they so close to your room?

“Oh, my sweet sweet honey, i’m so sorry you been thought al that… ah, you must be wondering who those were… you can say they are security elements my love, you know, there’s a record of people that regret the choice of having a yandere and try to escape and I didnt want to take any chances of something happening to my oh so precious dear, come here, you’re shaking a lot, lets go inside my room were I can tuck you into the bed, cuddle you and, most importantly, keep you safe”

You follow him as he makes sure you don’t lose your balance as the adrenaline washed away, getting you again in the bed as he holds you close with one arm and with his free hands he continues to caress your hair softly.

“My loving darling, I hope you can see how the security was so needed, you could really end up hurt… oh my poor sweetie, tomorrow we should just stay inside beside each other, what about eating all your favorite treats? We can watch that movie you love so much or search for something new. Oh, I saw you enjoying the garden, there’s a special hidden spot where I planted saloryss, you're gonna love it. Just us clinging and doing things together, being cute lovey dovey forever and ever, Hunny”

As he continues saying sweet things to you or planning things to do with you, you realize… this is the choice you made and you couldn't be more happy about it, more so when he starts peppering your face with kisses as he notices you lost in thought, even if it started strong, this is the kinda love you always wish for: eternal love… your boyfriend is truly so cute hehe.

Love is truly blind, huh?

........

Translation of the dialogues in spanish (not so literal in so parts to help keep the vibe of the phrase):

“Angelo, hay una llamada urgente, es tu manager, es algo relacionado al concierto del mes que viene” = “Angelo, there’s an urgent call, is your manager, is something related to the concert the next month”

“¿Otra vez jodiendo con lo mismo? Ya lo cancele, que deje de molestar… Ahí voy, es capaz de venir hacía acá si no le contesto, podes irte” =  “bothering me with the same shit again? I've already canceled it, he should stop annoying me...I’ll go in a moment, he's capable of coming here if I don't answer him, you can leave."

“Merienda” = Is a light meal between lunch and dinner, think of it like tea time tho if its sweet or not, depends on the taste of the person.

“...Dulces sueños, Amor” = “Sweet dreams, Love”

“Llevenselo… al sótano especial, se ve que nuestro amigo se muere por conocerlo, haganle el favor. Yo iré a verlo mañana…”  = “Take him away.. to the special basement. It seems that our friend is dying to visit, do him the favor. I will go see him tomorrow…”

sorry for any misspellings or weird sentence structure ❣

image from pinterest ⚘

[endofthelinexx]

new series.

Alright, here we go—another series that’s basically a novel because I have no self-control. This one is for anyone who loves a slow-burn, tension-filled story with plenty of drama. It’s all about Lena, a fashion-forward sorority girl from Texas navigating her senior year of college and somehow finding herself tangled up in the glamorous, high-stakes world of Formula 1. With a certain Ferrari driver twice her age throwing her life off track, Lena has to balance her dreams, friendships, and the kind of attention she’s never asked for. Let’s see if she can keep her heart in check—or if the thrill will push her past the limit.

comment to join the tag list!

coming 1/25

[stxneflxwers]

Ah well, hopefully this works. I hope I understood what you meant asking for requests

Can I please request Malachy, Aventurine, and Sunday(since you're trying him out:]) with a Witch S/O who thinks they don't love the character enough, so Witch!S/O tries to make a love potion to make them undeniably smitten and infatuated with the character?

As in the reader is drinking the potion so that they aren't "accidentally unloving" towards the character, and the character finds them first(or the reader asks, whichever you'd prefer to write)

This is somewhat based off my own anxiety regarding not showing enough emotion when I feel I should, you seem like you could make a good fic of that as you're more in touch with mental illness and the like

love potion.

summary. you believe your love for them simply isn't enough – and, of course, as a witch, you think you have just the right solution.

a/n. hi pookie!! ty for the request!! it should be fun to write ! and it's honestly pretty relatable as someone who struggles to show love in any way aside from like, metaphorically sitting next to my loved ones and blinking at them slowly like a cat LMAO. also rip me, i excluded sunday from this cuz during writing aventurine's, i noticed how long it was gonna be... maybe i'll write sunday's another time 👀

characters. aventurine. malachy. gn reader.

cw. witch is used in the most gender neutral way i can manage. love potions. insecurity/anxiety. affection (physical, verbal). established relationship(s). one singular instance of oc (Malachy) x reader. all lowercase. hurt/comfort. reader cries.

aventurine.

(w.c: 739)

he's oh-so perceptive. your magical antics do not go unnoticed the vast majority of the time. there's times it will slip past him, but that's either from sheer chance or because he wasn't paying that much attention.

and, this time, he definitely cannot tear his eyes away from you.

he worries about you, of course. more than he would (or perhaps could) ever admit. he's a subtle lover, he doesn't put you in the spotlight unless you want to be there with him. even then, it can make him feel nervous, anxious.

so, when you start getting flashy and in-his-face with your affection and undying devotion – it's a little overwhelming for even him. he's not sure what's going on, but he can bet it has something to do with your potions or magic.

but, curiosity kills the cat, so he ends up turning this into a long-winded game – just to see how long you can keep doing this. he knows something is up, but whether you know that he knows is a different thing.

the longer this game goes on, the more he notices how delirious you're getting. he decides it's time for a little intervention.

when he goes to talk to you, you're brewing another potion in your organized mess of a kitchen at home. there's little tears in your eyes. he feels immediate pang of guilt for not doing this sooner, but there's a part of him that wishes you would've simply come to him a long time ago. instead of the other way around.

"hey," he greets with a soft smile, it's not one of his usual smiles, it has less edge to it. "what're you makin' this time, pretty thing?" he asks with a subtle affectionate lilt in his voice.

he doesn't step too far into the kitchen, he's instead hanging around the doorway – leaning against it with his arms crossed. he knows it's wisest to not wander too far into this "magical forest". at least, not when you're whittling away at yet another concoction.

"ah!" you squeak in surprise, nearly dropping your very precious mortar and pestle that has stuck with you for too long. it definitely wouldn't break by being dropped on the floor, but you worry anyways. "i'm, uhm..." you trail off, not wanting to confess. but you know it's difficult to lie to a liar – it takes one to know one.

"no worries, sweetheart, i think i have an idea," he tentatively steps up behind you, grabbing the mortar and pestle to set it aside. "here's my first guess... is it a...love potion?" his voice drops a pitch lower, and the interrogation has truly begun.

"wh–" you sputter, and you mentally damn him for being so observant, "yeah, it is... i just..."

he lazily loops his arms around your waist, patiently waiting for you to open up. his eyes don't stick to your face for too long, understanding it may stress you out more than necessary. he wants your trust, that's all.

"aventurine?" you mutter, "is my...is my love enough for you?" you ask bashfully, beginning to realize how ridiculous the notion may sound to him.

"it's more than i could ever ask for." he looks back at you, his soft smile growing warmer and sweeter.

"...are you sure?"

"absolutely sure, darling. in fact, i don't quite think i deserve such a pure, unfiltered love. but... that's a debate for another day, hmm?" he winks.

you twirl around in his arms, wrapping your own limbs around his neck and pulling him close for a warm, ensuring embrace. you sigh shakily over his shoulder, tears beginning to well up again.

"i love you so much, but i feel like...like it's never enough. i don't want to be unloving toward you. you don't deserve that... you deserve so much good, so much better." you whisper brokenly.

"well, i don't really care about what you think i 'deserve'," he pulls back slightly, taking your chin between two fingers and tilting your head to his height. "because, frankly, i only want you – even during the unlovable times." he says firmly, brooking no argument.

"...i..." you fall almost speechless as little tears begin to fall, "thank you..." you whisper hastily before hiding your face in the fluff of his fur-lined coat.

"hmhm," he hums, rubbing your back with one hand, "not a problem, darling... you are more precious to me than i could ever hope to convey."

malachy.

(w.c: 524)

malachy is also extremely observant. however, they're far more likely to approach you about certain issues instead of playing the long game. it may not seem like it from even up close, but they have a sensitive heart – so, they hate to see you struggle on your own, even if you want to do it by yourself.

they get it, though. independence is an addictive drug. but they still want you to understand that you can trust them, rely on them. they feel useless otherwise – not that they would ever say that to your face.

however, malachy has a certain..."threshold" for affection. it can be overwhelming for them after a certain point (despite having been married twice in the distant past). when you start getting a little too touchy, a little too vocal, they can't help the irritation that makes their only visible eye twitch.

they try their best not to vocalize this "minor" issue, though. they know what's up, but they want you to feel comfortable and safe, above all else. they put up with the sudden, frequent bouts of affection and attention. but, even a star from the very heavens have their limits to their patience...

"alright, alright," malachy grumbles, turning in your arms as you give them the nth hug that day. "what's going on?" their only visible eye narrows, but you can nearly feel the chill that their other, hidden eye holds.

"haha... wh-what do you mean?" you sputter in surprise, backing away. but malachy grabs you by the shoulders with tender hands. tender hands that have killed countless times, but they're the very same tender hands that hold you with grace and love.

"...you're not that sneaky, sorry to say," they sigh softly, tentatively releasing your shoulders; trusting that you won't run away. "i don't know what you've been concocting lately, but i'd like to know. i can smell the remnants of the potion."

you often forget how keen their senses are. despite looking and acting like a human, they're so far removed from it. they're the representation of a heavenly star from a distant universe – one you will never get to know intimately, never get to see or hear or feel. malachy is the closest you'll ever get to knowing the multiverse so deeply.

"i... i'm sorry!" you squeak, and it's pathetic to you, but you're at a loss what to say or do.

you want to run away, but the moment you turn to leave, malachy pulls you into a soft embrace. the kind of embrace you can easily tear away from. but you don't. you stay, contented to be in their arms yet scared to know what they'll say next.

"i want you to know that you're good enough, and no one else has the right to judge your worthiness. not even me." they whisper, leaning over your shoulder to press a chaste kiss to your cheekbone.

"mal... i..." you stutter before turning in their arms, grasping at the lapels of their leather trench coat. "...i love you – so, so much..." you remind.

"and i adore you, my lovely witch. i always have, and always will."

[devourable]

BDAY GIFT FOR @mazzyonline,, IM LATE AHH

redraw of that one drawing of sub puppyboy ollie i made ages ago (i cant find the og post but the original drawing is fugly so im not sharing it anyway). if i can figure out how to post the uncensored version without getting gutted by tumblr i will let yall know 🫶 please send bday wishes to my daughter who is older than me

[married-to-google-translater]

Me:i love you maven :3

Maven:more than (fictional crush)?

Me:i will pass this question

Maven: W-what you mean you will pass that question? Don't you love me?? You love that character more than me? Why? *Hugs you* they can't even hug you like I do...

[itstobias149]

Little Red Seeds

I know the poll has only been up for a few minutes but I really wanted to share this with you guys! I tried not to use any gendered language so this could be for anyone! It’s just a cute little story, nothing too crazy! I hope you guys enjoy!

It is a fluff so don’t worry! I like keeping things pg here! Kinda just a slow burn.

The gym was quiet now, the usual hustle of sparring and shouting replaced by a calm that settled as the day wound down. The sounds of gloves hitting bags and sneakers scraping against the floor had given way to the soft hum of the fluorescent lights above. Marie wiped her hands on the rag, standing by the counter where a small bowl of pomegranates sat. They were ripe, their deep red skin glistening in the light, the promise of sweet, juicy seeds hidden inside.

It wasn’t uncommon for her to bring little bits of her culture to the gym—whether it was homemade food, a stray song in Yiddish under her breath, or, like now, a simple offering from home. Pomegranates had always been a staple in her life, a symbol of renewal and resilience, both in her family’s history and in her own journey. It felt natural to share them, like offering a piece of herself without needing to explain.

She plucked one from the bowl, its weight familiar in her hands, and turned it over. The skin was firm, the edges rough, but the color was vibrant. She thought about her grandmother, the way she used to place pomegranates on the table at holidays, the symbol of fertility and hope that carried generations of stories. It was more than just a fruit to Marie—it was a connection to her past, to a time before the pressures of boxing and the grit of the gym.

Walking over to where you were finishing up, Marie hesitated for just a second. She had her moments of silence, moments where she let herself retreat inward, keeping her traditions close and private. But today was different. She was in the mood to share, to bridge that gap between her two worlds—the one she’d built in the gym and the one she carried from home.

“Here,” she said softly, holding out the pomegranate toward you, her fingers brushing the skin lightly. Her voice was almost quieter than usual, as if she were letting the gesture speak for itself. “I thought you might like one.”

She didn’t explain. There was no need. It wasn’t about the fruit itself; it was about what it represented. She knew you might not know that, but it didn’t matter. The simplicity of offering it was enough. It was about connection—offering something meaningful, something shared between her and the few people who knew her enough to appreciate these small, quiet things.

Her eyes met yours as you took the fruit from her hands. There was a faint, almost imperceptible smile on her face, like a secret that had just been passed. The weight of the moment wasn’t lost on her, though she didn’t speak of it. She never had to, not with you.

“You don’t have to do anything with it,” she said, her tone light, but there was something warmer there than usual. “Just… it’s from home.”

She watched you for a moment, not looking for a specific reaction, just observing. It was rare for her to share so much of herself without the walls she usually kept up. But with you, it was different. The usual walls of her personality—guarded, pragmatic, always in control—were a little more porous now.

There was something about the gym that felt like a second home to her, but in this quiet moment, with the pomegranate in your hands, it felt a little more like the place where she could breathe out her past and her future. Something as small as a fruit could mean so much, a reminder of what she had come from, what she wanted to give.

She stepped back slowly, her eyes flicking toward the clock on the wall. “I’ll get going soon,” she said casually, though there was a softness in her voice. “Just wanted to give you that. It’s funny, isn’t it? How something simple can hold so much.”

Marie gave you a nod, her lips pulling into a brief smile before she turned away. There was no pressure, no need for anything more. Just the quiet exchange of something real.

Marie lingered for a moment, her hands now resting at her sides. She watched you hold the pomegranate, turning it over in your hands. The rich red color almost seemed to glow under the gym’s lights. She had always found something deeply symbolic about the fruit—its hundreds of seeds, each one hidden beneath the tough skin, representing the many layers of herself, of her family, and of love in its truest form.

Her fingers twitched, like she could almost feel the act of peeling it. She shifted her weight, glancing down at her blue jumpsuit, suddenly aware of how simple the gesture seemed, but how heavy the words were. The gym was still, the low hum of the lights the only sound as she considered what to say next.

“You know,” she began, her voice quieter now, more contemplative, “I would peel a pomegranate for you.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment. She wasn’t quite sure why she said it, but there was something in the way the fruit felt in her hand, the way she’d offered it, that made it seem right. It wasn’t just about the fruit itself, but what it represented. Peeling a pomegranate wasn’t something one did casually. It was intimate, careful—an act of attention, patience, and care. The person who would peel it for you, who would take the time to gently remove the skin and separate each seed, was the person who would handle your heart with the same precision and tenderness.

Marie’s gaze softened as she stepped closer, the weight of her words finding their place between them. “It’s a bit of an old tradition, but it means something. People say that how someone handles a pomegranate is how they’ll treat your heart.” She gave a small, almost wistful smile. “It’s not just about the fruit—it’s about taking the time, being gentle with something delicate. I guess that’s how I’d be with someone I cared about. I don’t rush through things.”

Her fingers ran over the edges of the pomegranate, her expression thoughtful. “It’s… not easy for me, you know. Letting people in. But if I cared about someone, I’d peel that fruit slowly. I’d take my time, make sure I didn’t crush the seeds, make sure each one is held gently. That’s how I’d be, with a person, too.”

There was a quiet vulnerability in her voice now, something she didn’t often show, but it was there, as real as the fruit she’d given you.

Marie took a deep breath, as if realizing the weight of what she’d just said. “It’s a weird thing to offer, maybe, but it’s just… how I think about things.”

She waited for a beat, unsure if you’d understand or if it even needed explaining. In her mind, peeling a pomegranate was the simplest way to explain the way she saw relationships: careful, deliberate, full of intention.

She finally met your gaze again, and the weight of the moment seemed to lift slightly. “I’d do it for you,” she added, almost as an afterthought. “If you wanted me to.”

Then, without another word, she took a step back, not expecting anything, but letting the gesture, and her words, settle where they may.

Marie smiled softly, her fingers still brushing against the smooth skin of the pomegranate, the quiet weight of her words lingering in the air. After a moment’s pause, she glanced over at you, as if making up her mind. “Hold on,” she said, her voice warm. She turned on her heel and walked toward her office, disappearing for a few moments. When she returned, she was holding a small bowl, the edges chipped but well-loved.

She set it down in front of you with a little grin, before carefully placing the pomegranate into the bowl, the skin now pressed between her palms. She gave you a small, playful look. “I wasn’t lying,” she said, her voice light but still carrying that undercurrent of sincerity. “If I said I’d peel it for you, I will.”

Taking a deep breath, Marie’s hands moved to the pomegranate, starting to peel back the tough skin, her fingers stained with juice as she worked. She was meticulous, using the tips of her fingers to gently pull away the layers, her eyes focused and calm. As she did, the rich red seeds inside were revealed, glistening like little jewels against the white flesh of the fruit. The juice stained her fingers, darkening the tips as she worked, but she didn’t seem to mind.

With each gentle movement, she seemed lost in her thoughts, as if the act itself was grounding her. She glanced up at you occasionally, making sure you weren’t just waiting for her to finish, but also understanding the gravity of the moment. There was something about peeling a pomegranate—it felt personal, intimate, like sharing a part of herself without needing to say anything more.

“You know,” she said, breaking the silence as she carefully separated the seeds into the bowl, “pomegranates have been a symbol of love for centuries. Not just love in the sense that people think about it, but real, enduring love.” She paused for a moment, her fingers working on the fruit with steady care. “In my family, we always talked about how the seeds are like all the little parts of a relationship. Some are sweet, some are sour, but all of them are important. You can’t just ignore the hard parts and only keep the easy ones.”

Her voice softened as she continued, her eyes tracing the pomegranate’s vibrant seeds. “When someone peels a pomegranate for you, it’s more than just about the fruit. It’s about taking time for you, being gentle with you. It’s the same way you should treat love—carefully, with intention. Not rushing, not cutting corners.”

She looked up again, her expression thoughtful but steady. “It’s a way to show someone that you’re willing to put in the effort. It’s not about the quick fix, but about the long-lasting things, the patience, the understanding.”

Marie wiped her fingers on a nearby rag, the deep red stain spreading across the fabric as she finished peeling the last bits of skin away. She handed you the bowl with the seeds inside, the fruit now perfectly separated. Her fingers, though stained, seemed to hold a new kind of tenderness in the way she offered it.

“Love is a bit like this, I think,” she said quietly, the warmth in her voice undeniable. “It’s messy. It can stain your hands, but it’s worth it. If you really care about someone, you’ll sit there and peel it for them, even if it takes time.”

Her eyes met yours again, and for just a moment, her usual guarded demeanor melted away, leaving behind something softer, more vulnerable. “I guess that’s how I’d be, too. If I cared enough to do it. Slowly. With intention.”

With that, she let the moment settle, leaving the fruit between you as she took a step back, but her eyes stayed on you—waiting, quietly, without expectation.

Marie’s gaze lingered on the bowl, her fingers still lightly stained from the pomegranate juice. The quiet space between you felt filled with something more than just the fruit, more than just words. There was a certain calm in the air now, like the world outside had faded for a moment, and all that mattered was the small, simple gesture of sharing something meaningful.

She gave you a soft smile, one that was rare for her, but warm and genuine. “Well, there you go,” she said, her voice a little lighter now, as if the act of peeling the fruit had settled something within her as well. “A pomegranate. For you.”

Her eyes met yours as she gently pushed the bowl toward you, her fingers brushing against yours in the motion. “It’s… not much,” she added, though the softness in her voice betrayed the opposite. “But I hope it’s enough to show you that I care.”

Marie leaned back a little in her chair, watching you with a hint of a playful grin, the kind she only let out when she was comfortable, when she didn’t feel the need to hide behind her usual walls. “Take your time with it,” she teased, her tone light. “You’ve got all those seeds to savor.”

She paused, then shrugged slightly, her smile becoming even softer. “And if you ever want more… I’ll peel another one for you.” The offer hung in the air, casual but filled with quiet affection.

It was just a small thing, really—a simple act of peeling fruit—but for Marie, it was a quiet declaration. In the way she handled the pomegranate, the way she’d shared it with you, there was something bigger, something deeper. It was a way of telling you that she’d take the time for you, with patience and care, even in the quiet moments like this one.

As you took a seed from the bowl, she settled back into her seat, watching you with an easy, contented smile. The gym felt quieter now, the tick of the clock in the background the only sound as she let herself relax, knowing that this small exchange—this simple act—was enough for now.

[valentine-cafe]

m!reader who is MUCH larger than 781 rishen… he soon realizes he has a kink for size difference and he decides to fuck him in front of their mirror, taunting him, “look at that, baby… my cock reaches all the way up here…” pressing his hand on rishen’s abdomen as he fucks him with slow and teasing thrusts.

making rishen get needy, until he starts playing with his silk slits and nipples to make him cum from that instead of his cock. 😩

˖⁺. ﹙ bottom nerd x top male reader. ﹚ .𖹭 ݁

. . . too big? yeah? thas' it good boy !! 🍒 : hero ˖ moth-spider-mantis hybrid ˖ preppy nerd character﹙ verse 781 rishen. ﹚

you found new pleasure in yours and your boyfriend's size difference, making him whine when you large dick is fucking him too slow, cw: size difference, web slit play, nipple play, edging, tummy bulge

You’d have him spilling all over, pre cum flowing out of his flushed red tip. Agitated and in need for more friction, more stimulation. The noises of the bed creaking below as he gets pounded slowly and teasingly from behind just isn’t enough to get him to where he needs to be.

Oh all of those wonderful little whines he spews when you dig your palm down on his abdomen to intensify the feelings of the large tummy bulge you’re giving him.

“F-fuck— t-too big- Too big”

“P-a-papi- oh my god! ngh”

“Jus-Just fuck me already!”

Your hips slam into his firmly at the last sentence. Fingers feasting away at the flesh below them as they dig in.

“Don’t be a fucking brat.” You groan quietly into his ear and continue the same. Agonizingly slow pace he previously moaned and whined so much about.

It isn’t hard to tell a huff left him, the feel of his back jutting against your chest forced a smirk to appear on your features. Fine, since he wants to play this way, why don’t you do it your way too?

Slowly, the fingers of your right hand begin tracing around one of the particularily swollen silk slits around his inner thigh, rubbing away at it fast, to contrast the pace of your slow thrusts. While your left hand slithered up your boyfriend’s body to tug hard on his nipple piercing.

Yelping, Rishen begins bucking his thighs with the intense feel of your fingers rubbing at a few of his slits. You pull whine after whine out of him when you twist and tug at his nipple, and then. . .

Your right hand moves to grip around his shaft, rubbing just below his tip, where there is a hidden silk slit throbbing and sensitive. Awaiting you.

His vision goes white, while ropes of cum shoot out of him. He hadn’t anticipated how hard he came himself, eyes hapazardly open as he fucked his hips into your hand blissfully as you begin pounding him from behind. Pressing your hands against the tummy bulge to see some more of his reactions.

[captain-huggy-bear]

"Do you think we're cursed?" Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :) Feel free to request for Mattie or even write for him yourself. Writing Masterlist

He's slumped over in the locker room when you find him after the game. Broad shoulders pulled inwards like he might be able to make himself smaller, might be able to hide away, as he stares at his hands. He looks exhausted, dark circles underneath shifting brown and green eyes, a bruise already forming on his cheek from a fight with Chris Lucas that ended in a 5 minute power play for the Reapers.

You know what Mattie is like...he takes every loss so personal, it doesn't help that the Reapers have been without a good win for what feels like months...it's starting to wear him down, whether he's good enough to be captain or not, whether he's leading them to failure. He blames himself for each loss whether regulation or overtime.

When he looks up at you his hair is wild, dark curls falling cross his forehead haphazardly and his eyes are just as wild, like you hold the answer to everything.

"Do you think we're cursed?"

"Well..." You hesitate, stepping close enough for Mattie to grip you by the hips and pull you closer. He tugs until you're stood between his thighs looking down on him, until you're close enough that you can count the freckles across his face and see the sweep of his long eyelashes.

"Be honest with me, princess...I can take it."

You're not sure he can, hands reaching up to push his curls away from his face, tucking them behind his ears. It's the way he seems to slump into your touch, like you're a cool drink after wandering through a desert, that makes you doubt how much resilience he has in that moment. It was one thing to know you were losing, another to have your girlfriend point it out.

"Are...are you sure? You don't look like you can take it..."

"That's because I just spent 30 minutes on the ice and had a 4 minute shift...and got my shit rocked by Chris Lucas..." He spits the other man's name out like the forward for the Michigan Blaze is poison on his tongue and you know how he feels. Watching him get beat on wasn't fun, you'd screamed your voice raw about the unfairness, and even though Lucas was expelled from the game...it didn't make it easier to see.

"Well...I think we need to do an exorcism on the team. Maybe get some candles? A priest?" You suggest, fingers running back through his curls as he closes his eyes at the sensation. His shoulders starting to relax as his fingers grip tighter to your hips, palms running up and over and back and forth a few times.

"Yeah?"

"Mmm, but I don't think you're cursed..." You hum, letting him pull you into his lap, sitting across his thighs. Like always he takes it easy and in his stride, a big man who prides himself on being able to shift you about whenever, wherever and however he wants. Prides himself on you not worrying if you're too much, too heavy.

"No?"

"No, baby, I just think you're carrying them a little too much right now." Mattie blinks up at you, and you can't help but smooth the bags under his eye, avoiding the sore bruise on his cheek as much as possible.

"5 game loss streak...in September we had a 6 game win streak...how the fuck..." You let him curl his face into your shoulder, nuzzling into your neck like he might be able to hide from the reality of captaining a team that might not even make it to the playoffs at the moment.

"You need team bonding."

"Board games?" He huffs a laugh into your neck, pressing a little kiss there because he can...because even if the whole situation is fucking shit, you make everything a little easier. Whether it's making jokes or running your hands through his hair or just sitting so close to him that he feels like he's not so alone. He can't help but pull you tighter into him on his lap, arms wrapping tight around you like you might decide to get up at leave.

"I was thinking a dungeons and dragons session, if you can't communicate after that...well, might as well put me on the ice."

You grin a little at his laugh, the way his breath tickles your neck and you bounce slightly on his thighs. You might not be a hockey player, a coach or a miracle worker, but this? Cheering him up? That you can do.

"You know...if I wasn't scared of you getting hurt...I'd put you out there, baby."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, think you'd wipe the floor with them, princess. Just bite their ankles." He pulls away from your neck to grin up at you, all toothy and silly, that one curl falling across his forehead. You gasp, pretending to be offended, hands pushing on his shoulders to 'pull away'. Not that he lets you go anywhere, arms firm and solid around you.

"Hey! That's rude!"

"What? You're my little ankle biter," Mattie nuzzles into your cheek, feeling soft and languid, choosing to forget the loss and focus on you. On the way you huff at him, the way you pout at his accusations, the warmth of you in his arms.

"I've never bitten your ankles."

"No, just my arm, my neck, my lips, my ear...."

"Shut up," It's endearing the way you hide your face in the crook of his neck, your skin practically scalding hot against his in your embarrassment.

There's a period of silence, just the sound of both your breaths and the way your clothes shift against each other as you curl together in the locker room. Everyone else is gone and he's glad because that means he can hold you as long as he wants without one of his teammates yapping at him about it and calling him whipped. Which he is. He knows he is.

People look at him and assume he's not that soft, assume that maybe he's a bit of a player, but really? Really, he's totally just smitten with you and he couldn't care less if that ruins his reputation as a hit maker on the ice.

Mattie pulls you out of his neck, just enough for him to cup your cheeks and tilt your face, just enough so that your eyes meet his and he can smile at you all soft and sweet. Like you've turned him into a trained house pet (you have, you've practically domesticated him).

"I love you...y'know that?" The way you bite your lip and look away just for a second is adorable, that after all this time you still get a little awkward and a little bashful when he tells you that he loves you. The truth is you still don't quite believe it, that the man in front of you can love you that much, so much that he never fails to mention it, that he'll say it in front of anyone and everyone, unashamed.

"I know. I love you too, y'know?"

"Even when I'm losing?" He says it like a joke, but you can hear the real question in his words...like he truly thinks you might not want him anymore if he doesn't win. You only care that he wins for his sake, you're not dating him because his team is winning or losing or anything in between. You're dating him.

"You could lose every game for the rest of your career and I'd still love you, Matthew."

"Keep talking like that and I'll make you my wife."

"As if you weren't planning on it anyway."

"...True, you're my ankle biter, can't let anyone else have you."

[fromduck]

Me with you guys simping over hot men

[strzxrin]

being sandwiched between nostia and kairos… i’m out now… (the no freaky corner will not save me anymore)

. . . i just wanna look good for you !

in which . . . you are adored by the two primordials, and they tagged team you.

cw. threesome, nipple play, a lot of teasing, you’re kind of dumbed out by the kissing

pairings . kairos x gn!reader x nostia

god x reader , gods x reader , god of war and love x reader , god of life and growth x reader , primordials x reader

notes . this is lowkey super short but i was trying to keep it as gn as possible, but i do hope you like this !!

masterlist . character wiki

“k-kairos—!” you gasped, shaking a bit as he hummed softly at your breathy moans. your hands gripped his hair as you felt your entire body burning up. he was marking you, and of course you knew he was possessive of you.

it’s just that, he’s doing all of this in front of the god of war and love, and you can’t help but flush even more. “mm.. you taste divine, my prettiest bird” he murmured, his lips attached to the stiff peaks. you were embarrassed and shy at the situation if it weren’t for kairos having your mind melt from his open mouth kisses.

“you’re taking him so good, aren’t you, ( name )?” nostia purrs, his hand gently patting your head as he stands behind you. the two gods were tag teaming you because they just wanted to, and frankly because you were too cute for them. just to see your flushed expression, kiss-swollen lips made them both a little more hard.

“his mouth feels good, doesn’t it?” nostia teases, tilting your chin back so that you could look up at him. you see his smirk and it made you clench around nothing. he leans down and takes you in for a kiss as his other set of hands took this moment to roam your body.

you fit the both of them so well… but kairos really didn’t like that you were moaning into the kiss with nostia. so, he grazed his teeth on one of your nipples before nibbling it. he sees your back arched and a bit of drool leaving your lips as he grins.

“don’t forget about me too, my lovely birdie” he murmured as nostia groaned into the kiss. you tasted so sweet to him and he wanted more. he pulled away from the kiss to see your hazy eyes and he mused.

“you’re going to take us both so well, darling” he chuckled as the both of them took their time with you. they have all the time in the world for this, for you, after all.