#the melody is so basic it must be

[softysofao3]

Hi!

So, I made a song..!

I've been working on this for a while and I'm absolutely terrified of sharing this with anyone (I don't sing in public), but I figured someone might like it?

The song is from Addison's POV, about her divorce with Derek and longing for Meredith. Lyrics are up on AO3 but I'll post them here as well:

You with her Before we fell apart we fell in love You took my hand and I took your heart With you I thought I was done But we didn’t realize we’d grow apart I love you and I know we were long gone before we broke but what kills me inside is that I didn’t leave with my head held high So now I watch you with her smiling, kissing, laughing I need to hold myself back forever ‘cause I owe you everything Being together was like being alone You were there but your eyes were vacant then I reached for the phone even though I knew I'd grow to regret it I hurt you and I hope I didn’t mean to but maybe I did I should have left before our clothes fell maybe then I’d still have some dignity? So now I watch you with her smiling, kissing, laughing I need to hold myself back forever ‘cause I owe you everything new loves and dances and panties in tuxes our signatures side by side Only if I had been stronger and better and not fallen with the wrong guy I could have said yes when she looked at me like I look at her And we’d be in love You’d be crushed but I don’t think I’d care ‘cause I’d be with her But now I watch her with you smiling, kissing, laughing What was I supposed to do since I owe you everything I’ll hold myself back forever I owe you everything

[bredforloyalty]

every time i remember ling tosite sigure exists it's like. wait one of my favorite bands ever and i simply don't listen to them for 6+ months at a time

[two-white-butterflies]

a lemon cake | daemon targaryen

Description: The Hendriks have always kept to their own. What happens when a betrothal happens between the only Hendrik daughter and the Rogue Prince? A story where, you go through lengths in order to ensure your lord husband's loyalty.

W.C: a lotta words super mega ultra

A/N: After re-watching Descendants. I figured that this would be a good plot. Reader basically gives Daemon a love potion. It wears off. He's still in love. No beta we die like men. OC Daemon because of the love potion, but otherwise still him.

House Hendrik. In silence we persevere.

When the first lord of your house settled from Old Valyria, they did not bring dragons or swords - but they did bring magic. Magic that allowed the members of the house to hear the whispers of nature. But lately, nature has only answered with silence.

The lands were barren, and the sheep were dying of illness.

The gold in your coffers were nearing extinction. Correction, there wasn't anything left - your father has to work in the King's council to ensure that you and your children would live a comfortable life.

A prolonged sigh escapes your mouth. You stared at yourself through the reflection on the mirror. In silence we persevere.

You remind yourself of the words your father uttered before he left.

"My lady," the maid clears her throat. She was holding a sealed letter. "Thank you," you mumble while taking the paper from her hands.

You force a smile on your face.

My dearest daughter,

I am pleased announce that the King has agreed to an engagement, and your presence in the Red Keep is of utmost importance. It seems like the Seven Gods have answered our prayers. Do not think about the gold that we'll use to bring you here, your Aunt Jayne has agreed to sponsor the trip, with the promise that you won't forget her once you are a nobleman's wife. Take care.

All my love,

your father.

You finished reading the letter, inhaling the scent of vanilla. It was sadly a short letter, not detailing anything about your father's stay. He made sure that the letter was short and concise. He did not even have money for ink.

"My lady?" the maid inquires, curious about the contents of the letter.

"Lord Hendrik has invited me to join him in the Red Keep." you inform, watching as she poured you a glass of tea. "- will you promise to take care of the household in my absence?" you asked, and she presses a kiss to your forehead.

She stood as your mother, after Lady Hendrik died.

"I promise." she swore. "- have fun in the Capital." she smiled.

You could only nod.

"You told me that he agreed on a betrothal!" your eyebrows merged together. "You wouldn't have come here if the only purpose was finding a suitable match." your father insists.

"Our house has stood proud, looked down on others with lesser breeding. If word ever comes out that I am here to save a sinking ship, our reputation will be ruined." you argued.

"If there was another choice, I wouldn't ask." he says regretfully, his eyes cloudy with tears threatening to spill out. "- my position in the King's council is under threat. My health has fallen drastically, and only a husband can save you and our house." he breathes.

He knows that it shouldn't be that way, but it is.

"What you mean to say is..." you could not stomach to say the word.

"- this is my last gamble, child. If you do not wish to do it for our family, at least do it for yourself." he pleads.

Stupid family with their idiotic gambles. You cursed while continuing to concoct the potion. There was a hundred other ladies in this court, some more beautiful - some having bigger breasts - some having more melodious voices. And what were you stuck with?

This old gown that you inherited from your mother.

You weren't dealt the winning hand, so you must play with the cards that you were dealt with.

"Kesā sagon ñuhon." you whispered into the powder, feeling chills run up your spine as the magic takes effect. You will be mine.

You press a finger to your lips. Who will be mine?

Of course, they needed to be rich. You were in poverty and eating love for breakfast wasn't something you're looking forward to.

And of course, they needed to be handsome - because it will be a curse to stare at an ugly face everyday.

"Prince Daemon," you say out loud.

You fancied him when you were younger.

He had flowing silver-gold hair, and entrancing deep purple eyes. He was every maiden's dream. All everyone saw was a dangerous man - a shifting tide. He was quick to anger and slow to forgive.

But that wasn't going to be a problem.

If your love potion was going to take its full effect, he'd be a tamed dragon, and you'd be the most beautiful maiden in his eyes. He'd be loyal to you no matter what you did.

The thought of taming an untamable man was...alluring.

"Prince Daemon it is, then." you decide. Carefully storing the powder in the empty space of your locket.

The plan needed to work.

Daemon's eyes narrowed, seeing Lord Hendrik's daughter walk across the garden. His eyes were drawn towards her figure. He's heard stories about your great beauty - and now he's finally had the luxury of meeting you. "Lady Hendrik," he calls your name.

"My prince," you bowed, surprised that he knows you. "- it is a pleasure to be be in your presence." your gaze remained on the floor.

"I believe that I am the one who should be saying that," he tilted his head with a pensive smile. His eyes alternated between your eyes and your lips, engrossing himself in your features. "- it is not everyday that a maiden from Quid Isle visits the Red Keep." he added, offering his arm for you to take.

"It is a long journey." you were quick to answer, holding his arm as you both strolled down the gardens. Your father's castle used to have a garden exactly like this - but all the flowers have wilted now. Its beauty was forced to remain in your memory.

"I can only imagine," he hummed - still staring at your face.

There was a look in his eyes, telling you that he was interested.

He kept staring at you and you found yourself staring at him in return, waiting until he opened his mouth again. "You're very beautiful." he observed, moving a strand of hair away from your face.

"T-thank you." you surprise yourself by stuttering.

Gods, you've always been eloquent but what you were about to do was making you nervous.

You turned to look at the table behind you, sprinkling the secret powder on one of the lemon cakes.

"Lemon cake?" you offered, holding the pastry up with a smile.

"Sure," he agreed, not bothering to take the pastry from your hands - instead taking a small bite while you were still holding it.

The way he licked his lips made shivers run down your spine. You were indeed making the right choice. "Is it good?" you raised an eyebrow, waiting for that grumble on your stomach that told you that the spell was working.

"They taste different today." he admits, chewing at the sweet treat - surprised at the slight specks of saltiness. It brought the sweet flavor out, but it was the first time he's tasted lemon cakes like this.

"Good or bad?" you inquired.

Your stomach grumbles. His pupils dilate.

"Good," he says.

The love potion has indeed worked. He's looking at you the same way that the moon looks at the sun. There was a smile on his face, a soft and gentle smile only given to those feeling pure love. "You should try one, my lady." he offers, and you nod - doing exactly that.

"Is the court to your satisfaction?" he asked, unable to stare at anything other than you. "It is beautiful, my lord, especially the gardens. I've never seen anything quite like it." you smiled.

He admires the innocence in your eyes.

Your smile makes him want to smile too.

"Our gardens pale in comparison to Highgarden. Mayhaps, one day I shall take you there." he made a promise. You are slightly taken aback by the potency of your love potion.

"Take me there?" you repeated his last words.

"If it is your will, my lady." his hands rubbed circles on the back of your waist. "It is unbecoming, especially from an unmarried maiden. I wish not to impose, my prince." your mind returned to marriage.

Our last gamble.

"Oh yes, unmarried." he reminded himself. He takes a step backwards, a wave of clarity crashing through his features. You worried for a second that the love potion lost its effect, if it weren't for the look in his eyes - utterly dedicated and in love.

"I must leave to attend my business with the Gold Cloaks. Do not stray too far in the gardens, I shall talk to you later." he vows.

"Yes, my prince." was the only thing that you could say.

Daemon was fascinated but now he was sure that he was in love. Ever since he spoke to you in the gardens - you're the only thing that he thinks about. When he drinks wine, he wonders about the types of wine that you like. When he reads a book, he thinks about what your favorite books are.

Even a chore a simple as breathing makes him think about you.

As the months occurred, he's spent every living second beside you. Braiding your hair, reading books about his ancestry. He's even taught you a few things about sword-fighting.

He's defenseless against your love.

There was no escape.

"I intend to marry the Lady Hendrik." Daemon boldly announces in front of his brother. He was a million times sure that you were the woman he wanted to spend his eternity with. "I beg your pardon?" Viserys gazes up from his miniature version of Old Valyria.

"You've been pestering me about marriage ever since that Bronze Bitch died. I've finally made my choice. Lady Hendrik, the Master of Coin's daughter." Daemon emphasized.

Viserys' eyebrows merged together.

"Have you spoken to her?" Viserys inquired, surprised at his brother's sudden enthusiasm towards you. "I have." Daemon responds.

"How many conversations have you had with her?" Viserys follows up, a little skeptical but otherwise relieved that his brother has found love. "It matters not, she is the best choice. She is set to inherit her father's island. It shall keep me out of your way." Daemon argues.

"Lady Royce inherited the Runestone. What makes you think that this lady of yours is going to be different than the last?" Viserys queries, poking through his brother's resolve - trying to look for holes. He does not wish to grant annulment or mend Daemon's losses when the time comes that he falls out of love.

"I will wed the Lady Hendrik. We will live in Quid Isle." Daemon ignores his brother's question. His destiny already written in stone.

"There isn't anything that could stop you anyways." Viserys agrees, finding no other reason to disagree.

"Speak to her father. Make sure that he agrees." Viserys adds, returning his attention to his little Old Valyria.

"Your father has agreed to an engagement between us." Daemon announced from behind you, and suddenly your eyes light up. "Really?" happiness was leaking from your voice.

Your happiness, gives him happiness.

"I thought that what we had was merely friendship. You've really proved yourself, my prince." you smiled, as he presses your foreheads together. Your smile sinks to the floor, that feeling of guilt threatening to make your heart explode.

He doesn't actually love you. It's the potion.

"Is everything alright?" he inquired, his eyes flooding with worry.

I'm a horrible person for making him something that he is not.

All the nobles and maesters have fawned over his loyalty to me. The way he stares at me with love and adoration. He's not spoken to any other maiden except me. He refuses to dance with anyone but me.

When he realizes that this is all an enchantment, will he hate me?

"Darling," he repeats that term of endearment.

You snap out of the trance.

"I need a moment." you break free from the embrace. Sprinting towards the direction of your room. "Sure," you hear him mumble.

Once the doors to your chambers were shut - the tears flowed. "I'm sorry," you mumbled while laying on your bed, covering your body with the layers of blanket and furs. "I'm sorry," you kept repeating.

I'm a horrible person.

You've toyed with the very will of the gods, made Prince Daemon fall in love with you and act uncharacteristically - all for what? So you wouldn't starve when all the gold in your father's coffers runs out? There were thousands of small-folks starving everyday, their lives are lost to famine - all the while you worry about not living in luxury.

It was another day for you in paradise.

Even if your father died, you'd still live a comfortable life - as long as you didn't live above your means.

You shouldn't have done that to Daemon.

And the worst part was, you loved him - loved him with your entire heart. He was a constellation to you. You've never loved anyone as deeply as you've loved him.

But you betrayed him!

Betrayed the man that offered you jewelry and pretty dresses. Betrayed the man that looks at you with warmth.

You sniffle, slowly rising above the pile of blankets on your bed.

You march to your vanity, beginning to concoct a potion that will reverse your love spell.

You needed to make things right.

Daemon stares at the small hidden lake. It was something that his ancestors consecrated to have a piece of Old Valyria. The lake had magical powers, some say that it cures disease, but to him - it was the only thing that could convince him that gods were real.

"Ever since I was a little boy, I'd stare at this pond and feel peace." he explains, placing his hands inside of the lake - allowing that mystical feeling to wash over him. "They say that it is a piece of Valyria." he continues telling you the story.

These past few days, you've been avoiding him like a plague. When he meets your eyes - he sees nothing but sadness. He wishes that taking a bath in this lake would bring peace to you, or mayhaps cure the sadness that you've been feelings - you refuse to tell him what.

"Thank you for bringing me here. Dragonstone is beautiful." you were quick to thank, but your eyes were focused on the ground.

"Why do you evade my gaze?" he inquires, holding your chin with a finger - and lifting it so you'd meet his eyes. "We are going to be husband and wife soon." he announces, and that makes you flinch.

"I know," you hum.

"If you're scared of living Quid Isle - I promise you that we'll live there after the wedding." he points out one of the possible reasons as to why you were sad. "- I am much prepared to eat fish and chickens until I die." he smiles, and that sparkle returns to your eyes.

"Get in the water." he commands with a chuckle. "No," you shake your head - feeling his hand on your shoulder - threatening to pull you down. "Daemon," you warned, holding onto his forearm.

An involuntary giggle escapes your mouth, and you both plunge into the cold lake. That grumble in your stomach returns. Magic?

You hold onto him, unable to reach the bottom of the lake floor. "You are a cruel lord," you teased wrapping your arms around him.

He takes a second longer - still staring at your face. With that same lovestruck impression as the day you first met.

"Daemon," you say his name.

"I love you." he says out of the blue, burying his face on your nape.

For a second, his voice sounds deeper - his words more meaningful than usual. It almost made you doubt yourself.

You were about to lose everything.

Today is the day that you give him the reverse potion.

"Lemon cake?" you offer, holding the pastry with a forced smile. Daemon's hands found the small of your waist. "I don't want one." he shakes his head, instead choosing to take a sip of his wine.

"Are you sure?" your eyebrows merged together.

Why was he refusing your effort?

"I don't really like eating pastries, my love." he covers his smile with another sip of wine. He's been looking at you with more adoration, lately. He's been more dutiful than before. Always opening the door for you, always carrying your books, and of course, helping with the planning of your wedding.

"But I seem to remember that our love story began with a lemon cake?" you try to persuade him. A lemon cake is also how it ends.

"I've not had the stomach for anything as of the late. I'm sorry, dearest." he tries to say no as politely as he could. "But you have to eat it, please, for me?" you resorted to begging.

"No," he responds as petulantly as he could muster.

"Daemon," you say firmly this time.

Don't make it harder than it has to be. Eat it and hate me forever.

"Give me one good reason?" he says. His voice telling you that he knew something that you didn't. "Because your future wife wills it." you insist, and he sighs - taking a bite of the lemon cake.

He eats it with a smile, watching your features carefully.

"Does it taste good?" you found yourself asking the same questions as before. "Yes," he responds - chewing softly. "How do you feel?" you inquired, worried about his wellbeing.

"Why are you asking, little flower?" his grip is firm on your waist, ignoring the looks that you were both getting. It was a behavior unbecoming of unmarried people, even if you were engaged.

"Nothing," you shake your head. "Do you still love me?" you found yourself carefully asking, masking it with sweetness just in case the potion wasn't in full effect yet. "I think that the potion takes a while to settle, my lady." he smiles, saying those string of words in a whisper.

You nod your head involuntarily until his words sink in.

The potion takes a while to settle.

"What?" your voice suddenly turns an octave higher.

"You are adorable." he muses, laughing.

"How long have you known?" the words spill out of your mouth. "It wore off when we swam in the lake of Dragonstone." he explains.

"So you've been pretending to love me these past few days?" you ask, guilt eating you whole. "I've not been pretending." he confirms.

"I'm sorry, I didn't have a choice. Our family isn't as rich as we appear to be, I-my father... I mean I thought that marrying you was the only way my family would be secure. But I love you and my conscience will not allow you to live in lie." you apologized, the tears pooling.

"Hate me if you want to. Have me executed for treason if you must..." you rambled but he silences you with a finger to your lips.

"You didn't need that spell." he says tenderly. His eyes still held that warmth, the promise to love you for more than a lifetime.

"I was enamored with you even without it." he chuckles, wiping the tears away from your eyes. "What?" you were confused. "- you need not to go through with the wedding." you add.

"But I wish to marry you, my lady." he takes the upper hand.

Oh, he's been long aware of your house's financial problems - it was one of the few reasons that Viserys chose your father as Master of Coin. He couldn't bare to see a friend of his suffering. And Daemon, well he's been drawn to you since you first stepped inside the castle.

You were magnetic and you made good company.

"Adorable," he hummed - pulling your face closer to his and silencing you with a deep and long kiss.

[banquetwriter]

Johnnie xfem reader whos being really whiney and loud during sex. like he has to cover her mouth with his hand but he finds it really cute and hot at the same time

୨୧ proud ୨୧

pairing: Johnnie Guilbert ♡︎ Reader

warnings: ୭̥⋆*｡ smut with tiny plot, hand over mouth, being loud, hooking up at a party

summary: ʚ your just so loud and it inflates Johnnie ego ʚ

Words: 1172

An: I'm back on my writing and i hope this lives up to your expectations :((

It's no secret thing that Johnnie isn't the most confident person alive. But god whenever he is with you feels like he must be the best person to walk this earth. Your constant praise of him. Your encouraging words regarding his music career sounded better to him than any Melody he could come up with.

But one thing, in particular, made him feel like he was on top of the world, that one thing was fucking you. Johnnie ALWAYS jokes about not getting bitches or being scared of women but in reality he was a sweet and funny guy.

And you fell hard and fast for him. It also helped that he was one of the hottest people you had ever seen. So finally a little into your situation you took it to the next level. Both were nervous and excited beyond words.

Johnnie's hands slowly started to make their way down your clothes body as his lips never left yours. When he puts his delicate hand on you at first you let out a mini gasp. He initially retracted his hand but you instantly put it back on you. He thought maybe his hand was too cold or something but he pressed on.

His hand slowly slid down as you pulled away slightly, you held up your head indicating he should continue on the delicate skin of your neck. He took a shaky breath in.

As embarrassing as it was, it had been a little while since he had done this. He tried to push those insecure muddled thoughts out of his head as he dipped down. As soon as he touched your skin with his lips you gasped again.

You had become so sensitive, your skin red hot but with goose bumps littering your skin. He joined his other hand on your body delicately rubbing up and down. He was basically on top of you.

And any insecure thought Johnnie was thinking at this moment was not necessary as you were so turned on you felt primal. Letting every small whine and gasp as Johnnie got more confident sucking, kissing, and nipping at your skin.

You decided that you simply couldn't wait anymore and you gently pushed him away, he cocked his head in confusion, worried he messed up somehow.

Oh, it was so the opposite. You sat up starting to undo your top and bra. “Take off your shirt,” you whispered breathlessly. He barely had time to nod before ripping the buttons off of his own garment. You discarded the fabric with ease as your bodies collided once more.

His cold necklaces mixed with your hot skin right between your breasts. It was a devilish feeling causing you to mewl out. Johnnie had been surprised at how much noise you were making and he hadn't even done much.

He chose not to think too hard about it and started to slide his hands up and down your bare torso, pointedly avoiding your breasts and teasing you. You whined as his thumb barely scraped the bottom of your breasts.

“You like that? I think that's the most noise I've heard you make tonight,” he said a lick of condescension in his tone. “Shut up and fuck me,” you begged, and suddenly all confidence in Johnnie's body left, and he froze.

He stared into your eyes trying to figure out if this was real or not. “Johnnie. I need you,” you whispered this time, slowly lifting your head up to meet his. His breath increased and in the second he was on you he was off.

Shimmed down the bed of this random house at this random party. He pulled his pants off at lightning speed. You fumbled with your bottoms but Johnnie was waiting no time with a request like yours. He bent down to grab hold of yours and the borderline ripped them off in a stroke of luck.

Neither Johnnie nor you acknowledge how he Hulked your clothes off of you but instead, he spread your legs apart and eagerly traced the inside of your thighs and just outside the place you needed it most. “Mm fuck please,” you begged as his boney finger traced upwards.

He took that as a sign to start. He bent down hovering over your most precious and exposed place. He started giving you small kisses which only drove your need more. “Johnnie,” you whined, almost bucking your hips into his face.

He couldn't help the grin that plastered on his face. You wanted him so bad it drove HIM crazy. Those little whines you seem to not be able to control only made him harder.

He took your desperation as consent and dipped his tongue into your precious spot causing another beautiful moan. He continued to go in and out of you which only made those moans louder and more frequent.

He reaches particularly deep inside you and your back arches off the bed. “Mm, Johnnie I need you.” you almost yell. He slowly pulls his tongue out of you, wiping his mouth off.

You whine at the loss of contact. “I know. I know,” he whispers, grabbing your hip with his left hand. He taps the inside of your thigh with his right hand. “Open up baby,” he says, grabbing his rock-hard cock. He lines up against your entrance and slowly pushes in.

You throw your head back in euphoria. “Oh god.” you moan gripping the sheets as he pulls out and pushes back in. Once he finds a comfortable rhythm he sneaks up next to you and starts to kiss right under your ear.

This was because he could feel the noises you made with your throat and hear them. Fuck you were so beautiful. He presses a particularly deep spot as you help out, pressing all of your body into his causing him to feel the pull in his power belly.

“Shhhh,” he whispers against your skin, making no effort to quiet you. As he starts to near the end he plunges his hands into your breasts massaging and tugging.

Unfortunately (or fortunately) you were just being too loud. His hand shakes up from your breasts and up your neck reaching your mouth and clamping down. His rings slightly pinched your slips but the pain added to the euphoria.

He approached his end and started snapping his hips against yours. Your fingernails scratched his tattooed back as he pounded into you. Every moan and help only reached his hand as your walls fluttered around him a wave of pleasure seizing your body.

Your beautiful body constricting around him brought him to the end of his pleasure as his legs shook. His white cum filling you up.

After a moment he moved his hand. He held your eye contact with a smirk as you bashfully stared back. “Someone really likes me huh? You are this loud for everyone else?” he asks, planting a kiss on your cheek before pulling out.

“Shut up.” you whisper feeling blood rush to your cheeks.

[deareverlasting]

BEAR WITH ME.

warning: spoilers for ep 75

i was just scrolling through tiktok and then the thought occurred to me that everyone grew up together (minus ben and aiden) and basically never interacted until the group project. yeah, duh, that's the whole premise of their strange group at first, but it just strikes a cord to think that these kids who have become so inseparable were so close to each other this whole time without even knowing it, without even knowing that they needed each other.

because why now, after all these years, would they? after all, they were just strangers who occasionally saw each other in the hall or during class, strangers that they could never understand, right? they were just too different.

i mean, just think about how taylor says she's always noticed ashlyn since they were kids and how she was always on her own. she didnt understand how ash could be content with that, isn't it lonely?

tyler is most likely, lets face it, pretty popular. when we're introduced to him and taylor they're in this huge group of typical jocks due to tyler being on the baseball team. ashlyn and logan must've known him before due to that, seen them parading through the halls. and seeing as how neither logan nor ash like loud noises or crowds very much they probably wrote him off as a loud jock and went about their day. maybe saw how cold and angry he was with everyone but his sister and thought he must be unpleasant to be around.

as for logan, he, like ash, is pretty obviously very much a background character in everyone else's lives. most likely a loner just like ashlyn, very shy. if the rest of the gang ever noticed him it was probably nothing more than a glance. because logan at the time was nothing more than barrons stereotypical nerd that does his homework because he's scared of what will happen if he doesn't.

it just makes me ILL that these people who would grow to care so much about each other were all so close without knowing it, hell, they probably passed each other in their towns grocery store multiple times before. maybe seen tyler play in one of his games with taylor yelling above everyone else because that's her brother, saw ashlyn perform and dance, saw logan reading in the astronomy section in the library.

and yet they didn't know they'd ever learn to trust these strangers with their lives every night. that they would learn that tyler is more than just a loud, angry jock. he loves and cares about his sister, took up being basically a parent from a very young age, and doesn't truly have any friends because they are just a distraction.

that taylor is every bit as friendly as she let's others believe, but if you mess with her brother or her friends that sun can cloud over so quick.

that ashlyn likes to be alone but given the time and patience, she would love to be alone with you. that she doesn't want to, but if she's needed, she will step up and be the leader you need. sure, she isn't good at "friends" and she'll make mistakes, but she owns up to them because she tries and she cares.

and finally, logan, who at first is so shy and unsure, yet is quick-witted and brave enough to make hard choices and learn where he fits in with a group. to stand up against someone who bullied him and threatened him daily and help someone else from going down the same path he did.

AND PLEASE don't even get me started on ben and aiden.

those two have been practically alone their whole lives until they met each other. all aiden had was the dark room that reeked of molding food and people he hung around just to pass the time because he knew they weren't permanent, nothing ever was with his parents.

and ben's only friend before aiden being the music he could create before it was taken away from him, and all he had left was the broken melodies that he tried to find in every punch he threw.

they were both so, so alone and seeking something that would stay, something that would last because everything else that made them happy seemed to fall just out of reach now.

but just one move away, one final move to a small town in georgia held everything that could hurt and heal them all in one. they were all what everyone needed, even if they didn't know it and it drives me insane that if these kids hadn't been put through hell, they never would have found each other.

and they're more than willing to claw their way out together, not because they have to to survive, but because they want to so that they can live.

red what have you dooone 😭/pos

[afsosville]

Listen, ik BingJiu is basically a breeding ground for dead doves but ISTFG that this fandom is just not seeing things the way I do. And so here I am spreading the soft BingJiu agenda coz they both need to be honestly and wholeheartedly loved so fuck canon just let them love each other PLEASE.

Anyways, does anyone have cute BingJiu recs? I can't seem to find anymore so I'm here now lol. Here's all the ones ik:

Lost my heart to you (there in the dark, under the stars) by Saccharinings

You are not alone, not anymore and Goodbye, my past reality by Elis98

Unconventional Baby Trapping and The Father-In-Law is Unknowingly the Bride? I Must Train Hard to Become Best Husband! by Munyusz

Bamboo, fire, and ink by Draconili

Ghost SJ by Unknown103User

Once upon a winter morning by NazakiSama166

Do I really need to give you away...? by Ivy_Aishi

Have a nice day! by Ehann

An easy lie by Nythtak

Rustling leaves by Jeejaschocolate

Two lilies blackened, two lilies grey by Texturralize

Honestly, it's like you've never seen a man and his demon before by Anon

My little baozi and Shen Jiu's options by Airei

Puppy love need not be temporary by Myakachan

Finding home in you and A lifetime with you by Shorimochi

Responsibility by Anon

I have no time for confession | for I'm too busy committing sins by Space_Samurai

Being a girl is great by Anon

When does a ripple become a tidal wave? and Falling, Falling, Falling for You by The_Binding

Unfinished business by Kitsunealyc

The faces you forgot by Probablyaceok

Melodies of the Heart and The Innocence of Spring Blossoms by CrazyNekoChan

Spite my way to happiness by Misto713

How to keep my favourite beast alive by Tomyam

What once was by Revesdelimonade

What Could Have Been by Sleek4410

Sweet dreams by ari_sunshine

The Stallion Protagonist's Villain-Wooing System and Black Lotus Binghe by tpfw01

The Peak Lord Who Didn't Want a Damn Dog by Silver999

To be your Shizun is not my Destiny by SleepySsnail <3

[bell4donn4]

Getaway truck | a western road trip with Luke Castellan

Tags: established relationship,Luke and reader are basically the mom and dad of chb, reader’s godly parent is not specified.

Author’s note: tbh I’ve been lowkey obsessed w western Americana and road trips. I wanted this to be longer but whatever

The humid wind coming from the rolled down window gently messed up your hair.

You sat quietly on the passenger seat of the washed out green truck you and Luke rented. It must have been a Ford 1967, or some other kind of vintage model.

You couldn’t tell, and honestly, you didn’t bother to anyways, too busy looking out of the window admiring the desertic surroundings; sipping on your coca-cola.

<<you smudged your lipstick>> he glanced at you, taking his eyes off the road to send you a lopsided smile. One of his big and rough hands rested on your bare thigh, exposed by your jeans shorts.

It was mid summer, almost autumn time, yet the western country side never failed to drain you out with its scorching weather.

<<did I?>> you pulled down the visor, inspecting yourself in the small mirror; but you could tell he was right by the red stain on the metal can.

<<oh yeah, I did>>

Luke laughed lowly while he took a turn to the left, hand strong and firm on the steering wheel. You admired him in silence, a sort of pride filling your ego as you looked at your boyfriend.

That day, he wore a white linen shirt, which he (purposely) left unbuttoned on the chest, making his Hermes dog-tag visible. A pair of sunglass used to sit in the bridge of his nose, but were now long forgotten on the dashboard. It felt weird to see him without the bright orange shirt.

This little getaway from camp was going more than lovely. Finally free from all the responsibilities you both had to take on. You couldn’t even imagine how the camp must have looked like in that moment, with both of the two head counsolers gone.

<<do you think they set the cabins on fire?>>

<<for how long have we been away?>> Luke said

<< half a day?>> you nodded

<<yeah then, the woods are probably already burning as well. Along with the cabins and all>>

he hummed in approval at his own answer, earning a giggle from you.

He caressed your thigh with his thumb.

<<im joking, I’m sure the kids will be alright>>

<<you sound like an old dad>>

He shrugged his shoulders, grinning; but just as it started, the conversation slowly died down.

In the background of your comfortable silence, a low melody coming from the radio filled your ear.

With Luke, you didn’t need to talk. No many words need to be spoken with a man like him. You have been together enough to understand each other in silence. Plus— that should’ve been a sort of vacation from the chaos of camp.

So you preferred not to add anything else, simply allowing the worries to occupy the back of your mind.

You turned the music up as Molly Parton started playing.

You enjoyed the song, humming along the robotic notes coming from the radio.

Fortunately, by the time you arrived at your destination— a lake far far away from the one you had to see everyday— the worries were all gone. Replaced by that fuzzy feeling that only being with Luke could give you.

[sansculottides]

playing disco elysium for the first time felt so familiar because it was made by communists. i kept getting the feeling of - i see you! i know you! every time i came across encyclopedia worldbuilding checks and recognized the tools of historical materialism brilliantly used. i wince when i see people describe DE as just being ironic about communism or whatever - no! this is the most communist game ive ever played!

sometimes i see people point to the deserter's character as evidence that DE isn't truly a communist work, but i don't think the deserter is meant to be a paragon of communism in the game. he's a revolutionary stuck in the past and that is his grave error. "The material base for an uprising has ended," "The historical condition for a revolutionary opportunity has passed. It will not come back anymore. However hard I try, whatever I do." but everything you've seen the game proves his statement wrong. DE's world still has the objective conditions for revolution because the working masses are sick of all the ruling order's shit, and there are plentiful opportunities to develop the subjective forces as we see in the communist quest that young people are willing to continue the communist struggle. but the deserter cant see that from his position and his trauma - ultimately this is what makes him fail as a communist because he has let go of the basic principles: that world is always changing; that change is made by people, through class struggle; that a communist must always be grounded and alert of their own material context.

the scene in the communist quest where you get through to steban and it tells you that "you're witnessing his ironic armor melt before you" - i think that was the devs taking their ironic mask off, too. i believe that because steban's reasons for his communism are the same as mine. we have to struggle even if it's hard and even if they kill us because this is what keeps us human. to struggle for freedom is the next best thing to actually being free. to fight for communism is to fight for the future. it is not about being imprisoned by failures of the past. in fact it IS about failure - because the movement is the working class's school in the struggle for power and we need to learn from each failure and move forward.

i just know that if my comrades and i were somehow in a room with the devs and we had to sing the internationale, we would all know the words. in different languages, but we'll sing the same melody and when we get to the part, the word "international" will be sung in unison. do you get me? i think disco elysium is to some young game-savvy communists of the world today as "what is to be done" was to lenin's generation. something something international communist solidarity...

[jimblejamblewritings]

love letters and second sons | part 4.

Summary: The princess is finally ready to debut in society. But before she does, she decides to disguise herself and see the true faces of the ton.

Warnings for the Series: light sexism in line with the times, light classism in line with the times, mental health stigma, shitty doctor care, smut, suicide attempt (will get it's own warning when the time comes)

Warnings for this part: smut

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x princess!reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Previous Part | Series Masterlist

The cloak wrapped around you felt like velvet. The softness between your fingers calmed you down significantly. Reynolds grabbed your hand after the fifth time you balled it up in your skirts. You looked up to see your three valets trying to hide the concern on their faces. You could have an incident or get caught or both. None of those three options were ideal or even good. 

“Do I look decent?” you asked as the carriage got closer and closer to the party. 

“You look perfect.” 

“Maybe I shouldn’t wear the mask?” 

“You don’t have to but keep it on you.” 

You agreed, exiting the carriage with a letter from the princess version of you — complete with a wax seal — that was basically a pass to enter any establishment no matter what. Spotting Penelope and Colin out of the corner of your eye, you breathed out a sigh of relief and ran over to them. Both of them wore wide smiles at your surprise arrival. They had been expecting a letter or something to signal your arrival back from Ireland. 

You were sad to hear about Marina not joining you all for this evening. It would have been nice to know her more than a little bit in between the courting of suitors. But there would be more times to meet and catch up later. Plus, hearing your friends’ stories of their daily lives proved to be a good enough distraction. You let them go after a while so Colin could escort Penelope to the dance floor like he promised to do after a run in with Cressida Cowper. 

Looking around, you failed to immediately locate the rest of the Bridgerton children. You grabbed a drink from the lemonade table and began to wander. The alcohol had looked appealing but you had never drank, afraid of the consequences if drink mixed with your illness. Someday you’d try some but not after an episode. Never right after one. 

On the outskirts of the party, still close enough to hear the music, you ran into Benedict. He gave you a smile and the same surprised look on his face as Penelope and Colin. You leaned in closer to hear him over the deafening melodies of the orchestra. Small talk that was mainly about your fictitious trip made up the first half of your conversation. After a while, you grew comfortable with each other as if you never left. 

“The lights are beautiful,” he commented, staring at the small lantern display that a scientist presented. 

You nodded. “We have some at the palace. They add more day by day but it would be nice if all of London, maybe all of the world, had these little lights. How has your art been?” 

“Not terribly well. Nothing seems to be good enough.” 

“Well, what are you drawing?” 

“Still life. I can’t expect my free drawings to be good if I can’t depict what is right in front of me.” 

“You are too hard on yourself, Benedict seriously,” you argued when he scoffed. “Sometimes we have a problem seeing our own greatness. You ju—” 

“Would you ever consider marriage to someone, me, perhaps?” 

You choked on your lemonade. “Pardon?” 

“Apologies.” He finally turned to look at you. “With Daphne out in society, people have started looking at Anthony and because my dear brother does not care to at least pretend to be a proper viscount, they have started to look at me. Ravenous mamas are eyeing me and it must be a matter of time before they talk to me.” 

You laughed. “You still call me Miss Beckett yet you want me to help you through a marriage?” 

“Wait, what is your name, actually? If you are to continue being a friend of the family then I am at liberty to refer to you by first name.” 

“Bergamot. My parents were a bit too keen on gardens. My second name is Sophie.” 

“Bergamot Sophie Beckett. That is a lovely name.” 

“Thank you… I still won’t marry you.”

Benedict scrunched up his face as he bent over to try and plead with you. “Please! I can’t be out here with the wolves.” 

You patted him on the shoulder. “Your whining, no matter how pathetic and cute, will not work. I will see you tomorrow, alright.” 

He muttered something that you didn’t hear while you took off into the gardens for a stroll. You’d have to leave soon, pressing your luck wasn’t the way to go. You put your cloak back on and closed it to hide your dress completely as you finally put your mask on. The gardens at night were very beautiful. Perhaps because you were alone. 

You chuckled at the thought of your interaction with Benedict. Even if it happened only a few moments ago, it was hysterical. It was only funnier because you were sure that when you finally introduced yourself to society, you’d get even stranger proposals. Only they wouldn’t be to avoid hungry mamas. And they wouldn’t be coming from one of your friends. 

Hopefully, they wouldn’t be too upset with you. Hyacinth would never but she was more like a little sister than a friend. Benedict would think the whole situation is funny, hopefully. Daphne might as well. Eloise and Penelope could go either way. Anthony would probably be mad that you let him attempt to woo the princess when you knew the truth which would make Colin and Gregory and Francesca mad at you as well. But maybe it would be fine after you explained everything. 

The sound of voices caught your attention. Spying was wrong but you couldn’t help yourself. You started to walk into the hedges, ignoring the twigs catching everywhere. The view wasn’t the best but you could see well enough. What could be a scandal between Daphne Bridgerton and Nigel Berbrooke seemed to be a very different scene to you because you knew the man from her letters. You tightened the mask around you just in case you needed to leave the bushes. 

Nigel kept coming close to Daphne. You began to run when he grabbed her, thinking of how to protect your friend. You’d have to hit him. That was the only option. There was nothing else you could do about it… You paused as Daphne pulled her hand back. There was Nigel Berbrooke on the ground. After being punched. 

You and Daphne looked up from Nigel to see the Duke of Hastings running into the garden clearing as well. The two of them seemed to realize that you were the princess and you were in the garden with them having witnessed everything. They bowed to you deeply, something you returned. 

“I will survey the area. If I do not return then you two may safely leave the garden.” 

“Thank you, Your Highness.” 

“It is no trouble really. I am so sorry for your distress, Miss Bridgerton, and I do hope your hand feels better in the morning.”  

You did a thorough check of the area to make sure that Daphne wasn’t compromised before fleeing to your carriage before anyone could spot the mask. Assuring your valets nothing went wrong, you closed the carriage door and let it drive back to Kew. 

“Thank you,” you said as you took off your mask and cloak and opened the carriage window since it was night. 

“For what?” 

“For making me go out tonight. I did need it. I feel better, immensely.” 

“That is good. We are glad to hear it. Will you be going out again tomorrow?” 

“Just to the Bridgertons.” 

“Oh, to home then.” 

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue because they were right. Being at the Bridgertons felt like home more than your own at times. Maybe because your mother and father were the only ones who even tried to be a proper family. But there was no trying with the Bridgertons. They just were family. 

That much was true when you walked into the house a lot later than the early morning to see everyone but Eloise in the drawing room, talking about Daphne and the Duke. You said hello, greeted by hugs from everyone who didn’t see you yesterday. You took the plate of toast from Violet, who was trying to get her daughter to eat, and shoved the bread under Daphne’s nose. She took a bite before actually grabbing it from you. Relieved of your mother bird duties, you plopped down on the couch in between Benedict and Colin. 

“What are your plans for today?” 

“Fencing and then a gentlemen’s club and then preparing for a party tomorrow and, dreadfully, a picnic the next day,” Colin said as he handed you a chocolate from the box on the side table. 

“May I watch?” 

“Of course, Sophie. A beautiful lady will only encourage us.” 

“Since when did you learn to be a flirt?” 

He just shrugged, sitting back to listen to Daphne play the pianoforte and tease her about the duke. You clapped at the end of her piece and requested a second one that she obliged. Daphne would have to play at the palace some time or at least at Kew. She sounded lovely. Closing your eyes, you just listened for a moment. 

“How does a lady come to be with child?” 

Your eyes flew open to see Eloise standing in front of everyone. Violet jumped up from her brief moment of sitting on the couch across from you. 

“Eloise, what a question!” 

“I thought marriage was a requirement.” 

Daphne tilted her head. “What?” 

“Apparently, it’s not even a requirement.” 

“Eloise.” 

“Mama, the princess did say all young women nearing their debut should learn.” 

Violet stuttered as she took the tray of food out of the room, forcing Hyacinth and Gregory to go with her, stating she’d be back in a moment she just needed some water. She turned back for a moment. 

“Daphne, dear, do go on. I’d like to hear some calming music when we return.” 

Eloise trudged over to the couch, sitting on the other side of Benedict. She smacked her brothers’ knees but neither one of them wanted to answer her directly. Colin turned his head. 

“Have you ever visited a farm, El?” 

You laughed as Benedict smacked the back of Colin’s head but stopped when Eloise slumped down in her seat. You tapped her on the shoulder, making her perk up again. Your hand rested on Benedict’s thigh so you could prop yourself up as you leaned over him.

Covering your mouth and Eloise’s ear, you began whispering to your friend everything you thought she needed to know about sex. Unable to help himself, Benedict leaned in to spy, surprised that your information was actually correct. You weren’t lying, the Princess’ court really taught all the valets everything. Eloise sat back, finally satisfied and a lot less worried about a spontaneous pregnancy. Until she became curious again. 

“But why would anyone want to initiate it? Who wants to be with child?” 

You leaned over once again. “No one wants to be with child. Even those who want children. It’s about the pleasure. Sometimes the pleasure of actually liking someone and other times the pleasure being about nothing but you.” 

“What?” 

“The… think about when you start breathing a bit heavier, feeling warm when you touch each other, a… I’ll tell you the rest when your brothers aren’t here. It is a bit awkward. Oh, I’ll even draw you pictures. Only a certain amount of posit— mov— steps are important. The rest you should figure out with your husband.” 

“So you do truly know what you’re talking about?” Benedict interrupted the nearly finished meeting. 

“Did you doubt me?” 

“A bit,” he admitted. 

You sat back down. “Men aren’t the only ones that know what they are talking about.” 

“Sorry to offend.” 

“No offense. None at all. I expect even the kindest and smartest and prudest of men to think such things.” 

“Well, I am still sorry. If not because of offense then because of my ignorance.”

You squeezed his thigh in appreciation. Benedict laid his hand on top of yours. The two of you stayed like that for a moment until his hand held onto yours a bit tighter. He turned to look at you. There was an understanding shared between your eyes. There was no breathing heavy or loving eyes. It was for both of you but in purely selfish pleasurable ways. 

“Sophie, are you coming to watch our fencing match?” Benedict asked.

“Yes.” At that he moved your hand closer to his private. “A bit after the calling hour starts. I like to watch the men make fools of themselves.” 

“I am not surprised by that at all. Shall we wait for you?” 

You closed the gap and placed your hand over the top of Benedict’s pants. “No. You may start without me and I’ll just come when I find the time.” 

“Okay. We’ll play again soon, maybe even another game today. So don’t be too bothered if you miss us playing for your calling hour.” 

Giving an experimental squeeze, you watched the man next to you nod ever so slightly and swallow his spit before moving your hand himself. You both relaxed into the couch completely, satisfied with your understanding. The two men left when Violet came back — it was fairly obvious that calling hour was about to start. The calling hour was several hours but at some point you had just dropped the s and you weren’t sure why. 

You thought it would be only one or two men but the duke seemed to have lit a fire under the other men’s feet. The line became rather long rather quickly. You were happy for Daphne. The more men the better. Maybe she could get a love match.

You took the last bouquet of flowers for Daphne, thanked Lord Colfield, and went to go put the flowers in a vase on the fireplace mantle. You were about to tell Daphne that you were leaving to see her brothers’ fencing match when Anthony came storming in. A gasp escaped you when Nigel Berbrooke came up behind. You were completely over this little man and his obsession. 

Without thinking, you approached Anthony. “What do you think you ar— Anthony, you and Nigel need to either leave the drawing room as this is your sister’s calling hour or wait in line if he is here to call? These lords and gentlemen have waited a great deal to talk to her and they are very patient. It is not right nor just nor of any class to disrespect the patience they have shown.” 

“Nigel?” Berbrooke scoffed. “Who do think yo—” 

“The Young Princess’ valet. She’s become a family friend,” Anthony cut Nigel off. 

At least Berbrooke had the decency to be surprised and then give you a bow. Their tunes towards you changed completely as they almost looked like they were going to wait their turn or just leave. Nigel smiled. 

“Callers were unexpected as we have already been talking extensively.” 

“Lord Berbrooke is the only man who proposed and therefore the only person I consider.” 

“I’m sorry, what?” You looked at Anthony.

“He is the on—” 

“Everyone! I am very sorry but you must leave. Miss Bridgerton’s calling hour is currently closed. Please leave your name with Heroldt, starting with the order you have been waiting, and two days from now we will continue.” You turned to Anthony as everyone filed out without complaint since they thought the princess was the reason for calling hour being over. “There. Now, Lord Berbrooke, I must speak with the Bridgertons alone. I hope that speech staved off the wolves for you if only for two days while matters are discussed.” 

“Thank you, Lady…” 

“Miss Beckett,” Anthony answered. “Thank you, Sophie. Lord Berbrooke, do you need me to escort you?” 

“No, no. You have business. I can find the front door on my own.” 

The moment he left, you, Daphne, and Violet descended on Anthony. Every word that came out of Anthony’s mouth made you scoff. Violet looked between all three of you, very upset. Anthony was ruining both Daphne’s prospects as well as his own prospects with the princess. And you were there to witness it all.

You backed Daphne on everything. Even if she was wrong, Nigel was a foul man that you would never allow to marry. You approached Anthony, speaking lowly although your friend and her mother could still hear it. 

“I hope you survive whatever poison you are drinking. Whether the Duke is a serious man or not, there are plenty of serious men here. You will not sign away your sister to such a foul man that you barely know as well and pretend it is in her best interest. And you will not expect her to be understanding or appreciative when you don’t care an ounce for your sister’s happiness. And you still wish to draw up a marriage contract? Please, just think for a moment… Good day, Viscount Bridgerton.” 

You stormed out of the drawing room and straight into the backyard where Colin and Benedict were handing their fencing gear back to a servant. They noticed the furrow in your brow. Benedict clicked his tongue. 

“I will find out what is wrong. You, brother, instruct the kitchen to leave something out for us. If there is crying then we will be long.” 

Benedict practically dragged you to the far side of the backyard. He knew no one would think anything of it when you were very angry about something Anthony did — that part was loud enough for everyone to hear. He looked at you when the two of you finally stopped. 

“Was that a ploy to get away? Or are you genuinely mad at my brother?” 

“I don’t want to talk about why I’m mad at Anthony. There’s nothing you can do anyway. Not without a good scandal… Sorry, I came out here for a fencing match. Let us focus on it. On you.” 

He took your hand again, placing it over his trousers. You began to rub it back and forth, the fabric between you guys creating friction. You reached into his pants and pulled out his cock, stroking it a bit more freely. Benedict pulled you closer. His hand reached around your ass to squeeze it.

Every time you stroked him closer to finishing he would squeeze harder than before. You watched his face the entire time. If you got back exactly what you were giving him then you would be a very happy woman. It was truly going to be about selfish pleasure for both of you. 

You gasped when he all but ripped the top part of the dress as he tried to push it all down to expose your breasts. He wanted something else to stare at that would get him off even quicker. You tried to stifle any moans threatening to escape your lips as he groped you — some of the marks so hard you were sure they would be a bit red until tomorrow. This was his turn. Yours would be later. If you both tried to get pleasure at the same time... Well, that's how people fall in love. The two of you weren't stupid to test that.

Benedict moaned and for a moment both of you were worried someone would come see what was the matter. He laughed underneath your hand covering his mouth. 

A shudder went through him and he grabbed your wrist. “I’m going to come. I-if you let g-go… just in m-my britches.” 

You dropped to your knees, shocking your friend. He grabbed your head with one hand while he bit down on the other until he finished. A very gentle touch lifted you up. He wiped stray bits of lipstick from around your mouth, wiping the evidence away on the inside of his vest. 

“I have to say I did not expect you to sit down for the last round of fencing. We were done anyway.” 

“Well, I wanted to help put up the equipment so we could all relax later. Plus, if the princess does choose to invite you all to Kew then I would like you to help put up the equipment there too.” 

Benedict laughed. 

“I promise whether I win or lose. The next time we have a round of fencing, I will put up the equipment. All of it.”

He leaned down to whisper.

“Even if you are not a lover, I would never have you on the ground, sullying your pretty gowns and body..." He squeezed your breasts one last time before helping pull your dress back up. "with grass and dirt stains. I promise I’ll bring you your pleasure next time we are inside and alone. I will leave first and retire to my room. You stay out here and eat the sandwiches the cook left. I won’t be able to return for at least an hour.” 

“Okay. I have to go see the Featheringtons and Miss Thompson anyway.” 

You did just as Benedict suggested and no one even gave you a suspicious look. You took your own sweet time going across the street. You had moved the physician and all of Wednesdays special tutors to Tuesdays so you would have more time in the city. Despite not wanting any visitors, you were the obvious exception and could go upstairs to see Marina. She looked up from her writing desk when Penelope announced she was coming with a visitor. 

The three of you gathered on the bed to share a plate of sweets. You mainly listened to Marina and Penelope, not having much to add. You wanted to figure out a way to help her. Trying to meddle in daily affairs and save the lives of one subject at a time seemed almost ridiculous. But, that was what you should do as a royal. 

“Did you say Spain?” 

“Yes. That’s where all of George’s letters are coming from at the moment. They all say Spain.”

“If you ever need a letter to Spain or to anywhere else they send Sir George, just let me know. The princess wants to help her subjects, especially women, so give me a letter and I’ll give it to her. Whenever you need.” 

Marina flung herself at you. “Thank you. If there shall ever be a problem, I promise I will say such.” 

“Oh, the princess is going back to the palace for a few weeks because of something important so I won’t be so available for a little bit.” 

“What will she be there for?” 

“You will find out when it happens.” 

The two of them giggled. “You are so mysterious.” 

~~

You were tired after an exhausting day but a letter you received from a footman that same day made you get up. Anthony had given you a key to the front and back garden gates as well as the back door that led into the kitchen. You entered through the backyard so you could actually get inside the house without waking the entire house with your knocking. You only needed Violet and Daphne. And you had a letter to leave just in case you couldn’t wake a single person. 

Voices made you pause. You recognized Eloise and Benedict talking. Instead of going any further, you just listened. Eloise — like so many other women — wanted better for herself. It had never been a question of something you would plead to your brother… You sighed. You knew your brother. It was time to stop thinking of him as the heir. There was a reason everyone was going to support Younger Charlotte’s claim over her father. And Young Charlotte listened to you. She planned on making you her advisor. There would be no pleading. You would make better laws for women. 

You didn’t want to disturb them too much so you flung the letter at Benedict’s head. Running as fast as you could, you ignored their confused calling out for you once they recognized the letter coming from the princess. Hopefully, Benedict or Eloise would get the letter to their mother before Nigel could come back. 

Dear Dowager Viscountess, 

I am nothing but my mother’s daughter and therefore it is, in fact, my job to meddle in the lives of our precious subjects for a better and more peaceful United Kingdom. Miss Beckett has told me much of your troubles in regards to a man called Lord Nigel Berbrooke. I don’t have much information on him but I do have a request that I would ask you to aid your princess in. 

I recall an acquaintance of his. A maid. She used to work at the palace but asked for a job in the ton so she could be closer to her aging parents. I believe she was employed by a neighbor of the Berbrookes? Or a friend? Or maybe them, who knows. She was supposed to come back two years after they died but has yet to return. Nigel or one of his neighbors must know. Or perhaps, his mother, she’s very close to the maids. Knows every single one of them by name. I care terribly for this maid and would like her working back at the palace.  

Please meet with his mother. She loves crumpets with any sort of preserves or a chocolate dipping sauce. It was all she wanted when she requested a meeting with my second brother. 

That is all I have to say. I do look forward to seeing your family properly. 

Yours Truly, 

Princess Y/N Kew 

P.S. Please tell Anthony that it took him long enough but I am proud he finally came to his senses. If only he can learn to listen to a woman first then he might have less problems.

You smiled to yourself as you sat in the kitchens. The staff couldn’t stop talking about Nigel Berbrooke’s bastard that he doesn’t take care of and the mother he sent away before she even gave birth. You would feel bad but you had a very personal and up-close view of the man’s real personality. The morning only got better when Brimsley and Reynolds came in with Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers. It was on the front page of the pamphlets. Absolutely worth paying the two pounds per pamphlet for everyone in the Kew household. 

“Do you think he’ll ever show his face again?” 

“No,” the cook said as she handed you your breakfast. “You did a good thing for Miss Bridgerton, Your Grace.” 

“Your Grace?” 

“It is just a title we are trying out.” 

You hummed suspiciously. The cook ignored you. 

“You better pack if you don’t want to be late for the carriage coming today.” 

You nearly forgot. The reason you couldn’t hang out with the Featheringtons and the Bridgertons arrived. Your cousin Friedrich, the prince of Prussia, was coming for a visit. He agreed to marry a British girl to strengthen the alliances and prove that Prussia and Britain were still close family. It was neither a complete truth or a complete lie. The entire family was not close. But you, your cousin, your father, your mother, and your aunt were very close. 

Sneaking out wasn’t an option. You thought that much as the carriage neared Buckingham. It had been a while since you snuck out the palace — a completely different thing from simply leaving Kew. Pandora, Brimsley, or Reynolds would sneak you your letters and you would be satisfied. Besides, even though your family was coming for an indefinite amount of time, you only had to stay a week or two. 

The carriage hadn’t even stopped completely before you ran to hug your cousin. It had been years since you last saw each other. You could hear your mothers laughing in the background. They left to have tea inside while the two of you stayed out. 

Friedrich took your hand in the crook of his arm. “Come, cousin, let us take a promenade. Have you been well?” 

“I have been better. However, I am doing well.” 

“And your illness?” 

“Not better. But I haven’t had an episode that I couldn't recover from on my own.” 

“That is good. I suppose that is the best we can ask for. Especially since I have a surprise for you.” 

“A surprise?” 

“I asked Aunt Charlotte and she agreed to let the princess accompany me to events as she knows the ton better than the both of us. You have to wear your mask but it is still a good deal.” 

“It is a wonderful deal.”

“Good. The first event is a ball tonight.” 

“Tonight?! But I’m not prepared.” 

“I’ve already had everything arranged.” 

“You planned this?” 

“I figured it would do you good to get some fresh air and get out of the palace… or Kew, now.” 

“Thank you, Friedrich. Seriously, thank you.”

(part 5)

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[sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts]

*clears throat.* Good evening, and thank you for your time. So the idea is along the lines of this. In this world, nothing is truly what it seems. Marcus finds himself in The Library of Alexandria (My HC is Marcus also likes to read to relax.) where our reader is a scholar from Greece. The two of them start to talk philosophy (Or anything you'd like to come up with.) and whatnot. Marcus is turned on by this, he values intelligence. They have sex and well, reader isn't who we think! Reader is actually the Greek Goddess, Chaos; and basically says something along the lines of "I think I'm going to stick around for a while, so in exchange for us doing this again; and worshiping me. I will do whatever I can to allow you to win your battles, even if it seems all is lost." (My apologies if this makes no sense!)

My God

⤷ Credits: Pinterest

Marcus Acacius x Greek Godess!F!reader | WC : 4.1k | Proof read : YES | Navigation | Notifications | asks : OPEN |

Summary: see ask above

Warnings: Exhibitionism , oral F, p in v, breeding kink, worshiping, marking (scratching), kinda sub Marcus

A/n: I'm very very proud of this fic i really like it

Life in Rome was never easy—a place where survival often meant aligning with power, brute force, or sheer luck. But Marcus was different. He never let the harsh realities of Roman life define him. Instead, he focused on the pursuits of the mind—education, knowledge, and the arts held a deeper allure for him than the roar of the Colosseum or the blood-soaked sands of the battlefield. It was this quality, among others, that drew you to him. You admired his intellect more than any gladiator's victory or war hero's tale.

You found yourself drawn to Marcus not just because of his intelligence, but because of the way he made you feel—respected, seen, and, dare you think it, understood. There was a quiet strength in him, a confidence that didn’t need to assert itself through violence or intimidation. He was different from the others, and you couldn’t help but feel that he saw something different in you too.

That evening in the Library of Alexandria, the air was thick with the scent of parchment and the faint aroma of the sea beyond the walls. The library was a sanctuary, a place where the chaos of the outside world faded away, leaving only the soft rustle of scrolls and the whispered voices of scholars deep in thought. You had been there for hours, lost in a text that demanded every ounce of your focus. But as the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting golden light through the high windows, you noticed something peculiar.

One by one, the other patrons began to leave, their departure almost synchronized, as if they were being summoned elsewhere. A soft murmur of voices drifted away, and soon, the library was nearly empty, save for you and a few lingering souls. You couldn’t help but whisper to yourself, “Aphrodite must have sent Cupid, because this feels like a sign.” The idea that the goddess of love might have a hand in this sudden solitude made your heart flutter.

And then, as if on cue, Marcus entered the room.

He moved with the same quiet grace that you had come to associate with him, his presence immediately commanding the space without a word. His eyes scanned the room briefly before settling on you, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. You could feel your pulse quicken as he approached, his footsteps barely audible on the marble floor.

“Good evening,” he greeted you, his voice soft but warm, like a familiar melody.

“Good evening, Marcus,” you replied, a small smile playing on your lips as you tried to keep your voice steady despite the nervous excitement thrumming through you.

He settled into a seat across from you, a scroll in hand, but it was clear his attention was more on you than the text. “I’ve been thinking about our last conversation,” he began, his tone casual but thoughtful. “About how philosophy shapes our understanding of the world. It’s fascinating, don’t you think?”

You nodded, eager to engage with him on a topic that was close to both of your hearts. “It is. The way ideas can influence how we see everything around us—it’s like unlocking a new way of thinking. I’ve always loved how philosophy challenges the status quo.”

Marcus’s smile deepened a glint of admiration in his eyes. “That’s what I appreciate about you,” he said, his voice lowering slightly. “You don’t just accept things as they are. You question them, you seek to understand them. It’s refreshing, especially in a world that so often values power over thought.”

You felt your cheeks warm under his gaze, the sincerity of his words making your heart skip a beat. “I’ve learned a lot from you, Marcus. You’ve opened my eyes to so many new ideas, and I’m grateful for that.”

He tilted his head, his expression softening. “And you’ve done the same for me. It’s rare to find someone who not only values knowledge but also understands its importance in shaping the world. You have a gift, and it’s something that should be nurtured.”

His words made your heart swell, a mix of pride and something deeper stirring within you. The way he spoke to you, with such respect and admiration—it was something you hadn’t experienced before. “You’ve always treated me with kindness, Marcus. More than anyone else,” you confessed, your voice soft but sincere.

“I’ve only ever treated you as you deserve,” Marcus replied, his tone firm but gentle. “You’re intelligent, capable, and deserving of every opportunity that any man would have. It’s a shame society doesn’t always see it that way, but that doesn’t mean we can’t change things, one step at a time.”

His words resonated with you, a reminder of why you had been drawn to him in the first place. He wasn’t just a man of knowledge—he was a man of principle, someone who believed in equality and justice. It was a rare quality in a world dominated by power and greed. “I wish more people thought like you,” you murmured, almost to yourself.

“Perhaps one day they will,” Marcus said, his voice filled with quiet determination. “But until then, we’ll keep learning, keep questioning, and maybe, just maybe, we can inspire others to do the same.”

You smiled, a warmth spreading through you at his words. “There’s a book I’ve been meaning to read,” you said, your voice a little lighter now, as if the conversation had shifted to something more personal. “It’s the sequel to the one I suggested to you last time we spoke. I’ve been eager to see how the ideas develop, how the story progresses.”

Marcus’s eyes lit up with interest. “Ah, yes, I remember. The way you described it made me curious. I’ve been looking forward to seeing where the author takes the arguments in the sequel.”

You nodded, excited to share this with him. “It’s on the top shelf,” you said, gesturing toward the tall bookcase that loomed over you. “I’ve been meaning to grab it, but…”

Marcus didn’t wait for you to finish. He was already moving toward the shelf, his long stride carrying him effortlessly across the room. “Allow me,” he said with a soft smile, reaching up to retrieve the book. As he stretched, his body leaned closer to yours, his presence warm and comforting.

Your breath caught as he handed the book to you, your fingers brushing his as you took it. The air between you felt charged as if something more than just a book exchange was happening. Marcus didn’t move away, didn’t break the connection. Instead, he leaned in closer, his gaze softening as he looked at you.

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the realization of how close you were, of how much you wanted this moment, making your thoughts spin. You had admired Marcus for so long, not just for his intelligence but for his kindness, his respect, the way he made you feel seen. There had been so many moments, so many little things that had led to this—his smile when he caught you lost in thought, the way he listened to you as if every word you said mattered, the quiet conversations you shared in the library when no one else was around.

And now, here you were, standing so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, his presence enveloping you like a gentle embrace. Your mind raced with memories, with all the times you had felt this pull toward him, this undeniable connection that you had tried to ignore but could no longer deny.

As Marcus leaned in, his movements slow and deliberate, you knew this was the moment you had been waiting for, the moment you had imagined so many times but had never dared to hope would actually happen. His lips hovered just a breath away from yours, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

But there was none. You wanted this, wanted him, more than you had ever wanted anything. And as his lips finally met yours in a soft, tender kiss, you felt a wave of emotion wash over you—a mix of relief, joy, and something deeper, something that made your heart feel full and complete in a way you had never known before.

I owe Aphrodite big time, you thought, a fleeting smile curving your lips against his. Little did Marcus know, the goddess of love wasn’t the only divine force at play. Chaos, the very essence of unpredictability and passion, lurked beneath your skin, a secret you hadn’t even discovered yet. But that would come later—right now, all that mattered was the way Marcus was kissing you, as if he had been waiting for this moment just as long as you had.

The kiss deepened, turning feverish as months of unspoken tension finally spilled over. You clawed at each other’s clothing with an urgency that surprised you, your fingers trembling as you fumbled with the ties of his tunic. His hands were no gentler, grasping at the fabric of your dress, tugging it down your shoulders as his mouth moved hungrily over yours. The world around you seemed to blur, the lines between thought and sensation fading until there was nothing left but the press of his body against yours, the heat of his touch.

Marcus’s hands found your waist, and with a low growl of need, he pushed you back against the nearest bookshelf. The impact sent a few books toppling to the floor, their thuds barely registering in the haze of your shared desire. Neither of you cared about the mess, too consumed by the fire that had ignited between you. His lips moved to your neck, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses that made you gasp, your back arching instinctively into him.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as he continued his assault on your senses. The scent of old parchment and sea air mingled with the heady musk of passion, creating a dizzying blend that only heightened the intensity of the moment. Your breaths came in short, ragged bursts, the sound filling the otherwise silent library.

Marcus’s hands roamed your body with a desperation that matched your own, his fingers brushing over every curve, every inch of skin he could reach. His touch sent sparks of electricity dancing along your nerves, each caress stoking the fire that burned between you. And when he finally claimed your lips again, the kiss was no longer tender but fierce, demanding, as if he needed you as much as you needed him.

You could give a fuck about who might see you, or what they might think. The world beyond these walls ceased to exist the moment you started unraveling under Marcus's touch. His tunic was already halfway off, hanging loosely around his shoulders, but you were far beyond caring. Your own dress was falling away, your breasts now on full display for him, and the hunger in his eyes made you feel like the most powerful woman alive.

Marcus’s lips traveled down your collarbone, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. He continued his descent, kissing down to your stomach, his breath warm and teasing against your skin. His hands were already at your waist, gathering the fabric of your dress into a bundle. He paused only to give you a slick grin before ducking his head beneath the fabric. The anticipation alone was enough to make your knees weak.

Then you felt it—the hot, intoxicating breath of his mouth, so close to where you needed him most. Your breath hitched as his lips found your clit with a precision that made you moan in surprise. You had to commend him for finding it so easily, his tongue darting out to taste you. His hands moved slowly, deliberately up your thighs, as if savoring every inch of you.

With a sudden motion, Marcus shifted your hips, lifting your legs to rest them over his broad, bare shoulders. The position left you completely exposed to him, vulnerable and aching for more. His mouth worked against your sensitive clit, licking and sucking with a skill that had you gripping the shelf behind you for support. The pleasure was overwhelming, making you a moaning mess as more books tumbled from the shelves, though neither of you cared.

His tongue was relentless, teasing you mercilessly. He started by focusing on your clit, making you shiver with each flick, but soon his motions became wider, exploring more of you. Before long, he was licking up and down the entirety of your pussy, his movements growing bolder, more insistent. You could feel him getting closer to where you needed him, his tongue dipping into you, desperate to go deeper.

The fever of his actions made you grind against his face, your orgasm building fast and hard. "Good gods above, Marcus," you gasped, your voice trembling with the intensity of your pleasure. He hadn't taken a breath, his mouth still worshiping your pussy as if he could die right there and be satisfied. Your legs began to shake uncontrollably, but Marcus kept his hands on your knees, holding you open as he moved faster, his tongue diving in and out of you with a frenzy that had you seeing stars.

When your orgasm hit, it was like a wave crashing over you. You could feel it building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it snapped, sending you over the edge. You rode his face, every muscle in your body tightening as the pleasure ripped through you. Marcus didn’t let up, his mouth sloppily lapping up your juices as your body trembled, struggling to stay quiet as your arousal overwhelmed you. He knew it, and the wicked gleam in his eyes told you he wasn’t making it any easier.

Finally, he emerged from beneath the fabric of your dress, pulling it down roughly, leaving you naked before him. His breath was ragged, his chest heaving as he caught his breath, and you could see the glistening of your juices on his lips, chin, and cheeks. The sight of him, his rugged face wet with your arousal, only made you want him more. Without a word, you grabbed the fabric still hanging around his waist and yanked him in for a kiss, loving the taste of yourself on his tongue.

Your hands roamed his body, guiding him backward until you found a random chair in the room. With a firm push, you made him sit, his muscles tensing under your touch. At first, he leaned back, expecting you to straddle him, but you had other plans. Instead, you knelt before him, your hands moving to lift the fabric at his waist before pulling it down. He lifted his hips to help you, but when his hand reached for your breast, you pulled away, fixing him with a smirk.

“Let’s get this straight…” you murmured, straddling his lap but keeping your hips closer to his knees than to his cock. You began to palm him, feeling the heat and hardness of him beneath your fingers. He let out a low groan, his eyes darkening with lust. “You may be the one with the dick…” you leaned down, spitting on his cock, watching it glisten in the low light. “But I’m the one in power.”

You didn’t give him time to respond, your hand guiding his cock to the wetness between your legs. You ran the tip of his cock down your pussy lips, teasing him, teasing yourself, before slowly lowering yourself onto him. The stretch was glorious, filling you up in a way that made your breath catch. “This dick…” you moaned as you took him deeper, your body trembling with the effort to take all of him. “Is for me… only me.”

You began to grind your hips, feeling him press deeper inside you with each movement. His hands were on you again, roaming your body, before one found your breast. He brought his mouth to your nipple, sucking it softly, and you arched your back, pressing yourself against him. The pleasure was intense, his mouth hot and wet against your sensitive skin, his other hand steadying you as you rode him.

“My true god,” Marcus murmured against your skin, his voice thick with reverence. The words sent a thrill through you, knowing how true they were, even if he didn’t. You were Chaos, the embodiment of primal power, and he worshiped you without even knowing it.

You pushed his chest back, starting to build momentum, bouncing onto him with increasing speed. You could feel his eyes on you, watching your breasts, your body moving in time with his. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you, before they drifted higher, tracing the curve of your waist, the swell of your breasts. “So beautiful,” he whispered, more to himself than to you, his voice full of awe.

Your body was beginning to tire, the exertion of riding him making your muscles burn, but you didn’t care. “Marcus…” you moaned, catching his full attention. “Fuck into me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Repositioning himself, he began to thrust up into you, meeting your hips as they bounced. The movement was rough, desperate, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts. You clawed at his chest, your nails leaving red marks as you leaned over him, your eyes locked with his.

You could tell he was holding something back, the tension in his body, the way his jaw clenched. “Are you going to cum?” you asked, your voice breathy and full of need. He nodded, his breath coming in ragged pants.

“Cum…” you lifted your body slightly, before slamming down onto him again. “Cum with me, Marcus.” You bounced faster, matching his pace, feeling him hit that perfect spot deep inside you with every thrust. “Marcus, I need you to make me cum.”

His hands tightened on your hips, holding you steady as he pounded into you, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate. You could feel your walls tightening around him, your orgasm building again, higher and higher. His cock was hitting all the right places, sending shocks of pleasure through you, until you were on the edge, ready to fall.

With a cry, you brought your hand to your clit, rubbing it in fast, tight circles as you rode out your orgasm. The pleasure was almost too much, your body convulsing, trembling as you came, the feeling overwhelming. You heard Marcus groan deeply, his own orgasm hitting him as your walls clenched around his cock. You felt the warmth of his cum flood into you, filling you to the brim, the sensation making you shudder with aftershocks of pleasure.

He kept thrusting, riding out his orgasm with you, until finally, he stilled, his hands loosening on your hips. You were both panting, your bodies slick with sweat and trembling from the intensity of what you had just shared. Without thinking, you leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his, breathing in his scent, grounding yourself in the warmth of his body.

Marcus’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as if afraid you might disappear. His breath was still heavy, his chest rising and falling against yours as you both came down from the intense high of your shared pleasure. For a moment, you allowed yourself to simply exist in that space, feeling his warmth, his steady heartbeat against your own. But the weight of your true identity, the secret you had been holding back, pressed at the edges of your mind, refusing to be ignored.

You shifted slightly in his embrace, tilting your head to look up at him. His eyes were half-lidded, softened by the afterglow, and when he caught your gaze, a small, contented smile curved his lips. He looked at you like a man who had found something precious, something worth holding on to. The thought made your heart ache with a strange mixture of guilt and affection.

“If you continue to worship me like this, Marcus,” you whispered, your voice still tinged with the breathlessness of your climax, “you will have many great wins in the future.”

He chuckled softly, a light laugh that vibrated through his chest. “Worship you?” he teased, his tone playful as he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your temple. “I think you have that the other way around. I’m the one who’s been utterly undone by you.”

You smiled at his words, but there was something deeper in your eyes, something ancient and powerful that flickered beneath the surface. “Oh, Marcus,” you murmured, brushing a hand through his hair, “you don’t even know the half of it.”

His brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. “What do you mean?” he asked, his tone turning more serious as he searched your eyes for answers.

You pulled back a little, just enough to look at him fully. The room seemed to grow still around you, the air thick with an unspoken tension. For a moment, you considered holding back, keeping your secret buried for a little longer. But then you remembered who you were, what you were, and the time for hiding was over.

“I’m not just a girl from Greece,” you began slowly, watching his expression carefully as the words left your lips. “I’m not just a student, studying philosophy and the stars.”

Marcus’s confusion deepened, his grip on you tightening slightly as if trying to anchor himself in this sudden shift in the atmosphere. “What are you saying?” he asked, his voice a whisper now, tinged with the first hints of unease.

You took a deep breath, feeling the power within you surge, the ancient energy of Chaos that had been dormant for so long. The room seemed to darken around you, shadows stretching and shifting as if responding to the force of your true nature. “I’m from Olympus, Marcus,” you said, your voice steady, resonating with a power that was impossible to ignore. “I am not just a mortal woman. I am Chaos, the primordial force that existed before all things. The void from which the universe was born.”

The color drained from Marcus’s face, his eyes widening in shock and disbelief. He pulled back, but not out of fear. His hands trembled slightly as they remained on your hips as if he couldn’t quite reconcile the woman he had just been inside with the god you claimed to be. “Chaos?” he repeated, the word almost foreign on his tongue. “You… you’re a goddess?”

You nodded slowly, the truth of your identity settling in the air between you. “I am,” you confirmed, your tone gentle, trying to ease him into this new reality. “I have walked this earth in many forms, but this—this is the form I chose to meet you, Marcus.”

He stared at you, his mind racing to catch up with the revelation. The weight of your words, of what they meant, seemed to press down on him, and for a moment, he looked lost. “But… why? Why me?” he finally managed to ask, his voice barely above a whisper.

You reached out, cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Because you are more than just a man, Marcus. You have a strength in you, a light that draws even the gods. And in you, I saw something… someone worth revealing myself to.”

His breath caught, his eyes searching yours for any sign of deceit, but all he found was truth. “This is why you’re so different,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “Why I’ve been so drawn to you…”

You nodded again, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Yes. And if you continue to worship me as you have, if you continue to show me the devotion you’ve shown tonight, I will see to it that you have many victories, Marcus. In battle, in life… and in love.”

He was silent for a long moment, absorbing your words, the enormity of what you were offering. Finally, he spoke, his voice filled with a reverence that hadn’t been there before. “I don’t know what to say… What can a mortal offer a goddess like you?”

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips, tender and sweet, before pulling back to look him in the eyes. “Just be you, Marcus. Be the man I’ve come to admire. That’s all I ask.”

His arms tightened around you, pulling you close once more. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this,” he murmured against your hair, “but I’ll do everything I can to prove myself worthy of you.”

You smiled, the warmth of his embrace chasing away the coldness of your true nature, if only for a moment. “You already have,” you whispered, allowing yourself to sink into the comfort of his arms. For now, you were content to let him hold you, mortal and god, two beings intertwined in a world that suddenly seemed much smaller.

[fruvittea]

late night jams

💌﹒→﹒roommate!vernon x reader ﹒ ﹒ ♪

— genre: slice of life, romance, fluff

— word count: 2.3k

— warnings? none

— synopsis: Vernon becomes your roommate after responding to an ad you posted. You quickly bond over your shared love of music, and late-night jam sessions turn into something more.

1:00 PM – Move-In Day

The apartment smells faintly of fresh paint and pine-scented cleaner when you unlock the door. Two suitcases rest by your side, and a backpack hangs off your shoulder, weighing you down as you step inside. The place is small but cozy—a combination of warm wooden floors and beige walls that will look less generic once you’ve hung up some posters. Your stomach flips with a mix of excitement and nerves. This is your first time living away from home, and though you’re ready for independence, the idea of sharing the space with a complete stranger makes your palms sweat.

You’ve only exchanged a few texts with Vernon, your new roommate. His messages were polite but sparse, like he wasn’t too keen on chatting beyond the basics. He mentioned he’d arrive a bit later, so you’ve got the apartment to yourself for now. You drag your suitcases into the room on the right, claiming it as your own. The window overlooks the street below, where cars hum by and people walk briskly, the late afternoon sun glinting off storefront windows.

By the time you’ve unpacked a few essentials and stacked your books on the desk, a knock sounds at the door. Heart thudding, you head to the living room and open it. There stands Vernon, a duffle bag slung over one shoulder and a guitar case in his other hand. His dark brown hair falls slightly over his eyes, and he gives you a small, lopsided smile.

“Hey, you must be…” he starts, trailing off as he glances down at the paper taped to the doorframe with your names on it. “Yeah, you. I’m Vernon.”

“And you must be Vernon,” you reply with a grin, stepping aside to let him in.

“Nice place,” he says, setting his things down and looking around. “Smells like a pine forest, though.”

You laugh, feeling some of the tension ease. “Yeah, I think they overdid it with the cleaning spray. It’ll wear off.”

He nods and gives you another small smile before heading to the room on the left. You’re not sure what to expect from him, but his quiet demeanor makes you think he’ll be easy to live with.

-

9:00 PM – The First Jam

Later that night, the apartment is quiet except for the low hum of your laptop. You’ve spent the evening settling in and scrolling through social media, and you’re just about to call it a night when a soft melody drifts through the walls. At first, you think it’s coming from outside, but then you realize it’s Vernon.

You press your ear to the door, curiosity getting the better of you. He’s playing the guitar, the notes soft and smooth, accompanied by a low voice humming a melody. It’s unpolished but soothing, like he’s just idly strumming to unwind.

Unable to resist, you knock on his door. The music stops abruptly. “Yeah?” comes his muffled voice.

“Hey, sorry to bother you,” you say, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “But that sounded… really nice. Are you working on something?”

The door opens slightly, and Vernon’s face appears. He looks a bit sheepish, his guitar still in his hands. “Oh, uh, thanks. Just messing around.”

“Do you… mind if I listen?” you ask, surprising yourself.

He hesitates for a moment but then steps back, letting you in. His room is sparse, with only a few belongings scattered around—a stack of notebooks on the desk, a small speaker by the window, and a record player in the corner. He sits back on the edge of his bed, cradling the guitar.

“It’s nothing special,” he says, but when he starts playing again, the soft chords fill the room with warmth. You sit cross-legged on the floor, watching as his fingers move effortlessly over the strings.

“Do you write your own stuff?” you ask.

He nods. “Yeah, sometimes. It’s more of a hobby, though. Helps me clear my head.”

You find yourself mesmerized, not just by the music but by the way he seems completely at ease when he plays. It’s like the quiet, reserved Vernon you met earlier fades away, replaced by someone more open and free.

-

12:00 AM – Late-Night Confessions

What starts as one song turns into an impromptu jam session. Vernon hands you a notebook filled with lyrics, asking for your opinion. You’re surprised by how raw and honest his words are, a glimpse into a side of him you didn’t expect.

“These are really good,” you tell him, looking up from the page. “Why don’t you share them with anyone?”

He shrugs, fiddling with the tuning pegs on his guitar. “I don’t know. It’s personal, I guess. And, I mean, who’d want to hear this stuff anyway?”

“Are you kidding?” you say, incredulous. “People would love this. You’re really talented.”

His cheeks flush slightly, and he gives a small, embarrassed laugh. “Thanks. That… means a lot.”

The two of you end up talking well into the night, sharing stories and bits of your lives that you wouldn’t normally share with someone you’d just met. There’s something about the quiet intimacy of the moment that makes it easy to open up. By the time you finally head to bed, you’re struck by how comfortable you feel around him already.

-

Two Weeks Later

Living with Vernon quickly becomes easier than you’d imagined. He’s tidy, respects your space, and, most importantly, he’s just… good company. You find yourself looking forward to the evenings when the two of you sit in the living room, him with his guitar and you with whatever book or project you’re working on.

One night, you’re in the middle of cooking dinner when you hear Vernon humming in the kitchen. He’s scrolling through his phone, absently tapping a rhythm against the counter.

“That’s catchy,” you say, stirring the pot on the stove. “What is it?”

He looks up, startled. “Oh, just something I’ve been working on. It’s not done yet.”

“Can I hear it?”

He hesitates but then nods. Grabbing his guitar from the corner of the room, he plays the melody he’d been humming, adding a few lyrics. It’s rough, but you can hear the potential in it.

“You’ve got to do something with this,” you say. “Seriously, Vernon, this is too good to keep to yourself.”

He laughs softly. “Maybe someday.”

-

Late Night Breakthrough

Weeks turn into months, and your late-night jam sessions become a ritual. One night, Vernon asks you to help him come up with a chorus for a song he’s stuck on. You’re hesitant at first, but he insists, handing you the notebook and encouraging you to try.

“Just write whatever comes to mind,” he says, strumming a few chords. “There’s no wrong answer.”

You take a deep breath and scribble down a few lines, then hand it back to him. He reads them over, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “This is great,” he says, his tone sincere. “Really. Let’s try it.”

As he sings the lyrics you wrote, you can’t help but feel a swell of pride. It’s a small thing, but the fact that he values your input means more than you expected.

-

8:00 PM – The Apartment’s Atmosphere

The apartment feels alive tonight. Vernon’s guitar case leans against the couch, and the coffee table is strewn with lyric-filled notebooks and empty cups of tea. The faint scent of vanilla candles mingles with the cool breeze slipping through the slightly ajar window. It’s a typical scene for you and Vernon, but tonight, there’s a new energy.

After weeks of brainstorming, tweaking melodies, and scribbling down lyric ideas at odd hours, one of Vernon’s songs finally feels complete. It’s a quiet victory, marked by his satisfied grin as he strums the last chord. You’re sitting cross-legged on the rug, your fingers resting on a notebook, feeling like you’ve been part of something bigger than yourself.

“It’s done,” Vernon announces, his voice light with relief. “I can’t believe it.”

“You’ve been working on it for so long,” you say, your grin mirroring his. “It’s amazing, Vernon. Seriously.”

He leans back, running a hand through his hair, his expression softening. “I couldn’t have done it without you. All those late nights and random ideas you threw out? They made a difference.”

Your heart swells at the compliment. “I just threw out words. You’re the one who turned them into something magical.”

He shakes his head. “It’s a team effort.”

The room falls into a comfortable silence as the final chord lingers in the air. You both sit there for a moment, basking in the shared accomplishment.

-

9:30 PM – The Idea

“You should share it,” you blurt out, breaking the silence.

Vernon’s eyebrows lift slightly, and he sets his guitar down. “Share it? Like, online?”

“Yeah,” you say, leaning forward. “Or perform it. You’ve got talent, Vernon. People need to hear this.”

He hesitates, a shadow of doubt flickering across his face. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s personal. What if people don’t get it? Or worse, what if they hate it?”

“They won’t hate it,” you insist, your voice firm. “And even if some people don’t get it, so what? You wrote this for yourself, right? That’s what matters.”

He stares at you for a moment, his gaze searching. Then he nods slowly, a small smile playing at his lips. “Maybe you’re right.”

-

10:15 PM – Planning the Debut

You and Vernon brainstorm how to share his music with the world. He’s not one for grand gestures, so you settle on something intimate: a live stream. It’s low-pressure, just him and his guitar in the cozy apartment, playing for whoever stumbles upon the video.

“We could set up here,” you suggest, gesturing to the corner of the living room by the window. “The lighting’s nice, and it’ll feel authentic.”

Vernon nods, his confidence growing as the plan takes shape. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

You spend the next hour setting up. The coffee table gets cleared, fairy lights are strung along the windowsill, and Vernon’s guitar is tuned to perfection. You even dig out an old tripod for his phone, ensuring the angle captures him and the warm glow of the room.

As the clock ticks closer to showtime, Vernon’s nervous energy becomes palpable. He paces the room, muttering lyrics under his breath and shaking out his hands.

“You’re going to be great,” you reassure him, placing a hand on his arm. “Just play like it’s one of our late-night jams. No pressure.”

He takes a deep breath and nods. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

-

11:30 PM - The Performance

The live stream starts, and for the first few moments, it’s just Vernon sitting in front of the camera, his guitar resting on his lap. The viewer count is low at first, just a handful of usernames popping up in the corner of the screen. But as he begins to play, his voice steady and rich, more people join.

You watch from behind the camera, your heart swelling with pride. He’s in his element, completely absorbed in the music. The chat fills with comments, all variations of “Wow,” “This is amazing,” and “I needed this tonight.”

When he finishes the song, he looks up at the screen, his lips curving into a shy smile. “Thanks for listening, everyone,” he says, his voice soft. “This one’s been a long time coming.”

He plays a few more songs, the energy in the room shifting from nerves to something more celebratory. By the time he wraps up, the viewer count has climbed into the hundreds, and the chat is overflowing with messages of encouragement.

-

11:55 PM – Post-Show Glow

After the stream ends, Vernon leans back on the couch, letting out a long exhale. “That was… intense,” he says, running a hand through his hair.

“You killed it,” you reply, plopping down beside him. “Seriously, Vernon, you were amazing. Did you see how many people tuned in?”

He grins, his cheeks tinged with pink. “Yeah, that was wild. I didn’t expect so many people to care.”

“Well, they do,” you say, nudging his shoulder. “And now they’re all going to be waiting for your next song.”

He laughs, the sound light and carefree. “No pressure, right?”

-

12:15 AM – Reflection

The apartment has settled into a comfortable quiet again, the adrenaline of the live stream fading into a warm afterglow. Vernon sits cross-legged on the floor, strumming his guitar idly, while you stretch out on the couch, staring at the ceiling.

“Thanks for pushing me to do this,” he says after a while, his voice breaking the silence. “I don’t think I would’ve done it without you.”

You turn your head to look at him, a soft smile on your lips. “You would’ve done it eventually. I just sped up the process.”

He shakes his head. “No, really. You believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. That means more than you know.”

His words settle over you, warm and genuine, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. The only sound is the soft strumming of his guitar and the distant hum of the city outside.

Vernon looks up from his guitar, his gaze meeting yours. His voice is soft but steady when he adds, “…And I don’t want to lose what we have.”

His words hang in the air, and you suddenly realize just how much these late-night moments have come to mean to both of you.

As the clock strikes midnight, you feel a quiet sense of contentment. This is what home feels like—a place where late-night jams turn into something magical, where shared dreams and quiet moments become the foundation of something bigger.

And as Vernon starts to hum a new melody, you can’t help but wonder what’s next for the two of you—as roommates, as friends, and maybe, just maybe, as something more.

✴︎🪷𓈒͏ུུ̑̑. ཉ — by @fruvittea

[sweettofuki]

You were making out with Hoshina when he wants to take it further. 18+ Hoshina x f!reader mature content ahead! Slight jealousy

Hands were everywhere, a frenzy of movement as you couldn’t decide where to place them. All you knew was that you needed to get closer, deeper into your Vice-Captain’s mouth.

Everyone knew that you and Hoshina were dating, so it wasn’t unusual to see you wandering down the corridor to his room late at night.

Before you knew it, simple conversations about our day turned into cuddling, and cuddling led to you on top of him, making out passionately.

“This outfit is driving me insane. Did you really have to wear it? What if other guys caught you walking to my room in it?” Hoshina said, his voice frantic.

“Baby, don’t make it sound like I was dressed like a hooker. It’s just a tank top and sweatpants. Relax.” you replied, rolled your eyes playfully.

“Don’t tell me to relax when you basically are?? Do you know how sexy you look right now? Your pants are at your waist, your top is so low-cut that your boobs are spilling out, and oh yeah. You’re not wearing a bra?” he exclaimed.

“Why? Don’t you like them without a bra?” you pout at him, looking up with doe eyes.

“Well, yeah but—” Hoshina’s words were abruptly cut off by a groan.

A sudden jolt of pleasure coursed through him as he looked down, watching you grind your hips against his crotch. Seizing the moment, you pressed your lips back onto his.

“Mmm…” he moaned against your soft lips, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. “Ya lips taste like heaven...”

He gently brushes the hair away from your face and tucks the strands behind your ears

What started as pecks on his lips soon evolved into soft kisses, growing more passionate as each kiss lingered longer and longer.

The harder he kisses you, the tighter his grip on your hips, as if squeezing your waist could keep him grounded. Slowly, his hands trail from your hips to the hem of your pants, slipping them off you until you’re left in your black thongs.

His fingers slide under the delicate fabric. You felt a shiver tingled down your spine as you felt a brush of his fingers on your asshole. He played off groping your ass as if the perfectly placed finger was an accident. Curse his slender, long fingers! (not)

With a firmer grip, he pulls the thin fabric on either side of your waist, the friction of your skimpy excuse of an underwear against your folds made your nipples harden, which he felt through your tank top.

“Fuck baby, I take it all back. You should definitely wear this more often when you come to see me. I can fight,” Hoshina said.

You let out a small giggle as his face lit up with a smile. He’s so sick in love with you that your light laughter sounded like melodies to his ear. He pulled you back into a passionate kiss, the intensity of it making your heart race.

The heat of the passionate kiss clouded his mind, and before he knew it, he was rolling his hips into you. The feeling of his hard cock pressing against your sensitive clit through the thin material earned a loud moan out of you. He groaned deeply, finally releasing some of the pent-up pressure in him, pre-cum leaking out of his tip. Any longer, and he would have come in his pants.

“I’m sorry doll. I can’t take it any longer. I need to be inside ya,” he whined, he could barely keep it together.

He spreads your leg by the knees from below. He took off his military cargo pants with an obvious tent at his groin. His erection springs out, standing with precum oozing out. He taps his flushed tip at your entrance, before pushing it in slowly. Your eyes roll up as he stretches you out. When his cock was pushed to the hilt, his hips started to move.

[’’’]

In the next moment, both of your clothes found purchased next to each other on the floor.

You rolled your hips as you rode his length, eyes trained onto the sight of his girth desperately swallowed into your greedy tight cunt. It must have been three… five orgasms? You couldn’t keep track, but you were still going at it. Your eyelids drooped like curtains, hands pressing against his chest as you lifted yourself, back arching while you bounced on his cock. Teeth sank into his bottom lip as both you and Hoshina panted heavily, his groans sound sinful to listen to.

His hair was disheveled, eyes closed in concentration as he tried not to come inside you again. He desperately fought to hold himself back, but the way your warm pussy walls hugged his dick and his overly sensitive tip nudged your cervix relentlessly made it impossible. He couldn’t help but feel that knot twisting itself loose in his stomach.

“I’m…fuck….I’m sorry baby. I’m gonna move you, okay?” he groaned

Too fucked out to fully comprehend his words, you felt his strong grip on the flesh of your ass. His feet dug into the bed as he lifted his hips.

For a split second, you welcomed the well-needed rest, letting your upper body fall onto his chest, your palms laid flat on his pecs.

It didn’t last long. He began rutting into you wildly, his hips pounding against you and hitting all your sweet spots with vigorous precision. His biceps bulged as he held you up.

“A-AH, mmm…fuck,” you whined. “Slow down, Hoshina, please!”

“Hah…I know you can take it. Mmmph…Just hold onto me, yeah? Let me do all the work, you just relax. You’re doing so well for me baby,” he cooed.

His cock rammed into your swollen cervix vigorously, continuously, and consecutively…

You couldn’t think of any other words to describe how hard and fast he was pounding into you at that moment.

“Good girl. You’re hah holding up well— mmmph Wanna feel you come around me,” he grunted.

Your breath came out in shaky gasps. He could tell you were close just by the way your walls clenched tight around him. Your breath hitched with his every brutal thrust, and you creamed around the base of his shaft, mixing in with previous fluids. His heavy balls, coated in a mix of saliva, his and your cum, slapped loudly and vulgarly against your ass.

“Shit….! No matter how many times I watch—fuck— you cum on my cock, you look so fucking hot every time,” he smirked up at you in a teasing manner, barely holding it in himself as well.

A deep groan rumbled in his chest, resonating through you.

“I-I’m close too.” he muttered into your hair.

With a few more powerful thrusts, fucking through his own orgasm, staining your walls with his cum.

With his softening cock still inside you, he collapsed, his arms instinctively wrapping around you.

“Are you okay, baby? Was I too rough?” He whispered, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“My abdomen hurts, Soshiro,” you groaned, burying your head into his shoulder.

Upon hearing that, he began to tenderly rub your lower abdomen as his eyes filled with worry.

“I’m so sorry, baby. You just felt so good that I lost control,” he said, rubbing his hand over your back in comfort. “I promise I will be gentler next time,”

“It’s okay, baby. You felt incredible too. I just won’t be getting up in a while.” you reassured him.

“Damn, I was that good huh?” he teased, a playful grin spreading across his face.

You slapped his cheek lightly, causing him to laugh.

“Careful, sweetheart. Any harder and you’re gonna make me hard again,” he smirked at you through his tousled bangs.

[melliemell]

Happy Birthday to the biggest baby ever!

Shoutout to Flamey for hosting his bday party and encouraging us to participate (gosh, I love her writing so much, you've no idea)

Pairing: Ranpo x reader

Contents: SFW, Ranpo being a menace, bike riding 101 + public transport is for losers, approx 2.1k words

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

“I don’t see the point in that,” Ranpo declared with all the dignity in the world as he flopped down on the pavement. Carefree. And too calm.

You levelled your breath, trying to balance the bike on your hip as your anxiety grew by the second. You’ve been employed at the ADA for some time now, not enough to be on familiar terms with your colleagues, but enough to have figured out some of their quirks and knacks over the weeks.

Ranpo was a pretty open book, to be frank. A man that whined and lazied about most of the time, but most importantly– he never seemed to be in a hurry for anything. 

“This is the best I could do,” you said, clutching the bike’s handles in exasperation. “Please, Ranpo. If we don’t go now, we’ll be late for the 4 pm meeting.” 

You could, under no circumstances, be late for that. Especially Ranpo, seeing as he was the one who’d be leading the update on the new case you were signed to. He was signed to. Not you, you were merely the unlucky clerk who happened to be at the office at the wrong time. You had wondered why everyone scurried away when Yosano asked for assistance with Ranpo.

The man was an absolute disaster with public transport. 

Even more so when said transport was also nonexistent, and you might be somewhat stranded in an unfamiliar neighbourhood with no available taxis and a bored out of his mind detective looking at you like you’ve grown a second head in the span of 2 seconds.

“What?” you asked.

Ranpo leaned back on the heels of his palms, head cocked as he raised a brow. “You don’t even know how to ride that, by the way. How’s that gonna work out for ya?”

You don’t remember mentioning that to him. You raised your chin. “It’s a matter of balance more than anything. And determination.” Or so you hoped; not that it mattered. It was this or the walk of shame.

Not on your watch.

“Sure sure,” Ranpo answered absently as he flipped his phone, a catchy melody spilling from it a moment later, a familiar rhythm game flashing briefly from what you could see on the screen.

You pursed your lips.

You looked down at the bike, trying to focus. Most things really did come down to a few simple truths– an insistent mindset and a healthy dose of delusion and you were good to go! Although, as you sat down, one leg tentatively balancing your weight, and Kunikida’s voice of stern encouragement in your head–he would do what he must for his responsibilities, truly a man to look up to–you stepped on the pedal and–

The bike swirled, your eyes widening in panic as you fought in that millisecond to regain balance. You heard a low wohoo from behind you even if Ranpo’s eyes were still glued to his phone. 

Yes, right. Determination.

It was almost like a mantra, one that sounded more and more exasperated in your head with every attempt at moving this damned bike. It just wouldn’t keep still. Clutching onto the handles for dear life made little to no difference in your fight against gravity. But your annoyed huffs and general aura of built-up exasperation did finally bring about something.

That is, Ranpo sighing dramatically before standing up. 

He leaned close, poking you in the shoulder. “That’s not how you do it, stupid.” 

You looked at him, forcing a face of serenity on your features. “I only need a bit of time.”

“I’m bored. Looking at you failing at basic physics made me hungry too.”

A thought popped into your mind. You smiled innocently. “Is that so?”

“Don’t try that with me.” He looked around, trying to mask the giddiness in his body before he spoke again. “My work is very tiring and I need my deserved downtime. With snacks provided.”

“But you’re not finished with work.”

“Helloo?” Ranpo waved his hand in your face. “Case closed, job done. And I already sent a text with some details while you were wriggling in the air like a sardine.” He pouted, crossing his hands. “What’s the point in talking to a bunch of old men about their job when I already did it for them.”

Kunikida had briefed you on this before. You knew perfectly well where this was going. 

“Ranpo,” you began, not letting his dejected puppy face sway you in the slightest. “It is in the best interest of the Agency that we proceed in a customary manner. If we wish to maintain the respect we’ve attained, then I will do what is–”

“They knew they couldn’t solve their case without me, though,” Ranpo stated matter of fact. Like it was common sense.

You blinked. “Yes, because of the ADA’s reputation–”

“Nuh-huh, not that. They know my reputation. Can’t help it, being the best that I am.”

“Ranpo, I can’t deny your immeasurable talents–” you could almost see his ears perk up at the compliment, “–but… we still need to get there, they need to hear from yourself about everything. And impress them in person with your deductive prowess.”

You were grasping at anything at the moment. Convincing Ranpo was more concerning than the bike situation, and besides, multitasking was for losers. One victory at a time.

But it seemed to do the trick, at least a bit. Ranpo was far more receptive than earlier and with just the right amount of push… a man with vanity was easy to spin around, although it leaves you with a bitter sense of disloyalty in the end.

“Hmm,” Ranpo hummed, eyeing up the bike behind you as his hand came up to his chin in thought. “You know we’ll definitely run over a car sooner or later. Or a poor grandma, they run about in the afternoons a lot.”

“Uuh,” you said, dumbly. Not like you could argue with that.

A silent pause of a few seconds, followed by a prolonged groan as Ranpo slacked his body forward.

“We’ll begin slow; I’m a quick learner if–”

Your words died in your throat as Ranpo all but heaved a great sigh and plopped himself on the bike seat. 

He threw a glance over his shoulder, “I’m doing this once and only once. And only after you agree to stop by a candy shop on the way.” He patted the remaining space behind him as you looked at him, surprise written on your face.

No way. No way was this man–this man who barely knew how to punch up the right buttons on the ticket machine thinking he’d be the one in the front.

“You know, I think it would be best if I was at the handles,” you started, earning a scoff from Ranpo.

“Sure, if you insist. Aaall the way from the back. And do the navigation; I still don’t know where we are right now.”

You came closer, still unsure. “Ranpo, don’t tell me you actually know how to ride a bike?”

“What kind of loser doesn’t learn it when they’re a kid,‘ he said, then cocked his head. “Besides you, I guess. Weren’t we in a hurry, by the way?”

You eyed Ranpo suspiciously. Although he was sitting with an air of confidence that could belong to someone who knew what they were doing.

Or he was just being Ranpo. 

Tentatively, you sat down in the space behind him, earning a finally from Ranpo as he faced forward. The remaining doubt in your mind all but exploded into a rush of panic and clutched hands in fabric as sudden wind engulfed you, the street you were in a messy blotch of colours as it flew by.

“Hey!” Ranpo shouted over his shoulder, wriggling. “It’s just a small slant, so stop clinging so much! Work on checking where that store is.”

You hadn’t realized you had all but glued yourself to Ranpo’s back, hands clutching the front of his vest like a lifeline. You tried loosening your grip, enough to give him some breathing space but ended up just wrapping them in a different position. Not a chance…

“I am not taking out my phone, Ranpo. Please slow down. Please. Very please.”

“We’re almost down, it’s fine. I also don’t know where we’re going,” Ranpo said, glancing at you briefly. “Do you have motion sickness or something?”

You gritted your teeth. “No. I’m fine. Just don’t get us to the main road or I might really die–”

“No problem. No clue where that is.”

You sighed. Cars and traffic lights didn’t sound like they’d go well with you both right now. You could get by pretty okay with general directions, so you’d be fine so long as you kept away from any vehicles. An idea formed in your mind as Ranpo slowed down by the end of the road.

“Take a left here,” you said, calming your breathing. Ranpo nodded.

You got the hang of it by your third or fourth crossing, careful to keep by residential buildings rather than risk your luck. You knew you were heading in the right direction at least. You had silently hoped Ranpo would drop the candy shop idea, there was barely time for that, and it seemed the case he was more amused by chatting aimlessly as he pedalled along to your directions. You barely listened to him at the start but as the minutes went by you found yourself relaxing, bit by bit, his words serving as a distraction.

Knowing Ranpo, it might have been on purpose. Or not. He rarely cared for such things, but you still found yourself smiling gently at the possibility. He could be nice when he wants to. 

“Hey, where now? You look spacy back there, should I bring up the speed?” Ranpo asked, snorting at your quick stammer of absolutely not, don’t you dare, Ranpo!

Buildings and streets soon turned into nestled playgrounds amongst trees, and the number of benches with senior citizens gossiping about their day brought about a peaceful change of scenery as you entered one of the bigger parks. You breathed a sigh of relief. You were pretty near by now.

Ranpo whistled absently, looking about. “You know, just when I was thinking we’d spare the grandmas.”

You laughed despite yourself. “Okay okay, I’m sorry for panicking earlier. We’ve been doing pretty great so far, let’s keep it at that.”

“Hmm.” Ranpo stretched back, moving your body with his as you got a mouthful of hair in your face. “Only because I saved the day here. It’s exhausting being in the front.”

“Why, do you want to switch places?” You said, shaking his hair from your face.

The bike slowed down as Ranpo’s green eyes stared back at you. “Obviously. But that also means I’ll have to suffer the consequences. Don’t wanna.” He flopped back, fully resting against your front as he pouted. 

You weren’t used to that much proximity with him, but then again his disregard for personal space had always been pretty much there. “Just a bit more, we’re almost there, you know.”

“Bleh.”

“Come on, come on,” you said as you began poking him incessantly in the cheek. He batted your hand away and you laughed. “I promise I’ll know how to ride a bike in case of a next time.” 

Ranpo sighed dramatically, but picked up the speed. “I still haven’t forgotten about the snacks. You owe me, you know.”

You rolled your eyes. What a big baby. “Yep, they’ll be on me. So long as you get us on time.” You poked him again for emphasis. 

“Hey!” Ranpo grabbed your hand, drawing it back to its place around his torso. “And you stay there, sheesh.” 

You nestled back on his shoulder, hiding the grin spreading on your lips. He was pretty fun to tease. 

Ranpo eyed you, and then after a pause– “Meeting’s gonna be a bore. I’ll give 15 minutes tops and we’re out of there, you hear? That’d be enough for you to find a pastry nearby, right?”

“Wait, now?” You had thought more along the lines of ‘bring him some chocolates next time at work’ type of situation. This did catch you off guard. 

“Duh, and don’t lose the bike,” he said, matter of fact. “Might as well educate you on how not to run into trees. Or children.” That was accompanied by your yelp after a risky manoeuvre around a group of running children. 

This… wasn’t something you expected. You tried to look closer at Ranpo’s face but he kept his gaze straight ahead, features neutral save for a light flush that had spread on his cheeks. He was rather handsome, now that you think about it. And as annoying as he could be, you found yourself wondering what else you could learn about him.

Life was about trying out things, wasn’t it? “If you make fun of me again I swear to you Ranpo Edogawa, I will eat all of the snacks I’m bringing.”

“Hey, now! That’s mean.”

“I’m paying for them, mister. You’ve been warned.”

[wetwork09]

— "Be not afraid, sinner. Your devotion to God shows goodness in you; plentiful indeed. The heart is willing but the body must rest, lest you squander one of the Lord’s creations."

ㅤ ㅤ "Radiant is Gabriel, for he is the ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤlight in my darkness." —

I think that FerryGabe is one of the most beautiful and poetic relationships in the whole ULTRAKILL, no matter if you see it as platonic, romantical, sexual or religious.

I believe that Ferrymen are former soldiers, having to exist in Wrath and drown in regretful sorrow of their past. But which soldiers? Those, who were defending their Motherland, their people, themselves. Not the ones who were attacking. I'm sure they were scared, and that developed in both apathy and inhuman anger. And to have at least some kind of hope while fighting against machines, they turned to religion.

So of course, their soul is purer than one of just an aggressive and spiteful person in the past. They deserve to be much closer to Heaven, through their holy clothing and, even if not planned at first, personal contact with one of the Archangels.

"Suddenly, there was a light as brilliant as the Lord himself, ushering me from the darkness with mighty arms that held me with such compassion and warmth as I have never known..."

"His gentle words eased the pain and mended my wounds. My face wet with tears of relief, my words muffled by the weight of my duty. I could only lay in reverence, carried in the embrace of majesty."

Just read in these words of one of the Ferrymen. They describe their saviour, Gabriel, the only Archangel that at least somehow cared about the damned ones, as some sort of miracle. Someone more than saviour and just a holy figure. He basically twisted their view of their life in Hell to all 180 degrees. He gave them motivation to keep helping other sinners, to keep defending those threatened, like they used to do back in the days as a soldier.

And the mere fact that they are in Wrath, layer of Hell just before Heresy, sinners of which even God himself will never accept or forgive (as I believe), and yet they deserved such mercy and tender care from someone like Gabriel, it probably blew their mind. I'm not even deeply discussing the fact that they literally tore off their skin to be closer to the divine, while they're on edge of being unforgivable and even Sisyphean Insurrectionists have more chances to one day ascent to the Skies' Kingdom than them.

No wonder they would make sculptures, holograms, paintings of him. He is one of the reasons why they continue standing every day. A reason to continue living and not drown themselves. His words are not a simple compliment, they're like a well remembered prayer, a sweet and desired melody in mind of this Ferryman that always plays to keep them happy and hopeful.

Considering how sinful Gabriel is in his nature, as minimum from the pride he took in defeating Minos and Sisyphus, there is a possibility that they could be together more personally than a believer with an angel. I honestly think that they can even participate in lustful actions, at least after Gabriel would wipe out the Heavenly Council.

This is my perspective and anatomy practice. And a text composition practice too, English is not my first language, but I'm really interested in writing. I'll appreciate all kinds of support.

(please dont look at the date i barely had ±30 minutes every 2-3 days to draw because of school (a full art of mine takes approximately 20 hours or more to finish because i suck))

[dootznbootz]

LOVED the Vengeance saga, hated Calypso's song I'm sorry

**is being creepy and obsessive over a man who's clearly in distress and doesn't like her, as well as she ACTIVELY keeps him on her island for SEVEN YEARS against his will** "W-Well my love is just too much for you"

I get she didn't rape him in EPIC, but she was still terrible towards him and washing down to "her love was just too much for him" is a bit iffy to me :((

Honestly? I think "I'm Not Sorry For Loving You" is actually fantastic in showing HOW Manipulative and selfish she is.

She's doing a "Woe is me" with her loneliness, she is still somewhat putting the "blame" on Odysseus with her "My love being too much for you, sorry that you can't handle it", when it's straight up not taking no for an answer, she even constantly speaks over Odysseus. Yeah, she's "not sorry".

Even with her beautiful voice, (wonderful job Barbara Wangui!) and sweet melody, it's like she IS supposed to be this "perfect paradise, song, goddess, etc."

What really bothers me is Epic Odysseus' "I love you...Just not in the way you want me to".

I think there either needs to be more apprehension in his voice when he says that. Maybe even in Calypso's tangent, he realizes "oh shit, she's making the island do shit. oh think quick to calm her down." and then having to say "Not in the way you want me to." to still make it clear that he's leaving.

I hope we get an explanation from Jay for his wording here? Because while Odysseus did appreciate Calypso helping him heal and recover from being at sea without food and water for a while AND most likely injuries in general, like...He Never loved her.

In some ways, I almost wish we got a bit more of the Odyssey for his answer. As Calypso, basically mocks Penelope and "why do you wanna go back to her? She will age and I won't. this place is perfect. I am perfect."

And then Odysseus being like "...You're an immortal goddess, ofc, she can't compare to you. She will age and go old. But I will stop at nothing to get back home. I've already been through so much shit, if it means going home, I can go through more."

[...] But if you only knew, down deep, what pains you’d stay right here, preside in our house with me and be immortal. Much as you long to see your wife, the one you pine for all your days … and yet I just might claim to be nothing less than she, neither in face nor figure. Hardly right, is it, for mortal woman to rival immortal goddess? How, in build? in beauty?” “Ah great goddess,” worldly Odysseus answered, “don’t be angry with me, please. All that you say is true, how well I know. Look at my wise Penelope. She falls far short of you, your beauty, stature. She is mortal after all and you, you never age or die … Nevertheless I long—I pine, all my days— to travel home and see the dawn of my return. And if a god will wreck me yet again on the wine-dark sea, I can bear that too, with a spirit tempered to endure. Much have I suffered, labored long and hard by now in the waves and wars. Add this to the total— bring the trial on!”

(Book 5, Fagles)

Puttng in Fitzgerald's too because I wike it :3

"[...] If you could see it all, before you go -All the adversity you face at sea- you would stay here, and guard this house, and be immortal- though you've wanted her forever, that bride for whom you pine each day. Can I be less desirable than she is? Less interesting? Less beautiful? Can mortals compare with goddesses in grace and form?" To this the strategist Odysseus answered: "My lady goddess, here is no cause for anger. My quiet Penelope-- how well I know--would seem a shade before your majesty, death and old age being unknown to you, while she must die. Yet, it is true, each day I long for home, long for the sight of my home. If any god has marked me out again for shipwreck, my tough heart can undergo it. What hardship have I not long since endured at sea, in battle! Let the trial come."

Even his usage of just simply defending Penelope by saying "My Wise Penelope" and how he's still saying "Yep! You are a goddess! Penelope is mortal... I'm still going home!"

This is something I find interesting with Epic Odysseus on Ogygia: After he speaks of Penelope the first few times in "Love in Paradise". He doesn't really talk about her on Ogygia again. Even at the ending of "Love in Paradise", when he's about to "close his eyes", he doesn't speak of Penelope or anything. Which is like, his one driving force for living at this point, in the Odyssey and the Musical. He's just wracked by grief, when it's mostly the fact that he's fucking TRAPPED and can't leave to go HOME.

It makes me wonder if for Epic Odysseus, he is trying to not mention Penelope as much to keep Calypso's anger at bay. Especially when you think of how in the source material, Calypso mocks Penelope and he has to carefully word things to not anger her as a goddess yet still make it clear that he will leave. He wants to leave and he doesn't care if there's more shit he has to deal with. He has to try.

Or maybe it's a spell of some sort. idk. Especially as we have Odysseus once more singing about Penelope and how much he longs for her once he's off Ogygia. Just a thought :P

I almost get this weird vibe that Epic is making Circe more of a "villain" than Calypso (which yes. Circe did coerce Odysseus in the Odyssey and was trying to in Epic. I literally wrote a whole essay about it.) But like, in comparison, Circe in Epic is not nearly as bad as Calypso in Epic. Same in the Odyssey. Like Circe DOES eventually become an "ally" after Odysseus begs her to let him leave, Calypso had to be FORCED to let him go. IN BOTH EPIC AND THE ODYSSEY.

idk. funky feelings :/

[thelostgirl21]

So, you are telling me that Jaskier used to wear outfits the color of the sea in Season 1...

That he constantly complains about his feet hurting, or struggling with keeping his footing while having to wear boots (is the problem his actual boots or a lack of early practice in life?!)...

That he got all excited at the thought that Geralt might catch him a fish to eat...

That a huge part of his identity and the pride he takes in himself is tied to his singing voice and abilities...

That his songs have been described as having the power to sing a king off his clothes...

That helping his best friend in the whole wide world bathe after rubbing soothing chamomile onto his lovely bottom is typical friendship behavior to him...

That he vulnerably asked for Geralt to get away for a while with him, and head to the (west?) coast, in the hopes that he might be able to prove himself a worthy [travel] companion (works whether you interpret the interest as romantic or queerplatonic).

And then he basically implied that (returning home with Geralt?) might be what would please him most.

That the very first thing he did after Geralt returned to him and got him out of his cell in Season 2, is take off his top and jump into the freaking nearest body of water!

That he's hypersensitive to the way people on land start stinking after a while (including himself), and will openly suggest they should bathe (or downright bathe them himself)!

That he talks with animals...

That you had him fall in love with a human prince in Season 3...

... then had him sing a song about a human prince that falls in love with a siren to Ciri right before you had him go meet with said prince, share his first kiss with him, and make love to him in a woodshed!

... only to show a clip from "Sirens of the Deep" revealing that the Netflix version of Jaskier is from

Bremervoord

a.k.a. The vassal state of Cidaris and one of the places that goes the furthest west into the sea on the Continent!

Bremervoord, with an economy running primarily on pearls fishing.

Bremervoord, the place where the story of Jaskier's Season 3 song, "A Little Sacrifice" takes place...

A place where a prince (though I think it's a duke in the actual short story) meets a siren, falls in love with her, and willingly leaves his human life behind to follow her at sea.*

*according to the song, at least! And I'm not sure it ends well for the prince of the song, because that part about him sinking to darkest night sounds a bit ominous if you ask me... The book's short story has a different conclusion.

You're basically telling me that Jaskier comes from a place on the coast that goes far into the sea to the west, a place where merpeople and humans occasionally interact, and that he didn't really feel like talking about where he's from, because he felt like the only way for him to ever be able to "become himself" was to leave his home behind...

... AND YOU EXPECT ME NOT TO LATCH ONTO THAT POPULAR MERMAN!JASKIER THEORY?!

OR INSTINCTIVELY START DEVELOPING A BUNCH OF HEADCANONS ABOUT IT?

For example :

What if Jaskier keeps repeating that "he's just a bard" not because he's actually dismissing how good, influential, or powerful he is...

... but because he chose to give up his tail to permanently become a human, and he doesn't like to be reminded that he doesn't quite "fully belong" with humanity, because there's something a bit different and "unique" about his singing.

What if, growing up as a merboy, he'd kept feeling like he was born in the wrong body and with the wrong species given his brethren's attitude about singing as an artform.

What if when merpeople sing, they typically rely on pure melodies without lyrics, and argue that only humans and other species of the land - with their inferior vocal capabilities - must rely on something as primitive as words and lyrics to inspire emotions and make ideas take root into other people's minds.

What if they do have a singing speech pattern, but when it comes to artistic expression, the songs are purely melodic.

But Jaskier, after listening to some of the folk songs that the local bards enjoy singing by the fire at the beach, often accompanied by a lute or other instruments, fell in love with the way the words of those songs flow and sound.

Perhaps he revealed himself to Essi then, and that, instead of being scared of him, she agreed to show him how to play the lute, speak her language, and sing the way humans do.

And when he did fully grasp the beauty and the power of using verbal poetry into songs, he knew he could never look back.

What if Essi was the first person to ever really see him for who he was and treat him as family, hence why he loves her like a little sister.

Maybe "the Lettenhoves" are basically a group of merpeople with no actual blood relation, that lost their own families and were rejected by them when they chose to make the full transition from merperson to human.

By pretending to be blood relatives, they've managed, however, to realistically pass as a large human noble family, acquire a bunch of lands and estates over the years that is passed to each new generation that wants them, and each new member is given a certain amount of money when they become one of the Lettenhoves to begin their new life on land!

They aren't extremely close, because they each have their own lives and personal ventures (very few go into singing careers), but they are still people that understand what being a human born at sea feels like, and that will be there to offer each other help and support if need be!

And so, Jaskier was able to go study at the University of Oxenfurt and learn as much of the human world and its arts as he could!

But, while his voice remains a bit more powerful and influential than most humans that were born on land, that influence comes with a "curse"...

Most people that instinctively fall under the charm of his melodies (note: Jaskier can use his voice to make an audience more susceptible to anger and annoyance when he sings, too. An especially useful skill to have when you're relying on food being thrown at you to eat... Hence why Geralt's lack of emotional response to his singing when they met was so intriguing!) will typically only care about how they make them feel, rather than how Jaskier himself was feeling when he wrote his songs.

Geralt, Yennefer and Ciri are all immune to his siren charms - and dwarves appear to be more resistant as well - but, while his songs inspire people, and hearing him sing them "live" with his actual voice tends to make people become instantly infatuated with him (or immediately hate him, should Jaskier wish to repel rather than attract them)...

... they rarely ever see him or seemingly attempt to connect with him on an intimate, emotional level, like they would with another human being.

And so, every time Jaskier is reminded of how much influence he appears to have over how people see the world when he uses his voice, Jaskier's tendency to remind them that he's "just a bard" is because he wishes people would connect with his humanity, too, rather than what he can do.

Regardless of him being able to pass as someone that was born on land and started his life in a fully human body, he knows that his voice will always carry some remnant of his siren abilities.

And that this difference appears to be preventing him from emotionally and physically connecting with other human beings that weren't born at sea like him, the way he wishes he could.

And so, that's why he was initially hesitant to sing for Radovid, and he kept insisting that he wasn't in a "singing mood" that day.

Because he knew that, the moment Radovid heard his singing voice, he might stop listening to him and trying to connect.

But there was something in the way Radovid insisted - while asking for Jaskier to pick his favorite song and showing a sincere curiosity about listening to what pleased him most - that made Jaskier ultimately choose to risk it.

And, while Radovid was obviously affected by the sound of his voice (to the point where he felt the need to pretend his speechlessness was caused by drunkenness), it was also very clear that he'd been listening.

Not only was his gaze very sharp and his eyes clear and bright while Jaskier was singing - seemingly attempting to analyse every note and word - but, for once, the things Radovid was complimenting him about weren't related to his ability to make people feel and experience things...

For once, what Radovid was claiming made Jaskier so special wasn't the beauty or power of his voice, or how catchy the melodies of the songs he'd sang to him were.

It wasn't even about how Jaskier's lyrics had made him feel.

He'd told Jaskier that what made him so special was his ability to see people for who they really are rather than who they pretend to be.

He'd essentially told him that his ability to truly comprehend those around him was his gift - that he had a unique ability to connect with them at the core... the very thing Jaskier had always felt that he was lacking.

And when Jaskier pushed him for more, all Radovid told him was that he didn't know yet, but was determined to figure it out.

"You connect strongly with others and my desire is to understand and connect with you."

That is what Radovid had taken away from who he was, even after having heard him sing, and Jaskier couldn't help but feel like he'd found a kindred spirit in that human.

Someone stuck in a world and a birth family that simply couldn't understand and accept him as he was - constantly hiding parts of himself to survive.

Radovid had then agreed to help him with the whole situation with Rience - despite the fact that Jaskier hadn't used any song to attempt to suggest he should, just genuinely asked for his help.

And - if that hadn't been enough - that prince had gone one step even further by asking him if Geralt knew how lucky he was to have him, after Jaskier had been singing about his self-worth issues when it came to relationships and his fear of never being good enough - or human enough - for a fellow human (or mutated human) partner.

He'd been listening to him.

He might have been born on land, and he might not have been immune to Jaskier's siren abilities, but Radovid still hadn't lost sight of who he was, nor been tempted to start obsessing about owning him or treating him like a prized possession.

And so, Jaskier tentatively begins to allow himself to hope...

Until Radovid does something truly unexpected that none of his prior human, elven or dwarven suitors or lovers had ever done before...

Learn his song.

Sirens are typically immune to the power that another siren's voices carry... until they fall in love.

One of the ways to know if a fellow merperson is alterously or romantically drawn to you is to sing back one of their own melodies to them, and see how they will respond.

Should they feel that instinctive, near irresistible pull towards the melody, and vice versa, then the two sirens will often start trying to discover and explore different ways they can learn to harmonize and use their voices to complement each other's, and create new shared melodies that will resound through the sea.

And, for the very first time in his life, Jaskier finally understands how people feel when they listen to him sing.

Despite the fact that the "siren's melody" being sung back to him is a human song he wrote, with human lyrics, accompanied by human instruments...

Despite the fact that Radovid himself is most definitely not a siren but very much human - fumbling a bit with Jaskier's lute, visibly nervous, too shy to allow his voice to rise above a whisper...

To Jaskier, it's the most beautifully mesmerizing "siren's melody" he's ever heard in his existence! It's filled with warmth, love, understanding, a promise of unconditional acceptance and safety...

It's absolutely intoxicating, he can barely breathe, feels like he's on the very edge of losing his sanity, and it takes all the power he has to avoid launching himself right at him!

And if a human can make him feel this way singing back to him a song filled with poetry and lyrics - rather than a classic, traditional siren's melody - then maybe there's never been anything wrong with Jaskier or the way he's always preferred to sing!

His people made him feel unwanted, but the sea never did! It probably would have been welcoming to a lute-playing merman singing like a bard, if his people hadn't been such close-minded arses!

Jaskier feels at home on land and has never once regretted his choice, but maybe he still has a right to also be a child of the sea, regardless of him having ultimately chosen a pair of legs over his fins!

And maybe Radovid would love to see parts of his old home some day - even if they can only access the surface of it, rather than go explore everything hidden in the water's depths (unless Yennefer has a spell that would allow Radovid to breathe under water as he does. Because Jaskier would never trust a sea witch with Radovid's life!).

And if Jaskier himself can be mesmerized by Radovid's song and feel like he would let that man lead him anywhere and do whatever he wants with him, without any desire to own and control him; maybe he'd simply been trying to connect with the wrong people.

Radovid is the first person he's ever met that seems to be able to connect with both the human and the siren part of him. And when Jaskier offers to help him work on his lute playing and singing, what he's truly saying is that he wants them to learn to harmonize their voices together and create their own melodies...

It's an intimate need Jaskier still has, and he's finally found himself a mate that appears to fully get him, and be able to fulfil those needs.

Of course, then the whole mess with Cirilla happens, and for a moment there Jaskier loses faith that any of it was ever real!

Who was he kidding!? The Redanian Intelligence kept insisting that they knew everything about everyone! Maybe they'd figured out Jaskier used to be a merman, done their research, noticed that Jaskier "fancied" the prince, and instructed him to surprise him and trick him into lowering his defenses, by courting him the way a fellow merman would!

He really should have known!

But then, when he finds Radovid alone, lost, and hiding, he realizes that Radovid had never meant to trick or hurt him.

Radovid had just been genuinely afraid, and trying to deal with the threat of a looming war as best he could by seeking Ciri's help.

And now, the war he'd attempted preventing from happening had begun, he'd clearly internalized Jaskier's earlier blame, and that spoon of a man was sufficiently bonded to him by now that he might just allow himself to be captured and killed if he doesn't do something about it!

And then, Jaskier himself might end up symbolically 'washing ashore' somewhere and letting himself die of heartbreak, for fuck's sake!

Because merpeople are dramatic as fuck and they feel the loss of friends and family in a way that's devastatingly sharp. Being rejected by a queerplatonic or romantic partner - or having them die on them - is the worst type of injury one could inflict upon them!

When he'd sung about having also survived, no thanks to Geralt, he'd fully meant it! That loss had nearly killed him!

If he wants to survive this, he needs to figure out a way to keep Radovid safe, and then make sure that Geralt and the rest of his family are safe also, because he doesn't know how he'd manage to continue to live in this world if the war ends up taking everything from him in a way where all hope would be lost of ever getting any of them back!