#they are both so stupid and i love them so much
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samuraionyourmom · 1 day ago
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If it's not from him, Dazai wants that damn thing OFF.
Ok so you know about the common Chuuya interpretation of his choker being "a collar" and representing his loyalty to the Port Mafia? Well,
ADA!skk
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I think a certain someone should be petty and bitter about Chuuya refusing to be his dog, and then going on to wear a "collar" for the organization instead.
Meanwhile, Chuuya is literally just minding his business and enjoying his new hot fashion statement.
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cceana · 3 days ago
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Arcane Highschool!AU
characters - vi, caitlyn, jinx, sevika, ekko, jayce and viktor content - 7.1k words, cliche highschool tropes, gn!reader, just pure fluff also a little reverse comfort
A/N this was so fun to do, cant believe i finished this in 1 day ahahahahhaah. this is my longest work yet so hopefully you guys enjoy it <3
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— Star Athlete!vi and Band!reader
You’ve spent most of your high school life flying under the radar as the band’s flute player—quiet, responsible, and perfectly content in your niche. Your days revolve around early-morning rehearsals, sheet music, and the steady rhythm of practice. It’s predictable, comfortable.
That is, until the school’s star athlete, Vi, always in whispers and cheers, bursts into your life like an unrelenting storm.
Shes everything you’re not—loud, brash, impulsive, and dangerously confident. The type who winks at the crowd after scoring the winning goal, whose swagger fills the halls, and who’s constantly making headlines for their fiery outbursts on and off the field. You’ve heard the stories: the scuffle at last week’s game, the heated argument with the coach, the rumors of detention slips piling up.
You’d barely exchanged more than a few words with her, but that changes when the school decides to host a collaborative pep rally—complete with a showstopping performance featuring both the sports teams and the band.
When the coach volunteers them to help promote school spirit by playing a surprise number with the band, you’re horrified. So is she.
“I don’t have time for this,” she scoff when she gets dragged to the band room. “Why don’t you all just play louder or something?”
Your teacher assigns you the unenviable task of teaching them how to play an instrument. You can practically hear your friends giggling behind your back as you pull them aside, thrusting a trumpet into their hands.
Vi groans, slouching in her chair like a bored kid in detention. “What’s the point of this? Everyone’s here to watch me win, not play this stupid thing.”
You bristle at their cocky tone. “Well, if you don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of the entire school, I suggest you try.”
VI then gives you a smirk, leaning in just a little too close. “Oh, you think I can’t do it? I’m good at everything.”
It turns out, she's not.
The first few lessons are a disaster. She blow into the trumpet like she's trying to blow out a candle from across the room, their fingers fumble over the valves, and she keep snapping, “This thing is broken!” every time it makes a screeching noise.
But underneath all the bravado and eye-rolls, you start to notice something. The way she glares at the trumpet when she messes up isn’t just frustration—it’s determination. she hates failing, and she hates it even more that they’re bad at this.
“I’m not giving up,” Vi declares after her third failed attempt to hit a note. “I’m not letting some dumb piece of metal beat me.”
The more you work together, the more cracks appear in their tough exterior. she's fiercely competitive, yes, but also surprisingly quick to laugh at themselves when the trumpet sputters out the wrong notes. Her cocky grin softens when you praise even her smallest improvement, and she starts showing up to practice earlier than you do.
One afternoon, as you’re packing up your sheet music, you catch them staring at the band photo on the wall. “You guys practice this much all the time?” Vi asked, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.
“Yeah,” you say, surprised. “It’s a lot of work, but it’s worth it.”
she nod slowly, her usual swagger replaced by something contemplative. “Never thought about it like that. I guess… it’s kind of like training, huh?”
That’s when you realize she's not as invincible as she seem. Behind the hot-headed confidence is someone who works just as hard as you do, who’s just as passionate about what they love—even if they show it in a completely different way.
And when the pep rally finally arrives, with the gym packed to the rafters, she surprise's everyone—not just with how she learned to play, but with how she step aside during the performance to let the band take the spotlight.
Afterward, as the crowd cheers, she give you a lopsided grin. “Not bad, huh? Guess I’m pretty good at this whole teamwork thing.”
You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide your smile.
The pep rally is over, and the gym is buzzing with energy as people file out, still cheering and talking about the unexpected performance. You’re gathering your things in the corner of the stage when you hear footsteps behind you.
“Hey,” she calls out, her voice softer than you’re used to.
You turn to find her standing there, holding her trumpet in one hand, the other rubbing awkwardly at the back of her neck. For once, her usual cocky smirk is nowhere to be seen, replaced by an expression that’s… almost nervous.
“Uh, so… you were pretty great out there,” she says, her eyes flickering between yours and the floor. “I mean, you’re always great, but, like, today—you really killed it.”
You blink, caught off guard by the compliment. “Thanks. You were pretty great too. You didn’t even mess up the solo.”
She laughs, a warm, genuine sound that makes your chest flutter. “Yeah, well, I had a good teacher. Guess I owe you for that.”
You shrug, trying to play it cool. “Maybe. But you did the work. I’m impressed, actually. Didn’t think you’d take it so seriously.”
She steps a little closer, her usual confidence creeping back into her voice. “Yeah? So, I impressed you?”
Your face heats up, and you roll your eyes to hide it. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late,” she teases, but her grin softens as her gaze lingers on you. For a moment, neither of you says anything. The noise of the gym fades into the background, and all you can hear is the faint hum of your own heartbeat.
She looks down at the trumpet in her hand, turning it over like she’s stalling. “You know… I used to think band stuff was just… background noise. Like, nobody really notices it. But being up there, seeing how much you guys put into it…”
Her voice trails off, and when she looks back at you, there’s something in her eyes that makes it hard to breathe. “It made me notice you more.”
Your breath catches. “Me?”
“Yeah.” She takes another step closer, so close now that you can feel the warmth radiating off her. “You’re not just some quiet band geek who hangs out in the background. You’re… amazing. And I’ve been an idiot for not seeing it sooner.”
You open your mouth to reply, but the words get stuck in your throat. She’s staring at you like you’re the only person in the world, and for the first time, you don’t feel small or invisible. You feel seen.
“I know I’ve been kind of… impossible,” she continues, her voice dropping lower. “But I don’t want to screw this up. So if I asked you to, I don’t know, grab milkshakes or something sometime… what would you say?”
You bite your lip, trying to suppress a smile. “I’d say… as long as you don’t try to play the trumpet during the date, I might say yes.”
Her laugh is loud and bright, and before you know it, she’s grinning down at you. “Deal.”
The gym lights flicker as the janitor starts cleaning up, and you realize you’ve been standing there for what feels like forever. But as she walks you out, her shoulder brushing against yours, you can’t help but think that maybe this impulsive, hot-headed star athlete isn’t so bad after all.
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— Childhood Bestfriend!caitlyn
You and Caitlyn were inseparable once, two halves of the same whole. Summers were spent running through sun-drenched fields, plotting grand adventures, and swearing eternal friendship under the stars. But that was years ago, before her family moved away to chase bigger opportunities, and you were left behind with only memories of her bright laugh and unshakable confidence.
Life moved on, and so did you. By high school, she’d become little more than a bittersweet memory. Until now.
When she walks into your homeroom on the first day of senior year, it feels like the air’s been knocked out of you. She’s taller now, with an effortless grace that makes the room go quiet. Her uniform looks somehow sharper on her, her long, dark hair falling in perfect waves. There’s something in the way she carries herself—poised and self-assured, like she owns the world—and maybe she does.
Her family name has become a symbol of power and wealth. She’s been in the headlines, her achievements as a youth advocate already earning her a reputation as a fierce voice for justice. And yet, when her gaze scans the room and lands on you, her face lights up with the same brilliant smile you remember from childhood.
“Hey,” she says as she slides into the empty seat beside you, her voice low and familiar. “Long time no see.”
You’re too stunned to do anything but nod.
You quickly learn that she’s not just here for nostalgia—she’s here with a purpose. Between rigorous AP classes, she’s working on a project to bring awareness to systemic issues in your town. Meetings, interviews, and late nights at the library seem to be her norm, and it doesn’t take long for her to rope you into helping.
At first, it feels surreal being around her again. The girl you once knew has grown into someone so driven, so ambitious, that it’s almost intimidating. She seems untouchable, like a shooting star too far away to reach.
But every now and then, the cracks in her polished armor show. When it’s just the two of you poring over notes at your kitchen table, she leans back with a sigh and pulls her hair into a ponytail, muttering about how she wishes she had more time to breathe. And when you laugh at her frustrations, she throws a crumpled piece of paper at you, her grin wide and mischievous.
“You haven’t changed a bit,” she says one evening, her eyes soft as they meet yours. “Still the only person who can make me laugh when I want to scream.”
It’s during one of these late-night sessions that the air between you shifts. You’re sitting on the floor of her family’s impossibly grand living room, surrounded by papers and laptops. She’s wearing a sweatshirt that’s too big for her, a far cry from the polished image she presents to the world, and you can’t help but think about how beautiful she looks like this—unguarded and real.
“You’ve been quiet tonight,” she says, tilting her head to look at you. “What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing,” you lie, your heart racing under her gaze.
She raises an eyebrow, leaning closer. “I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re lying.”
You hesitate, your pulse hammering in your ears. “It’s just… I can’t believe you’re here. That after all these years, we’re… us again.”
Her expression softens, and she shifts closer until your knees are almost touching. “I’ve missed you too, you know,” she says quietly. “It’s been so hard, being away from everything I used to care about. From you.”
Her words hang in the air, heavy and electric. You want to say something—anything—but the way she’s looking at you steals the breath from your lungs. Her dark eyes search yours, and for a moment, the world seems to still.
“Do you ever think about those nights we spent under the stars?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
You nod, swallowing hard. “All the time.”
“I do too,” she admits, her hand reaching out to brush against yours. Her touch is warm, grounding, and yet it sends a jolt through you. “Back then, I always thought we’d have forever. And when I left, I realized how much I hated being wrong about that.”
You’re not sure who moves first, but suddenly the space between you disappears. Her hand lingers on yours, her thumb tracing gentle circles against your skin, and you’re acutely aware of how close her face is to yours.
“Tell me if this is okay,” she murmurs, her voice trembling just slightly.
You nod, barely able to speak. “It’s more than okay.”
And then her lips are on yours, soft and hesitant at first, like she’s afraid you’ll pull away. But you don’t. You lean into her, your hand sliding up to tangle in her hair, and the kiss deepens—sweet and full of years’ worth of unspoken feelings.
When you finally pull back, she rests her forehead against yours, a breathless smile on her lips. “I’ve waited so long to do that,” she says, her voice tinged with relief.
“Me too,” you whisper, your heart soaring.
As the night stretches on, you realize that the girl you thought you’d lost has come back into your life, not as the same person she once was, but as someone even more extraordinary. And for the first time in years, the future doesn’t feel so uncertain—it feels full of possibilities, with her by your side.
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— New kid!jinx and Class president!reader
You’ve worked hard to get where you are. Every meeting attended, every speech prepared, every carefully crafted decision—it’s all been for the sake of keeping order in the chaos of your high school. As class president, your name carries weight. You’re the dependable one, the one who keeps everything running smoothly, the one who always has things under control.
Until Jinx shows up.
The whispers start on her first day. The new girl. The one who doesn’t seem to care about blending in. She strides into the building like she owns it, her uniform already disheveled, her blazer slung over her shoulder, and a wild grin on her face.
It doesn’t take long for her reputation to spread. She’s unpredictable, impulsive, and utterly magnetic. Within a week, she’s already broken half the school’s rules, talked her way out of three detentions, and somehow charmed half your classmates in the process.
And for some reason, she’s decided you’re her favorite target.
It happens during lunch. You’re sitting at your usual spot, surrounded by student council members, going over plans for the upcoming fundraiser when she walks up to your table.
“Class president,” she says, her voice dripping with mockery and something else you can’t quite place. “Mind if I join you?”
You glance up, already annoyed. “I’m busy.”
She smirks, pulling out a chair anyway. “That’s cute. You think I was asking.”
Your friends exchange uneasy glances, but she doesn’t seem to care. She leans back in the chair, her sharp pink eyes locked on you, as if she’s trying to unravel you with her gaze alone.
“You’ve got a real stick-up-your-ass vibe,” she says casually, plucking an apple from the tray in front of her. “I like that. It makes messing with you way more fun.”
You glare at her, trying to keep your composure. “Do you need something, or are you just here to waste my time?”
Her grin widens, and for a moment, you see a flicker of something wild and untamed in her expression. “Maybe I just like watching you squirm.”
She becomes a constant in your life after that. You find her waiting outside your classroom, lounging against your locker, or casually walking into student council meetings as if she belongs there.
“Do you ever stop?” you snap one afternoon, cornering her in the hallway after she’s disrupted yet another meeting.
“Stop what?” she asks innocently, tilting her head.
“Whatever game you’re playing.”
She steps closer, and for the first time, you notice just how intense her gaze is. “Who says it’s a game? Maybe I just like you.”
The words hang in the air, heavy and electric, and before you can respond, she turns on her heel and walks away, leaving you standing there, utterly baffled.
It’s not until much later that you start to see the cracks in her chaotic facade. One night, you find her sitting alone in the empty music room, the piano keys beneath her fingers. She’s not playing, just pressing random notes, her usual manic energy replaced by a quiet stillness.
“You shouldn’t be here,” you say, stepping into the room.
She doesn’t look up. “Neither should you.”
For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then she sighs, her shoulders slumping. “I bet you think I’m crazy.”
You hesitate, caught off guard by the vulnerability in her voice. “I think you’re reckless and impulsive and… exhausting. But no, I don’t think you’re crazy.”
She finally looks up at you, her eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them. “You’re too nice for your own good, you know that?”
“I’m not nice,” you counter. “I just… I think there’s more to you than the act you put on.”
Her lips twitch into a small, almost shy smile. “Careful, president. You keep saying things like that, and I might start to believe you.”
The more time you spend around her, the more you realize how deeply she feels everything. Her chaos isn’t just for show—it’s a shield, a way to keep people from getting too close. But with you, she starts to let her guard down.
One evening, she shows up outside your house, her hair messy and her eyes wild. “Come with me,” she says, grabbing your hand.
“Where are we going?” you ask, letting her drag you down the street.
“Anywhere,” she replies, her grip tight. “Everywhere. I don’t care.”
You end up at the park, sitting on a swingset as the stars blink overhead. She’s unusually quiet, her hands gripping the chains tightly as she stares at the ground.
“You ever feel like you’re spinning out of control?” she asks suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.
You glance at her, surprised by the question. “Sometimes.”
She exhales shakily, her fingers brushing against yours. “You… you make it stop. Just for a little while.”
Your heart skips a beat, and you don’t know if it’s the raw honesty in her words or the way her fingers linger against yours, but you feel something shift between you.
It happens later that night, as you’re walking her home. She stops in front of her house, turning to face you with an unreadable expression.
“Why do you put up with me?” she asks suddenly, her voice soft.
You frown. “What do you mean?”
“I’m a mess,” she says, her gaze dropping to the ground. “I break things, I hurt people… I’m not like you. I’m not good.”
“You’re not perfect,” you admit, stepping closer. “But you’re not as bad as you think you are, either.”
She looks up at you, her eyes shining with something you can’t quite name. “You’re going to regret saying that.”
“Maybe,” you say with a small smile. “But I don’t think so.”
Before you can overthink it, you lean in, your lips brushing against hers. She freezes for a moment, like she’s caught off guard, but then she kisses you back, her hands clutching at your sleeves as if you’re the only solid thing in her world.
When you finally pull back, her face is flushed, and she’s breathing hard. “You’re insane,” she mutters, though there’s no heat in her words.
“Takes one to know one,” you reply, grinning.
She laughs, the sound light and genuine, and for the first time, you feel like you’ve truly seen her—every broken, beautiful piece of her.
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—Troublemaker!sevika and Tutor!reader
You weren’t thrilled when your teacher assigned you as her tutor. You’d heard all the rumors: skipped classes, biting comebacks that left people reeling, and a permanent spot on the troublemaker watchlist.
Her reputation painted her as unteachable, untamable, and entirely uninterested in anything resembling authority. When your teacher insisted she “just needed guidance,” you couldn’t help but feel skeptical.
The first session confirmed it.
She slouched into the library ten minutes late, her bag dragging on the floor, and dropped into the chair across from you with a loud huff.
“Look,” she said before you could even greet her, “I don’t need some perfect little know-it-all telling me what to do.”
You blinked, caught off guard. “I’m just here to help.”
“Sure,” she scoffed, leaning back in her chair. “Let’s get this over with.”
Her tone was cutting, her expression bored, and yet… there was something about her. A quiet intensity lurking beneath the surface, like she was daring you to break through her tough exterior.
Each session felt like a test of patience. She was sharp, no question about it, but her attitude made every interaction a battle.
“You’re not even trying,” you said one afternoon after she tossed her pen aside for the third time.
Her eyes snapped to yours, hard and unyielding. “Don’t act like you know me,” she said coldly. “You think I don’t try? You think I don’t bust my ass every single day?”
You froze, startled by the edge in her voice.
She leaned forward, her gaze cutting through you like a blade. “I don’t need this. I don’t need you. I’m here because they told me to be.”
For a moment, you considered walking away. But then you saw it—just the faintest flicker of something vulnerable beneath her defiance.
“You’re right,” you said, keeping your voice calm. “I don’t know you. But I know you’re capable of more than this.”
Her jaw tightened, and she looked away, her fingers drumming on the table. “Whatever,” she muttered.
But she didn’t leave.
Slowly, things started to shift. She showed up on time—barely. She started taking notes—reluctantly. And every so often, she’d let her tough exterior slip, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the real her.
One afternoon, after a particularly grueling session, you handed her a worksheet.
“You’re getting better,” you said, offering her a small smile.
She snorted. “Don’t get all sentimental on me.”
“I’m not. I’m just saying you’re improving.”
“Yeah, well, don’t hold your breath for a thank-you card,” she replied, but there was a hint of a smirk on her lips.
Her walls were still up, but they were starting to crack.
It happened on a rare quiet day in the library. She was hunched over her notebook, her brow furrowed as she worked through a particularly tricky problem.
“Got it,” she said suddenly, sitting up straight.
“Really?” you asked, leaning over to check her work.
She shoved the notebook toward you, her smirk firmly in place. “Told you I’m not dumb.”
“I never said you were dumb,” you replied, meeting her gaze. “You just make things harder than they need to be.”
She rolled her eyes. “Maybe I like a challenge.”
“Or maybe you’re just stubborn,” you teased.
Her smirk softened, just for a moment. “Takes one to know one, princess.”
Your heart skipped a beat at the way she said it, her voice low and almost… fond.
After weeks of late afternoons spent together, you found yourself walking her home one evening. The sun was setting, casting a warm orange glow over the quiet streets.
“You’re not as bad as I thought,” she said suddenly, breaking the silence.
You blinked, surprised. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“Don’t push your luck,” she shot back, though her tone lacked its usual bite.
When you reached her house, she stopped at the gate, turning to face you. Her usual confidence wavered, just slightly.
“Why do you bother with me?” she asked, her voice quieter than usual.
“Because I see how hard you work,” you said honestly. “And because I think there’s more to you than what you let people see.”
She stared at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, without warning, she stepped closer, her hand brushing yours.
“You’re a real pain, you know that?” she murmured, her voice soft but firm.
Before you could respond, she leaned in, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that was as bold and unapologetic as she was.
When she pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, but her smirk was firmly in place.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” she said, turning toward her door.
You smiled, your heart racing. “Too late."
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—Artist!ekko and Muse!reader
It was one of those golden autumn afternoons, the kind where the sunlight made everything look softer, warmer, like it belonged in a painting. You’d escaped to the park during your lunch break, clutching a well-worn book in one hand and a coffee in the other. It wasn’t the first time you’d come here for a little peace and quiet, but it felt like one of the rare times you’d actually get it.
You settled on a bench near the fountain, a cozy corner of the park where the only sounds were the gentle trickle of water and the rustling of leaves in the breeze.
The moment you opened your book, however, you felt it—a faint, almost electric sensation prickling at the edge of your awareness. Someone was watching you.
Glancing up, you spotted him.
He was sitting on the grass a few yards away, sketchpad balanced on his knees, pencil flying across the page. His hair fell messily across his forehead, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to reveal forearms speckled with faint smears of paint. Despite the chaos of his appearance, his focus was absolute, his gaze darting between you and the paper as if you were some rare discovery he couldn’t afford to lose.
You furrowed your brow, unsure whether to feel flattered or alarmed. “Can I help you?” you called, your voice cutting through the quiet.
He blinked, as if snapping out of a trance, and stood quickly.
“Sorry,” he said, striding toward you. “I didn’t mean to freak you out.”
His voice was smooth, tinged with an earnestness that made it hard to stay annoyed.
“I’m an artist,” he explained, gesturing to his sketchpad. “I know this sounds weird, but you’ve got this… look. The way you’re sitting, the way the light hits you—it’s perfect.”
“Perfect?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.
“For a piece I’m working on,” he clarified, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Do you mind if I sketch you? Just for a little while.”
You hesitated, studying him. He didn’t look like a creep—just young, maybe a little unkempt, with an intensity in his eyes that was hard to ignore.
“I’m not really dressed for a portrait,” you said, gesturing to your casual sweater and jeans.
He smiled, and the way his face softened surprised you. “It’s not about the clothes. It’s the way you carry yourself.”
The compliment was unexpected, and it caught you off guard. “Alright,” you said slowly. “But just for a few minutes.”
“Great,” he said, dropping to the bench across from you with a grin that felt like the sun breaking through the clouds
It turned out he was a prodigy, a young artist with a growing reputation in the city. His work had been featured in galleries, and he’d even won a few prestigious awards. But for all his talent, he was surprisingly down-to-earth.
“I don’t really like the whole ‘genius’ label,” he admitted one afternoon after convincing you to pose for him again. “It just makes people think I’ve got everything figured out. But most of the time, I’m just trying to keep up with my own ideas.”
You quickly realized that his art wasn’t just a skill—it was his lifeline. He spoke about it the way others might talk about breathing. And for some reason, he’d decided that you were his muse.
“Why me?” you asked one day as he sketched you in his studio. The walls were covered with half-finished canvases, each one brimming with vivid colors and raw emotion.
He glanced up from his sketchbook, his eyes soft but focused. “You’ve got something about you,” he said simply. “A kind of… light. I can’t explain it, but when I see you, I want to create.”
His honesty was disarming. There was no pretense in his words, no calculated charm. He spoke as though his heart was an open book, and every word was written in your honor.
“Do you say that to all your muses?” you teased, trying to lighten the moment.
He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “I’ve never had one before you.”
As time went on, you got to know him beyond his talent. He was fiercely independent, refusing to rely on anyone for his success. His compassion, however, was what surprised you most. He spent his weekends teaching art classes at a local youth center, his eyes lighting up as he helped kids discover their own creativity.
“They’ve got so much potential,” he said once, his voice filled with quiet pride. “They just need someone to believe in them.”
It was clear that he poured himself into everything he did, whether it was a painting, a lesson, or simply spending time with you.
One evening, he invited you to his studio after hours. The space was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of paint and turpentine.
“I want to show you something,” he said, guiding you to the center of the room where a large canvas stood covered by a cloth.
With a dramatic flourish, he pulled the cloth away, revealing a breathtaking painting. It was you—your pose, your expression, every detail captured with such tenderness that it felt like staring into a mirror of your soul.
“Is that… me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
He nodded, his gaze steady. “It’s not just you,” he said softly. “It’s how I see you. Strong, radiant… inspiring.”
Your heart swelled at his words, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.
“It’s beautiful,” you said finally, your voice thick with emotion.
“So are you,” he replied, his lips curling into a small, genuine smile.
There was no grand confession, no dramatic moment where everything changed. Instead, your relationship grew in quiet, unspoken ways. The way he brought you coffee when you visited his studio. The way he asked for your opinion on his work, genuinely valuing your thoughts. The way his hand would brush against yours when he passed you a sketchbook, his touch lingering just a second too long.
One day, as you sat together in the park where you’d first met, he turned to you, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name.
“You know,” he said, his voice low, “I’m not sure I’d be able to do this without you.”
“Do what?” you asked, tilting your head.
“Create,” he replied simply. “You make it… easier to believe in myself.”
You smiled, your heart fluttering at his honesty. “I think you’d do just fine on your own.”
“Maybe,” he said, his gaze never leaving yours. “But I don’t want to.”
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—Bestfriend!jayce
The two of you had been inseparable for as long as you could remember. From elementary school to your final year of high school, your lives had been stitched together with countless shared moments—late-night study sessions, chaotic group projects, and lazy afternoons spent at the local diner. You were the grounded one, the planner, while he was the dreamer.
He was everything you admired in a person: ambitious, creative, and unrelentingly passionate about making the world a better place. Whether he was organizing a charity event for the school or advocating for a greener campus, he didn’t just talk about change—he embodied it.
“Alright, hear me out,” he said one afternoon as you sat in your favorite spot in the school library. His voice was alive with energy, his words spilling out faster than you could process them.
You glanced up from your notes, already bracing yourself. “This is going to be another one of your big ideas, isn’t it?”
“Of course,” he said with a grin. “It’s what I do best.”
He leaned forward, spreading out a sketchbook filled with colorful doodles and bold handwriting. Each page was a mix of blueprints, campaign slogans, and notes for an initiative he wanted to pitch to the student council.
“I’m telling you, if we can pull this off, it could really make a difference. We could partner with local businesses, raise money for community programs, and even involve the younger students—”
“You’re going a hundred miles an hour again,” you interrupted gently, a smile tugging at your lips.
“Not when I’m onto something good,” he replied without missing a beat.
That was him in a nutshell: a whirlwind of ideas and determination, always moving forward. It was both inspiring and exhausting to keep up with him, but somehow, you always did.
For all his big ideas and boundless enthusiasm, he had a softer side too—a side he reserved just for you.
One Friday night, he showed up outside your house, honking his car horn until you came outside in your pajamas.
“What are you doing?” you hissed, glancing around to make sure your neighbors weren’t watching.
“Get in,” he said with a grin, leaning out of the driver’s side window. “I need your opinion on something.”
“You’re insane,” you muttered, but you climbed into the passenger seat anyway.
He drove to a quiet hill on the outskirts of town, parking near an old tree you’d both claimed as “your spot” years ago. He pulled out a notebook from his bag and handed it to you.
“These are my ideas for the youth outreach program,” he said. “I need to know if I’m being too ambitious.”
You flipped through the pages, your heart warming as you saw the effort he’d poured into every word and sketch.
“This is incredible,” you said softly. “You’re not just ambitious—you’re inspiring. People are going to listen to you.”
He looked at you, his expression unreadable. “You really think so?”
“Always,” you said, your voice firm.
For a split second, you thought he might reach out to take your hand, but instead, he leaned back, staring up at the stars. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
After particularly grueling school days, he’d find you at your locker, holding out your favorite drink or snack without a word. When the stress of finals hit, he’d sit beside you in the library, quietly working through his own assignments while offering words of encouragement.
And then there were the moments when his usual confidence wavered.
“Do you think I’m crazy?” he asked one evening as you sat on the hood of his car, staring up at the stars.
The two of you had just spent hours planning his latest project, a school-wide fundraiser for a local shelter. Despite his ambitious plans, his voice was quieter now, almost hesitant.
“You? Crazy?” you teased, nudging him playfully. “Absolutely.”
He laughed softly, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t completely fade.
“Seriously, though,” he said, turning to you. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m aiming too high. Like, what if I can’t actually pull all this off? What if I fail?”
You reached out, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “You won’t fail. You’re the most determined person I’ve ever met. And even if something doesn’t work out the way you planned, it doesn’t mean you failed. It just means you’re brave enough to try again.”
His gaze softened, and for a moment, the air between you felt heavier, charged with something unspoken.
“Thanks,” he said quietly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
The moment lingered, and as he pulled back, his hands stayed on your shoulders. His gaze searched yours, and for the first time, you saw a vulnerability there that he usually kept hidden.
“I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this for a while now,” he began, his voice soft but steady.
Your breath caught. “What is it?”
“I don’t just care about you as a friend,” he admitted, his cheeks flushing slightly. “I mean, I do, but it’s more than that. You’ve always been my anchor, the one person who gets me, who believes in me even when I doubt myself.”
Your heart raced, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. “I think I’ve always felt the same way,” you said quietly.
Relief washed over his face, followed by a smile so genuine it made your chest ache.
“Then we’re in this together,” he said, reaching for your hand. “Like always.”
From that day on, your friendship transformed into something deeper, something stronger. His dreams grew bigger, but now, they weren’t just his—they were yours too. Together, you were unstoppable, a team bound by shared passion and a love that had been years in the making.
Whether it was planning for college or brainstorming ways to change the world, one thing was certain: with him by your side, anything felt possible.
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—Enemies to lovers!viktor and reader
From the moment the new kid transferred to your school, it was as if the universe had dropped a puzzle piece into the wrong spot. He was a contradiction: introverted yet razor-sharp in class discussions, quiet but with an undercurrent of passion that seemed to burst through in unexpected moments. His snarky comebacks and aloof demeanor were practically tailor-made to clash with your confident, no-nonsense approach to everything.
You couldn’t help but notice how he kept his distance from everyone else, often retreating to the farthest corner of the library or lab. Despite his unassuming presence, he somehow managed to infuriate you with his brilliance. Teachers fawned over him, classmates whispered about him, and you? You glared daggers at him every time he raised his hand in class to counter one of your arguments.
The first real confrontation happened in science class. It was a group project, and your teacher, in a cruel twist of fate, paired you with him.
“Great,” you muttered under your breath.
He barely glanced at you as he set down his notebook, already flipping through its pages. “It’s not my favorite pairing either, but let’s just get this done.”
His tone was clipped, and his eyes barely met yours.
“Oh, so we’re starting with passive-aggressive remarks? Good to know where we stand,” you shot back, folding your arms.
He sighed, finally looking at you. “Look, I don’t care if you like me or not. I care about getting an A on this project. If you want to argue, fine, but at least do it while we’re running the experiment.”
His bluntness took you off guard, and for a moment, you were speechless. But you quickly recovered, rolling your eyes. “Fine. But don’t think for a second I’m letting you take over.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he muttered under his breath, already scribbling in his notebook.
Working together was like a storm brewing in slow motion. You were both stubborn and headstrong, constantly butting heads over the smallest details.
“Why are you doing it that way?” you snapped one afternoon as he adjusted the settings on the experiment’s apparatus.
“Because it’s the correct way,” he replied without looking up.
“You didn’t even let me explain my idea!”
“Your idea would’ve blown up the circuit.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You don’t know that.”
“Let me guess—you’re the kind of person who thinks trial and error is the only way to learn?”
He finally turned to face you, a faint smirk playing at his lips “And you’re the kind of person who thinks you’re always right,”
The tension crackled like static electricity, but neither of you backed down.
It wasn’t until a late-night study session in the empty library that things started to shift. The project deadline was looming, and you’d reluctantly agreed to meet outside of school to finish your work.
He was unusually quiet that night, his usual snark absent as he stared intently at the data on his laptop.
“Hey,” you said, breaking the silence. “You okay?”
He hesitated, his fingers pausing on the keyboard. “Just tired. And frustrated. I want this to be perfect.”
Something in his tone softened your usual defensiveness. “You know, it doesn’t have to be perfect. You’re allowed to mess up sometimes.”
He gave a faint, humorless laugh. “Not really. Not when people are counting on me.”
The vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard. For the first time, you saw past the walls he’d built around himself—the pressure he carried, the weight of expectations.
“I didn’t realize you were dealing with so much,” you said quietly.
He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “Why would you? We’ve been too busy trying to outsmart each other.”
You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Fair point. Maybe we should call a truce—for now.”
He smiled, just barely, and it was the first time you’d seen him let his guard down.
As the project progressed, the two of you started to find common ground. You discovered his love for science wasn’t just about theories and equations—it was about helping people.
“Why are you so passionate about this?” you asked one day as he carefully calibrated a piece of equipment.
He hesitated, then said, “Because I want to make a difference. I has a chronic illness, and I’ve spent years struggling with treatments that barely work. I want to change that for me, and for anyone else going through the same thing.”
His words hit you like a punch to the chest. You’d always thought of him as cold and detached, but now, you saw the fire that drove him.
“That’s… incredible,” you said softly.
He shrugged, his cheeks tinged with color. “It’s just what I care about. What about you? What drives you?”
You hesitated, caught off guard by the question. But as you opened up about your own dreams and ambitions, you realized something had shifted between you.
On the night before the project was due, you were sitting in his garage, putting the final touches on your presentation. It was late, and the two of you were running on caffeine and adrenaline.
“Here,” he said, handing you a mug of tea. “You’re going to burn out if you keep pushing yourself.”
“Look who’s talking,” you teased, taking the mug.
For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet hum of the garage filling the space.
“You’re not so bad, you know,” he said suddenly, his voice low.
You raised an eyebrow. “Is that your idea of a compliment?”
He smiled faintly, looking down at his hands. “I mean it. I’ve never met anyone who challenges me the way you do. It’s… refreshing.”
Your cheeks warmed, and you looked away, pretending to focus on the data. “Well, don’t get used to it. I’m not going easy on you just because you’re finally being nice.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” he said, and there was a softness in his tone that made your heart race.
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732 notes · View notes
shouyuus · 3 days ago
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Hiii, I’m the person screaming crying throwing up every time you post, love ur stuff!
Anyway… I’m thinking mechanic!vi prolonging the time it takes her to fix your car just cause she wants you coming around the shop more and then when she does eventually fix it she kinda worries you’re not gonna stay over at hers as often but u decide to ask her if u can move in or smth like this?!?
Idek tbh my brain is so fried from over consuming Vi content
all you have to do is stay
mentions of sex, but no explicit scenes, car mechanic!vi au oh she absolutely would; there's actually so much stupid domestic bliss in this wow
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and sure, the hookup was good in the beginning, but she liked it when you came around, liked it when you'd show up at her shop, all shy and wide-eyed, asking her if you could watch, and who's she to turn down such a pretty girl, right? and honestly, she thought it was kinda cute, how you'd try your best to ask her about this or that, and she'd find herself rambling about her favorite kinds of pinon brackets, or talking you through a chassis restoration for another vintage car that was brought in.
it shouldn't take a whole-ass month to rig a crossflow radiator, especially since the rest of your car's actually in pretty good condition, but she keeps on picking out other things to do, insisting that she's already here anyway, sliding out from under the car with a crooked grin, asking you to pass her another cold beer.
but there's only so many things she can make up before it's obvious, even to you that there's not much else to do. so when the day comes, she's quieter than usual, tallying up the extensive list of repairs that she's both done and made up for herself to do (you'd insisted that you at least pay for the major ones, and if the smaller ones came with a dinner-date and dessert in bed afterwards... well.)
"and... i think that's all of it, sweets."
she hands you the receipt, immediately tucking her hands into the pockets of her light-wash jeans. her shoulders shrug up as you look down the list. it's way less than that she should be charging you for, but you peer up at her, frowning at the pinch between her brows and the tension clear in her muscles.
"vi? what's... wrong?"
"ah -- it's nothin' sweets, don't worry your pretty little head over it."
she teeters forwards and back, as if she can't decide if she wants to move closer or back away. but you're already reaching for her, closing the distance between you with your head cocked, your eyes bright and questioning. and she could never resist it when you looked at her like that, so toe-curlingly trusting. as if there wasn't a thing in the world she could do or say to drive you away or upset you.
sometimes, she'd lay awake and wonder if you knew how dangerous that kind of trust is -- how someone less scrupulous would take it and twist it into something foul. but she'd never let that happen -- at least not while you wanted her around.
"violet... we might not have known each other for very long but... you're not a very good liar," you say, reaching up to cup her cheeks, coaxing her eyes back to yours. she laughs -- it's a tiny, helpless sound; it shakes her open in a way that startles even her, the way her whole body wants to fold over you, into you.
"geez, sweets... that's... that's not really fair of you."
she lifts her hand to press them over yours, hands over hands, petaled around her cheeks, and it occurs to her that perhaps this is what it means to live up to her namesake -- violet. you'd said it was a beautiful name the first the she told you what vi stood for.
"you're not really fair either, vi... but that's never stopped you, has it?" you ask, a mischievous glint in your eyes, your lips twisted up on a fox-hole smile.
vi sucks in a breath. something feels like it's clawing up the length of her ribcage and burrowing through the hollows in her chest till she can taste it pitter-pattering at the back of her throat. it takes her a full three seconds to realize that it's her own traitorous heart, beating so strong she can taste it on her tongue.
"fuck."
and then she's kissing you, pulling you to her, fingers harsh and desperate, her touch lingering like month-old grease-stains the way they dig into your delicate skin. you gasp open for her, against her -- you let her tug you into her till there isn't a part of you she can't reach if she wanted to.
the kiss breaks like a dam bursting open, and a few seconds later, she's got you hoisted up on her workbench, wrenches and old receipts scattering to the floor as she slots herself easily between your legs. it's a familiar place to be, after all -- after all this time.
you hiss, fingers fisting in her hair; it's longer now, than when you first met. and she'd be lying if she said her letting it grow had nothing to do with your offhand comment once (over yet another impossible banana sundae) that you liked it long.
"vi -- vi -- please -- you --"
"hm? what is it, pretty girl?"
"you c-can't just try to distract me w-with sex every time --"
and she can't help the grin that hitches over her lips at the way your chest is heaving, your eyes blown dark, the way your thighs shake on either side of her hips. but she can see the flicker of worry in your eyes and her stomach twists with uncertainty.
"i -- i don't --" she tries, but a breath puffs out of her and she sags against you, "it's... just... now that the repairs are done... there's not really much reason for you to come around... and..."
at her words, you heave a sigh that seems much too big and weary for your body, pulling back to fix her with a surprisingly sharp look.
"you really thought i was coming around here to listen to you talk about my car repairs?"
vi does her level best not to pout; hearing you say it out loud, it does sound... a bit childish. instead, she leans forward and digs her nose into your neck, wrapping both arms around you till she's got you cocooned in her chest.
"what? you weren't interested in the new pressure washer i got just so i could get that really stubborn stain off your back bumper?"
you trail your fingers through her hair, letting your nails graze along her scalp. a shiver washes down the length of her back and you giggle close to her ear.
"sure i did... but you could talk about... dunno... your favorite dish rag, and i think i'd still wanna listen -- because i like listening to you talk about the stuff you like... because..." and its your turn to hesitate, her turn to pull back and fix you with a look -- one that's equal parts pleading and disbelieving.
"because what, pretty girl?" she asks, her voice low and husky, a thumb running across the round of your cheek.
"b-because i -- i like you, vi."
your eyes flicker away and color seeps into your cheeks like dye across clear water -- the shade blooming into you till vi's sure there's no color so beautiful as the one that you are now.
"mm... well, thank god for that cause..." she leans in to press her forehead to yours, "i was starting to wonder, what with all the multiple orgasms and midnight munch sessions and --" she laughs as you squawk indignantly at her, your eyes flashing wild and wide.
"t-that's not what i -- you know that's not --"
"oh? so you don't like those?" she asks, the tease now so obvious in her voice that you flush several shades darker. vi thinks she may have to amend her previous decision on her favorite shade of you. and you're outdoing yourself today.
she lets her free hand wander to the bend of your hips and she gives you a squeeze.
"i --" you steady yourself in the solidness of her, reaching down to lace your hands with hers, "of course i -- i like those things too but i -- i like that you're the one doing them to me and --" you swallow; vi tries not to be to distracted by the hummingbird flutter of your pulse as you struggle to find the words, even though both of you know full well by now exactly what you're trying to say --
sometimes, just sometimes, words speak just as loud as words need to. and the actions are just there to back them up.
sometimes, there are certain things that people just want to -- or need to -- hear said out loud.
"i -- i wanna come over even when there's nothing for you to fix... i..." you steady your breathing and vi nearly drowns in the certainty that settles between the pair of you, an ocean full of of unsaid words (the ones that don't need to be said to be understood), drifting like sunlight over shifting waves -- their brightness made no less real by their shimmering reflections in the water, "i guess i just... wanna be wherever you are. like... all the time."
vi's eyebrows hitch; her breath follows shortly after.
"all the time?"
you bite down on your lips, "yeah but... i know it's only been like... a month or whatever --"
"no, no god -- sweets, i -- i want that too -- more than anything -- it's just --" she motions at the shop, and you nod, catching her hand in yours mid-air.
"it doesn't have to be right now," you say, smiling and giving both her hands a firm squeeze.
"yeah?" she asks, a rare quiver to the shape of her voice.
you nod, "yeah." and your voice is just as solid as she needs it to be. you lean in to kiss her, and she sighs open against you, as you've done so many times for her.
"we'll -- we'll make it work," you say, in between harsh, nipping kisses, even as vi groans and trails her mouth along the line of your jaw. you gasp, letting your head tip back, "w-we'll t-take it s-s-slow -- mmngh -- vi!"
vi hums as she sucks a dark hickey into the side of your neck, feeling savage wanting plume open in her chest. she looks back up at you with darkening eyes and a hunter's smile.
"dunno if i know how to take it slow, sweets --"
"w-what about all those t-times you told me t-to wait --" you keen high in the back of your throat as she drops to pillow her cheek to your thigh, flipping up the bottom of your skirt to dig her nose into the damp triangle of your panties.
vi scoffs, rolling her eyes as she glances back up at you with a playful smirk.
"oh fuck you."
you lick your lips, reaching down to sink your fingers into her hair again, pulling just hard enough for the an ache to gather in her belly.
"thought that's what you were trying to do."
vi stands up, pulling you bodily forward till your ankles are linked at the small of her back, her palms holding up the plush of your ass as she walks the pair of you back into the house and up the thin flight of stairs to her room.
it's a good few hours before either of you are coherent enough to talk about any of this again, but by the time you are, the twilight is budding along the far horizon, and vander's texting to ask vi if he should pick anything up on the way back from the bar for dinner.
"you wanna stay for dinner?" vi asks, twisting to glance at you in bed, her face illuminated by the digital blue of her phone.
your pillow your cheek on your hand, "yeah, i'd love to."
"cool, what do you want?" she asks, her eyes turning back to her phone.
you lick your lips, "how about... you ask vander to pick up some tomatoes? i can make one of my grandma's old soup recipes. you have potatoes and cabbage right? and... i think i saw some pork bones in the freezer the last time i was here."
you cast your eyes up at the ceiling, ticking through a mental list of ingredients.
you only turn to shoot vi a glance when you realize that you can no longer hear the rapid pik-pik-pik of her fingers on her phone.
she's staring at you with what could only be called wonder in the halfway dark.
"you... remember what's in our fridge?"
"well i -- there's not much in there --" you say, almost indignantly.
she laughs, shaking her head, "no, it's just -- i didn't think you'd ever notice something like that, i mean, pardon me for thinking that you've never set foot in a kitchen in your entire life, what with you being daddy's little princess and all," she goads, nudging you with an elbow even as you squirm away from her, pouting.
"i'll have you know that i'm actually a really good cook, okay?" you tell her, "when -- when i was little, and my grandma lived with us, i'd help her in the kitchen all the time. and... after she got too old to make stuff... i was the one who cooked for her, because she said it tasted like stuff she'd eat in her childhood so..."
vi shuffles closer to you under the blankets, nuzzling her nose into your cheek.
"and just when i thought you couldn't get more perfect," she murmurs, pressing a kiss to your cheek.
you giggle, allowing yourself to be tugged back into her chest.
"i told vander to pick up tomatoes... and to invite silco and everyone else he can round up over for dinner."
you squeak, shooting up, "what?!"
vi grins, pushing up with a soft yawn, "you can't just tell me that you've got grandma-level cooking skills and not expect me to invite my whole entire family, right?"
you tumble out of bed, nearly tripping over your panties, still caught around your ankles. you pull them up, scrambling for one of vi's big shirts to toss over your body as she watches you from the bed with an indulgent smile before swinging her legs off and standing up to pull you back into her chest.
"calm down, sweets -- i'll help you, kay? now, tell me what you need."
you nod, pulling on a pair of her jogging shorts and twisting your hair into a haphazard bun out of your face as you start listing off ingredients, hopping the last two steps onto the first floor landing and fluttering into the kitchen.
by the time vi rounds the doorway, it's to find you with vander's massive apron already tied around your waist, an several pots and pans stacked on the countertop.
"i need three onions, and a head of garlic and... a few bay leaves, if you have them. it's okay if you don't --"
vi fights back a grin (it's a losing battle, she thinks, but it's one that she's considering losing for the rest of her goddamn life if it meant doing this every day with you).
"sure, sweets -- whatever you need."
you nod, rolling up the sleeves of your shirt as you set to work peeling the potatoes. a few second later, vi pops up from the fridge, frowning.
"looks like we've only got one onion, but i found some shallots... not sure how good they are though... they were kinda shoved into the back." she holds up the bag with a grimace.
you blink at her, and for a moment, vi thinks that you're going to be angry, or at least a bit frustrated. but then, your face breaks into a sweet, helpless sort of smile, and you reach out to take the shallots from her.
"it's okay," you say, in a voice that sounds just a little too much like coming home, and vi has to swallow passed the peach-pit suddenly caught in her throat.
your fingers brush against hers as you point her towards the half-peeled potatoes, and she gets to work without you even having to ask.
you lean up onto your tiptoes and press a kiss to her cheek, your eyes bright as fallen stars when she turns to look at you.
"it's okay," you repeat, smiling up at her with that smile that just might rhyme with forever, "we'll make it work, okay?"
vi licks her lips; there's an entire ocean of saltwater words caught behind the tombstones of her teeth that she does not know how to say. but she thinks, as she looks at you and you turn back to fussing over the one onion and handful of shallots, that you probably know it all anyway.
"okay," she says, before turning back to the diligent work of peeling the potatoes.
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rafesplaymate · 2 days ago
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SCREAMS glamourmodel out partying with rafe🤭🤭
YES. (the way i have these pics on one of my pinterest boards)
Lights, Camera, Action!
Rafe Cameron x Glamourmodel!Reader
❀⋆.ೃ࿔ navigation. ❀⋆.ೃ࿔ masterlist.
warnings: smut. Exhbitionism (like fr). degradation. manhandling. p in v. dom / sub dynamics. pervs all around.
a/n: like this is legit exhibitionism and power dynamics
。𖦹°‧°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・
That’s definitely glamourmodel!reader and Rafe at one of his functions at Tannyhill. Let me elaborate…
“Keep showing your panties and shit, get your ass down!” He’d growl, coke drip irritating his sinuses and throat along with the reverb in his voice from reprimanding her. He knew that getting with a famous model meant the amount of attention that comes along with her would be excessive —but the way everyone around them is ogling her sweet self in her pretty, pink polka dotted dress makes him want to gouge their eyes out.
“Mhmm.. Rafey”, she’d whine with a pout on her full lips, makeup a mess and blowout falling from the damp humidity of the summer night and bodies surrounding them. Her cute pussy barely covered by her g-string as she dances on the outside-lounge table in their area. It’s one of her more modest dresses but the way she lets it lift up twist with her movements with no care for her assets showing is making Rafe’s possessiveness rear its ugly-head. Although she loved when he got like this.
“Ugh! Leave her alone, can’t even let her have fun. You’re such a loser!” Mocked Sarah who was dancing right along with her. The two girls fueled with liquid courage. In an equally skimpy outfit as she dances right along with her best friend. Both of them the stars of the party, always egging each other on to be as care free as they can be. It irks Rafe how much Sarah enables his girl but she quite frankly doesn’t give a fuck —y/n is way too sexy not to show herself off to the fullest extent. In fact they’d even considered getting Sarah into modeling with her too.
“Shut your bitch ass up, no one was talking to you,” Rafe bit back, reaching for his girl by the waist and tugging her down while she whined and moaned about how he’s ‘no fun.’ “Rafey —stop! Ugh, let me live!” She’d cry to him, pushing against him as he successfully manhandled her to his whim. Feeling him tug up the low cut of her dress while he pulled the ridden up skirt to cover her ass. “Shut up. Sick of you bouncing these fake tits around with your nipples showin’ and shit. Keep that shit for the magazines and shoots.” He’d grab her by the face, making her dazed eyes look into his while he scolded her. His stupid bunny, oh how he loves her.
If it weren’t for the line she’d taken earlier and the vodka she pounded back she doesn’t think she’d mind so much about her man being so controlling. She loves how possessive he is, makes her pussy wet when he gets so protective over her. But right now.. she wants to pick at his nerves and make him even angrier. She loves being a tease, especially with him.
“Thought you liked my tits, Hef paid a pretty penny for them.” She’d say with a mocking pout, bringing her french-tipped hands to rub her plump chest as she stared at him. “Don’t know why you’re so bothered, this is more than what I use to wear at the mansion parties.” She’d wrap her arms around his neck, pressing her chest to his while Rafe would pull her even closer, big hands trailing down her cinched waist to her perky ass —squeezing the globes in his palm as he smirked down at her.
“Fuck yeah, y’know I love ‘em. But they belong to me now —that old bastard can suck my fat dick.” He’d whisper with mocking; trailing his lips down her neck as he teased her wetness with the tips of his fingers. “What you’re talking about, hm? What did my little playmate get up to without me around?” His words are muffled by his trail of kisses down her neck. Bringing one hand to grope her chest while her hard nipples stabbed against his palm -encouraging her to continue with a hum. “Oh… you know.” She’d whisper in a daze from his touch. Letting him domineer her presence with his want and need for her.
“Walked around that place more than once with nothing but a pair of heels, and bunny ears on my head.” She’d moan out, head tilting back as she allowed him to mark her. His previous love-bites of ownership fading, and he’s determined to constantly leave them there so everyone around this damned island knows she’s taken for. His girl, his bunny, his playmate. His.
It takes him a minute to register her words; too entranced by her sweet-smelling perfume and smooth skin. Too entranced by her in general and the fact that he scored a fucking playmate! But when, what she said finally locked in his drug and lust infused, fuzzy brain —did his motions stop and his body stiffen. Pulling his head back quickly as his hand groping at her chest wrapped around her neck and squeezed the sides. Forcing her fluttering eyes to shoot open and look into his demeaning stare. His jaw ticked and lips pursed in displeasure. Bingo!
“The fuck, did you just say?” He’d accuse, his grip tightening on her throat. They’re lucky the other party-goers around them are too fucked up and preoccupied by other things. Sarah’s attention now focused on throwing her ass back to the thumping music while Top’ showers her in bills dramatically and Kelce talks up a girl they invited into their area. “You were what? Walking around with -with your pussy out for the whole world to see, huh? Fucking attention-whore.” He’d growl, tightening his grip and watching as her manicured hand came to scratch at his wrist. The playboy necklace against her chest taunting him with her reality before him.
“Yeah…” she’d choke out, her glossed lips twisting in a devious smirk. Her leg coming to wrap around his as she presses herself against him. Free hand coming down to run over the bulge in his khakis between their bodies as she lowers her eyes seductively. “Let some rockstars, and actors lick into my pussy with a crowd watching too.” She’d finalize. Watching as the heat in his eyes built up into an uncontrollable flame of anger, jealousy and lust. She wants to play games, fine —they can play.
Rafe loosens his hand on her throat, pushing her against one of the couches around them. Watching as she bounced on it with her legs open and the skirt of her dress flaring up. Her lace g-string and bottom of her tummy showing as she raised her arms above her head. Relaxing into the cushions with a triumphant smirk playing on her lips and eyes holding his —while she spreads her legs further. Rafe would just give her a daring smirk before he’d grab her by her waist, quickly turning her onto her knees with her upper half over the edge of the couch. Facing the patrons around them who were all in their own universe —well that was until…
Rip!
The sound of her thin dress getting ripped apart from the back as Rage pressed his bulge into her ass. Tearing the fabric from her body with a jagged line all the way up to the top. The flimsy thing falling open quickly and only hanging on by the straps from her arms. Pretty tits and body now on display as Rafe landed a firm smack on her bare ass, ripping her flimsy string of an underwear with no problem. The scene now catching attention from everyone around them as they started paying attention to what’s unfolding in front of them. Men and women alike ogling the model as she mewled and whined from Rafe’s manhandling. His large frame towering over her bent body on the couch —sexy lips twisted in a sultry purse as she looked over at him from her shoulder with pure lust in her eyes.
“Rafe what are you— Shut up.” Rafe would quickly shut up Sarah who was now watching the even unfold —trying to look away but the sight of her best friend looking like a wet dream even got her fantasizing (she won’t admit it yet, that she thinks of her sometimes late at night.) Topper lowering his unnecessary sunglasses as he let out a ‘yo!’ from the sight of his favorite playmate bent over naked in front of him. Kelce’s attention on the girl he was talking to now long gone as he took in the sight as well. Everyone around them watching Rafe dominate his girl with no care in the world except showing who she belonged too.
He’d wrap her hair around his wrist, tugging harshly and forcing her body to arch back and pull up with a harsh gasp falling from her lips. Her naked frame now completely on display for everyone around them —ripping the straps of her dress down her arms and letting it fall to her knees completely on the couch. People’s phones out and circling around them as their substance-induced perceptions readied for the show that was clearly about to start. Rafe’s body filling with immense satisfaction at his brazen display of ownership and the fact that she was allowing it. His little exhibitionist.
“See that, shit? How everyone’s looking at you, you love it huh? Love being a show-off, don’t you?” He’d whisper harshly against her ear, his body slightly bent over to do so —hand tightening his grip on her hair as her neck strained from the movement. Looking at the crowd with furrowed brows, sultry eyes and her lips in a sexy ‘o.’ Her body gleaming under the full moon and stars from the body glitter and oil she rubbed all over herself. Only thing on her body being her ‘Playmate of the Year’ bunny neckless and her cute white, stiletto-mules. Left ankle decorated with a pretty white-gold chain and dangly ‘R’ that Rafe had gotten her. The epitome of a sex goddess and showing off why she’s been ‘POTY’ so many times. Rafe was a lucky man that was forsure.
“Love it, love it so much daddy.” She’d whine sensually, moving her arms to hold onto the head of the couch in front of her; helping hold herself up so she can arch her ass higher against the bulge in his pants. Whining her hips as she left a wet mark against the khaki material. Rafe’s dick throbbing painfully and his mind ready to do something about it. Right here, right now. In front of everyone. Not giving a single fuck how scandalous this might be or how likely it is to end up on social media. She lives for that shit, he knows it. And he’d loved to be the lucky bastard who’s known for banging a playmate with a crowd. Her earlier words replaying in his head.
“Those motherfuckers may have licked into this sweet pussy,” he’d start, slightly moving his hips from her and bringing his free hand to fumble with his button and zipper. Preparing to free his cock as Sarah hauled Topper away from the scene; him complaining that he ‘wants to see the show’ as he keeps tilting his head back to look at the entertainment furthering from his vision from the tugging on his arm. Kelce and his girl watching the scene intently with pure curiosity and excitement.
“But y’know what daddy’s gon’ do right now, princess?” He finally freed his cock from the confinement of his shorts; the appendage painfully hard and leaking precum as he rubbed it up and down her soaking pussy. Prepared to complete his promise on pounding her in front of the crowd, murmurs of anticipation surrounding. The flashes from phones lighting them up as the music lowered slightly from the speakers.
Showtime!
“M’gonna fuck you right here, show everyone of these assholes how this shit right here,” He slipped the tip in slightly, her mouth dropping open in a long drawn whine as his head breached her entrance, “is mine.” The sting satisfying and her favorite feeling in the world. Not thinking anything but thoughts of his dick and needing to feel it spear her and ravage her insides. Her mean man, she loved when he got like this. Satisfied her efforts worked. More than ready to make him proud and show everyone how pretty she is when she gets fucked.
“Fuck —yeah..sloppy little pussy just takin’ me right in. Love this shit, baby.” He’d groan when his hips finally meet her ass, her eyes rolling back into her head as she begins circling her hips and bouncing slightly against him. Men and women alike around her giving soft words of encouragement and pushing her to give a good show. Rafe’s hand gripping the head of the couch right next to hers while the grip in her hair tightened even more. His lips still against her ear as he grinded deeply into her and felt her arousal begin dripping down his balls and wetting the cushion beneath them. Stupid slut, she’ll get what’s coming to her. With an almost evil smirk he stared into one of the cameras in front of them, head next to hers as he whispered in her ear once more…
“Smile for the cameras, little star. And be good for me, hm? Want this shit to get back to Hef.”
。𖦹°‧°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・
a/n: i need some water. STAT! ugh! if you made it this far without getting embarrassed i hope you enjoy! :)
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thedarkestrivernymph · 3 days ago
Text
A Heart Of Gold
Platonic! Y! Royal Child x Cruel/Uncaring! Royal! Mother! Reader x Y! Mistress! of cheating husband x Y! Brother in Law
word count: 11,5k (probably one of the lengthiest fics I have ever written haha)
warnings: mention of abuse (both verbal and physical), neglect, infidelity, unhealthy relationship dynamics, murderous thoughts, morally gray! reader, paranoia, harassment, unconsenual acts, kissing, mentions of death(s), killing, breakdowns/meltdowns, generational trauma, unhealthy mother/child dynamics, obsessive behaviour, classism, misogynistic views, homophobia, not completely accurate historical depictions!
©Copyright - 2025 - thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved
Author's note: Boy this got lengthy, still I hope you enjoy it! :) So let's dive into it, shall we?
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“A heart of glass shatters, but a heart of gold melts into something newer and sturdier. Into something dangerous and menacing. It molds to a new life of cruelty, while the heart of glass is swept away, its pieces discarded and forgotten. I don't want to travel with the wind, fleet in one blink, I want to be reborn, experience freedom for the first time in my life. I want to have a heart of gold.”
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Do you know the feeling of an itch that no matter how much you scratch, how incessant you drag your nails over that patch of skin, you can just never get rid of? That was motherhood, but worse.
For you, at least.
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The life of a commoner was jarring, a constant battle for life, that most, no matter how hard they tried to intimidate, would never succeed in defeating. Most died young, early thirties or fourties, with nasty diseases of all kinds being the reason—and yet they always seemed so lively compared to nobility. The nobility with all of their masquerades and dramatics. They never were allowed to let the intricately crafted mask crack, even for a second, if they valued their life that is.
Perhaps that's why you had envied those mindless pigs most of your life—working away until their bones cracked and fell into themselves. That mindless devotion and that foul language they could use whenever they pleased, the sheer stupidity in believing in something higher and more valuable than the crown, was so vastly different to your own complex persona. Your life was quiet, filled with studying, tea-parties that never reached deeper than surface level of conversation and endless long nights where you would raise your gaze to the heavens above and just stare at the stars, as if the answers you desperately longed for were written in them.
You were like a man deprived of water, thirsting for something to quench your endless need for freedom. Any kind you could get your hands on, you clutched on—wether it was the question of if you maids were to dress you in blue or white or rather in violet and yellow, or something simple if you wanted to wander around in the gardens that day; you loved all these small luxuries. Even the pearls of your mother's, now hanging from your neck like heavy cobblestones on a string, felt nothing compared to the little escapades you were allowed. And the needle you were embroidering with in this old moaning manor pricking you gave you some semblance of joy, that at least in some shape or form there was something under your control.
Until even that had lost its taste—like your once most favoured dish that had reminded you of childhood in your youth, the fields, the servant's children that you would play with after repetitive lessons and so much more, one day none could comfort you anymore. As many others, you grew out of your juvenile thinking much too soon and in a way that was far too shattering of an experience.
Sweet seventeen and the marriage with the crown prince was held. You had known before, it was to be expected, you had anticipated the dreadful day when you would have to give up your freedom in exchange of legacy and reputation, yet actively knowing and actively being were two vastly different states one could experience. So as the princess you had been, you had bowed down to everyone in power; to your mother with her stern gaze and even harsher words, to your father with his cane as sharp as his gaze was, to the king of a different nation, you had only visited once in childhood who was nothing more than a distant memory at this point in time and lastly to your future husband, who would not reign, but still hold enough power to crush a small country with just his fist.
So you bore the stranger a child, one not out of love, but out of duty to the crown, to your family—to everyone who had invested in you as a powerful tool as the key to peace between two neighbouring kingdoms. “He’s pretty. His eyes are like mine,” were his first words upon seeing the crying infant still caked in blood with you drenched in your own sweat. The world had crumpled in that moment, only to rebuild itself a second time in your life as you remembered that nothing ever was out of love. Everything was done out of ego. At least concerning nobility and royalty. And you were royalty.
That’s when the curse had started—the deep loathing for something that didn’t deserve it.
“Mother!” you frowned, determined to keep your gaze on the embroidery in your hands.
“Mother!” another high-pitched cry and you swore a vein on your forehead was about to just pop open and deflate like a par of lungs you wanted to slice through with a scarpel.
You glanced at the door, counting the steps and sure enough it took the little demon thirty-two before bursting right in as always. “Mother! There you are— look, look mother! Misses has just taught me how to..” you tuned out after the second word, already feeling another headache bloom between your brows, subtly ushering your maid closer so that she could take care of the chaos. Ignoring the way the boy protested and cried as he was led out with the excuse that his dear mommy was tired and in need of rest.
That had been ten years ago—in fact you were just melodramatic and liked to revisit your past, thinking about how foolish you had been to ever belief love was more than a myth. Sighing you took another bite from your steak.
“Mother, have you heard? I won this year's tournament again.” the deep voice startled you.
“Oh, you have?” another bite and it would be over soon, another bite and you wouldn't have to talk any more than necessary.
“Yes mother, has father not informed you?” no, don't let your thoughts get bad, he didn't mean to mention his father.
“Mother, you and father haven't been talking much, have you now? How utterly disappointing. I had assumed that he at the very least would share my achievements with you, mother dear.” you were losing it again, because you could swear he was doing it on purpose, he was rubbing salt in your wound knowingly. No, no he wasn’t, you were just paranoid, instead why not focus on the flower motive on the egde of your plate or the rich red swirling in your cup or—
“Mother? You seem rather pale. Would you like me to call your maid?”
He isn’t doing it on purpose.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Breathe in, breathe out.
He didn't ask to be born, he was just here because he had to—as you were, as the worker ants and the pigs were, as the common folk were.
Just breathe.
“Mother—” no you couldn't just breathe.
Your fists slammed against the dinning table, causing silverwear to clink against porcelain and wine to spill. It dripped to the floor and with it your last nerve.
“Don’t you dare, Nicholas! You and I, as well as any other resident in the palace, are very much aware of your father's open infidelity—and to incessantly remind me of it, is just unacceptable! When will you grow out of your boyish theatrics and take life seriously? You should concern yourself more with your studies and yourself than my matters!” you were standing, you didn't even know when you had stood up, but now you were face to face with your son for the first time in the duration of the entire dinner—and you tasted bile. Luscious chestnut coloured hair, forest green eyes and fair skin with an oval face; he was the copy of his father, quite literally and everything in you felt deeply disturbed by it. Or perhaps it was because of the way he would stare at you, even as a baby, with this sort of hunger, this all-consuming need to take and take, without giving back, like a parasite in your guts, feeding off whatever you consumed.
“Mother, you wound me." he had the audacity to jest, smiling that bone-chilling smile. Sometimes you wondered if that really was your son and not just a demon that had slipped into his skin at birth. “I am your son, mother. I worry for you. You’ve had such a weak constitution since my childhood, I cannot help myself.” devil. You shuddered.
Beyond yourself and all responsibilities that came with being bound to the crown, you stormed off. Your maids rushed behind you but you swat them away, yelling at them to leave you be, that you just needed fresh air and throwing what other excuses you managed to come up with at them. And they were quick to listen—even though with great reluctance scattering like baby ducklings would, while the guards stationed in front of the dinning hall were watching you silently. Everyone was, constantly.
You huffed, hands gripping your gown like the talons of a bird clung to a mouse and you ran—perhaps if your mother could see you now, she would claw her way out of her grave to berate and scold you like the child you were behaving as, but you couldn’t stop your legs from moving forward, even as your feet started to ache and you felt something warm run down your shoe.
“Your Majesty?” you halted.
“What is the matter? You seem upset?” Charles. Your gaze softened, something that happened far too little. Soft brown curls with a matching chocolate brown gaze all dressed up in a relaxing blue. He was like a gift wrapped in a blue bow.
“I was just walking by. All council members were called.” he was blunt and clipped as always—comfortingly so, gazing at you in thinly veiled concern.
Before you could spout whatever irresponsible nonesense that your mind could conjure up, he had clasped a hand around your wrist, quick to check for curious eyes that would misinterpernt the rather narrow distance between you two, before pulling you both aside into an empty chamber nearby—the room not much bigger than a closet, obviously something forgotten.
You opened your mouth ready to speak but he beat you to it.
“Is it your husband again? He’s a fool. To think he can feel free of guilt when his lovely wife has to suffer because of his childishness.” you felt his hand cup your cheek and you melted, the darkness and slight chill of the room suddenly secondary, as warmth from your very insides bloomed.
“I don't know anymore, Charles,” you sighed, head against his chest. You found a steady rhythm there, something unlike your life.
“He brought her here. Here! Into the castle. He wants to make her his second queen, his second queen! That's unheard of but he's so stubborn and he won't listen. Not to me, not to his advisors—he just doesn’t listen.” there was some relief in sharing your pain, some relief that at least someone would listen to what you felt and thought.
“It's a scandal.” he admitted in a whisper, now rubbing your back in gentle circles. “To have a mistress for all the world to see and to want to elavate her status to yours. He’s crazy. You deserve better, much better.” he consoled you and reassured you, making you feel more at ease with your teenage-like outburst. You ought to pull yourself togehter, (y/n). Be quiet and strong. Don’t cause a fuss, men don’t like that. Yeah, mother, you did everything right, but father still had three bastards he brought home.
Exhausted you groaned, embracing the very chest that Charles has been offering you since the first day at the palace. Sometimes you would wonder what would’ve been if you had married Charles instead of your husband, but you never thought too long or too hard about it, because to be tuthful the prospect that you could’ve lead a happier life depressed you.
Something wet rolled down your cheek.
You pulled away.
“Thank you, Charles. You’ve always been very understanding. But I should return to my chambers. It’s late. Where were you headed to again? You should make haste.” you were quick to dismiss as usual. It was unheard of that in-laws were so close with eachother, especially when the gown you were wearing once had been your husbands gift. It was like his cruel paw extended time and place to even shackle you in place here in the furthest corners of the palace, alone with the man that you had— in your younger years at least— occasionaly thought about at night, when your husband would be working or have his occasional trysts with some courtesan.
He was quiet for a second or two, letting you spiral furhter into the dark place that had a permenant residence inside of your mind, only to startle you with a squeeze to your shoulders. “Are you certain? You still appear unwell and I would feel like a terrible brother-in-law if I just—” you didn’t let him finish.
“No, no need. I am absoloutely capable of returning by myself. Just you go.” and with that escaped before you could cry your eyes out in front his brother, even when he was the only human in the family of festering little demons, you would rather not let him catch you off guard. He was the apple Eve was tempted with only to fail the test, but you were better than that, you were a noble, not just any you were a royal, you wouldn’t fall for fate’s cruel tricks.
You rushed through the halls, your heels clicking with each step, as the night only turned darker and your thoughts only more frenzied. Finally you reached your chambers, your skittish maids, breathing out in relief, rushing towards you to check in on you and your trembling state. You waved them off, barking again to be left alone, only this time they wouldn’t. Suspiciously so.
“Why won’t you let me enter? Speak.”
“My queen, we would never think about witholding you from returning to your own chambers, but there is an issue of sorts, you see..” the oldest of the bunch spoke up, the same age as your mother would be if she was still alive and well.
With slits for eyes you glowered, now more persistent in your demand, even if it was one of your most loyal of maids, you wouldn’t be leniet enough to let them off the hook so easily. “Speak.”
“My queen it is that—”
Oh.
Staring at you so incredibly smugly, as if you couldn’t wipe the floor with her visage if you wanted to, was the twenty something mistress of your husband, of the the king, Maria.
How ironic of a name.
“Oh? If that isn’t the first queen. How delighted I am, to meet the woman the king adores as much as he adores me. And how beautiful of a woman you are! So graceful, even at your age, with a child that’s nearly old enough to build his own family! You must be proud! Certainly, you’re so lovely.” you felt your eye twitch. She was utterly shameless standing in the doorway to your chambers while dressed in nothing but a chiffony nightgown and black hair like the streaks of tint on paper. How utterly depraved and sick.
As she smiled too, you probably turned red in the face.
“I am so happy to finally meet you! I heard a lot about you—all he does is talk about you. I am glad you’re my opponent I can vie for the king’s affection with. Anyone else would’ve been bland in comparison to you.” her fingers brushed away a strand of hair in your face and it probably took all of your self-restraint not to snap and bury your fingers in her scalp to pluck away some of that inky black. “I am truly grateful.” her blue eyes were worse, piercing and clear like the streams of fresh waters—truly a horrible colour to be gifted to such snake, undeserving of such beauty.
“Why are you here? This isn’t the king’s bedroom, girl.” you were cold, slapping away her hand and trying to undermine her presence with the fact that you were older and more experienced, yet she just giggled. Was it wrong that she reminded you of your son? The both of them certainly were the same level of vile, making you feel uncomfortably unauthorative in their presence.
“Oh it isn’t? My mistake, your Majesty. But you can just call me Maria, no need to be so distant. Or you could get used to calling me Queen Maria. Pardon—is it a sensitive topic? You’re glaring at me so intensely, I am uncertain if I should fear for my life.” on second thought maybe being thrown into prison for bashing in the king’s mistress’ head against a wall didn’t sound so appaling. No, pull yourself together.
“I ask of you to move. These are my chambers. So move, now.” one more minute of this and you were sure you would end up growling like an animal, but thankfully she finally took the hint and brushed past you but not without a flying kiss your way. “See you soon, your majesty.”
At the end your maids held you back from tearing her apart like a rabid dog the moment she turned to walk away. Thankfully, they were also able to pull you into your chambers before fleeting before your outburst. Vases were flying—clothes ripped apart and you burned the single strands of black you found, above your lamp’s little flame. All while you stared up at the night sky, like you used to, asking the heavens why they had cursed you. Why a god couldn’t have let you be born as an empty-headed piglet, why you had to be able to understand language, why you just couldn’t rip anyone’s head off that treaded too close to you.
At the end of your breakdown you found your mother’s pearls scattered on the checkered tiles like the stars that mocked you from above. You pursued your lips into a smile. It was somewhat symbolic.
Mother was dead. Father too.
But you weren’t, not yet at least. So why waste it with stupid things such as deceny? You had desired for more than superficial workship of your body—you wanted real love, something to take your mind off your duties. And if the king was allowed such a thing, then you would just aquire one too.
Charles had always been friendly to you. Why not pay the favour back? After all, he was such a good brother-in-law.
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The imaginary gods truly scorned you, didn't they? Because why else would you be dining with your husband, his mistress and your son. Were you truly nothing but the butt of the joke? Your presence meant nothing—all the years of hard-work, serving the crown and greater good, for what?
For Maria to wink at you and mock you in broad daylight, with even your son doing nothing but quietly watch. Father like son. How true that statement was.
Were you disappointed though? No, you didn't expect much of demons festering off others.
The eggs were cooked into gooey soft richness, just as you liked it, giving you some semblance of comfort. Today you were dressed in rich velvet purple; truly a gown for special occasions and this particular day probably was the most special out of all. It was the day you had anticipated all these upcoming weeks with nothing but an ache deep in your chest whenever you thought of it.
Today he would announce when the law would be finalized—and with its finalization the death of your dignity.
Maria would officially be the king’s second queen, not consort, not mistress—not even the occasional courtesan he liked to fuck, no, she would be of your status, when she was nothing but a count’s daughter. It was laughable really, you stabbed at the beacon on your plate as if it had committed a crime against you.
From childhood until your marriage to him, you as a royal princess had been kept endlessly busy with tutoring of all kinds; writing and reading first and foremost then state affairs, french, latin, philosophy, politics, how to properly sit and talk, embroidery and so much more that at eight you had started wishing to be born a pig, kept fed until slaughter.
“As you all know,” all heads drifted in his direction, sitting proud at the head of the mahogany table, “The law will be legalized by the end of the month and to celebrate this joyous occasion. I ask my first wife, to prepare a banquet for my love.” he probably didn't even see you as a human, only as a political ally.
“Of course, your Majesty. I would love to.” nevertheless you replied as if you had a choice in the matter anyways, flinching as soft hands snaked up your arms. “You will? That's wonderful news! I cannot share just how honoured I am that you will be planning this! Anything you make must be nothing short of astounding beauty!” was she trying to gain even more of the king’s favour? It certainly seemed to work on your lovesick husband, who only leaned back in his seat, the cushions were red—a colour worthy of a king and let his lips curl up into a tender smile, with moss greens that seemed to scarily soften up.
Had your husband ever been capable of such a look?
You couldn't remember him ever staring at you so lovingly. It was chilling to say the least. Perhaps even repulsing.
You were quick to look down at your plate again—wishing for nothing more but to peel her fingers off of you, hopefully with so much force that one of her fingers would clean-cut break into two. It wasn't a question of love nor jealousy after all; but a matter of respect, and she was downright waddling her tail in front of you in victory. As if she deserved your just title as much, if not more than you. Slut.
“Mother,” this time it was the voice of your son calling out to you, “it seems you will be occupied for the time being with the courtesan's banquet,” he sighed, “and I here I was anticipating to spend some time with you after my exams.”
Had he just—
Silence.
Even the servants could do nothing but stare at the prince wearing such a proud expression, as if what he did was the right course of action. As if he just didn't insult his father's current obsession with the occupation she had before he brought her into the castle.
Everyone knew not to mention it, not even in the passing. Just hinting at it could cost you lots yet here was the crown prince doing what he knew not to do.
Oddly enough, while electricity zapped through the air, something destructive brewing beneath the king’s icy cold gaze—you could nothing but gape in fascination at your spawn. Were you imagining it, or was he protesting against his father? If you didn't know it sny better, you would've thought he did it to defend your honour. But that was laughable.
It seemed the young prince had grown up, when you had no clue, but sometime ago probably, with the way he held his chin up high, no fear visible in his gaze all while holding his father's glare.
You would be lying if you said you weren't weirded out. Hopefully him acting out wouldn't put you in bigger trouble than you already were in. He could at least grant you such a favour.
“What—what did just leave your mouth?” the king practically spat, your husband rising a hand decked out with hefty golden rings.
“I said, father,” you internally groaned, this child was just determined to cause you misery, “Courtesan. Because that is exactly what she is. Isn't that right, Maria? Before father married you, you were nothing but a whore with your legs wide spread open to please—”
Thwack. The king loomed over his own son, like God, – if he existed – probably had over Lucifer to berate him one last time before he would've earned his fall from grace.
“Enough! One more word and I will forget myself entirely!” the threat rung through the entire dining hall, it rung so deep it seeped into your bones.
Nicholas’ cheek was left marked with imprints of fat rings that managed to slice through skin and leave one side of his face a swirl of red and slowly forming purple. He hadn't just hit his son, but he had done so, with such force that his head was moved out of your sight.
Yet he still talked; spat out words like they burned his tongue.
“What, father? Can't handle the truth—”
“Edwin! Oh dear!” Maria’s fingers only now left your arm. She was rushing to the man that was supposedly your husband, to stop him from actually killing the boy he had wanted so badly. Immediately she latched onto him, practically throwing herself at him, dotting on him, doing her best to calm his wrath and somehow it worked. While all you could do was watch in stunned silence.
Your cousin, what was her name again— ah, yes, Lilian— would’ve surely snorted out a laugh at the scene. She found everything dark and morbid to be fascinating, perhaps that's why she had married a duke that would occasionally beat her into a bloody pulp?
Getting sidetracked again, weren't you? Point is you could accept much, but this, this was crossing a thin line that needed to be kept up for the balance of all things holy to the crown. If a mistress managed to throw everything out of order, then you truly had failed all your marital duty as a partner and as a queen.
Perhaps mother had been right? But then again, father had never been the big romantic, you were sure the man had been incapable of falling in love—obviously different to the Edwin you thought you had known all those years. He seemed enamored and it was truly terrifying.
The meal ended shortly after with the King storming off and his mistress right with him. Now, you never enjoyed being affectionate with Nicholas, however even you had to admit that you should probably offer the boy some words of wisdom.
Even if you liked to think of him as a little gremlin with a copy of his father for a face, you knew he wasn't exactly the same as him. Sometimes, it was hard to admit, your son did manage to spark some motherly affection in you, as scary as it was. So sighing, you rounded the table and your gaze landed on the brunette boy.
“Come, let's get you cleaned up.” was the most affectionate mumbling you forced out from between your lips. Only to turn around almost immediately, not waiting for him to collect himself as you wandered out and away from the dining hall. There was a short burst of laughter—probably, you weren't sure, you hoped it wasn't crying. You hated seeing him cry. He was an ugly crier. Then you heard footsteps behind you and soon passing by a few of your family portraits, the irony not lost on you—your life in contrast to the perfectly crafted deception painted onto these canvases—you found yourself in your study.
“Sit.” your words were always clipped when you talked to him, weren't they? It was hard to remember.
Nevertheless you rummaged through your drawers, the subtle scent of wood mixing with the incense that you were quick to ignite.
Funny, so that's what your study looked like? It was organised and thoroughly dusted, with each book and document in different neatly arranged piles. He remembered never been allowed in here as a boy, only able to take sneak peaks at you at your desk while the door closed in behind his nanny's somber face. Now it made sense, you feared a child would ruin your precision and need for perfection. Oh, mother, is that the reason you shun me so?
You felt that unexplainable chill again, which would always travel down your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. See that look in his eyes? Those soulless green orbs you swore would burn a hole into your face from how intensely he was staring at you as you sat down in front of him. That's exactly why you didn't want anything to do with him, he was just—so peculiar.
“Close your eyes.” was your next command, not being able to stand the abyss you found in your own son’s gaze. You waited while you prepared the cotton through soaking it in alcohol.
And thankfully he listened. His eyes fluttered shut.
“Mother” he spoke. “Mhm,” you hummed.
“Mother, aren't you mad at father?” you paused, inhaled, already unnerved before continuing to pat his cheek gently.
“It's not in my place to question what the king does, neither is it yours Nicholas.” a soft sigh escaped you, “You ought to behave yourself. The little stunt you pulled at dinner tonight was dangerous. He may be your father, but before all else he is the king. And you should respect him until the crown is yours. Or do you wish to ruin your future just because?”
“It wasn't just because—” you chuckled, letting your hand fall away from his cheek as he forced the words from between his teeth.
“Oh?” you used the same look your mother always gave you—a scoff and a frown combined to make the one on the recieving end feel disgustingly guilty. You shook your head at him, youth.
“The reason isn't of any importance, what is of importance however is you ascending to the throne. And you cannot do so if your father hates you so. You may be older and of pure blood, but if the new woman at his side falls pregnant with a boy and you continue to be foolish, then you can just stand and watch everything being ripped away from you.” were you getting emotional, describing your future too while trying to warn him? Maybe. You didn't realise it until your son threw himself at you, alright, maybe not literally but he embraced you, as if you were the child and he the parent.
You stilled.
When had been the last time you hugged your son? You couldn't remember. The moment was peaceful, oddly so and just for a split second you forgot of your revulsion towards that child and let him clutch onto you.
“Mother,” he breathed against your shoulder, startling you, “Mother he’s openly betraying you. While the whole nation watches. You don't deserve this mother, you deserve a better man. If I had been my father I wouldn't have—” you immediately pushed him away.
Did you mishear?
“Don't—don’t ever talk like that again!” you declared, instead of questioning it further, immediately assuming that the fault lied in your twisted mind. You must've misunderstood you must've—
Something was brewing beneath his exterior, you could tell. Something dangerous flicked in his gaze, something that you knew justified your fear towards your own spawn. Now, any minute, you swore he would burst and unleash his inner demons.
“Mother,”
“I apologise.” he smiled. You felt yourself release a breath, one you weren't aware you had been holding.
“I didn't think about my words, I am truly sorry.”
You quickly wrapped things up after that and it was not long before you send him off on his merry way. If he continued to talk about his father as if he wished for him to be only a memory and his skeleton six feet under the earth, then he would only spiral into a world of trouble and take you with him.
Besides—since when was he this rebellious? You sighed, feeling pain bloom between your brows.
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Was this some sort of mockery?
To shame you continuously?
Or why for god's sake was this bitch in your chambers again?
“Your Majesty!” she chirped and you wished you could claw your eyes out and stuff them into her mouth so she would finally shut up.
“Child…”
“Maria, it's Maria, your majesty!” she huffed, then pouted, again clad in nothing but her nightgown, underwear really; silk that fell over her shoulders and reached down to her ankles.
“Besides—,” she pouted and you started to question the sanity of this woman, “You're not much older than me, your Majesty. Mhm, like an elder sister! How about I call you queen sister? Since we both will be queens!” she giggled.
Had she been dropped on her head at birth? You couldn't help but stare wordlessly, as she interlinked her arm with yours.
“Again. This is not the king’s chambers.”
“But queen sister—”
“Don't call me that.”
“But—”
“I said don't call me that!” you screamed.
Great. Now you were causing a scene in the hallway, with your maids and the guards watching. Great.
However you hadn't been prepared yet for the grand finale—suddenly she bursted into tears. Graciously of course, she was a lady, a lady with many tricks up her sleeve that is. She was crying, seemingly an endless stream, sobbing and quivering, staring up at you with big puppy-dog eyes.
If there was a god in heaven, you were certain that he hated you.
“My queen” she was still sobbing, now leaning forward so her cold lips could brush against your ear.
“You scream at me again and I’ll tell the king that you insulted me to my face.”
You gasped, this cocky little—
Yet what could you do? You knew one of her words amounted to a bar of gold to him; something to be treasured, possibly sacred. But you, he never had viewed you as such, you were the mother of his child and the queen yes—but your presence, —you knew as much as that— never has been valuable besides those two strong points. He saw you as an ally, a friend of sorts, a political fawn; someone with an intellect, but nothing more.
You didn't want to imagine his anger at even just daring to belittle what was rightfully his, that you, the queen in his little game of chess, would've mustered up courage that bordered on dangerously life-threatening.
So you sighed, with liquid anger pumping through your veins and your face flushing from the pressure of it. Your temples hurt again. Your head hurt again
You didn't register her leaving with a shit—eating grin on her face, nor the fact that one of your maid, Leslie, was half-carrying you inside your chamber, having to sit you down on your bed before feeding you your medicine in form of a brew.
It was funny, like your memory was wiped clean—as if your mind was a clean slate similar to how it had been when you were a drooling infant. Everything around you eased, the tension, the worries—what even was there to worry? You hummed, even purred in satisfaction as you drifted off into a dreamless slumber.
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You hated waking up. Peace never existed beyond a deep slumber void of dreams. You hated dreams, you hated being dragged up and dressed like a doll and hated the sky. Especially the sky with its sparkling stars all mocking you, calling you as you were; defeated.
Utterly so.
Your reminisced about your beloved husband calling you to discuss something urgent with him. What could've been this urgent matter, one may ponder? Well, it was Maria.
“Have you started your preparations for the ball, yet?” his tone was colder than usual.
“No, but I am very much in—”
“Then haste. It will be held soon enough.”
You nodded politely, not wanting to aggregate his nerves further. So he waved you off and dismissed you, until he abruptly spoke up.
“And make sure that boy learns some manners.” his glare was so sharp it cut into your nape.
“Will do, husband.” you fled the room after that.
Perhaps you did not actually flee, but you certainly felt inclined to do so. Sometimes you did fantasize about escaping to a lone island, one that would resemble the paradise your nanny had always spoken so fondly of. What was her name again? You didn't remember, you couldn't, no matter how hard you tried because all you called her was Mommy—obviously only behind closed doors, away from any eyes or ears that could rat her out to your real hag of a mother.
She had been the only thing close to a mother's loving embrace which you so frequently would read about in books; fairytales and romances. An angel with crooked teeth and a hunchback, but an angel no less, with a softness to her that you never were able to replicate no matter how hard you tried. She was simply of different blood that wasn't blue nor red but gold; she wasn't like the rest of them. But you were like them, hiding behind a mask, no matter how terrible life whipped at you to reveal the truth—you wouldn't, you were trained to not give in after all, drilled from a young age.
And she had been so adamant to free you, telling you stories about juicy fruits with tastes rivalling that of honey, a sky that never darkened and greenery that never faded—if you narrowed your eyes to slits, you could imagine the royal garden spread out in front of you to be the paradise she so often spoke about.
You sighed again. Those were just childish fantasies. Something she had made up to bring you happiness, even if your shared wonder only lasted two years before she was caught being too affectionate with you and discarded.
As a chubby five-year old you had been devastated and confused, wondering why she had left you behind to fend for yourself, alone with the wolves. But as you matured, as your own son's nannies came and disappeared, you realized it had never been her fault in the first place. They had been at fault.
“Your majesty!”
Some of your days were good, tranquil even, but some—some were either destructively evil or somberly empty.
“Your majesty—” and today you wanted to be somber, away from everything. But fate didn't want this. Of course it didn't, fate despised you as you did your mother. So even if you had promised to betray fate instead and experience an adventurous tryst with the man in front of you just out of spite, you felt no desire to speak with him or anyone else, after the short but life-threatening conversation you had had with his majesty.
“Has he upset you again?”, Charles sighed, his initial enthusiasm fading, “It seems every time we converse you're miserable.”
Now that he mentioned it—he wasn't wrong. He was like some sort of saviour, someone that reminded you of your nanny so long ago and your hardened heart softened again. You didn't want to push him away, not Charles, not the man with soft-features, a tender look in his eyes, with his dashing looks and personality—not when he was only a few years younger than you. So little in fact, it wouldn't matter at your age anymore.
“Seems so.” you muttered and you couldn't hold your hand back from outstretching to pull him down besides you on your little white-painted bench placed in the shades, with another piece of embroidery in your lap. For a moment he was silent, stunned by your fingers wrapped around his wrist for all eyes to feast on—and continuing to hold it even as he sat.
“It seems you're always there for me, Charles.” was this a fever dream? Or why else would you, the queen, tempt him so, seductive as always, yet bolder than ever, calling him so intimately out here—hopefully out of the ear of onlookers to the spectacle; your maid and a few guards scattered around.
And then you even fluttered your lashes at him, so blindingly beautiful that it hurt. Tantalizing with your lips that he was certain were sweeter than sugar, and the new heart-robbing smile on those soft pillars of warmth. The slope of your nose, the apple of your cheek, everything about you was sin incarnate and he was just helpless to the devil’s calls. Just what if he leaned down and—
“I thank you.” god you teased him.
“It's my pleasure. As a devotee to the crown.” he managed to finesse and gloss over his little stammer with a bright smile and you, thankfully, let it slip.
Or at least he assumed so.
Actually you were giggling in your head like one of those young village girls, when a boy would ask for a dance—you had watched that spectacle occur one time out on the countryside for some respite after mother's passing.
What a time it had been, so beautifully peaceful with only the birds to yap away— similar to now, the only difference was that now you were holding his hand, and nothing, not even the king could prevent you from enjoying this moment to the fullest.
“Charles. How long have we known eachother?”
“Fourteen years and counting, your Majesty.” he answered, with warmth in his eyes. The day was warm—the sun blazing and at its peak, with the garden neatly trimmed, sitting beneath the proud tall that was probably older than both of you combined, the shade provided you would with protection from her rays.
“Thank you, Charles, for always consoling me in times of need.” your fingers slithered between his own, entangling your hands under lingering eyes, yet in that little moment you found yourself not caring. Life was short, so why shouldn't you be able to enjoy life to the fullest as his majesty. If it came and he would hear of this, you would accept whatever punishment, because you were sick of not being free.
Then again you felt freedom spread her wings above you with Charles by your side.
You smiled, softly, gently, tenderly even. A smile not even your son had ever earned from you—something he probably never would, no matter what he tried, because he was still that man’s son with motives behind his façade that you could never figure out. He was still the baby that terrified you with the ravenous hunger in his soul reflected in his gaze.
And that very son, was plastered against one of the castle windows, his glare bearing down on you both, if possible, it would have burned a hole through your face from the sheer intensity of it. You had always viewed your child as creepy—unsettling to be around for too long. But you had never possessed any evidence for it—you knew not to blame a seedling, something that had sprung from you, but you just couldn't stop yourself from feeling dread when meeting his eyes.
Unbeknownst to you, this silent horror was not completely irrational.
Actually it was simple survival instinct.
Especially when the heir to the kingdom craved nothing more but your motherly love and seeing you give affection to his uncle, of all people – his enemy — he couldn't help but trash your favourite vase. Actually he wasn't that different to you in that sense—he needed chaos and destruction to satisfy the inner barbarian in him.
“Mother,” he slammed his fists onto your desk. He had been snooping around your study—his favourite past time activity since he had managed to steal the second pair of keys to the room you viewed as sacred and safe. If you just knew, Mother.
“You give, Mother. To everyone but me.”
he was trying to maintain his composure, to not burst into a jealous rage from seeing you intertwined hands, the close proximity you shared—the smile plastered onto your face much more similar to that of a young maiden experiencing her first love than the queen with a heart of ice.
The moment his uncle dared to lean forward to brazenly press a kiss to your knuckles, was the moment he snapped. Destruction reigned over your study, his desire for carnage so raw, he treated craftsmanship like flesh and blood, strangling them as if they owed him an apology.
Then finally it was over.
As it was, peace settled over his silhouette, drenched in his own sweat in the stifling hot room, panting like a rabid dog.
“Mother,” you both were gone now from his view, he should haste, he knew, but he couldn't leave without these last words.
“If you won't give me your love willingly, as a mother should. Then I will take what is mine to own. I will overthrow father, be the king. You won't be able to escape, me, your son. You won't shun me no longer, mother. I won't allow it.”
Mother I will own your leash.
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When you finally parted—you felt light and airy. Freedom was on the tip on your tongue, and butterflies danced around your hollowed out chest. Summer lingered on your skin, warm and sandy, reminding you of beaches you had never visited and tropical fruits that run over the back of your hand when you squeezed tad too tightly.
You hadn't felt so giddy in a while, nothing could ruin your good mood, not your husband, nor his mistress and neither your son. Cotton clouds were wrapping around you and you would be damned if you wasted time to not mock the stars back, staring up at the bright sky with a sneer. See, Mother? I will have my freedom too. I won't end like you, heartbroken by a man that never learned to love.
How foolish you were. Unassuming even. Years of living on this earth, shackled by fate and you still dared to dream.
So when the door to your study gave in and you entered to discover—
nothing amiss.
You sighed, you were being paranoid again, weren't you? How silly of you. Why would anything be out of order—children and most servants were forbid from entering. You handled delicate matters, events even; such as banquets and balls, carefully writing out invitations to selected guests, curating the invitations. Also you were responsible for all of your servants and the choices they made.
Before the old king’s unfortunate death you had been responsible with his care. He had deteriorated into a bad mental state in the last two years of his life; so much so that he couldn't recognise his son anymore. You had shared your husband's pain then, younger and naïve, a decade ago.
But you didn't, not anymore, not after so much you suffered through and with him only for him to sought out a courtesan and bend the entire law for her, risking even a coop!
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You approached your sleeping quarters as always, while thinking about Maria, which granted you with a pulsing headache—in the literal sense. You should ask one of your maids, maybe Leslie, to brew you, your medicine once again.
“Maria." you greeted her dryly, the routine familiar now.
“Your Majesty!” she chirped as always and you had to control the twitch of your eye—or the twitch in your hand to slap her.
You opted to just silently stare at her, agitated by having to encounter her each night in your chambers, dressed in a nightgown you didn't want to imagine the king peeling off of her skin. She was trying to shame you, in front of your closest servants and in front of the guilt-stricken guard—that couldn't deny her request because in fear of attracting the king's anger.
“Your Majesty! I have waited and waited, just where have you been?” she was active as a child—but her eyes mirrored that of a snake, just searching for one of your weak points, so that she could torment you further until she managed to properly get rid of you.
“Maria please move. I would like to rest.”
“Then let's rest together! I am terribly tired—you know how tiring the king can be! So ravenous.” she snickered, much to the horror of your servants around you, “Oh..my apologies. Am I hurting your Majesty’s feelings?” her slanted gaze drooped, pity and amusement lingering in their depths.
Oh.
She did not—
That bitch!
“Leave!” you roared. Not towards her but to everyone around you, needing to feel her scalp beneath your fingers. You knew what you would be doing now was going to wind up ruining your just newly acquired saccharine taste of freedom, and probably destroy your life—but your anger gripped your by your shoulders and slapped you on your back as you roughly shoved her inside of your chambers.
Darkness shrouded the room in thrilling mystery of what to come—at least you thought Maria found it to be thrilling judging by her giddy following, excited to play a sick and twisted game of cat and mouse in the privacy of your chambers.
Your burst came all too soon and familiar—stripping you of any royalty, drowning out all the voices in your head trying to shackle the beast you would become when allowed. Usually you were only to do so in private, behind your doors—with only your servants to be subjected to your other face, but this time you wanted to indulge Maria. Show her heavenly grace and what it meant to be of royal descent.
You strangled her.
Everything unfolded in the blink of an eye, you couldn't stop or control yourself before tackling her causing her to stumble over your carpet in shock, crashing with into your nightshade, lamp shattering the moment it embraced the marbled floors while she embraced you as you both tumbled into your bed.
“Have the king! Have him all you want—like all the other men that you had between your legs. Warm him at cold nights! I urge you, please do.” hissing you leaned down to continue. “But know that you will never be able to be loved as much by the court, by the people, by everyone else. You won't survive this for too long. Even if I am beheaded after this.” you snarled while noting that she was indeed oddly calm beneath your palms. You were uncertain. Maybe it was the sheer shock? Perhaps she was weaker than you had assumed?
Or, she had died.
Panic surged through you. You weren't ready to be her murderer just yet! The thought alone made you flinch as if it branded your forehead in big bold letters in crimson. As if everyone could already bear witness to your crimes.
And suddenly you stood in front of the court.
Fingers pointed at you, screeching out blurts of sentences you couldn't make out, while you were dragged away by your own son, his grip on your hair so tight that you swore your scalp would peel off any minute now.
Kicked to kneel in front of the king, you begged and pleaded but mercy was foreign to the man that robbed you of your youth, and that you robbed of love and his sword swung high and far before—
You convulsed, gagging only at the thought, letting loose of her neck instantly, falling off of her onto the silken covers.
“I am sorry—” you mumbled, scrambling away from her, stubbornly looking away from the assumed corpse.
You were about to flee, kicking away the covers, dazed by the turn of events, trying to claw yourself back to your feet.
Run, Run, Run. It chanted inside of your head, and you surely would’ve managed to do so, if Maria’s fingers didn't clasp around your arm like a python’s jaw.
“Where are you going, your Majesty? We just started didn't we.” you shrieked, her hoarse voice genuinely startling.
Slowly you turned around to face the woman, with wide-eyed panic still clear on your face. “Let go of me!”
“Why? So you can take flight? Escape? Your majesty, even if you run, Edwin’s underlings will still catch you.” she was grinning, a feverish rush on her cheeks, mania clear and deep in her icy blue stare. “There's no one to run to, your Majesty. No where to hide. Embrace it. You're a monster. Old and greedy, craving things that no longer are yours.”
Was the bed coming closer? Or were you being pushed down? Because soon enough you laid on your bed, another headache, so potent it nearly blinded you with its pain—left you at the mercy of her cruel words.
“The king doesn't love you. He never has. Never will.” she muttered, with purple blooming on her throat like blossoming tulips, “You suffer for naught, your Majesty. Why do you worry for someone with such little regard of your person?” it was a bitter pill to swallow the truth in her words—and even if you wished to protest, you couldn't.
You were tongue-tied from the agony, with suddenly lead instead of bones, only further sinking into the open arms of your bedding.
“You're a fool, your Majesty.” a laugh ripped free from her throat. “For ever agreeing to be alone with me, don't you fear what I could be? Don't you fear my hands on your cheeks? Don't you fear the lust for blood in my gaze?” her voice like a melody, like a drug to aid to your wounds—it worked better than the mix of herbs you usually downed to find relief.
“Will you kill me?” you asked, only to earn another boisterous laugh that felt like a whip on your soul accompanied with slanted eyes that slithered over your form.
“No, far worse,” she paused, gaze smoldering.
“I will love you and you will love me.”
Pause.
You gawked. What was she saying?
“What?” you spat, puzzled.
She was completely deprived of sisterly love, or so it seemed. This was bizarre, downright weird—had she gone mad? Now you feared whatever her sick mind conjured next.
Something morphed and shifted until a smile so daunting, that if it weren't for the pulsing agony between your brows, you would've slapped it off her face and gladly so, while simultaneously increasingly feeling as if you were trapped in the coils of a snake.
“Edwin doesn't see you, as I do, your Majesty. He cannot see the madness in you, as I can. The insanity in your eyes, the very same one I crave to have. He doesn't love you, he doesn't. Not like I do.” your brows scrunched up, puzzled, she truly spoke like a madwoman.
Maria only chuckled. Her gaze narrowed in on your lips, in a way that twisted your stomach in discomfort; the way a man leers at a woman he desires. What foolishness! She couldn't possibly mean such an atrocity! It was never heard of a woman with a woman—
And as if to prove you wrong, tear your worldview apart, she leaned down with heavy paws pressing onto your shoulders. Your corset seemed tighter. The air or the lack of it was stifling. She wouldn't, right?
Fate truly had never been kind to you—and now it proved itself to be only more cruel as her lips crashed onto yours.
She was feverish with soft lips and scraping teeth, her tongue poked and prodded as if she tried to hollow out the warm cavern of your mouth. Her scent lingered in your nose so strongly it made your eyes water—lavender mixed with something you failed to recognise as she smashed her mouth against yours over and over again, until you were convinced that she was trying to strangle you with the wet muscle in her mouth instead of her hands.
The moment she let go off your figure, as stiff as a board , she was smirking deviously, as if she won a prize in a competition. As if the prize was you.
“I promise—” she leaned down, languidly slow, as if she had all the time in the world with no concern for the ravenous chaos she had just unleashed inside of you, “that even after Edwin’s reign, you will stay queen by my side.”
A bone-chilling cold kiss pressed to your damp temple.
“Goodnight, my queen.”
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Sleep was not kind enough to visit you that night or the night after even though Maria had abruptly stopped with her nightly visits after that faithful encounter—still, your head was a buzzing beehive of thoughts. You were overwhelmed and at a loss for words at the strangeness of it all. For her to kiss you and demand—No, you refused to ponder about it further.
Nevertheless as if fate wished to humiliate you further —the stars in the sky hiding behind the light of the sun at daytime mocking you — your son was glued to you for the past half an hour or so, even had send all your servants away and no matter how much you tried to pry him off he would have an excuse prepared smoothly evading all your accusations. It was creepy. Has he sensed something? He never was so persistent.
Nevertheless you still couldn't fathom why she had did, what she had done.
Even days later, it just didn't make sense. What benefit could she reap from forcing her mouth onto yours and behaving like a man? You shuddered just at the thought, everything about this situation was odd, vile, repulsing and something else. Something you wished to keep buried deep in you and left unexplored.
“Mother, look! It's a swan with ducklings.” he pointed out the window, at this very moment behaving much more closer in age to a child than to a man. “Yes, Nicholas. How grand.” you muttered dryly, eyes kept steady on the embroidery in your lamp while indulging him slightly, after countless failed attempts and of hushing him away, you had tired and the pounding headache that wouldn't relent didn't make you any more awake.
“Swans mate for life. Do you believe this one is mated?” your brow twitched in frustration, eyes kept steadily on your needle, going in-and-out of the tight fabric.
“I do not concern myself with such matters, perhaps you also shouldn't.” you muttered abrasively, watching the motive of a purple tulip come to life, something about it eerily similar.
“I believe that it was mated. Then rid itself of its mate. It knows it doesn't need one. Just look mother— all the cygnets that follow without her mate in sight. They all seem so happy. Especially the mother swan, the way she—” red obscured your vision.
Something warm and human dripped down your hand. You didn't move, didn't even breathe, all you did was stare at the needle sticking out of your hand.
“Mother?—” a gasp, “Mother!” his footsteps were overwhelmingly loud, even louder than his ramblings that were grating on your nerves.
“Oh Mother.” the condescending attribute of his tone was sharp and rung in your ears. “What have you done? Your beautiful skin,” he was mumbling again. God, when would this child stop mumbling beneath his breath! And his eyes full of fake pity concealing something much darker made you just want to pluck the needle from your hand and ram it into your throat, perhaps then the scornful look on your mother's face would finally stop haunting you every living moment.
“Mother, you're upset again, aren't you? You're always upset.” Nicholas face fell as if genuinely distraught, taking your wounded hand in his, prodding at the damage you caused. “Father doesn't know how to care for you, he is mean and brutish. To scold you for informing him that you can't possibly prepare the banquet because you're unwell and getting mad at you. He’s audacious, a fool. He doesn't deserve you—no one deserves you Mother. No one but me.”
You yelped as he pressed down onto the needle, causing further damage to your hand—the pain unbearably uncomfortable. For days your head was a dizzy spur of thoughts, paranoid and refusing to meet Charles and now, you couldn't even be properly be enraged about your son's foolishness. At least the mind-numbing headache of yours lessened thanks to the one in your hand.
Suddenly he was much closer, eyes a combination of bright and hopeful and sick. There was something manic about his gaze too, something that made you swallow thickly, alarm you once more to jot stare at the demon dressed in your son's human’s shell.
“Mother, I will be a fair king. I will be good. And I will take care of you in a way, no man or husband can. So just endure it for a while longer, I know you carry all this pain with you—and all of it is the reason why you can't love me fully. But if father, his whore and everyone else that upsets you dies—then you will be free. Then you will be free to love me how much you want. We can finally be happy mother.”
You were about to puke. Was this what you had allowed to grow? Over all the years, no matter how much you detested spending time with the little copy of Edwin, you had made sure he only had the best nannies, a great governess and tutors at hand. All for him to spew out such nonsense.
But you had known. Known since the day he was born, that Nicholas was not sane. And right now it both angered and chilled you to see your worst fears manifest in flesh and blood.
“Get lost. Out of my eyes.” you hissed, bathed in cold sweat. You had to get up and out. Needed to flee before you were given the moment to acknowledge that you were raising such cruelness beneath the facade of a noble. Perhaps what amplified your dread was that he—the look of insanity in his eyes, the hatred, yet longing mixing into a destructive love— and you weren't so different after all.
That you both craved motherly affection so intensely you both had spiralled, into different lows, but spiralled nonetheless.
“Mother—you don't mean that.” he smiled. Yet not calm anymore. He wouldn't hide it no longer. You deserved to know that he forgave you, that he saw your pain and ache and that he would ease it for you. Just let him destroy the world only to rebuild it in your name, so that you could finally love him.
“No.” you breathed. He didn't relent, clutching your hand as if it was sacred.
“No! Let go!” you shoved him away this time, crying out in pain, as the needle’s head now pierced through your palm. You were trembling. The creatures lurking in the shadows would now find you. Freedom was a dream, happiness equally but at least you used to have peace, at least you used to have Charles, but this new reality of yours, with your son as the same maniac you were in your youth, would destroy it all. He will take from you, as he always had.
Your anger boiled over.
It was a mistake—he was the heir for god's sake, no matter how foul his mouth had gotten!
Nothing changed the fact that it was done though.
You slapped him right across the face, as his father had done, startling him into a stunned moment of silence. He was as if frozen, shocked that the verbal abuse you inflicted on him would actually one day turn physical. For a moment everything halted, the particles of dust in the air, the chirping of the birds, the soft footsteps echoing around the castle and only shock remained.
Then he smiled.
“Mother—”
And you fled.
You scrambled to your feet, rushing out of the room in such a hurry, you still held your embroidery in your hand while out in the hallway, running pathetically slowly. This wasn't your son. Even after years you still refused the truth, you didn't ask for this! Fate was cruel, but it couldn't be this—not this! You were a queen now, your mother would've been proud, the same mother you had thrown off the balcony.
Tears streamed down your cheeks, sick to the stomach. No, not now! You couldn't cry now, not when duty and responsibility always came before being and feeling and living and— Before you even realized you plucked the needle from the back of your hand, throwing the embroidery against one of the oil paintings hanging nearby, hoping your blood could lay curses and if it actually could,
You hoped to curse this entire castle.
Everything should’ve changed after her death! You should've been free, should’ve lived a better life than her—but you were following into her footsteps, the same miserable marriage only used as a pawn, with the same excuse for a husband caring even little for his heir. You hated it, hated it so much you could burst!
“Your Majesty?”
“Charles,” you muttered, lip between your teeth. You groaned, stumbling forward, dressed in red—the colour which had adored your mother as she had laid lifelessly on the ground. Life was funny indeed wasn't it?
The man has been your angel for so many years, once more spread his wings embracing you in all his glory, letting your red taint him with the evil your mother, you and your son bore. It was in your blood, in your very DNA, you were bred to be a demon—perhaps that's why your son's eyes had always send a chill down your spine, not because he possessed the same potent green of his father, but he held the same wickedness in it. The one you recognised.
“By god!—”
And speak of the devil and he rushed towards you, immediately growling at his uncle that held you in his clutches. Yet before he could step further forward, the doors to his father's study opened, the room one of the largest and proudest and with its opening the king stepped out with Maria as always glued to his side.
All of them and the servants—all were staring at you, while you couldn't help but let your tears flow; your pounding headache, the blinding lights and the blurry edges in your vision everything you could focus on, all were maddening.
You were dying weren't you? This was probably the divine judgment for all your sins. Perhaps the stars were right to scorn and mock you; you were indeed pitiful, a creature born out of neglect and the same abuse you instilled on others now.
“What’s the meaning of this?” the king demanded as proud as ever, before the world was replaced by a void and swallowed you whole and the chaotic cries around you dimmed, until your own stopped.
Until you were no more.
Hopefully this time you would be reborn as a bird with fully fleshed-out wings.
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cheeseatlantic · 2 days ago
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hi baby bells, or cheese factory tourists… ive come to feed you animal knowledge in the form of tooth-rotting ghost x reader fluff, today are PRARIE VOLESSSSS
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Tipsy activities with Simon would include making out, celebrity gossip where you would blab about and he would listen or drunkenly make food which tasted either really bad or really good, no in between. But today you unlocked a new tipsy activity, watching animal documentaries together.
You were curled up next to Simon, wearing one of his old shirts and a random pair of underwear, a blanket wrapped tightly around you with a bowl of chips in your lap. Simon nursed a whiskey, oddly enough but it was 10 PM, reasonable time. Whatever. You were stressed out the entire fucking day, hence why you had a few drinks.
His mask was left forgotten on the coffee table as the both of you stared at the television, the star of the episode today were prairie voles, you’d learned now thanks to National Geographic that prairie voles are extremely affectionate animals. They sense when their partner is stressed then shower them in affection, just like you and Simon.
The scene switched to two voles grooming each other and you giggled and elbowed Simon in his side gently to get his attention, when you felt his eyes on you, you grinned. “That’s literally us.” You spoke, jutting your chin to the screen as he looked at the screen and chuckled. “Aye, that’s us.” He spoke. “Let’s recreate that scene, hm?” He added.
He snatched the bowl of popcorn off your lap and put it on the coffee table next to his mask as he pulled you onto his lap and wrapped his arms around your waist, his touch gentle. He leaned in and started peppering kisses all over your face, neck, and shoulders as you giggled. “Simon!” You playfully scolded, trying to squirm away but his hold on you tightened.
“Hm?” He hummed, smiling away as you grinned like an idiot, continuing his affection shower. Alcohol made him a lot more affectionate than usual, sober Simon was affectionate of course but tipsy Simon was so much more lovey with you. He was like a big lovebird, you debated at least weekly to get him drunk so that he’d shower you with love.
“You’re so stupid.” You slurred as he snorted and kept kissing you, and not an inch of skin was left unloved, and it never would be as long as you had him. Somehow a big muscle wall of a soldier could transform into your own big stupid prairie vole, only for you.
guys i love animals :)3)3)36364)):632)&4!:$2
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dreamyluigi · 1 day ago
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WHAT IN THE WORLD!!!!!!!!!!!!! I FRICKIN LOVE THIS OH MY GOD 😭🍻
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drunk bros that i won't finish
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revelboo · 3 days ago
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Sure! Hound and Teebs are both sobering up enough to realize they’ve royally messed up and that kidnapping a little friend just because you’re cripplingly lonely under the premise of ‘protecting them’ whether they want it or not isn’t okay.
It did the weird thing it’s doing lately where I can’t directly reply to this one.
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Heavy Boots Pt 3
Hound x Reader
• You’re scared of him. Servos flexing on the datapad in his hands, he watches the way your eyes scan his habsuite. Quiet and shell shocked as you look for a way to escape, one of the blankets he’d given you draped over your shoulders and dragging behind you. And this isn’t what he’d wanted at all. Had wanted a companion. Someone to accompany him on patrols, talk to him about something beyond the war effort. He’d imagined a smiling human, glad to be rescued, happy to explore the green world outside the Ark with him. Not… this. And he’s not sure how to fix it.
• The vents are going to be your best bet, looks like. Can’t really tell from up on his berth, but you think you might be able to squeeze through the slats. Those have to go outside at some point, right? Catching him watching you over the top of his datapad, you turn your attention to the ceiling, pretending you’re just checking the place out not plotting. Vents had worked for Bruce Willis, right? And Hound’s so big, he won’t be able to get to you in there. Could you just walk to wherever your buddy is and get out that way together? Going still when he stands and taps a servo against the berth, you force a smile. “I’ll be back, but anything you want me to find for you?”
• Hates the way you go still and lean away from him like you think he’s a threat, just shaking your head at him and offering him a fake smile. There’s no way for you to get down from his berth, though. And he wants to try to at least make this better. Figure out how to get a real smile from you. Something you might like. A way to begin making amends.
• After he leaves, you walk to the edge and lean out to look down. It’s a long drop, but he’d filled your stupid doggie bed with blankets. Using your teeth and pulling, you begin to tear off strips, making a little pile. Because just staying here to play house pet? Not happening. Knotting the strips together, your heart begins to race. There’s not much space between the bottom edge of his berth, but it’s enough to wedge the end of your crude rope through after knotting the top so it won’t slip through. At least you hope it won’t. Yanking on your rope to check if the knots will hold, you try to convince yourself that it’s just like rappelling down from those stupid climbing walls your last ex had loved. Easy. Sure.
• There’s a greenhouse on the outskirts of the little town he’d found while exploring in his alt mode. Transforming and keeping low, he wedges his fingers under the structure and lifts the whole thing out of the way. Begins picking out potted plants you might like. Things to make his habsuite more welcoming. Has no idea if you even like plants, but he doesn’t have a better idea. Just wants to cheer you up until he can work up the nerve to apologize for, well, everything.
Previous
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rubywillkins · 2 days ago
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Hi, this is an order for your cafee. Dont know if I picked too much, i just did one from each.
Can I have skim Milk, bruchetta, spaghetti, club soda, pork chops, potato gnocci and dark mocha. With mv1 x fem reader🩷
Thank youuu
Sure darling ♥️, you didn't pick much sweety its actually a bit less so the ff will be a bit short ♥️
Max Verstappen|
Tension and Tenderness
Pairing max Verstappen × female reader
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Skim milk dry humping bruschetta edging spaghetti hand cuffs club soda pillow talk pork chops "so good for me, look at how much you came" potato gnocchi "shh, just look at me, baby" dark mocha dating
The paddock was buzzing with its usual energy. Y/N stood near Max's Red Bull garage, chatting animatedly with one of the mechanics, Lucas. She admired how Lucas was always so patient explaining the technical intricacies of Max’s car, and her curiosity often led her to these lighthearted conversations.
Max, who had just wrapped up his debrief, spotted them from a distance. His jaw tightened as he saw Y/N laughing at something Lucas said. The warmth in her eyes sent a pang of jealousy through him, though he knew deep down it was irrational.
By the time Y/N rejoined him, Max’s mood had visibly shifted.
“Had a good chat?” he asked curtly, his tone sharp.
“Yeah, Lucas was just explaining how the new setup impacts—”
“Lucas this, Lucas that,” Max interrupted, his voice low but edged with annoyance. “You seem to spend more time with him than me lately.”
Y/N frowned, caught off guard. “Max, are you seriously jealous? He’s just being nice and answering my questions.”
Max huffed but didn’t reply, his blue eyes betraying the storm brewing within. They finished the rest of their day in strained silence, the usual playful banter replaced by tension.
The drive home was quiet, and Y/N felt the weight of his emotions. Max rarely let his insecurities show, but when he did, it hit hard.
As soon as they stepped into their shared apartment, she turned to him. “Max, talk to me. What’s really going on?”
He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “I don’t like seeing you with him, okay? It gets to me. I know it’s stupid, but I can’t help it. You’re mine, and the thought of someone else catching your attention...”
She stepped closer, placing her hands on his chest. “You’re the only one I want, Max. You have nothing to worry about.”
His eyes softened, but the tension in his body remained. Without another word, he pulled her into a deep kiss, pouring all his unspoken emotions into it. Y/N felt the shift—his jealousy melting into need, his anger replaced by a longing to feel connected.
The night unfolded in a whirlwind of passion and tenderness. Max’s hands explored her as if reminding himself she was his, every touch filled with a mix of possessiveness and love. "You deserve to be punished young lady" he said while putting handcuffs on you... You hesitate a bit but you were enjoying it.. you don't see this side of max often..
He picked you up and made you sit on his lap kissing you roughly.. his hands caressing your ass and slowly pushing it towards his hardening dick...
At this point you were also turned on and both of your bodies were moving in sync Fully clothed...
"max.. don't make me more needy baby... Just put it in.. pls.." you said yearning to feel his dick inside you...
"Not so easily baby, this is a punishment.." he said smirking...
In one go both of your clothes were on the floor..
He inserted himself into you .. making you gasp because of the sudden movement...
It felt so good.. he was slowly pounding into you making it unbearable for you...
"baby pls.. pls a bit fast" you said.. "are you sure"
He started to pound in you roughly.. it was good very good but rough at the same time.. but he pulled out the moment you were about to cum...
"oh.. god no... Max... Why don't you let me cum"
"its a punishment baby" " max pls..it didn't feel good" you said with your big baby eyes.. which melted his heart right away.. "shh, just look at me, baby"
He started pounding into you again this time perfectly.. not too much rough.. but it felt amazing to you... When you both were about to cum.. he increased his pace go max.. it was good.. infact it was the best part... And you both came at the same time..
"so good for me, look at how much you came"
He said resting his head on your head panting from cuming right into you...
they lay tangled in the sheets, their breathing slowing as the adrenaline ebbed. Max traced lazy patterns on her bare shoulder, his head resting against hers.
“I’m sorry for overreacting,” he murmured. “I trust you, I do. It’s just...sometimes I forget how lucky I am to have you.”
She turned to face him, her fingers brushing through his messy hair. “Max, you don’t have to be jealous. Lucas is a friend, but you’re the one I love. You’re my everything.”
His lips curved into a small smile. “I just don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t,” she promised, leaning in to kiss him softly.
They stayed like that for hours, talking about everything and nothing—his next race, their plans for the future, and the little moments that made their relationship special. The vulnerability in their conversation only deepened their bond, and by the time sleep claimed them, the earlier tension was a distant memory.
In the quiet of the night, wrapped in each other’s arms, they both knew they had something unshakable.
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antinousletmehit · 2 days ago
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Ahem might I make a randow toss of an idea to you? I love your fic so much but i am to scared not to hide in anon for this. so we all know that reader and telemachus are in love and they both know buuuuut
what is Telemachus had snuck off without telling her he loved her and so reader still thinks he's upset with her and he comes back and either by another suitor or Ody she's on her last few moments and then he confesses as she dies >: ) 🎀- Anon
WHY DOES EVERYONE HATE HAPPINESS
The great hall echoed with shouts, the chaos of Odysseus’s long awaited vengeance staining the palace red. Telemachus moved through the fray, his sword dripping with the blood of suitors, his focus singular: finding the one person he needed to protect.
Y/N.
He hadn’t seen her since the battle began, and dread clawed at his chest. The last memory of her burned fresh in his mind—her face twisted with anger and hurt as they argued. He’d left for his diplomatic mission that same night, too proud and too stubborn to offer any words of comfort. And now, months later, with his father’s return and justice at hand, he realized how foolish he’d been.
“Where is she?” he muttered under his breath, scanning the room desperately.
His eyes landed on her at last, her figure standing near the hearth. Relief washed over him, only to be replaced by sheer terror as he saw the bowstring in his father’s hands pull taut, aimed directly at her.
“Father, no!” Telemachus shouted, but the warning came too late.
The arrow flew.
She gasped as the arrow struck her chest, her body crumpling to the floor. The world around Telemachus slowed as he dropped his sword and sprinted toward her, his heart pounding louder than the chaos around him. When he reached her, he fell to his knees, gathering her trembling body into his arms. Blood stained his hands as he pressed them to her wound, trying to stop the flow.
“Y/N, no. No, no, no,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Stay with me.”
Her eyes fluttered open, her gaze meeting his. “Telemachus?” she rasped, her voice weak.
“I’m here,” he said, his voice trembling. “I’m here. Just stay with me. Please.”
A bitter laugh escaped her lips, though it ended in a cough. “I thought you hated me.”
Her words struck him harder than any weapon could. Tears blurred his vision as he shook his head. “I never hated you,” he said, his voice desperate. “I was angry, and I was stupid, but I could never hate you. I… I love you.”
Her eyes widened slightly at his confession, and a small, broken smile formed on her lips. “You… You love me?”
“Yes,” he choked out, pressing his forehead to hers. “I should have told you before, but I was too much of a coward. I thought I’d have time to make things right, to tell you everything.”
Her hand weakly reached up to touch his cheek, her bloodstained fingers trembling. “You’re here now,” she whispered.
“Don’t say it like that,” he begged, his voice breaking. “You’re going to be fine. We have the greatest healers I know in Ithaca. We’ll fix this.”
Her breathing grew shallower, her eyes beginning to lose focus. “Telemachus…”
“Don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t you dare leave me. I can’t lose you.”
“I’ll always… love you,” she whispered, her voice fading. Her hand fell limp, and her eyes closed.
“No!” Telemachus cried, pulling her closer as sobs wracked his body.
Odysseus stood a few feet away, his bow lowered, his expression grim. “Telemachus—”
“Stay back!” Telemachus snapped, his voice raw with grief and rage. “This is your fault!”
Odysseus flinched, guilt flashing across his face. “I didn’t know—”
“You didn’t care!” Telemachus shouted, clutching her lifeless body. “You’ve taken everything from me! You should’ve stayed gone, you don’t deserve to come back!”
The great hall fell silent, the weight of Telemachus’s grief hanging heavy in the air. And as the young prince cradled the woman he loved, the victory of the day felt hollow, the cost far too great to bear.
@simpformoonkight
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flowery-mess · 2 days ago
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uh oh
Pairing: frat boy Noah x female reader
Warnings: 18+ MDNI! / alcohol / protected sex / friends with benefits / let me know if anything else should be taged!
Words: 3,7k
frat boy Noah masterlist
Author's note: I fell in love with frat boy Noah while writing this, so feel free to elaborate or send thots, I'll maybe make this a 'thing', maybe series? What do you think?
Inspired by this song:
feel your eyes watchin' me, so I'm movin' on him just so you can see, told you I was gonna get you right back, oh, you don't really like that? ✨
You and Noah met at sociology class you both had to attend in junior year at college. Your majors not similar at all, his being economics and finance and your neuropsychology. You never had the same classes until now, so he was just another one of pretty school boys for you. You never paid much attention to him as you were actually interested in topics your professor talked about in classes, but you couldn’t say the same about Noah. You caught his eye the first week of when he entered the big study room and you were the first one there, working on your neurology project with headphones on. When you noticed movement around you and lifted your head, Noah only gave you a small nod and sat few rows behind you. That was your first encounter.
Your second encounter was when you were at the opening party at a frat house. You liked going out, having fun time and drinks with your friends. You usually let them pick the place or party you’re going to be attending, so you didn’t have a clue where you’d end up that night. You had pre drinks at your shared dorm with your two best friends, picking outfits and doing each other’s makeup. You ended up wearing black leather skirt that ended just above your knees, basic black top and matching leather jacket over your shoulders. That was bold outfit for you, so you decided for some natural makeup look with red lips. You felt good that night, the alcohol in your system helping your confidence.
When you entered the frat house the party was already on, music on full volume and people all over the place. You found some of your classmates and had shots with them, then settled on the big red couch in the living room to play some stupid game that involved alcohol.
After while your friends were too occupied either with kissing boys or chugging vodka down their throats, so you went to find kitchen to have some water for a change.
“Wouldn’t think of you as a party girl.” you heard deep male voice behind you, but didn’t know if he was talking to you. When you looked around and saw only few younger boys chatting in the corner about god knows what, you turned around to see the pretty tatted boy looking at you.
“Why not?” you asked.
“You look like someone who spends their Friday night studying at home. You always have book in front of you at school.” Noah answered your question with a teasing smile.
“Well, that���s so I can have fun on a Friday night instead of reading books.” you crossed your arms over your chest, not knowing where this small talk will get you.
“Smart and funny, I like that.” he said, taking small steps towards you.
“So, you’re part of the fraternity then?”
“Why would you think that?”
“You look like someone who spends their Friday night partying and having one night stands.” you shot back.
“You’re almost right. I am in this fraternity, I like partying on Friday nights,” he slowly walked in your direction, making you walk backwards until your back hit the counter and he caged you in with his arms on your sides, “but I don’t do one night stands.”
You felt his breath on your cheek, as he leaned closer to your face.
“Oh, sorry for making assumptions then.” you said just a bit louder than whisper.
You didn’t do one night stands either, but you blamed alcohol that night for ending with Noah between your legs, his tongue deep inside your pussy and your fingers in his dark hair. You had sex with him in a room you later found out wasn’t even his, he lived in an apartment 10 minutes away from the campus. The sex was great and you actually enjoyed talking with him after he got you finish for the second time that night.
Since then you said “Hi” to each other at every sociology class and at every party you both were. Leaving those parties together also became regular thing that grew into friends with benefits type of thing. You agreed on casual sex, without dates and feelings. You sometimes ordered food or watched movie, but never in a romantic way. And you liked it that way.
Until Noah started flirting with other girls at parties. You weren’t jealous, because it was always you who was screaming his name later, but you didn’t like the uneasy feeling in your tummy everytime you saw a girl touch his bicep or him to lean down to the girls ear so she could hear what he was saying.
You liked what you two had and didn’t want to lose it. So you talked to him about it one night, which lead to an argument instead of sex and orgasms. He told you that it’s just harmless flirting and if you’re jealous that means you caught feelings for him and that he doesn’t want that. You tried to tell him it’s not like that, that you just don’t want to continue this thing between you if he wants to have sex with other girls and that you would understand if he would want to end it, but he didn’t listen. You didn’t talk to each other for three weeks and he made sure you saw every single one of his flirt attempts at parties.
So you decided to do the same tonight. You went for short black dress with deep V neck that made your boobs look amazing. The dress probably made the trick as you found yourself talking with a guy from the same fraternity Noah was part of. You were leaning against the wall in their living room as he hovered over you. You didn’t pay much attention to what he was saying, you were watching Noah with red haired girl at the couch. When your eyes met you saw something in Noah’s eyes that you haven’t seen there before. Jealousy? Anger? His eyes were dark and he was staring at you.
The boy who’s name you forgot like ten seconds after he told you, started touching your hips and leaning towards you too much for you liking, so you excused yourself and went for the bathroom.
“What the hell was that?” you heard Noah’s voice when you opened the bathroom door and he was leaning against the wall opposite you.
“Excuse me?” you raised your eyebrow at him.
“What kind of show was that supposed to be?” he was angry, you could hear it in his voice.
“A show? You mean the same show you’ve been doing the past three weeks? It’s not so nice from the other side, is it?”
He didn’t want to hear another word, so he pushed you back into the tiny bathroom.
I’m yours again when you walk away, you know if you leave, I ain't gonna stay, when I'm doin' good, you get me off track, and I guess I kinda like that. ✨
“Come to my place with me?” Noah said between kisses and lifted you so you sat next to the sink.
He was jealous, but wouldn’t admit it. But you felt it in the way he was kissing you, his tongue fighting for dominance and his hands in your hair, pulling at them every once in a while.
“Say you’re sorry Noah.” you said breathlessly, leaning back from him until your back touched the cold mirror behind you.
“Sorry for what?” he had your lipstick all over his lips and chin, he looked hot like that, marked.
“Noah.” you knew he knew what you were asking from him, but he was too proud to say it.
“Come to my place with me and let me show you how sorry I am?” he asked you, already kneeling in front of you. He knew what your weakness is, so how could you say no to him when he was already pulling your panties to the side.
you make me really, really good at makin' bad decisions, all my friends know where to look every time I go missin', seven texts and two missed calls, know I can't ignore 'em all, said that I'm gonna be sleepin' at mine, i lied. ✨
You knew you should have said no, but you missed him. You missed his touch, his hands all over your body, his mouth on your skin and how good he could make you feel.
After your argument three weeks ago, your friends told you that you should stop seeing him, that what he started doing wasn’t acceptable and that you should know your worth, but he was just so addictive. So when your friends saw you two leave, you felt ashamed and tried to avoid their stare. You knew that you’ll find missed calls and unread messages on your phone in the morning, but you didn’t care at that moment. You just wanted, no, needed to feel Noah’s skin on yours again. You craved him, the satisfaction he was able to give you.
uh oh, I couldn't help myself, i'm almost at your house again, again, uh oh, I'm one foot in the door, my clothes are on your floor again, again. i get a little drunk and it's all I want, tomorrow I'll be sick, but tonight I'm numb, uh oh, now we can just pretend, we won't do it again, again, again. ✨
The drive to Noah’s place was short, the taxi driver’s music loud enough for him not to hear all the dirty things Noah whispered in your ear.
“I hated Trevor’s hands on your body, only I can touch you.”
“I miss your mouth on my dick, you’re so good.”
“I’m gonna make you scream my name baby.”
He was selfish. He hated another man’s hands on you, yet he could touched dozen of other women. He knew he had you wrapped around his finger, but you just couldn’t help yourself. You wanted to be strong enough to not get in the taxi with him and go back to Trevor who actually looked interested in you and maybe would take you out on a proper date.
Instead you left with Noah, knowing how it’s gonna go. You’re gonna have a great sex, fall asleep in his arms, sneak out in the morning and then feel like shit. You’re gonna listen to your friends about how you’re just hurting yourself and wasting time with him, them making you promise it was the last time, only to break that promise at the next party.
roll your eyes like you do, shoulda known it's always the same with you, tryin' not to feel our connection, but, oh my god, it's kinda temptin' ✨
In the elevator you walked Noah back until his body hit the wall and went for his neck. Leaving lipstick all over his skin, licking and biting his sensitive spots. His eyes rolled to the back of his head before he closed them fully and left his mouth hanging open. Silent moans leaving his pink lips, until the elevator stopped at his floor.
you said, "Can we leave now?", i don't think we should, through the back door, that won't end good, how 'bout my place? shit, you know I would, then I'll follow you out, hope nobody looks. ✨
“Do you want a drink?” Noah asked you, really hoping your answer would be no so he could take you straight to his bed.
“Yes, wine is fine.” you said as you started taking off your coat, taking in the sight of familiar apartment you haven’t seen in weeks.
Noah took out two glasses and filled them with white wine, then handed one to you. You sipped on your drinks in quiet, you sitting at Noah’s kitchen counter and him standing next to the oven.
“Did you have sex with anyone in the last few weeks?” you managed to build the courage to ask him the question that was in the back of your mind for weeks.
“What?” he looked genuinely confused.
“You heard me.”
“No, the last time I had sex was with you.”
“Then why did you start flirting with all those girls in front of me, Noah?”
“It’s just for fun, you were the one I took home in the end.”
“It wasn’t fun for me.”
“That’s why you did the same with Trevor tonight?”
“And you didn’t like it, or did you?”
“No.”
“We said no to sleeping with other people, I just felt like you wanted to and you flirting with all those girls made me feel uncomfortable. That’s all.”
“Okay, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again if we go back to our thing.” his apology seemed genuine, so you nodded your head.
“Okay, but you can tell me if you want to stop and date someone, I’ll be fine with that.” you finished your wine at the same time Noah did. He took the glass from your hand and put them both in the sink. When he returned, he came much closer to you and put his hands on your thighs.
“I don’t want to date anyone, I told you that.” he rubbed his nose along your jaw, then he gently kissed your neck and you tilted your head back to give him more access.
He made sure to suck on your sensitive spots, he desperately needed to hear your moans.
you make me really, really good at makin' bad decisions, all my friends know where to look every time I go missin', seven texts and two missed calls, know I can't ignore 'em all, said that I'm gonna be sleepin' at mine, i lied. ✨
“Lay down.” he helped you lay down on the cold counter and then continued kissing you more. He went for your chest, kissing the top of your breaths that were close to spilling over the edge of your lacy bra.
He palmed your nipples through the fabric of your dress, smirking at the sound that came from your mouth.
Noah rolled your dress up to your waist and kissed your tummy until he reached the lacy panties you wore, matching your bra.
“Poor Trevor, bet he would love to see those too.” Noah teased you.
“Shut up Noah.” you lifted your hips to give him sign he should talk less and touch you more.
He took the hint and gladly slid the panties down your legs.
“Fuck I missed you.” he sighed at the view in front of him. You were laying down with legs spread open just for him. Your cheeks were pink and your chest was going up and down from the excitement.
Noah kneeled down so he’d face your core and put your legs over his shoulders so he could spread you open as much as he needed to.
He took his time, licking you from you entrance to your clit, tasting you like a starved man. His tongue explored you like it was for the first time, slowly and gently moving up and down.
“Oh Noah.” you let out a breathy moan only he could hear. He felt himself grow tighter in his pants, but he wanted to give you an apology before he’d fuck you senselessly.
He sucked on your clit, teasing your pussy with his long fingers. He spread you open with them and went to slowly fuck you with his tongue. His other hand made its way to your clit, collecting your wetness so he could gently rub small circles where you wanted it the most.
“Noah, I’m-“ you didn’t get to finish your sentence when you felt the start of your orgasm in your lower tummy. Noah had to put more pressure on your hips to hold you down, but continued with his moves until he felt your legs shake and your breath stop for a second. You squeezed his head with your thighs and let out the sexiest sounds out of your mouth.
After he was sure he licked you clean, he took you in his arms and started walking in the direction of his bedroom.
He laid you down in his bed and connected your lips. You could taste yourself on his lips, that alone made you want him more.
You helped him out of his clothes until he was only in his underwear and you pushed him down so he was laying under you. You straddled his lap, enjoying the view for a moment. He was looking at you with eyes full of lust, his hair messily laying around his head. He was waiting for you next move, letting you take control for now.
You took your dress and bra off at the same time and Noah immediately went to touch your boobs. He squeezed them and started playing with your nipples. Your head fell back and your hips moved involuntary.
The wetness from your core already making wet spot on Noah’s underwear, but both of you couldn’t care less.
You shifted your weight to one of your legs and shimmied Noah’s underwear down his legs. His dick fell back against his stomach, hard and swollen, waiting for you to take him.
You wrapped your fingers around his length and he gripped your hips as an reaction. You stroked him few times, collecting the pre cum and enjoyed the state Noah was in. He had his eyes closed in a bliss, gripping your hips like his life depended on it.
“Fuck me, please.” he groaned, knowing he wouldn’t last long if you’d keep stroking him.
You reached into his drawer and took a condom out. You took your time putting it on, teasing Noah along the way.
You took Noah’s dick in your hand and collected your wetness with it, then gently slid down his whole length.
You both made unnatural sounds and you sat still for a moment, enjoying the fullness and stretch he was giving you.
When you started moving your hips, Noah reached for your right hand and intertwined your fingers, giving you his hand for balance. Your eyes were closed and mouth open, as you were riding his dick in slow motions.
“That’s it, god yes!” Noah encouraged you to keep going with his words, squeezing your fingers when it felt particularly good. “Touch yourself baby.” he told you, and you did as you were told.
You didn’t pay much attention to the word baby, as it was something he went for regularly. Instead you paid attention to your fingers touching your clit, feeling another orgasm closer and closer.
Noah felt you squeeze him and he knew you were close, he wanted you to have one more orgasm before he finished, so he encouraged you with his words. “Come on, cum on my dick. That’s it, you can let go.” as if it was the last thing you needed for actually letting go, the orgasm took over you and you fell to Noah’s chest.
He hold you, whispering gentle things in your ear as you tried to even your breath.
When he knew you were okay to continue, he started kissing your neck and gently lifted you from him and you felt him slide out of you, suddenly feeling empty. He switched your positions, you were now laying under him, ready for more.
“You good?” he asked you, wanting some kind of permission to continue.
“Mhm.” was all you could get out before attacking his lips with yours, pulling him down by his neck.
He lined himself at your entrance and slowly slid in. His head fell in the crook of your neck and you enjoyed feeling him inside you again.
His movements were slow at first, his hand slid around you throat and he put a bit of pressure on it, just like you liked it.
“You feel so good around my dick, fuck!” Noah managed to say between taking deep breaths. You felt so good and so loved at the moment. You knew there were no feelings, but the way Noah knew your body and where to touch you or what to say, that made you feel loved.
He went to kiss you, but instead you both left your mouth open and moaned into each other’s open lips as both of your orgasm started to build inside your bodies.
Noah’s rhythm became irregular and you felt his hand on your clit.
“Noah, fuck!” you breathed out when you felt the orgasm build inside you for the third time, more intensive than before.
You felt the Noah’s dick twitch inside you and you knew he was cuming, he grunted next to your ear in bliss.
Hearing him reach his high with his hand still on your clit pushed you over the edge and you came seconds after him.
He collapsed on top of you, staying inside you until his dick softened.
He moved you both so he was laying on his back and were laying on his chest, both of you still catching your breaths before you went to clean yourselves.
uh oh, I couldn't help myself, i'm almost at your house again, again, uh oh, I'm one foot in the door, my clothes are on your floor again, again. i get a little drunk and it's all I want, tomorrow I'll be sick, but tonight I'm numb, uh oh, now we can just pretend, we won't do it again, again, again. ✨
After you took shower and changed into Noah’s t-shirt, you laid in his bed waiting for him to finish washing up.
You had toothbrush, make up remover and underwear at his place. He didn’t mind, he also didn’t mind you staying the night and then leaving his place before he woke up.
You enjoyed falling asleep next to him, sometimes you would talk until 2AM about anything, sometimes you would watch movie and sometimes you would fall asleep straight away.
You watched him dry off his body with white towel through his mirror, wondering if you would go back to hooking up every weekend after tonight or if something is going to change. You knew your friends will try to talk some sense into you tomorrow, but for now you just wanted to pretend like there is no tomorrow.
✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨
Tag list: @lacy1986 @chey-h
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This story is a work of fiction, with the plot and characters entirely made up. The appearance and name of the main male character are inspired by Noah Sebastian Davis, but the storyline bears no connection to the real person. Please do not steal or repost this work on other platforms without permission.
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pretend-i-don-t-exist · 19 hours ago
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on a qijiuyuan streak so far um hm so consider the flavor of sy fully believing that he's just a substitute for who yqy really loves (sj) and doing his best to fulfill the role
maybe it's a courtship for political purposes and so sy is aware that there wouldn't be any genuine romance here, but he is hoping for at least friendship??? he does want to save yqy bc his original ending in pidw is just too tragic... and also full of plot holes and plot armor.
though it gets obvious real quick that yqy is head over heels in love with sqq. nothing sy says or does will dissuade yqy from loving the scum villain. the thing is, it is also obvious to sy that sqq abhors yqy, except that it's less of a disdainful kind of hate and more like hurt? sy is so confused. he's cursing airplane out every time he gets stuck with both peak lords during a tea session.
when he does unlock qijiu's tragic backstory, he goes ??? wtf is this tragedy airplane, why didn't you put this in pidw it would've been so much better!!! more thought-provoking!!! also everything makes so much more sense now. and so he sets out to right the misunderstandings and miscommunication (he does like yqy and sqq, even as the scum villain, deserves an explanation and/or closure)
on sj's side he's fucking pissed that this pale impostor of him is going around taking advantage of the guilt yqy feels over him. he spitefully brings down sy's reputation, bc he's possessive over his qi-ge even though yqy isn't his qi-ge anymore... and he can tell that yqy is not really in love with the impostor, anyway.
yqy is just going !!! bc on one hand he feels delighted that sj does still feel something for him, even if it's just possessiveness from the past... and also sy is genuinely kind and good and yqy has longed for such warmth before, but it always feels wrong when he thinks of everything he's done and failed to do... if it were any other time, he may have grown to love sy, but it's not meant to be.
fuckers think they're playing 4d chess with each other (well, shen yuan's part is more like uh poker but yeah) but like. they're so stupid i love them so much i can't wait to write more chaotic trashfire aus of them save me
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allllium · 2 days ago
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Perfect for Me
~ Matt Murdock x insecure!reader
~ omg two posts in two days 😮 this is not edited at all so ignore my mistakes
~ Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, WC: 1,679
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- Matt comforts insecure reader -
Dating a blind guy is very different from any other relationship you've had for very obvious reasons. Not only is it an adjustment going out with and even living with someone that can't see, but Matt is different. He has senses that other blind people don't which makes things even harder. You love Matt but that doesn't mean it's not an adjustment.
Obviously he can't see you but he knows everything about you. He knows the basics of how you look but not the details. Sometimes that's hard. Only because you fear he has some other idea of you in his head. Like the real you can't match up to the look of you he has in his head.
It's silly, you know, but it's not like you can just get rid of the thoughts in your head. Matt can tell something's wrong, a bonus of his super senses. So far though, he hasn't asked about it. He's learned over time to give you a little bit of time to process your issue before he tries to get involved.
It's not his fault, simply your insecurities getting the best of you. It'll be fine you tell yourself, wondering around the apartment you now share with Matt. Maybe that's where it's coming from. You guys have always spent a lot of time together but now your space is his, and when you want space to yourself, you don't have a separate apartment to hide in. You certainly don't want that but what if he does?
You turn on some music to fill your rattled brain. Nothing loud but enough to distract your thoughts. You soon turn from wondering to cleaning. It's become a daily habit since Matt rarely has time. You have no problem doing it because you know it makes Matt feel slightly better. Not as much dust and grime for his senses to focus on.
You're very ingrained in your scrubbing of the counter when you hear the door shut.
"Hey, Matty." You call out to greet him, not taking your attention off the counter for a second.
"Hi." His faces lights up as he sees you. "How was your day?" He asks, planting a soft kiss on your temple.
"Not nearly as eventful as yours I imagine." You smile, turning around to meet his beaming face. He has already taken off his suit jacket while walking towards you and has began loosening his tie. Giving him that slightly casual look that you know and love.
"I actually think that's true today, though the most amusing part of it was hearing Foggy fall out of his chair not once but twice within a twenty minute period." You listen intently to his words as you finish wiping off the counter. His words get quieter as he slowly makes his way to the bedroom for more comfortable clothes.
You know Matt feels a great pressure to keep the city safe by going out every night, but your favorite night of the week is the one where you've both agreed he stays in. One of the few requests you had when moving in.
"How the hell did he manage that?" You chortle, imagining it in your head. You can hear Matt's laugh from the other room.
"I have no clue, you'd think he'd learn after the first time." He comes back into the living space wearing black sweatpants and a plain t-shirt. After you got together, you had to take Matt shopping for new, plain, clothes considering most of the ones he owned had something stupid and possibly embarrassing on them due to Foggy, bright colors and big slogans. "I heard him whine about it for the rest of the day."
"At least your days aren't boring like the other lawyers."
"That's definitely a plus of partnering with him."
This is the best part of your day. Talking to him about your days and gossiping about the people you know, plus all the people Matt hears about during the day. The only problem seems to be the words that won't leave your head.
"How do you feel about spaghetti for dinner?" You ask him as he grabs a water out of the fridge. Usually, he'd grab a beer but out of fear for his liver you haven't bought any in a week.
"Sounds perfect. How can I help?"
"I can do it, you worked all day."
"Worked is a loose term." He laughs to himself. You and he both know a lot of their work consists of finding new cases.
"You can boil the pasta if you want to be helpful."
"Oh that's easy. It's almost as if you don't believe in my culinary skills."
You turn and give him a stare that makes him smirk. "Matthew, I know what you lived on before I moved in."
"Okay water it is." He gives you get another kiss before searching for a suitable pot.
You hum along to the soft background music as you and Matt work on your tasks. Once he's done with his, he stands right beside you in silence.
"So." He starts.
"So?" You repeat.
"I didn't want to bring this up but I think it's important-"
"That sounds scary."
"For me, yes. I talked to Karen today."
Oh fuck. To say Karen knows your deepest darkest secrets would be an understatement. For Matt to start a conversation like this about her, she told him something. Something you're know wracking your brain to figure out.
It's not that you think Karen would sell you out. But Matt is very charming and sometimes you find yourself telling him things without even realizing.
"I would hope so." You try to play it off like you're not immensely worried about his coming words. "She is your secretary."
"I don't think she'd appreciate that title." He laughs nervously. You know he's nervous because his glasses are still on. He's trying to make sure you can't read him at the moment.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't want it to seem like I was invading your privacy."
"Matt, you always do that. You hear literally everything I do."
"Yes but this feels different."
"You wouldn't have started this conversation if you didn't have something to say so please get on with it."
"I heard you talking to Karen the other day when she was over. And I tried not to read too much into it but then I talked to her today and I'm officially reading into it."
"Karen and I have talked about a lot of things, that doesn't really help me understand."
You try to seem nonchalant by stirring the pasta sauce.
"I heard you telling her how you don't think you live up the version of you I have in my head." He whispers the words as if that'll make it easier. Of course. Out of everything he could've heard, it was the one thing you really, really don't want to talk about. You know Matt isn't going to let this go until you answer all his questions.
"That was over a week ago." You whisper over the sauce.
"I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. But I only heard a part of what you said and I couldn't handle not knowing the rest."
A heavy sigh escapes you. It's not his fault. You are still adjusting to how much he can hear from so far so you didn't even think about that when he came home that day. You also can't fault him for wanting to know more, if the roles were reversed you would've gone to Foggy to know more almost immediately.
"You obviously weren't supposed to hear that." You turn off the stove top and look at him. "I don't suppose we can keep acting like you know nothing about that?" Your words come out with a hopeful tone.
"No we can't. Sweetheart, how can you feel like that? Have I made you doubt yourself like this?" He pulls you away from the kitchen and pushes you to sit next to him on the couch.
"You have done nothing Matt. You're perfect. I just can't get it out of my mind that every time you're complimenting me, it's not actually me. It's the more beautiful version of me you have in your head." He already knows enough, might as well tell him the rest.
"I know what you look like. Maybe I can't see every detail but I know enough to know every compliment I've ever given you, has been for you. I can't see everything on your face but I can sort of see the shape of you."
You're just now realizing you've never actually asked Matt what he can see. Knowing he was blind you always figured he couldn't see anything.
"What do you see?" You ask now.
"It's difficult to explain. I see certain figures but not all the time. It's kinda like flames that prevent me from seeing things but they don't always stay in the same spot."
"So how are you so confident I'm the same that you think I am?" He moves closer to hold your hand and lean more against you.
"Because I've had everyone describe you. Foggy, Karen, even Frank at one point. And I've felt your face a lot, enough to understand the shape of everything. Your eyes, lips, nose. Everything that makes you, you."
"Feeling is different than seeing."
"For other people yes. For me, this is the only way I know a lot of things. It's the way I've learned to know things so I'm better at it. I don't need to see every detail when everything I've felt is beyond perfect."
You feel tears appear in your waterline. Leave it to Matt to know the perfect thing to say. Always.
"When I say you're perfect for me, I mean it. More than anything."
He wipes the tears off your face the second they begin to fall.
"You're perfect for me too, Matty."
"Good." He states. "You're gonna be with for the rest of forever."
"That's a nice plan."
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withjaejae · 3 days ago
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Can I pet that dog? | JJK
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Parings: Jungkook x F!Reader
Genre: fluff, oneshot, non-idol au
Basically, stranger danger
Warnings: (yes there are) do not do this in real life. Other men are not like Jungkook. Its short.
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“Aren’t you handsome?” The pretty doberman pinscher who was loving the belly rubs you were giving him.
“His name is Bam.” The man on the bench with a book on his lap smiled.
“That’s a pretty name for such a good boy.” You start rubbing him with both hands. “He’s loving this.”
You finally glance at the owner and holy fuck was he hot. His sleeve tattoo, his piercings, all the way to his curly hair, his pretty pretty smile. You forget to breathe.
“I’m Jungkook.” He holds out his hand. You shake it, his firm grip making you blush.
“I’m YN. Thank you for letting me pet your dog.” You stand up and dust off your pants.
You maintain eye contact with his delicious owner.
“He has two more brothers at home. Do you want to meet them too?” His invite made you hot all over both with excitement and lust.
“Do you think I’d follow a handsome stranger to his place just to see more dogs?” He chuckles and the cutest fucking smile appears on his face.
“Do you think I’d invite a gorgeous stranger into my home just to meet my dogs?” It was your turn to smile, biting your lip to stop looking stupid.
“You could be a psycho, or worse, I could be a psycho.” You cross your arms over your chest, pushing your tits together.
“Good point. But anyone who loves dogs aren’t psychotic.” He raises an eyebrow.
“Great point.” But you’re still thinking about it.
“They’re names are Sonie and Paeng.” He really wants you over.
“Shit. I’m sold. Fuck survival skills.” You step back and gesture him to lead the way.
He stands up, much taller than you. He tugs on Bam’s leash and you walk together towards a luxury apartment building.
You exchanged information along the way, where you work, where you live, what he does, how he got Bam and his two other dogs, how much you love dogs but your apartment won’t allow it.
You finally reach his apartment and he opens the door to two more adorable sweethearts. You spend the afternoon just talking to a man you just met and his dogs.
Your phone rings breaking your conversation.
“Hey!” You greet the caller. Jungkook gestures that he’s going to the kitchen.
“Where the fuck are you?” You can hear Jimin’s frustrated voice. You check the clock and sure enough, its been over an hour above your agreed meeting time.
“Ohh shit. I’m so sorry, I’m at… a friend’s place.” You hope he cancels.
“A friend? Bitch. I’m your only friend in this damn city. Which friend?!” You can imagine his face all red and pissed, you chew your lip.
“His name is Jungkook, he has handsome dogs named Bam, Paeng, and Songie. I met them at the park while I was walking.” You hope he doesn’t give you an earful.
“You… hold up. Let me get this straight.” He sighs. “You met a man with a dog at the park earlier, and you followed him into his house?” You confirm. “YN. What the fuck?”
“Okay, he’s really hot and super nice. Let me have this.” You say in a hushed tone. Bam comes up to you and barks then proceeds to rest his head on your lap. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
“At least send me your location so I know where to pick up your remains. Jesus. Have you ever heard of stranger danger?” He groans. “You’re a grown woman, let me talk to this man.”
“Do you really have to?” You whine, Jungkook comes back with some snacks and sodas in a can.
“Let me talk to him or I’m reporting you as a missinge person.” You groan at his request but do it anyway.
“My friend, Jimin, is really worried. He wants to talk to you… is that okay?” You hand the phone to him who chuckles and takes it.
They have their conversation, his answers were all ‘Yes’ and ‘Got it.’
He hands the phone back with a stupid grin. “You better make it up to me, or else.” That’s all Jimin says before he hangs up.
“What did he tell you?” You set your phone down on the coffee table and grab a fork to pick some sliced fruit.
“Nothing much. Usual warnings, and that if we do hook up, I better not yet you pregnant or he’d hunt me down and chop my cock off.” You choke on the piece of apple and he pats your back.
“Oh. God. He’s embarassing.” You hide your face in your hands.
“Its nice that he’s looking out for you.” He proceeds to tell you about embarassing stories with his friends and you exchange stories as well.
You’ve completely lost track of time and by dark, you have Songie and Paeng resting on each side of your lap, their heads on you.
“I’m surprised they warmed up to you so quick, they’re very wary of stangers.” He has bam on his lap.
“As they should.” You softly pet their heads. “They shouldn’t be like their dad who invites strangers into their homes.” You tease.
“Ah. But you’re worse for following a stranger into their home.” You wink at his rebuttal.
“Its getting late but I don’t wanna move.” You pout, looking down at the two pups. “Can I just take them home?”
“Do that and you’ll really end up dead.” He says with a stern face which breaks out into a full cackle startling the pups making them leave you two.
You smack his shoulder. “You woke them up.” You pout even harder, if that was possible.
You stand up and gather your stuff. Jungkook smiles and follows you.
“If you give me your number and let me take you to a proper date, you can see them again.” He wiggles his eyebrows and hands you his phone.
“You throw a hard bargain.” You take it anyway, you punch your number and give yourself a call so you can have his.
“How does tomorrow sound? I’ll get someone to watch the pups and we can have dinner.” He saves your number and walks you to the door.
“You move fast, Jeon Jungkook.” You raise yourself on your tip toes and land a kiss on his cheek. “I’d love that. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
You exit the door and he stood there grinning. He turns back to see his three babies looking at him.
“I’m so lucky to have you guys.” He drops to the floor and hugs them.
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A/N: all my best ideas are made of Jungkook. Maybe its a 97’ thing. Idk. Anyways, hope you enjoyed!
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popcorn-milk · 6 hours ago
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i am weak for wedding prompts. serarana congratulations as of writing this you are now married
i think ser and bellara would have a private ceremony with a small reception. neither of them are tied to any political organizations that would warrant them to invite anybody important they didnt know (between a shadow and a veil jumper both of them are pretty much flying under the radar), so the ceremony would definitely only consist of their friends and the party would be friends and allies. the only weddings ser has been to have been stuffy and formal, so they would be happy to commit to some loose Dalish wedding customs even as a city elf.
the ceremony would be in arlathan forest for sure. some quiet grove with lots of flowers and an overhead arch of trees for shade. the leaves would be all orange and pink and everything would glow in the setting sun. the only info i could find on dalish weddings is that "bonded" pairs exchange gifts, so i think there would be a mix of a traditional city marriage and dalish customs. i also think bellara would be super into the whole "romantic fantasy wedding" thing, and serarana would be happy to go along because they love stupid flashy stuff and wearing fun outfits. bellara would have her hair braided with flowers tucked into her hair and her cool spikey tiara thing and serarana would be wearing some ridiculous drapey gold and white outfit. the whole veilguard would be invited (there would be a picture of davrin and a stuffed griffon somewhere) and neve would officiate as a best friend to both of them. they'd say their vows (both of them stutter through a bit, ser cries a little), exchange some cool rings (on necklaces, since they're both pretty active people) and give each other a handmade gift. then they'd kiss and walking hand-in-hand to the eluvian with all their friends to start the reception.
the reception would be small, but it would be an Event. all their friends and allies are there and everyone's happy to see each other (i finished the game with 3 stars in every faction and like to think everybody stays close after literally saving the world from ending). antonie and evka are of course first in line to congratulate them, and most of the wedding gifts on the table are marked with shadow dragon symbols on the tags.
there would be plenty of food and drinks and stories to go around, and they'd start and end the night with dancing. the party would go so late, near the end bellara would start nodding off while leaning her head on ser's shoulder.
serarana was ecstatic that they were both married to the love of their life and that they were able to give bellara a beautiful day.
thank you for the wonderful prompt!!!!
Hey, hope you all had a good weekend! Unfortunately, it’s Monday =/ Fortunately, it’s time for Rook Intro Hour! 🍀🌺🌼🌸
How it works: I ask you a question about your Rook(s) and you answer it with as much brevity or verbosity as you desire. You can do this whenever you want, and I’ll reblog it + add some comments! There’s no time limit— if you want to do the older ones, they are collected here! (The post is updated on Fridays!)
Today’s Question(s): Does your Rook want to get married to their LI(s)? Do they care about where? Is there a specific tradition/traditions they want to follow, when they do? Who would they invite? What would they wear?
Have fun & thanks for sharing!
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darknoverse · 15 hours ago
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WHAT DO YOU MEAN I FORGOT TO POST THIS HERE WHAT??? EIRHFJEHFGBNVJDHF I THOUGHT I DID LOL anyways
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twas a lil medieval art inspired attempt, with a bit of inspo from art i used to see here as a kid where i live, traditional one that is ! idk if i'll ever make more. based on the song of the witches by S.J Tucker :3 it fits Costar sm methinks
on another note yaay YAAAAAAAAAAAY YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY I MISS THEM YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY
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also made uh stupid, stupid bloody undead doodles cuz they both SUCK AND I HATE THEM (im lying i love them so much )
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also uhhhhhhhh still embarassed im not gonna tag this one properly but uh uhhhHHHHHHHHH dies a thousand deaths
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Taglist:
@candyheartedchy @berryshipbasket @radaverse
@tireddovahkiin
@bloodhoundini @lficanthaveloveiwantpower
@rexscanonwife @ree3942 @sunflawyer
@artcomestolife
@self-shipping-crow @mothlessmood
@blubberbuns @silverlining-ships
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