#send me a ship and a title

[trashcanwithsprinkles]

hihi! not to pressurize you into giving it away 😭😭 but I have my curiosity about how long of a fic is jadeite ginkgo exactly. ITS NOT LIKE IM READY FOR IT TO BE FINISHED ANY TIME LONGER!!! i absolutely love and adore that fic 🫶🏽 I'm just shooked by how you plan out these long fics oml

also I would love to draw something related to jg again soon if I get the chance and time !! <33

i can only give you a rough estimate honestly bc it is a known fact that I Do Not Control The Fic Length. it just happens. so uh- i'd say at the very least ten more chapters, probably more. most likely more. watch it be longer than cyanide. i don't know man (gn)

[sabrinasfadingmoon]

I was thinking about what my top fics of all time were. Some of them are newer, and some of them I’ve been thinking about for years and will probably never stop thinking about.

No one asked but here you go

(in no particular order)

1. Wilted Petals (hosie, orphaned work)

This fic perfectly scratched that part of my brain that wanted dark hosie. It’s well written, heart wrenching and the angst I will never get over. Reading this have everything the show was too afraid to give us when it should have.

2. On Purpose (rilaya, scoutshonour)

I say this with my whole chest this is without a doubt the best rilaya fic ever. It is genuinely my top time favorite fic ever. The characters are written exactly how they should. The author knows how much I adore them, we talked about it a lot. I will continue to think about this fic for the rest of my life.

3. When The Stars Go Out, I Want You Holding My Hand (imodna, lespetitesmorts)

I just read this so it’s fresh in my brain. I never thought I’d like library aus but this fic is such a perfect piece of both of these characters. It makes me not only want more library aus but for it to never end. I think I could continually read about them being lovely and dorks and sweet to one another for all eternity with this fic.

4. yours, eurydice (wenclair, henjisgirlfriend)

OH MY GOD!!! If you follow my wenclair fic account you will know this one changed me. Like- I don’t know how but it physically touched my soul. I felt it guys. I really felt it.

5. the greatest films of all time were never made (hosie, peabrainI3)

My favorite tag is very niche I would say because it is actors au. I don’t know what it is but this fic perfectly had everything I ever wanted for it. I left such a long comment too (I might do that more than I think tho-) I wish I could reread it again for the first time. I wish I could experience the absolute thrill and joy of finding THE most perfect fic for my most favorite tag.

There are some from when I was younger that were on wattpad that I’ve never forgotten but I think all of them are deleted and honestly I’m not sure I’d agree with my 13 year old self. I still think about them, though. I think about a lot of works that have allowed me to feel so many things. Which is a great feeling. Shout out and thank you to every author ever you have cradled my soul and many others in your hands.

[inkyweenus]

Thinking about time travel and all the secrets Lu Guang is keeping. And how long he's been keeping them.

And also what his limitations are... because I don't think he knows as much as he thinks he knows.

I've got a lot of thoughts and a lot of questions. I tried to organize them in the hopes to maybe work out some ideas, but it got a bit... Much. Weigh in if you have thoughts because...I'm clearly vibrating in place wanting to talk about this. But anyway, here we go.

How is the present affected by future dives into the past? (Alternate timelines or pre-determined track)

This section is basically me asking a lot of questions that might just be writing holes or maybe not and we just don't find out for, like, 6 years. And that's fine. I'm here for it, I just need to sort out all these theories in my head.

In S1E9, LG looks into the surveillance photo and sees CXS on the solo dive. Is this because CXS was currently in the photo? Is it because CXS had already done the solo dive and so LG was seeing the affected photo? Is it because CXS was always going to go into the photo, so LG saw the past that always was going to be?

When Liu Min called from Xu Shanshan's phone, was it because CXS was always going to set up the meeting? What if CXS hadn't come to that conclusion and didn't reveal himself in Shanshan's body? Would the call have never happened? Does Lu Guang allow this huge "deviation" because he saw it was supposed to happen? Did he lie about what he saw in the photo? Was his elevated concern in that moment he claimed was about CXS's potential mental state while of going into his friend's potentially dying body actually about CXS starting the game? Is he just as clueless as everyone else and now everything is spiralling?

Chen Xiao. Chen Xiao, Chen Xiao. Oh man. "Nothing will be affected" my ass Lu Guang. Pretty sure you created an entire person that didn't previously exist from that mission. Sure, all the people that were supposed to die in the earthquake died, but Chen Xiao did NOT have a wedding ring on when he came to the photoshop to hire them. He was a miserable man with regrets he couldn't move past, including missing his "first love." Now, I get that first loves have a lot of weight, but he's like 30+ and so desperate... this is not a man who looks at his wedding ring with care and sings his son to sleep. But he becomes that. Where did that child come from?!?

Just because the 12 hours after the photo are the same doesn't mean that the 12 years after it are. Lingering resentment--or the lack thereof-- is a strong shaping force. Also. Chen Xiao's lack of regrets from a successful mission means that he never would have hired them to dive in the first place. So to make it full circle, Chen Xiao "returns" to the photo shop (for the first time?) to have CXS develop the photos he took himself on the camera he saved from the wreckage...And, I have to assume from the implication of a new timeline, THAT is how they get paid for the job. How much are they charging to develop film? Was it worth it??

Does LG even know about this kind of change? Is it just too far out of his range to see? He didn't seem to know about Emma until he saw the news, so maybe he's limited in what he can see, but he found that article pretty fast, so maybe he knew something was happening. It's hard to know.

What are the extent of LG's powers? Is he from the future?

He always says not to ask about the "past or future." I assumed this meant the future of the past that CXS was currently in, but what if he also means the future of the present that we're currently seeing? Can he see the future of the present he's in now?

In season 1, he knew that CXS would appear as himself when he dove into the surveillance camera footage. How? It was obviously CXS's first time doing that, but maybe not LG's. If it was his first time, how did he know?

We recently learned that he can see the present through surveillance footage the same way he does looking at footage of the past. Does this mean he can also see 12 hours into the future? It's 20:44 when LG unlocks Chen Bin's phone, so it's probably around 21:00 when he uses his powers. Does he know how things will unfold? Does he see the twins moving through the building? Does he realize there are two of them?

He's obviously been up to something this whole season: watching the clock, hiding photos, opening up stitches without much physical effort beyond using his powers... 🤔

My current crack theory is that LG reopening his stitches while using his powers to watch the fight is actually related to him escaping and/or jumping off the boat to free CXS. I'm not sure how because it's definitely more than 12 hours between the events, but something is up.

It's not surprising to me that CXS and Wang Juan were controlled through touch. The moment Li Tianxi reached out her hand to shake CXS's I yelled at my TV. It looked too similar to LG reaching out to start a dive.

And I yelled even louder when she made contact

CXS can dive on his own and LG can see into a photo on his own. The physical touch only connects their minds, it's not necessary to activate the powers. Could LG touch CXS and communicate telepathically without diving into a photo if they had an activation touch? Does LJ need a time travel element to get into CXS's head?

I think Li Tianchen's powers at least are touch related because when he touched Xixi, CXS lost his connection with LG. But I think there may be something else going on with the twins. I'm just not sure what I think yet. We wouldn't know if one was possessing the other because their eyes are the same.

How do the powers manifest, and what does that mean for Lu Guang's backstory?

I think we saw the moment when Li Tianxi and/or Li Tianchen acquire powers. Was it a predisposition that unlocked during a highly traumatic moment or did it just manifest somehow from an extreme desire to take control of the situation?

Li Tianxi was a child who wanted to communicate and be present but felt trapped in her over stimulated body. Li Tianchen was a boy with strong ideals and a sense of protectiveness... without the strength of an adult body to follow through with that protection. While they were holding the photo, huddled together in close physical contact after Tianchen's head injury, one of them or the combined force of them was able to 1.) take over their mother's body and 2.) blank out Xixi's mind to the point of cutting CXS's connection with LG and eventually the whole photo. But something went very wrong along the way. Maybe some signals were crossed.

CXS is a highly empathetic person. He feels so much for everyone and wants to connect with people emotionally. And his powers reflect that. We know CXS has probably at some point had a strong enough desire to go back in time, if anything to see his parents.

What, then, do the circumstances look like for a logical, emotionally reserved--but deeply caring--person to acquire powers to see snapshots of the past? What would drive him to want to change the past so much that he manifests these powers?

We know CXS had never done a dive without LG before he temporarily went rogue in S1E9... because he didn't know he could do it until he tried.

We know S1E1 isn't the first time they dive. CXS nags LG about having heard the rules a hyperbolic amount of times. So the powers aren't new at this point. But I don't think they both had powers before they met. So how and when did they get their powers? Was it when they met? When they travelled abroad? After some accident or something?

LG just shows up in CXS's life unannounced. Twice. And that's how they got close. Was it just the random fated meeting of soulmates as per fiction standards or did LG intentionally seek out CXS for more timey-wimey reasons? Did meeting LG activate CXS's powers? Did they experience something together to have compatible abilities? Did LG already have his and teach CXS how to manifest his own? How much did LG already know before he picked up that basketball?

I have this other crack theory that I absolutely hate and don't want to be true at all and almost certainly isn't, but, like...what if if LG and CXS are actually the same person from different timelines. Like LG is a version of CXS that doesn't get to have familial love and maybe experiences too much trauma, and he goes back in time to give himself some semblance of a home and a set of rules to hone his powers without altering the timeline that he's actively changing. They're intentionally written to be two halves of a whole, and there's been more than one joke made about LG being a ghost or not existing. I hate it. But it's in my head.

One last question for today... because I have to wonder:

Who makes the rules?

Has LG just read enough books to feel knowledgeable about how time travel works? Is he from the future trying to maintain a desired outcome? Are they following the rules of a third party who's orchestrating the flow of events from a distance? Are they... Leaving their fates to the ones who aren't in control?

[silverselfshippingchaos]

Cyberpunk 2077 Themed S/I Ask Game!

this could work for cp2077 ocs too! feel free to rb and use as you see fit for your characters, but do try your best to practice rb karma! and proship dni, this isn't for you.

A Day in the Life: They say looks are everything in Night City, so what does your S/I look like? Hair, tattoos, eyes, all of that. Who are they and what made them like that? Give us the most basic overview of your character. Do their looks contrast with their personality at all?

I Can See Clearly Now: Adding onto the last question, let's talk cybernetics. Does your S/I have any chrome? Why or why not? If so, what kinds do they have and what purpose does it serve? Additionally, how did they get that chrome? Do they have a ripperdoc that they trust, or was it some shady hack-job?

Double Life: Corpo, Street Kid, or Nomad? Or none at all? Where does your S/I come from and how did they end up in Night City (assuming they're there at all)?

Chippin' In: Out of the in-game radio stations, what's your S/I's favorite radio station? In general, what kind of music do they like? Do they stay up to date with new tracks or do they like the classics?

I Walk The Line: How is your S/I in terms of morals? Do they try to do the right thing in sticky situations, or do they not hesitate to shot a gonk without warning? Is there such a thing as having a heart in a place like Night City?

Beat on the Brat: How does your S/I feel about combat? Do they like it, tolerate it, or hate it? Additionally, what's their weapon of choice? A blade, a firearm, quickhacks, or something else completely? Also, are they into weapon mods?

Queen of the Highway: What's your S/I's preferred form of transportation? Do they have a sweet ride that they love to bits and pieces, or a tired ol' ride that's barely hanging out? Or none of those at all and prefer the metro or just going on foot?

With A Little Help From My Friends: Is your character a lone wolf, or do they have a crew of friends that they always stick with? What are their relationships like and around whom do they spend their time (if anyone)?

Sweet Dreams: What does your S/I dream of? What is their motivation to get out of bed every morning? What do they want from life? Are they fine with flying under the radar and living a relatively normal life, or do they want to make a statement?

Disasterpiece: Wild card! Tell us whatever the hell you want about your character! A random piece of lore, their go-to hobby, their favorite pizza order... Surprise us!

[nyoomfruits]

ELLIEEEE

Someone posted a fic of Lestappen trying to play matchmaker to Landoscar and it is THE CUTEST DISASTER EVER and I am officially possessed by this Lando/Oscar pairing do you hear me POSSESSED

I immediately thought of you because you are like the mother of this ship and Landoscar nation is rising 🥹😭😭 There’s one part where Lando goes off on Alpine mechanics who insult Oscar and it made me realize how much I love a protective Lando and this pairing is literally the best at bringing out that side of him.

LMAO SAME ANON SAME

the fic is actually based on an ask send to me earlier this week and written by the lovely @laceyamethyst and i am. obsessed with it to put it mildly lmao. the vibes are IMMACULATE, its so so so well written and it's also genuinly laugh out loud funny. for those of you who haven't read it PLEASE DO (link)

AND PLEASE THAT SCENE IS SO GOOD !!!!! idk if you've read chapter two yet (it came out last night i think???) BUT THE HOODIE SCENE OH MY GOD THE HOODIE SCENE HAS MY WHOLE GODDAMN HEART

[purrincess-chat]

Taylor Swift Lyric Writing Prompts

I compiled a list of Taylor Swift lyrics organized by era that people can use as writing prompts. This can function as an ask game if you want or just a list of inspo. Most of these lean more romantic in nature, but I may eventually do one full of sad/heartbroken lyrics. Enjoy!

Tim McGraw "But in a box beneath my bed is a letter that you never read from three summers back."

Tied Together With a Smile "And no one knows that you cry, but you don't tell anyone that you might not be the golden one. And you're tied together with a smile, but you're coming undone."

Stay Beautiful "It's hard to make a conversation when he's taking my breath away."

I'm Only Me When I'm With You "And I don't try to hide my tears, my secrets, or my deepest fears. Through it all, nobody gets me like you do."

Love Story "So I sneak out to the garden to see you. We keep quiet cause we're dead if they knew, so close your eyes."

Hey Stephen "I can't help it if you look like an angel. Can't help it if I wanna kiss you in the rain."

You Belong With Me "Oh, I remember you driving to my house in the middle of the night. I'm the one who makes you laugh when you know you're 'bout to cry."

Jump Then Fall "I like the way I can't keep my focus. I watch you talk. You didn't notice. I hear the words, but all I can think is, 'We should be together.'"

Untouchable "Untouchable, burning brighter than the sun, and when you're close, I feel like coming undone."

The Other Side of the Door "I said, "Leave," but baby, all I want is you to stand outside my window throwing pebbles screaming, 'I'm in love with you.'"

Mine "You learn my secrets, and you figure out why I'm guarded. You say we'll never make my parent's mistakes."

Sparks Fly "Drop everything now. Meet me in the pouring rain. Kiss me on the sidewalk. Take away the pain cause I see sparks fly whenever you smile."

Enchanted "The lingering question kept me up. 2AM, who do you love? I wonder til I'm wide awake."

Electric Touch "All I know is this could either break my heart or bring it back to life. Got a feeling your electric touch could fill this ghost town up with life."

I Can See You "And we kept everything professional, but something's changed. It's something I, I like. They keep watchful eyes on us, so it's best if we move fast and keep quiet."

State of Grace "You come around, and the armor falls, pierce the room like a canon ball. Now, all we know is don't let go."

State of Grace (2) "So, you were never a saint, and I've loved in shades of wrong. We learn to live with the pain, mosaic broken hearts, but this love is brave and wild."

State of Grace (3) "These are the hands of fate. You're my Achilles heel."

Treacherous "I can't decide if it's a choice, getting swept away. I hear the sound of my own voice asking you to stay. All we are is skin and bone trained to get along. Forever going with the flow, but you're friction."

22 "We're happy, free, confused, and lonely in the best way. It's miserable and magical, oh yeah. Tonight's the night when we forget about the heartbreaks."

Stay Stay Stay "You took the time to memorize me, my fears, my hopes and dreams. I just like hanging out with you all the time. All those times that you didn't leave, it's been occurring to me I'd like to hang out with you for my whole life."

Everything Has Changed "Cause all I know is we said hello, and your eyes look like coming home. All I know is a simple name. Everything has changed. All I know is you held the door. You'll be mine, and I'll be yours. All I know since yesterday is everything has changed."

Run "I could see this view a hundred times, pale blue sky reflected in your eyes. So, give me a reason, and don't say no. And the note from the locket, you keep it in your pocket since I gave it to you. There's a heart on your sleeve. I'll take it when I leave, and hold it for you."

Out of the Woods "Looking at it now, it all seems so simple. We were lying on your couch. I remember. You took a Polaroid of us, then discovered the rest of the world was black and white. But we were in screaming color."

Out of the Woods (2) "Oh, your necklace hanging from my neck, the night we couldn't quite forget when we decided to move the furniture so we could dance. Baby, like we stood a chance, two paper airplanes flying."

Wildest Dreams "Say you'll remember me, standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset, babe. Red lips and rosy cheeks, say you'll see me again, even if it's just in your wildest dreams."

How You Get the Girl "I want you for worse or for better. I would wait forever and ever. Broke your heart, I'll put it back together."

This Love "Your kiss, my cheek. I watched you leave. Your smile, my ghost. I fell to my knees. When you're young, you just run, but you come back to what you need."

I Know Places "Something happens when everybody finds out, see the vultures circling, dark clouds. Love's a fragile little flame. It could burn out. Cause they got the cages, they got the boxes and guns. They are the hunters. We are the foxes, and we run."

Wonderland "Didn't they tell us, "Don't rush into things"? Didn't you flash your green eyes at me? Didn't you calm my fears with a Cheshire cat smile? Didn't it all seem new and exciting? I felt your arms twisting around me. It's all fun and games 'til somebody loses their mind."

Wonderland (2) "I reached for you, but you were gone. I knew I had to go back home. You searched the world for something else to make you feel like what we had, but in the end, in Wonderland, we both went mad."

You Are in Love "Morning, his place. Burnt toast, Sunday. You keep his shirt. He keeps his word, and for once, you let go of your fears and your ghosts."

"Slut!" "Everyone wants him, that was my crime. The wrong place at the right time, and I break down, then he's pulling me in. In a world of boys, he's a gentleman."

Suburban Legends "I didn't come here to make friends. We were born to be suburban legends. When you hold me, it holds me together, and you kiss me in a way that's gonna screw me up forever."

End Game "Reputation precedes me. They told you I'm crazy. I swear I don't love the drama-it loves me! And I can't let you go. Your hand print's on my soul. It's like your eyes are liquor. It's like your body is gold. You've been calling my bluff on all my usual tricks, so here's the truth from my red lips."

Don't Blame Me "My name is whatever you decide, and I'm just gonna call you mine. I'm insane, but I'm your baby. Echoes of your name inside my mind, halo hiding my obsession. I once was poison ivy, but now I'm your daisy. And baby, for you, I would fall from grace just to touch your face. If you walk away, I'd beg you on my knees to stay."

Delicate "Sometimes I wonder when you sleep, are you ever dreaming of me? Sometimes when I look into your eyes, I pretend you're mine all the damn time."

So It Goes... "And all the pieces fall right into place, getting caught up in a moment, lipstick on your face. So it goes. I'm yours to keep, and I'm yours to lose. You know, I'm not a bad girl, but I do bad things with you."

Gorgeous "You should take it as a compliment that I got drunk and made fun of the way you talk."

Gorgeous (2) "If you got a girlfriend, I'm jealous of her, but if you're single, that's honestly worse. Cause you're so gorgeous, it actually hurts."

King of My Heart "Late in the night, the city's asleep. Your love is a secret I'm hoping, dreaming, dying to keep. Change my priorities, the taste of your lips is my idea of luxury."

Dancing With Our Hands Tied "I loved you in spite of deep fears that the world would divide us, so baby, can we dance through an avalanche? And say, say that we got it. I'm a mess, but I'm the mess that you wanted."

Dress "Our secret moments in a crowded room, they got no idea about me and you. There is an indentation in the shape of you. Made your mark on me, a golden tattoo."

Call It What You Want "All my flowers grew back as thorns, windows boarded up after the storm. He built a fire just to keep me warm. All the drama queens taking swings, all the joker's dressing up as kings, they fade to nothing when I look at him."

New Year's Day "You squeeze my hand three times in the back of the taxi. I can tell that it's gonna be a long road. I'll be there if you're the toast of the town, babe, or if you strike out and you're crawling home."

Cruel Summer "I'm drunk in the back of the car, and I cried like a baby coming home from the bar. Said, "I'm fine," but it wasn't true. I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you, and I snuck in through the garden gate every night that summer just to seal my fate. And I screamed for whatever it's worth, "I love you." Ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?"

Lover "And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear. Have I known you 20 seconds or 20 years?"

Lover (2) "My heart's been borrowed, and yours has been blue. All's well that ends well to end up with you. Swear to be overdramatic and true to my lover."

The Archer "I've been the archer. I've been the prey. Who could ever leave me, darling? But who could stay?"

I Think He Knows "Lyrical smile, indigo eyes, hand on my thigh, we can follow the sparks. I'll drive."

Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince "We're so sad. We paint the town blue. Voted most likely to run away with you."

Paper Rings "I want to drive away with you. I want your complications too. I want your dreary Mondays. Wrap your arms around me, baby boy."

Cornelia Street "You hold my hand on the street, walk me back to that apartment years ago, we were just inside. Barefoot in the kitchen, sacred new beginnings that became my religion."

False God "But we might just get away with it. Religion's in your lips, even if it's a false god. We'd still worship. We might just get away with it. The alter is my hips, even if it's a false god."

Afterglow "It's so excruciating to see you low. Just wanna lift you up and not let you go. This ultraviolet morning light below tells me this love is worth the fight."

ME! "And when we had that fight out in the rain, you ran after me and called my name. I never wanna see you walk away."

It's Nice to Have a Friend "Light pink sky, up on the roof, sun sinks down, no curfew. Twenty questions, we tell the truth. You've been stressed out lately? Yeah, me too. Something gave you the nerve to touch my hand."

Daylight "And I can still see it all in my mind. All of you, all of me intertwined. I once believed loved would be black and white, but it's golden."

All of the Girls You've Loved Before "Your past and mine are parallel lines. Stars all aligned, and they intertwined."

cardigan "Vintage tee, brand new phone. High heels on cobblestones. When you are young, they assume you know nothing."

seven "Sweet tea in the summer, cross your heart, won't tell no other, and though I can't recall your face, I still got love for you. Your braids like a pattern, love you to the moon and to Saturn."

august "Your back beneath the sun, wishing I could write my name on it. Will you call when you're back at school? I remember thinking I had you."

invisible string "A string that pulled me out of all the wrong arms right into that dive bar. Something wrapped all of my past mistakes in barbed wire. Chains around my demons, wool to brave the seasons. One single thread of gold tied me to you."

betty "Yeah, I showed up at your party. Will you have me? Will you love me? Will you kiss me on the porch in front of all your stupid friends? If you kiss me, will it be just like I dreamed it? Will it patch your broken wings? I'm only seventeen. I don't know anything, but I know I miss you."

peace "But I'm a fire, and I'll keep your brittle heart warm if your cascade ocean wave blues come. All these people think love's for show, but I would die for you in secret. The devil's in the details, but you've got a friend in me. Would it be enough, if I could never give you peace?"

the lakes "I want auroras and sad prose. I want to watch wisteria grow right over my bare feet cause I haven't moved in years, and I want you right here."

willow "Life was a willow, and it bent right to your wind. Head on the pillow, I could feel you sneaking in as if you were a mythical thing, like you were a trophy or a champion ring, and there was one prize I'd cheat to win."

long story short "Actually, I always felt I must look better in the rearview. Missing me at the golden gates they once held the keys to. When I dropped my sword, I threw it in the bushes and knocked on your door. And we live in peace, but if someone comes at us, this time, I'm ready."

long story short (2) "No more keeping score, now I just keep you warm. No more tug of war, now I just know there's more. No more keeping score, now I just keep you warm, and my waves meet your shore ever and evermore."

long story short (3) "And he's passing by, rare as the glimmer of a comet in the sky. And he feels like home, if the shoe fits, walk in it everywhere you go."

Lavender Haze "Meet me at midnight."

Lavender Haze (2) "Starin' at the ceiling with you. Oh, you don't ever say too much, and you don't really read into my melancholia."

Maroon "When the morning came, we were cleaning incense off your vinyl shelf cause we lost track of time again. Laughing with my feet in your lap, like you were my closest friend. "How'd we end up on the floor anyway?" You say, "Your roommate's cheap-ass screw-top rosé, that's how." I see you every day now."

Snow on the Beach "This scene feels like what I once saw on a screen. I searched aurora borealis green. I've never seen someone lit from within, blurring out my periphery."

Midnight Rain "My town was a wasteland, full of cages, full of fences, pageant queens and big pretenders, but for some, it was paradise."

Labyrinth "It only feels this raw right now, lost in the labyrinth of my mind. Break up, break free, break through, break down. You would break your back to make me break a smile."

Labyrinth (2) "Uh-oh, I'm falling in love."

Sweet Nothing "I spy with my little tired eye, tiny as a firefly, a pebble that we picked up last July down deep inside your pocket. We almost forgot it. Does it ever miss Wicklow sometimes?"

Sweet Nothing (2) "And the voices that implore, "You should be doing more." To you, I can admit that I'm just too soft for all of it."

Mastermind "Once upon a time, the planets and the fates and all the stars aligned. You and I ended up in the same room at the same time."

Paris "I'm so in love that I might stop breathing, drew a map on your bedroom ceiling."

Paris (2) "I wanna brainwash you into loving me forever. I wanna transport you to somewhere the culture's clever. Confess my truth in swooping, sloping cursive letters."

Glitch "We were supposed to be just friends."

[otasnox]

c’mon, don’t toy with me. i know how this works. (jan 21st, 2024)

cover from ccoffeecat

[heartful-cake]

thinking of peach's inexplicable power to generate or find 1-up mushrooms in mario galaxy. like how much energy does that take? is this even usually possible for an inhabitant within the mushroom world? like mario and co. generate 1-up mushrooms by doing enough trick shots and comboing enemies, but i don't think peach usually is surrounded by enemies when she's captured, which means she has to generate them herself right? unless she keeps finding them on bowser's airships or wherever she's being held? is this an extension of her white magic? it definitely fits with her personality and other skill sets, but i'm just so curious how her sending mario 1-up mushrooms logically works out...

[bi-writes]

an eye for an eye | knight!ghost x f!reader

your husband bends to your will. men must learn from difficult lessons how far that bending goes.

type: a continuation of a hand for a hand, but can be read stand-alone (11.6k)

cw: 1600s au, dark!ghost, reader described as curvier/plus-sized, graphic depictions of war + violence, possessive!ghost, war-criminal!ghost, inaccurate historical settings probably, unprotected piv, cumplay, breeding kink, size kink, simon "i'd do anything for my wife no matter the devasting consequences" riley (18+)

Your husband has an insatiable appetite. Such a big man he is; he towers over you, so much so that you must tip your head back always to look up at him. You had to make many arrangements in your house to accommodate his hunger–a pantry stocked full of eggs and less fabric for your skirts.

Your house isn’t like others. Neither you nor Ghost have ever lived in luxury. When he showed you your home for the first time, you had shaken your head–you didn’t believe that such a large place was supposed to be yours, and even now, sometimes you feel like a stranger, out of place when the maids ask you what you want for supper or where you’d like to take your afternoon tea. You don’t like the fuss, the asking, the women that curtsy when you come near, concentrated over the creases in your skirts or the loose thread of your sleeve or the wispy hairs that fall out of your braids. You are told all the time that you must behave like a duchess, that you must poise yourself with your new title and your new money, and you must do the things that duchesses do–but no one says the same to your husband.

He is still allowed to sleep in the barracks. Lick the blood off his gauntlets. Polish his sword in the dirt. He’s still allowed to be everything that you cannot be anymore, he still lives the life he had before.

He still kills; and he is still very, very good at it.

Your queen told you in a letter that the king is very pleased. Ever since your union, Ghost has been quite the conqueror. Bloodthirsty and very determined, your husband has been taking his men across the water. He is not any less impressive off land. Not even the pirates have tried to negotiate; they bend the knee or taste the salt water. You breathe shakily when you read your queen’s letters—her praise for your husband’s conquests, how blessed your family will be and how valuable you are to the crown, how grateful she is that Ghost is no longer a fiend in court but rather a little more polite and a little quieter.

All for your sake. Ghost’s name is now your own, and he refuses to embarrass you now that you have it.

You won’t lie; the bodies that Ghost has stacked since you’ve been wed do not scare you. He’s doing it for you. He has never said it out loud, never told you so, but you know it. He wants to show you what kind man that he is, what kind of soldier—you know he’s trying to prove himself worthy. If he killed a thousand men to have you, how many will he slaughter to keep you?

He sends you letters of his own. Not many, but he does send letters, and while Ghost seems to be ineloquent and entirely too brutish, he has quite the voice when he writes.

To my wife,

The sun falls quicker here. I’d like to come home. Tell me of your day, and I will tell you of mine. There were a fleet of ships that came to meet us at dawn. When we sank three, they begged for us to spare the rest.

I have you to think about now. So I burned them.

Simon

A poet, your beloved.

He signs his real name in his letters. Your eyes skim over most of it–you don’t even blink when he tells you what he does to them. Sometimes he writes in great detail about the screams of a hundred souls, the way burning flesh smells, the taste of dirt in a new place when you know it is finally yours. He doesn’t like having secrets. He tells you all his thoughts, even if they might scare you, because you are his wife, and he has discovered quite quickly that you have been cut from the same cloth.

Even when he is home, and he tells you these things all over again, he can’t help the way his cock hardens when you merely blink and ask him if he has added any scars to his collection.

Ravenous, naughty little duchess, and you are all his. He knows he picked well–he knows, he knows he wasn’t wrong when he saw you across the throne room hiding behind his queen, he knows now that he was right about what he saw in your eyes.

You do hate when he’s away. You’re not used to the maids helping you dress, and you secretly abhor the help. That is why when you hear the shuffle of your house early in the morning, your heart thuds in your chest knowing he’s home.

The staff get antsy when Simon is around. He is very good at keeping an estate for someone that has never had to or ever been taught to, but he leaves the responsibilities with you and only you every time he goes. He doesn’t trust anyone else to do it, and every time he comes back, he makes you sit on one big thigh as he teaches you something new that you need to remember for when he goes away. He demands much of those he employs, and they are eager to please him. Whether it is because they respect him or are afraid of him, you aren’t sure.

Perhaps it’s both.

You sit up as the bedroom door opens. You smile, big and wide and sleepy as he steps into the room. He shuts the door with his boot, slipping his hood off, and you sigh as he grips the clasp of his mask and unhooks it. He tosses it onto the floor, bare-faced, and as he makes his way towards the bed, he sheds the rest of his clothes until he’s completely naked.

You cannot stop yourself from the shaky breath you take. He is all muscle and fat, strong and entirely too scary, but it’s hard to focus on what he really is when he stands before you like this. He has fat thighs, big shoulders, carved muscle of intense labor around his middle and along his biceps. He has large hands with calloused palms and split knuckles, and your eyes meet his own as he comes closer. He’s so gorgeous, even with a face like that. He has a long scar that stretches from one brow to his lower jaw, another that cuts his nose and splits his lip, but those eyes are dark and lovely, and you can’t help the warmth that comes over you when he catches you staring at him, closer, right to his cock that hangs heavy between his legs.

Just as he begins to lower himself onto the bed, you hold out a hand, giggling.

“Simon, if you think you are getting into this bed without a proper bath, you’re mistaken!” You laugh, and he raises a brow.

“Mmm…” He smacks his lips together. “Tha’ right, my lady?” He clicks his tongue. “This is my bed. ’s oll mine. Every blanket…every pillow…” He grips your ankle from under the covers and yanks you towards him. “And every part of you.”

You giggle again, shaking your head, “Please, Simon!” You push him away with your toes. “They only changed the sheets yesterday. You’ll dirty them…” You flutter your lashes. “Will you bathe if I join you?”

He grins wide, licking over his teeth.

“Can’t refuse an offer like tha’.”

You hold out your hand for him, and he takes it gently. You watch as he brings your knuckles towards his mouth, and you bite back a smile when he decides to kiss each one, slow. He tugs finally, pulling you up, and you wrap your arms around his neck as he hoists you up into his arms. You would worry about your weight normally, but Simon holds you so easily, barely even a grunt as he wraps your legs around his middle. You don’t waste another second, cupping his cheeks in your hands and kissing him softly.

It’s never just a kiss with Simon. He slides one of his hands up your back, into your hair, and you whine as he tips your head back just enough to slip his tongue into your mouth. Simon doesn’t just kiss, he consumes. What he did to get back to you, the things he endured, the places he has seen and the bodies he has buried and burned and scattered across the places he now calls country, it’s always to get back to this place.

To you.

“How’s my boy?” He asks when you pull away. He carries you to another room, to where the tub sits, and he rings a bell by the door to call the maids in. You snatch a robe off a hook and cover him with it as he sits with you, but all he does is put a few fingers under your chin and make you look at him again. “Oi. Asked ya question, luv.”

Your lip wobbles a little, and you look away.

“I…”  You wait until the maids have gone to fetch hot water to tell him. “I bled while you were gone. I…”  You smooth your hands over the robe, distracting yourself. “I’m…I’m sorry, Simon.”

You close your eyes as he leans close, resting his forehead against yours, and you shake a little as he lets out a warm breath against your lips. He moves a warm hand over your soft stomach, cupping you there, and you lean your head back a little at the tender touch.

“It will happen,” he says finally, and your mouth opens to respond, but he sticks his thumb between your lips to shut you up. He doesn’t want to hear you blame yourself. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s his, for not being here with you, for not be able to take care of you. You give in, suckling on the salt of him, and he grits his teeth as he watches you. “I know. Seen it in m’dreams.”

Simon has dreams. Lots of dreams, but he tells you that they are not dreams, they are glimpses into something that has already happened. When you asked if he was some kind of seer, the kind that the king used to have at parties, Simon doesn’t laugh.

He says the dreams are why he knows he won’t die. Why he is never afraid, because he knows somewhere behind his eyes what’s to come even if he didn’t see the entire painting of it. It is why he knew he would marry you; it is why he paid you so much attention, why he knew he would win his battles, why he always knows whose blood it is in his mouth because he has tasted their death before and relishes in the knowing of it all, in the certainty.

It’s never I think, it is always I know, and Simon is nothing if he is not the most honest man that you know.

So if he says you will have his babe, it is as good as truth. As green as the grass grows beneath his feet, as blue as his sky, and as red as the blood that is caked underneath his nails.

When the tub is filled with water, you let Simon sink into it first. You kneel beside it, picking up a glass of oil, pouring it into your palms before sinking your hands into his hair. It’s gotten longer since he left, in need of a cut, but you smile when he leans his head back into your shoulder. You can feel his content as he relaxes into you, and you admire his physique as you use the warm water and scrub the mud and grime off of him.

“I missed you, husband,” you whisper, and he only lets you massage his hair for a few more moments before he grips you by the wrist and tugs you forward, right into the bath. “Simon!” you laugh, “my night dress—oh!—it’s ruined!”

“Too far away,” he mutters, practically ripping the silk off of you as he tosses it besides the bath. “Mmm…” He cups your breasts with two big hands, smoothing his thumbs over your nipples, and you whine a little as he pulls at them just enough to make them stiffen. “Y’should be naked when I come home,” he says lowly. “I’ll soil y’r bloody gown next time, m’lady.”

You giggle, and he smiles. A real smile. As real as he’ll ever give anyone, maybe the only one that anyone has ever even seen. He has never shown his face in court, and while it angers the women and irks the men, you revel in the fact that all of this is only for you.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

You kiss him softly. The water sloshes, warm and inviting, and sometimes you forget your life used to be anything but joy. A year ago, you would not believe that you would be here, titled, wealthy, in a stone room lit by candles bathing with a blood hungry ghost.

A year ago, you trembled whenever he looked at you. You cowered when you heard his footsteps. What a stupid little girl you had been. What a fool. She had no idea what she could have, the kinds of things she could hold in her hand.

Real power wasn’t being able to command a room with your words. Real power was being able to say anything and have it be believed as truth. Real power was making someone look in one direction and have them see what you see, even if what you see isn’t real.

He lays you down in your bed afterward and eats. Your wet hair soaks the sheets, but you can’t seem to be really bothered as he fits your legs over his shoulders and bends you at the waist, his mouth suctioned to your clit as he eats you slowly. One of his hands is spread out over your tummy, the other you can hear making a squelch as he fists his own cock. It’s slow and methodical, and he slides his tongue between your folds firm, catching what dribbles from you on the tip of his tongue before he swallows it and leans in for more.

He has eaten you in nearly every room in your house. Frightened the cooks tossing you onto the dining table, given a servant a scare as he ducked under your skirts in the library, had the gardeners fleeing as he dropped you onto the grass near the lake and disappeared with a frenzy to eat your cunt during sunrise. It’s maddening, the kind of need that Simon requires, but it’s hard to refuse when you feel so warm and bubbly and happy after he’s finished. A pampered princess you are, never lifting a finger, only awake long enough when he’s home to eat until you’re full and cum until you fall asleep again.

Maybe that’s why you’re not pregnant yet. Simon likes to be here, between your thighs, mouth fixed on your wet pussy until he’s practically exhausted himself with a sore jaw and lax tongue.

He kisses you sloppy after. Licking into your mouth, practically spitting onto your tongue, wanting you to taste—tastes so good, luvvie, don’t ya see, yeah?—wanting you to know why he’s so eager to be on his knees all the time.

You sniffle, a little dizzy, shaking your head.

“’s not what I really want,” is all you whimper, and he nods, because he knows, he always knows.

“I know, luv. I know wot ya really need.”

“I must be broken,” you sob, cradling his face in your hands, and he shakes his head.

“Not broken,” Simon assures you. He speaks so surely that it’s hard not to believe him. “It wasn’t time.”

“You can’t see the future, Simon! You don’t know!” You cry, and he snarls a little, shaking his head again.

“You listen t’me,” he growls. You shake a little as he grabs your face with one hand, fixing your jaw under his grip as he holds onto you firmly. “Wot I say goes. Y’r my wife, so listen t’me, and listen t’me good. Y’r not broken. Not time. Say it back t’me.”

Your lip trembles, and he rattles your head a little.

“Say it,” he snaps, and you hiccup.

“It’s not time,” you whisper, and he plants a fat kiss onto your tear-soaked lips.

“Just need my cock, luv,” he murmurs. “Tha’s oll. Just need me t’fuck it outta ya.”

You nod, pressing your face to his, and he tuts, reaching down and spreading your legs wide to accommodate him between them as he lays over you.

“’s oll y’need,” he repeats, and you nod again.

You have to take another bath in the same morning; and this time, you weren’t able to walk there.

You like when Simon is home because it’s quiet. The only one that dotes on you here is Simon. The maids do not dress you or do your hair or moisturize your skin. It’s always Simon.

You smile at him in the mirror as you sit at your vanity. He has a brush in one hand, and he’s using it delicately to detangle your hair how you like. His hands are practiced and gentle, and when he finishes, he leans over you as he starts to part your hair to braid it. He did not have sisters, but his mother had him always do her hair after she lost the use of her hands with age. You don’t know where his mother is, but you assume she is not here anymore, because he never invites you to meet her.

He oils your skin. He slips the robe off of you, revealing your damp skin from the bath, and he slathers oil in his hands before using it to soften your skin. He takes his time, smoothing those big hands over your shoulders, down your back, along your arms. You tilt your head back when he warms your breasts, squeezing and fondling your tits. He murmurs in your ear the entire time, and he has to fuck you with his fingers to quiet you when he stops because just his hands on your tits has you wet all over again.

He dresses you, too. Helps you slip into your undergarments, fastens the cage for your skirts over your hips. He ties them skillfully, and after he layers your skirts over the farthingale, he gets you into your corset. It’s intimate as he does this. Even with your wide skirt, he comes closer, over your shoulder, and he tugs at the laces at your back, pulling it tight with firm grunts. You sigh when he buries his face into the crook of your neck, his hand skimming over your breasts as they sit nice and perky between stiff fabric and whalebone.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck, unnerving…the way ya look…”

You close your eyes, “S-Simon, please…I’m already dressed…”

He chuckles, “I know. I know.”

But when he has to leave again, you nearly come with him. You fasten his armor for him, help him slip each piece of leather on and click every piece of metal into place. You tie his cloak and slip his mask on, and you try and duck your head when you flip his hood up, but he catches you, tilting your chin up.

He huffs when he sees your face. Tears sliding down your cheeks, lips wet with them, eyes all glassy and red. He draws you up onto your toes, pressing his mouth to yours through the mask, and you hold onto him tightly, digging your nails into his chest armor and threatening to not let go.

“I want to go.“

“No.”

“Simon, let me go,” You gasp, begging, gripping his hood in firm fists and not caring that his armor is cutting into your front. “Let me go with you, I can’t do this anymore, I want to go, I can do it.”

You aren’t sure if Simon underestimates you. You think it’s more that he does not want you to see him in a place where he is most true. Where he wears the least of a disguise. He does not know he wears it the least with you, and that you have already seen his blood and how it curdles under his skin. You like it that way. You like him angry…and mean…and terrible. You like him when his sword is dirty and his armor needs polishing and his mind thinks of nothing else besides war. He should know this by now. He should know that you see him and see what he is even more than his king, more than his men.

He couldn’t scare you, even if he tried.

“War is not where women go,” Simon snaps. His tone is harsh, even for you, and you stiffen when he grips you by the jaw and rattles your head a little. “Especially not one like you, my love. War would eat ya, eat ya fuckin’ whole. Look at ya…” He huffs, deep, sliding that gloved hand down your throat to slip it beneath the neckline of your dress and fondle your breast with a firm grip. “Beautiful. Meant for my lips…for these dresses…meant to be held in my hands, not bleed from stray arrows, because tha’ is surely the least of wot they would do t’ya if they knew ya were my wife. Now ya will wipe these tears, ‘n see me off, and then ya will come back inside like a good girl, ‘n you will wait for me here until I come back.”

Your bottom lip trembles, and you scowl up at him. Not indifference, but frustration, and Simon doesn’t think it suits you.

“I’m sick of waiting for you, Simon,” you spit. “It’s all I ever do, wait. Wait for you to come back, alive or dead, I never know. And don’t say you do this for country, that is a lie.” You shove him backwards, but he barely budges when your hands touch his chest, a rigid wall that does not give. “You do it because you like it. You’re a bloodthirsty dog, and all you do is bend to our king’s will.”

A lie, but you tell it anyways, because you want something, and he will not give it to you.

“That is my duty.”

“Your duty is to me,” you snap. “Kings come and go, but I will not.” Simon stills. He glares down at you from behind his mask, and perhaps this might terrify his men, but that you are not. You are his wife, and you are protected by that title alone. The only man to ever lay a hand on you would not live to see another second, himself included. “Now you will let me join you, or so help me God, Simon, I will not be here when you return.”

You do not expect the full-bellied laugh that leaves him. His armor shakes with him, and you grind your teeth, narrowing your eyes. He uses his thumb to force his mask up, and then he cups the back of your head and draws you in for a sloppy kiss. You resist at first, but when he feeds you his tongue, you melt. You kiss him back, letting him draw you closer, and you sigh as he tangles his fingers into your hair and cradles you with those big hands.

There is nothing more to say. Simon neither confirms nor denies, but you taste it in his mouth, his devotion. Not wrong, not right, but just so–he has many responsibilities, but you are the only one that will remain the same. One day, his king will die, and he will serve another, but the space you have made beside him will never change. Even when you die, because he knows you will go before him, there will never be someone else to fill it. You and you only, the woman he found and made his, the one he demanded lest he kill his own country for it, it will always be you. Soft and sweet, you are, but the Lord knew Simon could only have one woman, and he made it be you; the one spitfire enough to defy her own king because she trusted his love enough for it.

Would you commit treason to save his life? Would you watch a king die if it meant your beloved lived? 

Would he?

He thinks about what you have said when he takes his fleet across the water. He runs his tongue over his teeth behind his mask, breathing deep when he thinks about your proclamations of duty. Of change. Of what remains when other things move, of the kind of life that waits for him when he comes and goes with a king’s order. He thinks about how easily he is taken away from you, and he knows there is truth in what you feel. It is not really Simon that sacrifices, it is what he leaves behind, and that is you.

It’s never angered him before. He had accepted the fact, as early as your wedding day, that he would leave and come back, then leave again. It has always been the way of his life, come desire or not, so it bothers him that of all the things that surprised him in his life, it would be missing someone that shocked him the most.

Missing his wife. Missing the serene perfection of one woman, and the perfect place between her soft thighs. Every day that he finds himself between them is the best day of his life, he reckons, so now he feels bitter about staring at a freezing ocean amongst his men because he will go weeks without her.

Her. Her. Her.

He is bitter, yes, until he is not.

It comes in a letter from a messenger on horseback. They have been stationed in a foreign land for weeks now, watching slowly as the stone walls of a castle at their front crumples day after day from the stones filled with powder that ignite what is wood and break what is rock. The letter is sealed with wax, with the motif of a snake. It is given directly to Simon, whose name is scribbled in the letter, and when he reads it, he tastes ichor and smoke.

So the great phantom has come to seal my fate. I am not in the business of letting what is mine be taken. Even if you have brought your all, it won’t be taken from me.

I heard you have a beautiful new wife. I heard you paid for her in blood.

I shall do the same. I will hang your sword above our marriage bed.

Ghost is not someone that bends to the threats from foe he cannot look in the eye. Words are so empty. It is nothing like when he stands just a few meters apart from them, eyes fixed against one another, as they decide whether today they want to live or they want to die. The letter means nothing, but he’s surprised by the heat that bubbles under his ribs at the mention of his bride. He meant it when he said you were not meant for war, and that meant in this regard, too–nobody was allowed to talk about you, not like this, not ever.

When his king orders him home, Ghost crumples the note and tosses it into embers. He watches it burn, and then he orders his men to set to flame the ground around the stone walls.

So men like him can be goaded, it seems. His resolve is not as strong as he thought.

The weeks make you anxious. All you do is sit and collect dues and tell the maids which dress you want to wear and which you do not. It is peaceful and boring, and you wish Simon was here to make your days more exciting, but he is not.

His letters are the only things that keep you occupied, truly. He writes to you about war and loneliness, and you write to him about the mundane of domesticity and the ache he leaves behind. Sometimes, his letters come folded with pressed flowers he finds along the way, and you start to collect them, putting them away in small boxes or using them as bookmarks as you go through Simon’s library.

He has many books. His most loved books are those of war, of history, and you smooth your fingers over the pages he has dogeared and find comfort in reading the same words that he once did. You learn, as well. While in your studies as a girl, they made you learn arithmetic and the flowery bits of history and art, here in Simon’s house, you learn of strategy and weaponry and military tactic. Sometimes you disagree, and you write about these disagreements to Simon, and he writes back, pleased with your observations. He told you once that if you were a man, he would want you in that tent with him, beside him, deciding on which formations to take and when to strike. You responded saying that you could be that for him anyway. What did your sex have anything to do with whether you were right or wrong?

Simon agreed.

But I would never invite you here, dear wife. You have to understand that.

When your queen asks for your audience for dinner, you oblige easily; finally, you have something to do rather than add up numbers or sign a document on Simon’s behalf or read another fucking book.

You don’t want to wear all the costume your maids insist on, but you appease them after they repeatedly explain to you what your title means. With a drawn face, you let them tie your corset and layer your skirts, and you watch in the mirror as they braid your hair and drape large, obnoxious jewels over you. You grimace at the tiara they fit into your hair, and your elderly handmaid pinches your cheeks and tells you to put on a fair countenance, Your Grace, lest you make the Duke look ungrateful.

You bite your tongue from snapping at her. She should know that Simon would say nothing about your countenance; all he would do is fix whatever was bothering you until you smiled again.

You arrive early enough to have tea. Your queen is so excited to see you; she gushes when you meet her in the throne room, pulling you up from your curtsy so she can hug you tight, squealing. When you try to address her with a curt “Your Majesty,” she shakes her head, pressing her hands to your cheeks and giggling, “No need for formalities now. Call me Victoria.”

You hide your displeasure with a small smile. Now that you are no longer her lady-in-waiting, she allows you her name. Is it because she sees you more as equals, or because now you’re allowed to be somewhat of friends?

You must be some kind of friend. She sizes you up like you are one. She wears England’s colors this afternoon. A fire red dress adorned with gold accents, a dragon pin holding her shawl. She wears magnificent red and gold jewelry, but she’s looking at your dress, and you can see the slight twitch of her eye. You are wearing French lace, and she doesn’t like it. Or maybe she doesn’t like the color, the accents of navy blue and silver that you wear.

The skull motif that is woven into your tiara and printed on your coat and sewn into your dress. Does it insult her? That all your life, you wore nothing but browns and beiges and grays, were invisible to her, and now you represent your house, visit her as your guest, and bear an honorable name?

You were no one when you served her. Just a girl, no close family, no friends, just a distant uncle who gave you to the crown that hoped you could be of service. That was to be your duty for all your life–to serve the king’s wife until she wanted you no more or until she was gone. To cater to her every need and every wish, no matter the time of day or night.

Now you sit across her, more noble. Refined. Wearing a dress she despises, perhaps because she likes it more than her own.

Over tea, she gossips about the other ladies she has visit. You’ve heard this before, but you’ve never been included in the conversation. She talks to you, and she wants to hear your opinion, and you find yourself uneasy as you try to think of what to say. She is your queen, and you want her to like you. When you worked for her, you earned her favor by always warming up her jewels before she put them on, by making sure she had her tea ready in the morning at her bedside, by always holding the fan she so loved for when she inevitably had a hot flash. Now, as her friend, you weren’t exactly sure what to do. You suck in a soft breath and look at her, and then you purse your lips.

You think it best to agree with her. To be on her side. You might not be her direct servant any longer, but you still must fall under her favor. A queen’s favor can be just as powerful, especially if she occasionally has the ear of her husband.

“Well, that’s not very kind of her,” you say finally, and she laughs.

“No! She’s such a prude. I think her husband doesn’t sleep in her bed enough, if you know what I mean,” she winks at you. You giggle at that. “Speaking of husbands–” She pops another cake in her mouth. “How is yours?”

You reach up and tug at your necklace a bit, smiling nervously.

“Oh, uh…” You clear your throat, “He’s doing very well. I hear his latest campaign is quite the success. His majesty is very smart, heading for the east that way, I’m sure they will be victorious soon enough.”

Victoria smiles at the thought of her husband. His intelligence. She always used to talk to you about how many hours he worked, how she hated when he was away, how she wished he was home more so he could give her a son because she was so, so lonely.

“Wise words from the duchess, aye, my love?”

You jump a bit at the low voice from behind, and when you turn, you gasp, immediately standing and falling into a delicate curtsy. John Price waves his hand, coming further into the room, shaking his head.

“It’s alright,” he tells you. “Please, sit. You’re here as my guest.”

You stand and lift your head, trying to relax. You take a seat, smiling nervously, and Victoria smiles giddily at her husband. When he bends to kiss her cheek, she fawns, reaching for his hand and squeezing it before taking another piece of tart and eating it. John hums before motioning for one of the staff to fill your cup again with tea. He eyes you curiously, taking in your appearance. You sit up at that, performatively brushing off over the skull pattern on your corset. John runs his tongue over his teeth, smoothing a big palm down his wife’s long coils of hair.

“Since you’re here, I’d like a word, if that’s alright,” John says to you. His tone carries a little more authority now, and Victoria sighs, whining a little.

“John, please, she’s my friend. Can’t it wait–”

“That wasn’t a question, Victoria,” John bites. Her face falls a little. She swallows and tucks her hands into her lap. You’re reminded as you look at the slight wobble of her lip that there is no one truly above John Price, not even her. You keep your face neutral, but if you were invisible, you’d pity her.

What a shame her husband sees her as less than. How embarrassing. Your Simon would never. Your Simon waits until you finish speaking before speaking himself. Your husband kneels to take off your shoes, your husband tears your skirts to get a taste of you, your husband used his teeth to sever a man’s throat just to have your hand.

What did John Price do to get his wife? Who did John Price kill to have her hand? How many bruises did he earn around his knees on their wedding night from eating her out? As many as Simon, whose knees were black and blue by morning?

No, you suppose not. How unfortunate. How pathetic.

Victoria picks up her skirt and stands, pasting a big smile on her face. It doesn’t reach her eyes, and you can see the way her hands shake a little as she scurries off. She scowls as soon as she turns away from John, clearly annoyed.

“I’ll go check on dinner,” she says, but it is soft and unenthusiastic.

When she goes, the room falls quiet. At the nod of John’s head, the staff leave, and you keep still in your seat as John sits across from you, picking up one of the cakes in front of him and breaking off a piece to busy himself. He keeps his eyes on his task of cutting up the cake in small pieces, focused on his hands and how they work. You watch him carefully, steeling yourself.

You anticipate a conversation between man and woman, not a king and his lesser.

“Simon’s been away for some time. I bet that’s difficult for you.”

You straighten your posture, realizing what this conversation will be. By his tone, John seems to think you a bored, stupid housewife, perhaps. Uneducated. A woman, no thoughts in her head. You let your face relax, and you fold your hands in your lap. Maybe now is the time John should learn who you are and who you are not.

What you have become and what you no longer are.

“I do just fine, Your Majesty,” you say finally. You pick up a spoon and drop a cube of sugar into your tea, and you stir, picking it up to take a long sip. John is curious by your content. You have a quick tongue. “I could say the same to you, couldn’t I?”

John laughs. He narrows his eyes a bit at your clever response, taking a large bite of the cake and running a cloth over his beard. His eyes sparkle a little.

“So you know.”

“Know what, Your Majesty?”

“You know I gave Simon orders. And you know he didn’t listen to me.”

You purse your lips, but he sees the shine in your eyes. The lack of surprise. His face twitches a bit, and you shake your head. You blink slow, and it irks him to see you so calm. He is your king, and Simon answers to him, and you are his wife, so you must answer, too.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

“I could have your husband’s head cut off for treason for that, you’re aware, aren’t you?”

You tilt your head to the side. What an odd thing for John to say. What an odd thing for John to contemplate, since it would never come to pass. “Don’t be daft, my king. You wouldn’t want to do that.”

John slams his fist on the table, making the plates and cups rattle with his frustration, but you do not even flinch. You blink, stone-faced, and it makes his nostrils flare. He recognizes that glare, he knows it well. He has seen it before, stared it down many times in rooms just like this. Only now, he is not fighting for land, he fights for control of the one man that he has always been able to rely on. Simon has followed him into battles outnumbered by a thousand men, and only now he ignores an order? Only now he chooses something different?

“Now, let’s be civil, Your Majesty,” you say softly. You smile at him, leaning your head in your hand. “Is there something that you need from me? I have a feeling you might have encouraged this dinner just so you could see me in passing, so why don’t you just ask me what you wanted to ask me?”

John lets out a deep breath, leaning his elbows on the table, lowering his voice. He leans towards you, and you admire how blue his eyes are. John is quite a handsome king, but he does not captivate you. It has been a long time since John has tasted blood, and he lacks the edge that you crave dearly.

“I need him back here, is what I need,” John murmurs.

“My king, I couldn’t get him back here any more than you could, even if I wanted to.”

“Now who’s being daft?”

You scoff, leaning back in your chair. John is not a stupid man. He created a beast of a man, and he is trying not to poke it too hard. You shift, brushing down your skirts, and you let out a low breath.

“Why did he refuse?” You ask finally.

“What?”

“Why does he ignore your order to come back?” You ask again. “I can’t think of a lot of reasons why he would stay. So why did he ignore you?”

John clicks his tongue, smoothing a few of his fingers over his beard. He averts his eyes, looking out the tall windows, frowning a little at the grim weather. The weather is always grim here, but it irks him at the moment, makes him scowl a little harder.

“I was…informed that there was some sort of letter,” John explains. “Some threat.”

“I don’t follow. He gets lots of threats. And terrible letters.”

“Was about you this time, Your Grace.”

You close your eyes at that, shaking your head. Simon would never be so foolish as to be baited by baseless threats. He barely bats an eye when someone even in front of him draws his sword. He is so comforted by his ability to win, by his dreams and his visions that have not yet happened.

“That’s absurd,” you breathe. “Simon wouldn’t…”

John chuckles, but there is no humor there. “Wouldn’t he?”

“I still don’t understand what you expect me to do,” you roll your eyes, looking away. “Simon is…he’s not…he doesn’t listen. It’s why he’s good at this, isn’t it? He doesn’t really take orders, he’s…I…”

John has never complained before about the way Simon chooses to lead. Oftentimes, it is an order ignored that has made it so that he delivered another crown at John’s feet. Simon asks for forgiveness, not permission, and John has barely batted at eye at it. He sees Simon as some kind of distant son, but this refusal bothers him so?

John leans forward. “You need to understand something here, Simon is a rabid dog,” he spits. “And sometimes I let him off his lead, but this isn’t like anything I’ve had to deal with. I need you to call him back here.” He scoots closer. “England needs you to call him back here. To me.”

You narrow your eyes a little. England needs you to call him back? What kind of sick sense of patriotism is he trying to instill in you? John is stupider than he looks, to think a woman like you would show loyalty to country. You are loyal to your husband, and nothing else, because what has king and country ever really done for a woman like you except for dispose of you?

You wear Simon’s colors, not John’s, and you will wear them to your deathbed.

“If I do this for you, my king, then you owe me,” you whisper. He laughs again, no humor, and he picks up a goblet and fills it to the brim with wine. He drinks half before slamming it down onto the table, spilling it over his hand.

“Kings do not owe their subjects.”

“Quite right, Your Majesty,” you agree, picking up your napkin and dropping it onto the table. You stand, giving him a polite curtsy. “But I am not doing this as your subject.”

“Everything you do is as my subject.”

“You put your entire right to the throne on the back of one man,” you say softly. You are not accusing him, you’re reminding him of a truth. “Simon is why…he’s why your counsel still listens to you. He’s why your people are free from famine, why…why your taxes get paid on time, why your kingdom is still standing, no thanks to your father who wasted this place’s fortune on women and liquor.” You shake your head. “You have an eye for conquest, Your Majesty, but you lack the execution of any plan you conjure.”

You are not wrong, and John knows this, and it’s why he hasn’t spoken up yet or interrupted you. The man before, his own father, was a drunkard who spent all their money. He drank himself into the grave, and the only reason John stands before you now is because of Simon. A man who he fought beside, who he commanded, who once John’s duty became reality took up the mantle and finished what his father never could.

John would be in the next history book you read because of Simon, and it’s Simon’s name that will never be written. They do not bestow legacy to men who serve other men.

“Where…Where did you learn to speak to men this way?” John scoffs. “I am your king.”

You must have hit a soft spot. John is defensive now, and men only deflect and insult when they are cornered with the truth. They don’t like being held in front of a mirror.

“You are king because my husband made it so,” you correct him gently. “And Simon is a loyal dog, and that is good for your sake, because if he had any desire for your seat, it would be his.” You come closer, your heels sounding, and John glares down at you; but you glare right back because you are protected by your name and what you can do with it. John knows this, and it angers him, but he seems to have difficulty facing the truths of his own making. “But he is not your dog anymore. He’s mine.”

Your pen on paper is aggressive. You can tell because the splotches of ink are deep, bleeding black sinking into white as you put angry word to parchment. Not even a fortnight later, you are playing cards with Victoria, and you see Simon’s silhouette standing in the doorway, hood shadowing his masked face as he observes. When you look over your shoulder where John sits, and you meet his eyes, he looks away from you with a grim understanding.

Simon answers your call. Always.

At dinner, John is in better spirits. He drinks with a big smile, eats more than one plate, and he picks Victoria up by the waist to make her dance with him when he asks for the music to be played louder. Simon sits, fidgety, gloved hands moving in and out of fists as he watches you cut into your food and eat it with a blank face. He huffs beside you, his armor stiffening as he sits up straight, and you let your fork clatter onto your plate as you turn to glare at him.

“You were thinking with your cock, Simon,” you spit. “That is how men like you get killed.”

“You ‘ave no idea how men like me get killed because there are no men like me,” Simon growls. You roll your eyes, standing, and he grips your wrist angrily, tugging you close until you fall into his lap. You sigh, shaking your head, putting your hands on his broad shoulders and making him look at you.

“Maybe,” you whisper. “But I’m not wrong. It is how you’ll lose. You know better than that, Simon. To fight someone because they taunted you in a letter, it’s playing the fool.” You cup his cheeks, keeping his eyes on yours. “You don’t need me to tell you that, and yet here we are.”

He breathes slow, closing his eyes for just a moment. He thinks he came for this, just a little. For clarity. Reason. It comes from you in waves, and it’s comforting to hear. It is something he knew, and yet it only makes sense now that you have said it.

“I know,” Simon mutters. “I know. Y’r right. I’m sorry, luv.”

You ask him to apologize when he undresses you. You ask him to apologize again when he sinks into a hot bath with you. You ask him a third time when he is in your bed, a heavy weight between your thighs as he licks and sucks at the soft skin of your tummy. He begs, lowly, let me ‘ave it, and you will, but he has to say he’s sorry again.

“‘m sorry,” he breathes, sucking on your inner thigh, and you close your thighs around his head, forcing his mouth against your cunt.

“Again, Simon,” you whisper. “I wanna hear it again.”

“‘m sorry,” he slides a rough tongue between your folds, breathing shakily when he tastes the oil that he smoothed over your skin only moments ago. You taste so good, you smell so lovely, coming off of you like fumes blinding his senses so that nothing else but you makes any sense at all. When you open your eyes, you think about where you are, and you nearly come thinking about what you have wrapped around your finger.

Not even your king tells your husband what to do. Not even your king commands his men, they won’t listen, he’s not who they turn to when things go belly-up, it’s your husband, and your husband answers to you.

You weren’t sure about it until today. Seeing him when you asked him to come, it flooded you with something that hurt. You could tell from even so far away that Simon was salivating under that mask. You knew the only thing separating his mouth from your cunt were the other people around him (and they were not privy to seeing you naked).

It is such a thing to observe. John needed a lead on Simon when he was his dog. You need no such mechanism. Simon never strays, not with you. He sits proper when you ask, and he speaks when spoken to. He tears at unwanted flesh, and he comes when you call.

John cannot give him all that he desires. Perhaps he thought what Simon truly wanted was fame and fortune. Legacy. But like most things men do, John does not observe. He takes in only what is right in front of him, and he makes assumptions. Simon is not like other men. Fame and fortune do not matter. He does not care about legacy. What matters to Simon is what he can hold in his hands. The ground under his feet. The steel in his hand. The woman underneath him, spreading her legs, inviting him in.

You love Simon. You love Simon more than anything in the entire world, but it would be a lie to say that you are not at some advantage here. Simon is all-consuming. He is the pinnacle of duty and honor and everything that a man is supposed to be, but Simon is also weak. There is something that he wanted more than anything in the world, and now that he has it, he will do anything to keep it, and that makes him vulnerable. Subject to all kinds of new things. Revenge. Retaliation. Pain.

Manipulation.

Maybe you should feel bad about it. Maybe you should feel guilty, but it’s hard to feel anything like it when there’s a big bear of a man between your thighs slobbering on your pussy like dessert. It’s hard to feel anything but bliss when he’s tracing the letters of his name into your cunt and making you see stars and fucking you into the silk sheets like it’s the last time he’ll ever have you.

It is men who govern your world, and if this is how you must move in it, then so be it. You will not feel bad. You will not be sorry for doing what anyone else would do. John thought he could keep his hand there, muzzle his mutt, but you like him this way, and you’re certain John doesn’t fuck the way you do.

He’s mine.

It isn’t John that commands an army, it’s you; or maybe your cunt, but that belongs to you, too, so it is you, isn’t it? You’re the one that lets him inside, that whispers in his ear, that tells him things you know he wants to hear to make things move in your favor, so it’s you, right?

Not John. Not Victoria. Not their counsel. You. They have stepped on you your entire life. They have made you small and inferior and sad for all of your existence, and they gave you something feral knowing it could eat you alive, and now you are the hand that feeds, and they are forgetting that if they bite too hard, you have something that will surely bite harder.

A collar would suit him, you think. He would look so pretty. He already is, the terrible beast, prettiest thing you’ve ever seen (the necklace your drape over him does just fine, a pendant with his motif that you hope reminds him of you). You don’t care if people would say his face is quite ugly. It is, very much so, but you never see him this way. Whenever that mask falls, your stomach flips. He takes your breath away. His intensity, his raw form of love, the look on his face–there is nothing else in the entire world that will love you the way he loves you.

“You came back for me?” You ask. You have a leg tangled between his, and his fingers are between your thighs, a shadow of a smirk on his face as he feels the mixture of your cum and his. He grunts a little, and you tilt your head to look up at him, your chin on his chest.

“‘f course,” Simon mutters, and you kiss his chest gently, keeping your eyes on his.

“But not for John.”

He turns his head, looking down at you more intently, and he scoffs. You know it’s true, but you want to hear it, anyways. You want to hear Simon admit, unknowingly, that you are the tether.

“John is afraid, and I don’t listen to ‘im when he’s afraid. Makes bad choices.”

It’s almost adorable that this is what Simon tells himself. That he comes back for his own sake, and not for yours, even though they are one and the same, intertwined and inseparable.

“Simon,” you say softly, and he sighs, his eyes closing briefly when you kiss him gently. “You have to listen to your king when he asks you to come back. Making a…rash decision about war strategy is one thing, but…” You cup his cheek gently. “Make things easier for me, husband. If he asks you to come back, you come back.”

This time, at least. Just this time.

Simon snarls a bit, but you swallow it when you kiss him. You maneuver yourself over him, straddling his hips, and he grunts as you sink down on him. He swells hard again very quickly, releasing a deep breath as you give a slow roll of your hips.

“Make things easy for me, my love,” you whisper, and he leans his head back, putting two big hands on your ass and moving you with ease. “Appease your king, yes? For me?”

“Can’t say no when y’r pussy squeezes me like tha’, sweet’eart,” Simon groans, and you giggle, planting your hands on his chest and starting to move a little faster. You lean your head back, your mouth falling open, and you gasp when you sink down completely, your ass touching his thick thighs as you tighten around him. “Fuckin’ Christ–”

“I hate when you go,” you whine, digging your nails into his chest. He hisses, planting his feet on the bed, and he fucks up into you with a renewed fervor. “Hate when you’re not here, Simon, I-I miss you, miss this–”

“Nghh…fuck, I know,” Simon pants. “Can feel it. Feel you.” You squeal when he grips you by the waist and turns you over. He makes it seem so easy, tossing your weight underneath him, and your arms circle around his neck as you draw him closer, hanging onto him. “Y’r so fuckin’ pretty…”

“Simon–”

He kisses to devour. His jaw hinges wide to kiss you sloppy, breathing in the moans that you can’t contain. Simon always fucks so well, stretching your thighs as wide as they will accommodate so he can make room for the goliath of himself that he is. He suffocates, in a good way, and his cock never fails to stretch you for all that you are worth. Simon holds your jaw in place as he grinds into you, relishing in the wet smack of his hips against yours. The fat of you satisfies him. It makes him growl with delight when he grabs onto wide hips, your fat arse, the body that you hold that tells him you are fed and warm and content. It draws his grin wider, and it makes him drool thinking about having you again and again and again, until you beg him for reprieve and his heir sits in your womb.

Simon fucks for sport. He wants to see how stupid he can make you. He wants to know how long you’ll cry for, how fat he can make your tears. He wants to know how loud you will cry, how many times he can make you cum before you’re incoherent, he wants to know the extent to which he can use you that you will still be awake enough to say his name just one more time. Simon is not satisfied until he pushes your limits.

It is what a Riley does. They endure, and they eat, and they consume, and they take pleasure in the all-encompassing indulgement of things they have never been allowed to have. You are a woman, so he knows this will come easy for you. So often, he knows, women are not allowed to indulge at all, so he wants you to. He wants you to cry and moan and eat, and he wants you to do it bearing his name so that no one will ever tell you no.

Simon says no to kings, and they placate, or they die. His wife will be offered the same respect, and he’ll stand behind her with a sword to make it law. When you bear his children, he will expect the same of them–to give their mother utter devotion, lest they answer to his hand. There is no one above you, not God, not country, and certainly not blood. They will know what their father did to have you, and they will spill the same amount of blood to keep it that way. They will do it for you, and then they will do it for their own lovers, and if they don’t have the same sentiments, that love is not true, and Simon will not give his blessing.

Everything else is trivial. He knows this, understands it, because history repeats itself. It is cyclical, and you are right. Kings come and go. Sons die to other sons, fathers make bad decisions, and crowns are passed to bastards and back again, until lineage is merely spectacle and power changes hands often enough to lose generational merit. There is one thing that remains, and it is what you do while you are on earth, while you are standing on the ground you were born on. Even faiths change; when men find it suitable, they change the rules, and then you worship a different God, so Simon sees no point in staying loyal to any of it.

Instead, he is true to what he knows. To what he can see and what he can feel. With John, he remembers being a young man, fighting alongside him. He follows John, to an extent, because he knows what it is like to share blood with him on a muddy hill and take an arrow for him.

With you, time stands still. He saw you in a room, and he had to have you, and he brought nations to ruin to make certain no one would bat an eye when he asked for your hand. He saw you in a dream, too–he saw you laying in his bed of furs, wearing nothing but a tiara of his making, wet between the thighs because that is how it’s meant to be. He recognized you when he saw you that first time, and he doesn’t know how, but saying no to you, really saying no, will change that vision, and he couldn’t bear that.

Your voice echoes. You’re moaning, overstimulated, but he doesn’t stop. The hair around his cock rubs your clit too many times, and when you come around him, you’re a shaking, withering thing, back bowed and nipples pebbled. Your toes curl as you cry from the starry-eyed, hot pleasure, but he keeps moving, chasing something in the distance that he can taste, so close.

Yes, Simon ignored his king. Yes, Simon did not ignore you. Yes, Simon admits, he came when you called, and he doesn’t feel bad about it, he doesn’t care how it seems. He would do it again if he had the chance. John could give him the same answer as you in every timeline, but he will only move if the command comes from you, and yes, Simon knows it makes him a liability, but crowns come with costs, and this is the one John must pay.

Simon will fight any of John’s enemies, but he won’t fight fate. He won’t fight what has already been seen, and he won’t fight what he already knows will happen.

With Simon’s cock in your mouth, you can make him deliver on promises. Sucking on the girth of him, you can make him an honest man. Taking inside of your mouth what you can swallow, you can make Simon do your bidding, and it is a hard lesson that John learns.

“Do this for me,” you slobber against the underside of his cock, and Simon relents.

“Make me happy,” you say, swirling your fingers against your puffy pussy, and Simon kneels with an open mouth.

“Just this once,” you whisper with his cum on your tongue, and Simon seals his choice with his hands on your tits and the taste of himself in his mouth.

When you make eyes with John across the low lights of the throne room, he can’t help the way he admires you. You stand beside Simon, looking the essence of nobility and reverence in another intricate silver and blue dress. The train of your skirt glitters with delicate jewels hand sewn into the fabric, and the headpiece you wear adorns a skull insignia. Your corset has been tied just right, thanks to Simon’s hand, and your own fingers are clasped between his. Your corset and jewels are of exquisite detail–one of the newest designs from Paris, structured and elegant and accentuating every curve of soft skin.

You glow in the room. His wife must be wearing a dress just as expensive, probably more, and yet his eyes (and everyone else’s) cannot help but follow you. Your own eyes won’t leave Simon; you flutter your lashes whenever he looks down at you, big smile on your face, and even when there are people curtsying and bowing to you and giving Simon their gratitude between bites of cake and glugs of wine, your attention never really strays. 

John feels inadequate in his own fortress; suddenly, red and gold sicken him, and England tastes sour in his mouth.

In a few generations, John’s house will likely fall. He will make heirs that will fail him, he knows this. In a few centuries, his family will not sit in the same place, but a Riley will remain right where they are supposed to be. Banners of blue and silver will always fly. If Simon does not make sure of that, then you will.

It’s what happens when you force women like you to their knees. When they grow up invisible, always in the shadows, forgotten and sold to the next man who will pay a higher price, it’s what you learned to do. It’s all you’ve ever known, to make the best out of something terrible.

Simon is the same, in that sense. You understand him in a way his king will never be able to. Simon has nothing, and neither do you, and Simon was stepped on and berated and tortured to the point of no return. It is why blood does not scare him and why death doesn’t come knocking. Time will be the only thing capable of killing him, and everyone that stands up to him learns that when they eat his blade.

In the quiet of the evening, Simon undresses you. He sits behind you on the bed, fingers pinching the bows at your back and unraveling them. He traces your corset, thumb circling over the skull pattern of the belt around the small of your waist, and he tastes something warm in his mouth at the sight of it. You look so beautiful–more beautiful than he’s ever seen you maybe, decorated in his colors and wearing his motif and sitting so pretty.

“You wanna know something…funny?” You ask quietly. Simon finds the ties of your skirts and starts to undo them. He grunts in reply; he might sound standoffish, but you know he’s listening. “John…John made it…he makes it seem like you don’t really listen to him. He implied that…in the face of adversity, you might only listen to me.” You put your hands on the front of your corset to keep it from falling. “Isn’t that funny?”

“Wot’s so funny?”

You swallow, looking down. Your hands fidget, and you take a closer look at the ring you wear, the delicate gold band he gave you not so long ago.

“I…”

“Mmm…might be right, innit?” Simon snickers after a moment. You feel him stand, and you look over your shoulder as he peels his mask off and grins down at you. He tilts his head to the side, and you smile back at him a little. “Do anythin’ for ya. Disobeying a king…” Simon cackles, tearing your corset off, tossing it onto the floor as he walks you backwards. “Ignoring one…” He shrugs, “Oll in a day, love.”

“He can hang you for it,” you whisper. “Cut off your head. Cut off mine.”

Simon lays you back on the bed, spreading you out, climbing over you. You blink up at him, and he leans down, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I would ‘ave seen it. I would know.”

He would have seen it in a dream. It would have come to him in a reflection in a pool of blood on the battlefield. It would have come to him, the voices in his head, he would have heard them amongst screaming, or perhaps in the void that he finds his mind in when he’s between your plush thighs.

You can’t help the smile that graces your face when Simon kisses the curve where your jaw meets your neck. It is fun, you suppose. Fun to control the tides that set the courses of history. It is fun and almost unbelievable that a king bends to the will of one man’s wife just because it solidifies his name.

You wrap your hand around the twine that dangles from Simon’s neck. It twirls around your fingers, easy, solid. Simon’s eyes are dark, and they are yours, and when you smile, so does he, because this is where you are meant to be, forever and always.

“What if I want more?” You ask. Simon hums, low from within his chest, and you run your tongue over your teeth. “Did you see that in your dreams, Simon? Hmm? Do you know what I’m asking for? What it is that I really want?”

Simon smiles. A dark one, with teeth, and you know he hears it. What more means for a duke and his duchess. What more means when you have all the money you could ever want, all the land you could ever need.

What more means when you have climbed your way to the top and still desire more. More, more, more. There are not many steps left to climb. There are not many places left to take, not much more of the world that can really be yours, but Simon looks ravenous, and Simon looks hungry, and if you fuck him now, you’ll have him right where you want him.

When you tug on what hangs around his neck, Simon bends. Simon follows.

[alpinelogy]

Debating the reasonableness of naming a fic after a niche Italian meme that i cannot even explain properly cause i dont speak Italian

[yeah-thats-probably-it]

#what i love about this is that to bertie it's a foregone conclusion that it's Their Car#it isn't 'you should take the car' it's 'why on earth would you take the train? we've got a car you know!'#the employer-employee relationship has become the thinnest possible fiction for married behaviour#and honestly this is making me feel a lot better about the spinoza thing. like. to bertie being mindful of jeeves is just normal.#why WOULDN'T he take the car. it's easier. bertie might not have remembered to tell jeeves to take the car#if jeeves hadn't told him when the train was leaving but it isn't because bertie doesn't care. he just assumes jeeves would take the car.#the guy had to order the spinoza. we know we don't see a lot of the conversations they have and basically all they do whenever there isn't#any plot going on is talk to each other about daily news literature history whatever jeeves is reading.#so it seems a lot more likely that we just didn't see that bit of communication happening than it is for bertie to forget briefly about#the book he wanted to give jeeves and then decide oh well let's hold onto it until christmas. because that doesn't make any sense - that's#a level of unthinking that's more about 'well who cares' than about 'i had a very busy few days and was at my aunts place so i couldn't#pick up your book'#the same in regards to bertie interrupting jeeves - because he (iirc) usually only does it when Something Is Going On#he likes hearing jeeves talk about poetry! he asks about his family! but he doesnt want to hear about jeeves aunts while he's In A Situatio#(and honestly. 1) jeeves sometimes has very bad timing. see the bicycle story. the 'cheesewright is going to crush you like a fly' thing.#the 'that's a lot of money you're owing and captain biggar is not patient' thing from RFJ. he just gets a little carried away#2) having started tally ho (thank you for recommending it btw!) this is so incredibly stressful. like. i have been underestimating#just how stressful the situations bertie gets into are. jeeves must have nerves of steel. we know that bertie does not.#and if i had to deal with not even an unwanted engagement but just a situation like 'this guy's fake moustache might fall off after#i went to some lengths to smuggle him in' and someone tried to talk to me about their aunt i would also think that This Is Not The Moment.#Can't You See Everyone Here Is An Idiot And I'm Somehow Responsible. this is the most stressed i've been in my life. (i am having a lot of#fun aside from and during the stressful! it's just stressful af) so really bertie should get a break for that#very long story short this is absolutely married behaviour

tags from @noandnooneelse

While we’re on the subj. of Jeeves and the Feudal Spirit, this earlier scene drives me insane too, because speaking in just black and white, contractual terms, Bertie, you literally DO have the option? You’re the only one who has an option in this situation. You have the power to tell him he can’t go, you are literally his employer. And then he offers Jeeves use of the car to go to London, even though Jeeves never would’ve asked! Married behavior! Married behavior!!! This is the sort of negotiation spouses have with each other, we are fully out of the realm of master/servant now

[charliemwrites]

Part 4

Mister(s) Steal Your Girl is, somehow, now the official title. Congratulations you little shits (affectionate).

Content: Toxic Behavior, Brief Weight Shaming, Hurt/Comfort

You didn’t expect to see Johnny much after that one night - or possibly ever again. Kyle introduced you two, it was a lot of fun, but you figure that’ll be the end of it. Like introducing a new man to your girlfriends (not that you can really introduce Kyle to yours) you passed the vibe check and now Kyle will keep you and Johnny separate.

That’s how it’s been with Brandon’s friends. (Granted, you don’t really care for Brandon’s friends. And you figure it’s mutual based on the “uptight” comments they pretended to think you couldn’t hear.)

You’re starting to realize that Kyle is always going to subvert your expectations.

Johnny becomes a fixture - a welcome one. While you and Kyle still have your date nights and privacy, Johnny joins you two at least once a week for movies, drinks, dinner, or just silly adventures out and about.

You’re surprised that you don’t mind. Johnny is fantastic company, always respectful, funny, and friendly. Whenever the two of you are left alone, there’s no dead air. In fact, sometimes you could almost swear there’s electricity. Which is… well. It makes it hard to look him in the eye sometimes - and looking at Kyle even harder.

Guilt nips at your stomach until one of them distracts you with another story you’re 70% sure they shouldn’t tell you.

You and Johnny play a game with pub napkins, doodling something on one folded half, then passing it over for the other to scribble on the second half. The trick is not cheating and seeing the first half, then unfolding it to a complete (and usually silly) picture. Gaz always gets to name whatever monstrosity has been created.

You get a month of that good company. Then Kyle sighs at his phone one night.

“Shipping out again,” he explains when you glance at him.

“Will you be gone long?” you ask, shifting.

His brow furrows. “Not sure. They can’t tell us much over the phone.”

You hum in understanding. Still new to this whole military thing, the redacted danger of it all, but you think you’re getting the hang of it. At least, Kyle never seems annoyed when he can’t answer you, only apologetic.

“Is it gonna be the whole team?” you ask.

“Nah, just me and the cap.” He rubs his palm along your calf, a gesture that you suspect is self-soothing rather than for your benefit. “Probably not too dangerous, then.”

You make a noise of protest, nudging at his thigh with your foot. “Bad luck!”

“Sorry, sorry!” he chuckles, tapping his knuckles on the wooden end table. “You’re right.”

You crawl from your side of the couch to his, nuzzling up under his arm. He trails kisses along the side of your face as you snuggle in.

“I’ll miss you,” you mumble into his neck. Still a little embarrassed to be so needy, but you want him to feel appreciated.

“I’ll miss you too, chickadee. I’ll call if I can, yeah?”

You hum in agreement, squeezing an arm around his middle.

“While I’m gone, if you need anything - even some company - you ought to call Soap,” he adds.

The idea is tempting but… “I don’t want to bother him.”

“I promise you won’t,” he laughs. You don’t know what’s so funny, but hearing his voice rumble in his chest like this is always a treat.

“Maybe,” you allow.

“We’ll take it.” Before you can ask what that means, he loops an arm around your waist and scoops you into his lap. “Now then, about my send off.”

Your giggle turns into a moan as his mouth slants over yours.

Kyle’s only been gone three days. You’ve occupied yourself with cleaning up the flat you share with Brandon. Dust has been collecting since you’ve been out and about so much - and god knows Brandon hardly does more than load the dishwasher. Besides, a good bit of spring cleaning is a pleasant enough distraction, humming as you toss out old things to make more room for the new stuff you’ve been collecting.

“Good to see you getting back to normal,” Brandon says cheerfully. You glance up from the laundry you’re folding. He continues, “I was worried with how behind you got on things, but I knew you just needed some time. I told you this would be better for us both.”

You try not to let that sting. Even if things are better now, and continuing to get better, you can’t forget the pain that lingers from the beginning.

“Tell you what,” he adds, hands in his pockets. “When you finish cleaning up, I’ll take you out to the pub, yeah? Put on something pretty.”

You perk up, pleasantly surprised, though hesitant.

“We could leave earlier if you helped,” you point out, hoping for more than just dinner. “Maybe we could walk in the park or something before eating.”

He gives you a weak smile. One you recognize more than his real one by now. It’s almost apologetic, but not quite.

“I would but I’m bloody exhausted from this week, ya know? Big projects coming up at work.”

Your smile freezes. “And some late nights, I’m sure,” you try to joke.

He doesn’t laugh like you expect, but gives you an odd look. “Why would you say something like that?”

Baffled, you shrug. He shakes his head.

“I’m going to take a nap, come wake me up when you’re ready to go.”

You manage to finish the majority of your to-do list by 5. Shower, get dressed, do your hair and makeup with Brandon snoring in the background until 6. By then, he still hasn’t woken up from his nap, so you perch on the edge of the bed and gently nudge at him until he stirs.

“I’m ready to go, babe,” you murmur.

He scrunches up his face - you spare an affectionate thought for how cute it is. You’ve always found it cute.

“Five more minutes,” he grumbles.

You laugh a little. “It’s getting late, we should probably head out.”

He groans. “Five. Minutes.”

You huff in amusement and reach for his phone to set an alarm, but pause at all the notifications from dating apps crowding his screen. There are… a lot. And as you’re looking, a new message pops up, just labeled “blonde” with a peach emoji. Gross.

You set the alarm and slip away to the living room.

It takes him another half hour to finally rouse, shuffling into the living room with a groan.

“C’mon,” he yawns. “It’s going to be bloody crowded by now.”

You follow him quietly to the car, knowing he’s not chatty when he’s just woken up. Hunger only adds to his mood; you can practically see a cloud forming over his head. By the time he pulls up to the pub, he’s downright grumpy. He grumbles about shit parking, and the milling people outside. It looks busy.

“We could go somewhere else?” you suggest.

“This is fine,” he says.

He parks a block away and starts at a swift pace. You try to hold his hand, but halfway there, he pulls away to check his phone and doesn’t take it again.

Surprisingly, it’s only a twenty minute wait for a table - but Brandon sneers something like “of course it is” under his breath. You smile apologetically at the hostess and usher him away.

He doesn’t talk during the wait, at first. Until suddenly he blurts. “We wouldn’t have to wait if you’d woken me up.”

You blink at him. “I did. You asked for five more minutes.”

“Well, why didn’t you wake me up then?”

“I set an alarm?”

You don’t know why he’s so irritated, just that he seems tired and hungry.

“You know I don’t listen to alarms,” he complains, scowling at the sidewalk.

“Okay… I’ll wake you up next time,” you offer.

“Yeah, next time.”

Thankfully, the two of you are called a little early. The pub is indeed loud and crowded, and you’re definitely overdressed. But at least you know what you want - Brandon’s taken you here a million times before.

Wisely, you wait until he’s downed the texmex rolls before trying for conversation again. He hums along as you talk about work, about the books you’ve been reading, about the new movie you saw last week. You think it’s going pretty well, catching up on each other’s lives, when he interrupts you mid-sentence.

“Where was this?”

You frown. “At the grocery store…?”

“You’re still on that? Thought we moved on from that story.”

You don’t bother finishing it, just ask him about his work. It’s like pulling teeth. A lot of “good” and “busy” and “same as usual.” By the time your entree comes, you’ve given up, not sure if you want to cry or just walk away to see if he even notices. He keeps checking his phone. Your fingers twitch to text Kyle, but you don’t want to bother him while he’s working.

The end of dinner can’t come sooner. You decline dessert when the server asks.

“Probably for the better,” Brandon tells you lowly when they’re gone to get the check. “I think you’ve put on a bit of weight. You know how you get.”

You probably have - Kyle has a sweet tooth and practically begs you to split desserts with him. Johnny’s shares his food with you now too, grinning when you express approval for whatever high-protein dish he’s picked and shoving more at you.

As for “how you get”… Brandon’s mentioned in the past when you were heavier that you get mopey, aren’t much fun to be around.

(A small part of you wonders how that would even effect him at this point. He doesn’t spend enough time around you to notice if you’re mopey. Is that why tonight has been such a disaster…?)

You just collect your purse and lead the way out of the pub. It’s a quiet walk back to the car, even though Brandon seems to be in a better mood. He’s still texting, nearly bumps into an elderly couple along the way.

Back at the apartment, he runs his hand down your side, tugs at the lace hem of your shirt.

“Careful,” you chide.

He sucks his teeth and drops his hand. “I’m just trying to be playful.”

“I know, but I like this shirt.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’ve got three just like it.”

You don’t answer, know it’ll lead to more useless bickering. Just tug the stupid thing over your head, ready to go to bed.

“Hey now, that’s more like it,” he drawls, fingertips running down your spine.

You jump, surprised, but play it off that his hands are cold. He makes some crass comment about warming them up, reaching for your breasts, and your stomach churns.

“I-I think I ate something bad,” you lie, all but sprinting for the bathroom.

You close the door behind you - but don’t lock it. Just sit on the floor, the wall cold against your back, while you try to breathe through your spinning, conflicting thoughts.

He’s finally giving you attention, affection. Why aren’t you jumping at this opportunity to spend time with him? Not long ago, you would have been weeping with joy to have an iota of your normal relationship back. Maybe you really did eat something bad.

“Hey,” Brandon calls through the door, “I’m gonna stay somewhere else tonight.”

You stare at the blank white wood, aghast. “But I’m sick.”

“It’s not like I can do much, is there? Except listen to you be sick all night,” he reasons. “And who knows. Maybe it wasn’t something you ate. Maybe it’s contagious. I don’t want to spend the weekend ill.”

Your eyes burn. He didn’t even open the door to check. “Yeah,” you agree, voice robotic, “you’re right.”

Not even five minutes later, you hear the front door close. That almost, almost does you in. You manage to keep your lackluster dinner down, but not the tears.

You let yourself be pathetic for a few minutes, crying into your arms, folded over your knees. When you finally manage to get yourself together, it’s not Brandon you ache for. It’s Kyle. It’s not possible, you know. You just don’t want to be alone even though the nausea is dissipating.

Sighing, you remove your ruined makeup and wash your face, climb into one of Kyle’s jumpers. At least it still smells like him. It’s only as you’re trying to decide on a comfort show, huddled into a ball on the couch, that you remember his advice.

It takes all of fifteen seconds of debate before you scramble for your phone.

I know it’s late, but are you free, you text Johnny.

A response comes almost immediately.

Always for you, lass. You bite your lip on a tiny smile, already feeling better. Your phone buzzes again. What’s up?

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard for a moment as you figure out what to ask - then how to ask it.

Would you want to come to mine for movies? I don’t feel good…

He answers instantly again. Ice cream not-good or Theraflu not-good?

You sniffle when you remember that being sick was a dealbreaker for your night with Brandon.

Ice cream not-good, you reply.

Say no more, hen. Be there in fifteen. Pick a good one.

You watch TikTok’s until there’s a knock at the door. Upon answering, you’re swept up in a bear hug that lifts you off your socked feet.

“Johnny!” you cry, laughing a bit in shock.

“There she is!” he crows, swinging you around. “Been missin’ my best girl!”

You tell yourself the thrill in your stomach is just from him setting you down. (It’s a harder sell when it happens again seeing his wide smile and warm blue eyes.)

“You're ridiculous,” you huff, “I’m not your best girl.”

He arches his eyebrows. “Oh, yer keepin’ track, are ye?”

“C’mon, you must have a partner or something?” you prod as you usher him inside.

“Kyle must’ve told ye, hen, it’s hard in this line of work,” he explains, shrugging. “Tried before but… usually they just end up feeling neglected, ya ken.”

You hum. That’s why Kyle said you and he would work so well with the open relationship - that you’d still have someone at home while he was out. That you wouldn’t be alone if something happened to him.

“Anyway, this is no kinda talk for a cozy night in, now is it?” Johnny says, cutting your melancholy musing short. “Come look at what I brought ya!”

You only notice then the two grocery bags in one hand. He herds you to the couch and sets them on the coffee table for you to root through.

“My favorite!” You exclaim when you extract the tub of ice cream.

The grin Johnny shoots you is proud. “Kyle said so.”

“You two,” you sigh happily.

He’s also brought a squishy stuffed animal, crisps, popcorn, soda, candy, and a small collection of self-care items. You hold the face-masks up with a questioning smile.

“Heard somewhere that it’s good for ye, when yer feelin’ down.” You try not to giggle when the last word comes out sounding like “doon.” He continues, blissfully ignorant. “Hope that’s the right shite, there was a lot to choose from.”

You throw your arms around him, chest warm. “Thank you, this is perfect, Johnny.”

He circles his arm around your waist, holding you close. “Anytime, bonnie,” he murmurs into your hair.

You squeeze his shoulders as you pull away, waving one of the mask packets with a wicked little smile.

“Wanna try this ‘shite’ with me?” you tease.

You expect a resounding and masculine-heavy no. Instead, Johnny tilts his head consideringly for a moment, then shrugs.

“Eh, why the hell not?”

You wake up the next morning to a mess of candy wrappers, discarded moisturizers, and an empty carton of ice cream. And the smell of eggs. Cartoons are playing quietly on the telly. When you yawn and sit up, you’re greeted by a cheerful Johnny at the stove, wearing your pink apron.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” he calls.

You flush and smile back, glad that you called him. “Mornin’!”

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Masterlist

[blackpearlblast]

[ID: A flyer titled "Toy Raffle!" featuring five handmade, red and green bipedal toys with no arms and heart-shaped faces. Two of them are full sized and three of them are miniature. Flyer text: "Would you like to have one of these things in your home?" (arrow pointing to the toys) "Donate €5 or more to Ezzideen's GoFundMe to enter the raffle for a chance to win! Ezzideen and his family are fundraising to be able to evacuate north Gaza. I made these toys to raffle off to raise money and awareness for their situation. Please read the description below for details!" There is a QR code leading to Ezzideen's fundraiser with the text "Scan or go to gofund.me/2b7f982c to donate!" end ID]

A little overview of how this is gonna work! These are small handmade toys (measuring 2 and 1/8th inches/5.5cm tall for full size and 1 inch/2.5cm tall for the minis) made with polymer clay, acrylic paint, and polyurethane varnish. The raffle will last from today, May 1st, starting from the time this post goes up until 9 P.M. Pacific (12 A.M. Eastern) on May 15th.

To enter, you must donate a minimum of 5 euros to Ezzideen Shehab's evacuation fundraiser. Donations made before this post goes up do not count. Then fill out this form to claim your ticket. If you do not fill out the form your entry will not be counted! You can also get an extra ticket after donating by resharing this post.

Each entrant can only win one toy so I will draw for the full size toys first to make sure nobody misses out. I will cover all shipping costs and ship to wherever accepts shipped mail from the U.S. You must be comfortable giving me your shipping address so that I can send them to you. Thank you and good luck!

[yuvany]

YOURS ONLY

When 𝐄𝐍𝐇𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐍 gets caught in a dating scandal with someone else.

OT7 ENHYPEN x f ! reader CONTENT / WARNING(S) fluff + angst (?) + est relationship + idol!enha + jealousy + not proofread WORD COUNT : 943 CHECK BOX !!

like and reblog if you enjoyed this !!

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚

The news shocked both you and Heeseung. You had spent a nice evening together being cuddled up in each other's arms while talking about everything and nothing, sharing giggles and laughs. But when he opens his phone he sees that his manager has messaged him and linking a post to it. You notice his demeanour change and asks what's wrong. Heeseung skims through it all and summarises it for you. "Babe, trust me when I say that this is false." Heeseung pleads, putting down his phone to hold you by the shoulders. "Of course I trust you. Let's just sort this out now. As long as I'm yours I'm fine." You kiss him on the forehead.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚

"This is ridiculous." You hear his voice from the hallway and decides to peek your head around the corner. It looks like he is conversing about something serious based on his irritated expression with his eyebrows knitted together and how he prances around on the wooden floor. After a while of eavesdropping, he spots you and smiles at you quickly, but while you take slow steps towards him, you see his palm facing you, telling you to wait. You of course do that. After he's done, Jay tells you that it was his manager that called him to talk about something that had spread online. "Please, just tell me that you won't leave me." He asks, his arms wrapping around you comfortingly. "Of course not, silly." you reassure.

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡

You sent him an article titled 'Jake in a relationship?'. You weren't doubting his love for you, but you just wanted him to comfort you and confirm that these were in fact false. You see how he quickly opens the message you sent, but instead of replying, he calls you. You answer in a heart beat, and Jake rambles on. "Honey, I don't know what this is, but it is false." The rest is inaudible to you. "babe, calm down ok. wanna come over and talk about it?" You ask, and there was silence for a while. "I wish I could, but my manager wanted to talk with me first about this." You really wanted him to be next to you right now, but after hearing how sorry he was, and that the first thing he'll do after the meeting, is to rush over to your place.

𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙆 𝙎𝙐𝙉𝙂𝙃𝙊𝙊𝙉

Sunghoon immedietly takes action. The second he sees the news, he reaches out to the rest of his memebers and send you a short message to not belive the fake news circulating online. You haven't seen any of it yet and call him, waiting for him to pick up the phone. When he does, you tell him that you're coming over for him to explain it all. While he awaits your arrival, he feels how his chest tightens and how he is visibly nervous of this encounter. Your knocking knocks him out of his thoughts and he rushes over to open the door for you, but not before he takes a deep breath. When the door opens, you jump into his arms, and he swings you arround. He puts you down and whispers in your ear, "I love you so much, please don't leave me."

𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗢𝗢

He is mostly shocked that anyone would ship him with someone, yet alone spread dating rumours. He sneaks a glance over at you, and he sees that you are busy with your phone. Sunoo gets worried that you might see what's been published online. "sweetie, what are you doing right now??" He gives you the puppy eyes and you put down your phone. "I was just looking if something new had occured, and guess what I found, babe." you say, your words laced with something firece. "What did you find?" Sunoo sweats, and gives you an awkward smile."Your fans say that you've been hanging out with someone who sadly isn't me." You act defeated, and Sunoo rushes over and holds you by the shoulders. "That's not true at all!"

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡

Groans and sink into the armchair, causing him to look like a sulking child. You see this and tap him on the shoulder, causing him to turn his head. "Why so sad?" You ask, and Jungwon hands you his phone for you to figure out on your own. Your eyes trail the screen, reading the headline and a picture. "Who even is this?" You inch your face closer to the screen in an attempt to see who they had taken a picture of. "I honestly don't know babe, but this is false." Jungwon pats your back, and tries to take the phone out of your grasp while you try to identify the people in the picture. "Wait! These two look like those actors." You exclaimed, and Jungwon raises an eyebrow. He sighs, "You're just as nosy as these reporters." He giggles.

𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜

Riki laughs out loud. "Babe, have you seen this yet?" He asks, handing you his phone. "What's this?" You say disgusted, shutting his phone off from what you saw. "These people are getting too bored." Riki leans over and gives you a soft kiss on your hair. "Still." You pout, and heaves a sigh. "You don't need to worry, I only have eyes for you, angel." He sensed your worry and eased it with his reassuring words. "One day I'll make them say that I'm your rumoured girlfriend." You announced and Riki just chuckles. "Whatever you say, princess." Then his phone lights up and he sighs when he sees that it's his manager who called, and his previous smile turned into a scowl.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Dad Jace would totally let him daughter braid his hair and let her use him as her mannequin head (who else had one when they were kids?). He would be such a good girl dad

Request: Jace and reader's daughter who disturbs small council meeting by walking in and Rhaenyra is sweet to her and don't care of the disturbance. She would have been such a good grandmother

This has been sitting in my drafts for weeks (early august...), and since I have not posted in a moment, here's a little blurb until I finish other things. I don't usually write fics with children/babies in it, but now that I'm a godmother, I have material for content XD

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Unlike her father, Rhaenyra wanted Jacaerys to be prepared for when he’ll, one day, ascend the iron throne. She gave him a seat at her small council, at her side, and taught him how to rule the Seven Kingdoms. He was not given a title other than heir, but his presence was important to her and for the future — his future.

While the council was deep in discussion about ships and importation, the heavy doors of the small council chamber creaked open. Heads turned as little Alyssa, who had just turned four, burst into the room. Ignoring the gathered noblemen, the young princess darted straight to her father at the far end of the table. 

Jacaerys immediately shifted his attention from Tyland Lanister to his daughter. He could feel that the noblemen at the table were irritated by the disruption, but he didn't care. 

‘’How do I look, Daddy?’’ Alyssa asked, spinning in her new dress, her eyes full of excitement.

''Magnificent,'' he said, smiling lovingly at the little girl who looked just like him, except for her eyes. She had your eyes. 

Alyssa beamed at the praise, her little heart swelling with joy. She then skipped over to Rhaenyra, her small hand reaching out to display the dress with pride. ‘’Look, Grandma!’’

Rhaenyra's eyes softened at her granddaughter, removing her Queen facade. ‘’That is a very beautiful dress, sweetheart. You look lovely.’’ 

Alyssa beamed and pointed proudly to the light blue dragon with silver wings embroidered on the dress. ‘’Mama made the dragon,’’ she explained.  

‘’Speaking of Mama, where is she?’’ Jacaerys asked gently, hoping to get a response. 

But Alyssa just shrugged, her small shoulders rising and falling. Without a word, she spun around and dashed out of the council chamber, her mischievous giggles echoing down the hallway. 

This time, Jacaerys was hot on her heels. He couldn’t let her wander alone — she was far too young. She could get lost or find herself in dangerous places, like the kitchens or the White Sword tower. Or worse, she could also get taken by ill intentioned people. 

His long strides quickly closed the distance between him and Alyssa. As he finally caught up with her, Jacaerys scooped the little princess up in one swift motion, causing Alyssa to squeal in surprise and delight as she wiggled in his arms.

‘’No getting away from me!’’ Jacaerys held her closely, feeling her small arms wrapping around his neck and clinging to him. ‘’Did you run away from the nursemaid again?’’ Alyssa stayed silent. ‘’You know you're not supposed to run off like that. Let’s go back to the playroom before they send a search party for you.’’

Alyssa remained quiet, but she nestled deeper into her father’s embrace. She adored you, but there was something special about the bond she shared with her father. Same for Jacaerys. She was his precious little princess, his firstborn. 

As they entered the playroom, Jacaerys saw the nursemaid pacing around worriedly. The young princess's escapade had clearly caused a bit of panic.

‘’Princess!’’ the nursemaid sighed in relief, silently thanking the Sevens that she had returned safely. 

‘’She's safe and sound,’’ Jacaerys said softly, gently rubbing Alyssa’s back. ‘’Just a little adventure, right, Alyssa?’’

The little girl finally lifted her head and nodded, her grip loosening slightly as she glanced at the nursemaid. ‘’I wanted to see Daddy.’’ 

Jacaerys kissed her cheek before setting her down. His sweet girl. 

Behind the nursemaid, Lucerys was playing with little wooden dragons, handed down to him by his uncles. Jacaerys played with these same dragons when he was young, and so did his brother Lucerys, who his son was named after. 

‘’You may leave us and take the rest of your day, Saphia. I will take care of the children.’’

The nursemaid nodded, bowing to Jacaerys before retiring herself.  Later, when you returned to your chambers after spending the afternoon with ladies from court, you were surprised to see your husband sitting on the carpet with Lucerys and Alyssa, who was in the middle of making ‘braids’ in her father’s hair. It looked more like knots than braids, by the look on Jacaerys’ face. A smile curled on your lips and you joined them on the carpet, finishing the day with your little family.

—

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[unholyhelbig]

More Wandanat pls 😊

Title: Are you Avoiding me?

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

Word Count: 2935

Warnings: pet names, sexual situations implied, broken glass, and horrible spelling (I don't proofread).

Summary: It's becoming harder and harder for reader to avoid both Natasha Romanoff and Wanda Maximoff. Things only get worse when they're cornered in their lab.

[A/n: This is just a little drabble, that's been sitting in my drafts for months, nothing with too much sustinance! I've been distracting myself lately with Wenclair content instead of writing]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

There were thousands of mugs with Shield’s logo on the side that floated around the compound, changing hands between agents and the high-ranking Avengers. It’s why you felt less bad about dropping the one in your grasp to the floor. It shattered into dozens of pieces, and the rest of the pale coffee you were drinking seeped out of the wreckage.

“Ow! Why? Why?” Clint’s voice had turned to a growl by the end of his sentence. He had righted himself and gripped his own mug to his chest, leveling you with a glare that was much too vicious this early in the morning.

The words were trapped in your throat and you dropped down behind the kitchen island, pressing yourself close enough to the wood to become apart of the grain. If you could just hide long enough for them to wander away, then all would be well.

The archer glanced down at you, and then back to the hallway that passed the communal kitchen. Natasha Romanoff had her brow furrowed, lifting a sculped eyebrow at him. She had just come back from her morning run, a fine sheen of sweat coating her muscles. He gave her a shrug and that was enough encouragement to send her on her way.

You let out a long sigh at the sound of her footsteps retreating. “Don’t look at me like that, Barton.”

“I can look at you anyway I want to, you’re the one that would rather be on the ground than talk to Natasha.”

It wasn’t just talking to Natasha. It was looking at her too; breathing the same air as her, meeting her fern-colored eyes across the room and ceasing to have a tangible thought pattern. You were an Avenger, for fucks sake, an ex-KGB spy shouldn’t make you fumble the way that you did.

“It’s not that hard, y/n. She’s harmless, really.”

That was easy for him to say. You huffed quietly and picked up the broken pieces of mug before depositing them into the trashcan. Coffee would make you too jittery anyway. So, if you really thought about it, your nerves had done you a favor.

“She’s terrifying.” You said, reaching for an empty glass. You filled it up with tap water and tentatively took a sip. It went down clunky and cold. “And gorgeous.”

“A combination that renders you absolutely useless.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

Clint lifted both of his eyebrows at you, not saying a word. He didn’t have to. And you didn’t need all of this judgement from him in the first place. He had been so scared of Natasha that he couldn’t bring her in, in the first place. He would tell it differently, but you didn’t stick around to find out.

There were other things that you had to do; like a mountain of paperwork and a few modifications to the Vibranium arm that had found its way onto your desk. A cold shower wouldn’t do you any harm either. And if your fingers were to wander? No one would know.

You flashed him the middle finger, abandoning all thoughts of nourishment for the day. Tony kept his labs stocked with bottled water and granola bars after some nagging from Pepper. That would hold you over until lunch and if you started to drift, there were plenty of electrical sources that would give you a low-grade jolt.

Most of the time, you kept your head down, earbuds in even if they weren’t playing music. It was easier not to get caught up in the fanfare of the Avengers. Most of them were human, and they made human mistakes even if they weren’t.

You answered your superiors and fixed any problems that arose with tech and machinery, sometimes even costuming. Those things were simple, cut and dry. Your feelings for Natasha Romanoff and Wanda Maximoff weren’t even slightly that.

There was admiration from afar, and Clint would even say a numbness that clouded your brain completely. That celebrity that all other agents produced around any of the spandex wearing heroes often evaded you.

But each time Wanda stepped through the doors of your lab to get a personal watch fixed, or once, a VHS player that had the scent of smoke and burning plastic. She’d jutted out her lower lip when a copy of ‘I Love Lucy’ was burnt to a crisp.

Despite your meager salary, you had found one at the thrift and set it outside her door without a word. Not a romantic gesture, Clint. You should have seen her face. It was something you’d do as a friend, a co-worker.

Your shoulder collided with something strong, yet soft. There was a small grunt released from the back of your throat. You got a mouthful of the scent of rain and vanilla tobacco. But strong hands were suddenly gripping your forearms, keeping you steady.

Your eyes widened and met with curious hazel ones. You thought you gave Natasha enough time to get back to her room. But here she was, in that tight tank top, sweat drenching the collar. She looked beautiful, the lights overhead hitting her.

Agent Romanoff reached up and pulled one of your earbuds out, letting it hang loose against your chest. “Doctor y/l/n, are you avoiding me?”

“Avoiding?” You laughed with a little too much force, compensating for the lost air by snorting and instantly regretting it. A light blush fell over your cheeks. She didn’t look mad, in fact, she looked quite amused. “No, no. I’m not avoiding.”

“So, what would you call ducking down behind the counter in the kitchen?”

“How did you…”

“I’m a superspy and you’re not exactly subtle.”

Yeah. You’d forgotten about that. She didn’t’ allude to the fact, simply continuing on her way and leaving you to your horrible conversation with Clint. But then she had waited in front of your lab, her own clearance not allowing her past the sliding doors without you in it.

She lilted her head to the side “Don’t worry about it, it’s actually rather adorable.”

The heat against your cheeks started to spread down your neck and to your collarbone. If she noticed, and of course she noticed, she didn’t’ say anything. But she released her hold, and you fought back a whimper of disappointment.

“What can I do for you, Agent Romanoff?”

“Us, actually.” She responded, eyes darting towards the locked doors. “I’d rather talk somewhere a bit more private, if that’s alright.”

“Yeah, yeah, absolutely that’s alight. If this is about the Widow Bites that I redesigned then I can most definitely tweak them. We don’t want you to get a jolt every time you use them. Not that I’m saying you’re not skilled enough to avoid that,”

You kept talking as you swiped your card and it with a beep, walking into the instant familiarity of your lab. There was a coolness there for tactical purposes, but it washed over your heated skin and hopefully took some of the soft color away.

You started to flit around the lab, flicking on all the lights and the different purifiers. There was an experiment that Fitz was working on that needed a rotating heat source and that was turned on as well.

“If we remove the outer panel and with a little tweaking, we can make them non-lethal, heavy with stopping power. They can break up under the sub-cutaneous tissue-“

Again, you ran into Natasha. Her body was so warm and solid, stable compared to the way you buzzed about. The door had slid shut behind you, its frosted glass exterior shielding you from the rest of the world.

This time you didn’t’ rush to apologize, instead you pushed your glasses up to the center of your nose and stared at her in a comfortable silence. “This wasn’t about your widow bites. You said us.”

She nodded at you, suddenly seeming quite shy herself. You’d never seen her avert her gaze before and something about the reaction worried you. Your stomach was doing somersaults, flipping back and forth between pure panic and excitement. This was the longest you two had spent in one another’s space without you bolting from the room.

“For the past six months I’ve been involved in a sexual relationship with Wanda Maximoff.”

“Uh,”

It was the only word that you could muster. Thoughts that flushed your cheeks all over again ran through your mind; bare breasts pressed against each other, lips hungrily clashing, hands raking up perfectly toned muscles. Your eyes were hazy with lust, but you blinked it away just as fast as it had settled. Natasha ghosted a smirk regardless.

“It was purely sexual, we both needed to blow off some steam. I’m sure you know how that is.”

On nights when you needed to ‘blow off steam’, you went into the empty training room and ran for six miles before taking a stark cold shower to loosen your muscles. When you ran, you forgot about the dip of Natasha’s collarbone and the dexterity of Wanda’s fingers.

Now that you thought about it, there were signs that the two of them had something and why shouldn’t they? Subtle touches that led to more. The tenderness in Natasha’s eyes betrayed more. If she hadn’t noticed yet, you weren’t going to be the one to tell her.

“It was fun for a while, a supply closet here, the gym floor there. But going on month seven it’s almost losing its… spark.”

“I’m sorry?” You were cautious with your words, and she giggled, the Black Widow herself was giggling at you.

“I’m not so good at this.”

“You’re good at everything.”

She smiled “Wanda insisted that I come and talk to you first because you’re skittish. Moreso around her than me. She was upset when I told her you let me stay the afternoon in here last week, just watching you work.” 

Each move you made that day was languid. There was a nervousness to you that seemed to vanish when you could open up the back of a monitor and stare at the innerworkings. You were recruited right out of MIT, and though you had been offered more than one job, you jumped at the idea of working in the Stark tower, living here.

She worked her hand through her hair and sighed “see, not so good at this.”

“What exactly is this?”

Natasha furrowed her brow and a small crease formed between her eyebrows in response. You wanted to reach up and smooth it away with the subtle touch of your thumb. That part wasn’t complicated, not like people usually were.

So, you did just that, you touched the pad of your finger to her soft, warm skin and pressed until the tension started to leave her body. Natasha’s fingers wrapped around your wrist and moved your hand until you cupped her cheek. She sighed into the embrace; eyes closed for more than a single moment.

“I want you, y/n.” She mumbled against the palm of your hand, turning it to the side and delivering a single kiss to the pulse point on your wrist. You were sure that she could feel the quickness in which it thrummed. “So does Wanda.”

You were dizzy, suddenly glad for her hold on you. Months, close to a year, you had spent ducking behind counters and taking the long way back to your dorm. They were both stunning to an intimidating degree, to the point where it devastated you.

“Say something, please” Natasha whispered, voice breaking “I know this is a lot and you can absolutely decline. We can forget this conversation ever happened and you can go back to breaking coffee mugs.”

“No! I mean, no. I don’t want to go back to breaking coffee mugs. I think Clint is running a tab, and Mr. Stark isn’t exactly generous with our salaries.”

A grin spread across Natasha’s face. It was like being wrapped in a warm towel after a long day in the rain. You’d do anything to make her smile. You were in down bad, not that you’d admit it to Bird Boy.

She tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Can I kiss you?”

You nodded, not trusting your ability to vocalize anything right now. Her lips were on yours, soft and tender. She kissed you slowly, with purpose. The two of you savored the moment, a sigh of extasy escaping you, your arms winding around her shoulders, hers pressing against your spine.

Natasha broke the embrace, staring hazily at you. That cocky smile had turned into a wonderstruck and borderline goofy one. Have you broken the superspy? She’d certainly made you waver. You were effectively rendered silent.

“Oh, sweet girl, how easy it is to fluster you.” Natasha pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “But I fear that a certain witch is lurking just close enough for you to open the door.”

It slid open on its own with a dejected beep. You glanced down at the pocket of your lab coat, badge still attached. A small pout made its way to your lips but softened when Wanda stalked into the mostly empty lab, you felt your defenses lower.

The remnants of red twirled around her fingers- and god, you didn’t mean to stare, but they held a power to them. With Natasha slotted against your body, the primal scent of her, you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering. Oh, how good they’d feel on your tongue.

A pink blush crept up her collarbone and at the tips of her ears. Wanda raised a perfectly sculpted brow at you. There was no doubt in your mind that your thoughts were loud enough for her to hear them. And somehow, you didn’t mind one bit. You’d never imagine being this bold with either of them, but the kiss with Natasha had left you heady, greedy for more.

“Have you been able to do that the whole time?” You panted out, watching the door slide shut once more.

“Well, yes. But I respect your privacy… to an extent. You have quite the dirty mind, don’t you?”

“I… you… no!”

You pulled away from Natasha, crossing your arms over your chest. If you weren’t careful, your glasses would fog up just by being in the same vicinity as them both. Sure, there had been a few times where you’d let your mind wander; images of Wanda shoving you against the wall, pinning your arms above your head.

Natasha taking you over the lab table that you made sure was meticulous in every single way each night before you left. The thought of them taking control was alluring, tantalizing. You thought all the time, too much about every move you made. You didn’t want to admit that you’d welcome not thinking at all, even if it was only for a few moments.

“You’re a terrible liar.” Wanda soothed.

“That’s why Stark keeps me in the basement.”

She’d gotten impossibly close. You could smell the lavender shampoo that often accompanied her. They were both taller than you, though, not by much. Your breath still hitched in your throat at her proximity. Wanda tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, lilting her head to the side in a way that made your knees feel unstable.

“Is this okay?”

You nodded, and a smile moved across her lips. “You need to use your words, sweetheart.”

“Oh, don’t be mean, Wanda.” Natasha wrapped her arms around your midsection, resting her chin against your shoulder. You felt the incredible warmth she provided, nearly sighing into it. “This is a lot to take in. Baby steps.”

You couldn’t tell which of the two held more control over the situation, but didn’t much care when you felt Wanda’s breath hot against your lips. She closed the distance and you kissed until it stung, until your lungs were begging for air. A desperate noise that you had never made before escaped you when she broke the embrace.

All the while, the calloused pads of Natasha’s fingers were running softly over the expanse of skin between your waistband and shirt. Her touch was so delicate and impossibly warm compared to the coolness of the lab.

Natasha hugged you closer, and you allowed her to. Everything about both women surrounding you screamed control. The darkness that settled over Wanda’s stare made a wetness pool between your thighs. You squeezed them together in an attempt of subtly.

It was like fooling a seer. They could read your body like an open book and you clenched your eyes shut but could still feel the grin that stretched across Natasha’s face in the crook of your neck. It would be so easy to give up control to them.

“Does anyone else have the key to your lab?” Wanda purred, her hand splayed on your chest in a startling grounding motion. Your eyes snapped open, hazy with lust.

You were breathless, stunned. “Just you.”

Wanda’s head tilted, her tongue darting out against her bottom lip. Chills pushed down your spine, Natasha’s hold tightening around your center. You were sure that you’d catch flame right there and wake up from this dream. But neither of them vanished when you blinked.

“Good. What’s your safe word, darling?”

Natasha’s grin was nothing short of wolfish. She squeezed both of your hips possessively, hauling you with a spy’s quickness onto the nearest counter. You nudged a white mug with a SHIELD logo on the front. It fell to the floor, shattered into a million different pieces.

 None of that seemed to matter.