#the explanation for the night gown is like...

[bartholomewillustrated]

Haha! Wow!

Today's Make A Bad Comic Day, when artists ""challenge"" themselves to make a small shitty comic completely bereft of the pressure of quality!

I think the intent is to do like..little doodle comics, funny stuff you can lay out in under and hour.. but I wanted to see how far incould take this principle and sketch a whole little scene as fast as I could (I got most of it done on my lunch break!) with strict rules about not agonizing over details or making big fixes. Whatever comes out you Let It Be, even if it looks a little funny.

And honestly! It was a good excerise! If i had tried to do this under my normal demands for Quality you wouldn't be seeing it for like a Month, if Ever... i would have spent several hours more on the second panel than i did the whole thing! What a damming reminder that the No.1 reason my art Takes So Long is Anxiety. Lol. Lmao, even.

I think I'll try more pieces like this in the future... Maybe it's time to start carrying a sketchbook again.

Anyways

I think Silco's relationships with Early Morning's is squarely; 'Just because I have to doesn't mean I like it' it takes him a long time to wake up and he's Miserable through the whole experience.

Vander on the other hand, whether he's up at 6 or 2, is Awake and Alert as soon as he opens his eyes, it's infuriating. (This doesn't mean he's not Purposefully lazy though, you have to lollygag on occasion y'know?)

The image of Silco sleeping in a nightgown was the orignal impetus for this comic, it was a silly idea at first but honestly i've kinda latched onto it. Little fancy boy in his old fashioned sleep robes.......

(We'll presume this takes place in Ekko's alternate reality, or one very similar)

[faebled-stories]

Behind The Wall

Kinkvember Day 8: Glory Hole

Le Sserafim Huh Yunjin

6.5k words

Yunjin sank into the deep, velvet embrace of her couch, the cushions softening her exhausted frame as she let out a long, weary sigh. The echoes of the day's cacophony—cheering fans, thumping music, and sharp camera clicks—still pulsed faintly in her ears.

The life of an idol was dazzling but relentless; every hour meticulously scheduled, every move choreographed to perfection. The glitter of stage lights, interviews under glaring lamps, and the constant churn of photo shoots were exhilarating but exacted a toll. It was as if her very soul teetered on a tightrope, balancing the shimmering allure of fame against the shadow of burnout.

Through the vast floor-to-ceiling window, the city’s neon lights painted strokes of pink, blue, and gold across her apartment walls. Seoul’s night buzzed with energy; cars zipped by, people chattered and laughed, their figures flitting like restless fireflies. The symphony of life outside mocked her solitude, reminding her of the world that saw her only as an untouchable idol, never as Yunjin, the young woman who craved the freedom to simply be.

A heavy sigh escaped her as she swept her gaze over the cluttered coffee table, its surface strewn with fan mail written in colorful inks, glossy pamphlets of upcoming events, and stacks of formal letters from the agency. Her slender fingers traced absent patterns over the scattered papers, seeking something familiar in the chaos. But then, her touch stopped on an envelope that was different. It was plain, with none of the bright markings or logos she’d expected—no sender's name, no return address, just an unassuming square of paper.

The whisper of the paper crinkling as she opened it seemed magnified in the stillness. The note inside was concise, starkly so, and as her eyes scanned the words, a shiver danced along her spine:

"Looking to escape the ordinary? We offer complete anonymity. No names, no faces—just pure freedom. For those seeking a way out, come explore a world where nothing else matters."

A URL was printed below in small, unembellished text, as though any flourish might disrupt the message’s secrecy. Yunjin flipped the paper over, searching for more—an explanation, a clue to its sender—but found nothing. The edges of the note bit into her palm as her mind wrestled with intrigue and apprehension.

Her heart thudded as she glanced around her penthouse, its luxury and perfection suddenly feeling like a gilded cage. The idea of complete anonymity was as tantalizing as it was foreign. A place where her name, face, and reputation held no sway, where the burden of fame could be shed like a second skin—was such a thing even possible?

The glow of her phone lit her face as she typed the URL. The screen flickered to life, revealing a minimalist site with no distractions, no images, just a few lines of cryptic text. It spoke of an exclusive venue, a secret haven where identities dissolved, and people interacted without pasts or future judgments. A chill coursed down her arms as she read it again, each word stoking the embers of a rebellious thought that crackled within her.

She pressed her lips together, the decision forming like storm clouds in her mind. Her usual caution warred with a desperate hunger for escape. For once, she wouldn’t run it by her manager or think about potential repercussions. She would be just Yunjin, unknown and unseen.

Shaking fingers rummaged through her closet, pushing past glamorous gowns and performance outfits until she found a pair of dark jeans and a plain black hoodie. She slipped them on, the soft fabric foreign in its ordinariness. Her reflection in the mirror was almost startling—gone were the shimmering eyeshadow, sculpted features, and immaculate hair. Instead, a girl with wide, determined eyes looked back. She pulled her hair into a loose ponytail and donned a baseball cap, tucking wayward strands beneath it. Oversized sunglasses completed the disguise, shadowing her face despite the evening hour.

A small crossbody bag held her essentials, including the mysterious envelope and her phone, which she silenced before sliding it in. The muffled tick of the clock punctuated her hesitation, but the thrum in her chest urged her forward. The night was cool when she stepped out, the city’s breath washing over her as if daring her to blend into the current of people and lights.

Flagging down a cab felt like a small act of rebellion, its ordinary nature grounding her as the car hummed to life and pulled away from the curb. The rhythmic roll of the tires lulled her into contemplation. Streetlights cast fleeting halos on her window, the cityscape warping and softening in the glass’s reflection. She watched as neon signs, bustling restaurants, and late-night strollers gave way to quieter streets lined with shuttered shops and shadowed alleyways.

When the cab stopped in front of an unremarkable building, her pulse quickened. It stood under a flickering street lamp, modest and nondescript, its façade promising nothing yet holding everything she yearned for.

Yunjin paid the driver and stepped onto the cracked pavement, the city's hum receding to a low murmur. A sudden breeze lifted the edge of her hood as she pulled it lower, shielding herself from the scant light. The air tasted electric, anticipation sharp on her tongue.

This was it—a chance to disappear, to step into the unknown. The final glance over her shoulder was reflexive, a look at the life she was about to abandon, if only for a fleeting moment. With a deep breath, Yunjin pushed open the heavy door and let the shadows swallow her whole, a small smile curving her lips as the echo of her world fell away.

At the front desk, a woman with a soft, welcoming smile looked up, her glasses perched delicately on the tip of her nose, glinting under the warm glow of the overhead light. She exuded an air of quiet confidence, her poised demeanor a result of years of greeting visitors who approached with curiosity, nerves, or both.

“Good evening,” she said, her voice calm, warm, and practiced, like the embrace of a familiar song. The subtle scent of jasmine lingered in the air, a comforting contrast to the thundering beat of Yunjin’s heart. Sensing her demeanor the lady continued “First time?”

Yunjin gulped, the lump in her throat making her voice feel small and fragile. “Yes,” she replied, her tone soft and almost wavering, as if any louder would betray the torrent of emotions coursing through her.

The woman’s eyes, sharp yet kind, softened with a knowing glimmer as she slid a clipboard toward Yunjin across the polished, dark wood of the counter. The faint slide of paper against wood felt louder than it was, reverberating in Yunjin’s heightened state. “No worries, it’s all straightforward here. Just sign this waiver, and let me explain the options.” The receptionist’s tone was even, her words crafted to soothe. The clipboard itself seemed ordinary but held a gravity Yunjin wasn’t prepared for—a silent gateway between the ordinary and the unknown.

Yunjin's eyes dropped to the clipboard, the neatly printed text blurring slightly as her thoughts raced. The room felt warm, her breath shallow as she fought to calm herself. The woman’s voice interrupted her reverie, a steady anchor to the moment. “You can choose to give pleasure or receive it—whichever you’re more comfortable with.”

Yunjin’s pulse quickened, the choice startling in its simplicity yet weighted with implications. The muffled hum of distant music reached her ears, blending with the low thrum of blood rushing through her veins. She hadn’t anticipated the tension, the sudden clarity required for this decision.

“Um…” The hesitation hung between them, a breath caught in time. Yunjin’s gaze flickered from the clipboard to the woman’s reassuring eyes, and before she could rethink it, the words fell from her lips. “I’ll… give first.”

A smile curved the receptionist’s lips, gentle and knowing. She collected the clipboard once Yunjin had signed her name, fingers brushing lightly over the polished wood. “Great,” she said with a finality that both steadied and excited Yunjin. “Once you’re ready, head to the back, and follow the instructions inside. Take your time.” The words resonated like a promise, rich with unspoken possibilities.

Yunjin's feet felt both light and weighted as she moved through the hallway, each step echoing softly against the wooden floorboards. The corridor was lined with antique sconces that cast warm, flickering light, their glow reminiscent of gas lamps from another era. The scent of aged wood and varnish wrapped around her, steeped in a history of whispered secrets and uncharted desires.

The booth she entered was compact, almost intimate, its wooden frame dark with age and rich with a subtle scent of cedar. Faint scratches marred the surface, stories untold but felt through the marks of time. Yunjin adjusted herself on the worn seat, the old wood creaking beneath her slight movements. The small space was a capsule of warmth and nervous energy, making the moment feel both surreal and thrilling.

A deep breath filled her lungs as she closed her eyes, trying to slow the pounding of her heart. The booth's walls seemed to close in protectively, muting the world outside and intensifying her awareness of herself. The anticipation coiled within her, electric and alive, as she opened herself up to whatever came next, ready to step across the invisible threshold and into the unknown.

Suddenly, a slight movement near her face broke her concentration. Her gaze shifted and there it was—a small, round hole in the partition between booths, a portal to the unknown. Through it, the tip of a penis slowly emerged, its presence both startling and enticing. The anonymity of the situation only added to the allure, as Yunjin found herself face to face with the mystery of a man she could neither see nor touch, save for this intimate connection.

The member that presented itself through the partition was of a decent size, neither intimidating nor meek. It commanded Yunjin's attention, a silent invitation to a dance of lust and longing. With a deep breath, she reminded herself to take her time, to explore and savor the experience. She was an artist, and this was her canvas.

As she leaned in, the warmth of her lips met the head of the cock with a gentle, yet commanding touch. Her technique was impeccable, a result of years of honing her craft. A low groan from the other side of the partition confirmed her skill, and a surge of empowerment washed over her. She was in control, a maestro conducting an orchestra of desire.

With each slide of her mouth, her tongue traced the sensitive underside of his member, eliciting a symphony of responses from the stranger. His breathing grew heavier, punctuating the air with anticipation. The twitching of his member within her mouth was a silent testament to her mastery, a sign that she was navigating the dance of desire with expert precision.

Yunjin's own moans began to mingle with the stranger's labored breaths, a chorus that filled the small, private space. She couldn't deny the pleasure she found in this unconventional tryst. There was a unique thrill in the anonymity, a liberation in the act of pleasuring someone whose face she would never know. It was a connection that transcended the physical, rooted in the raw and real exchange of passion.

The pace of her actions increased, her head bobbing with growing urgency, the wet sounds of her endeavors a testament to the fervor of the moment. She could sense the stranger's tension mounting, his breathing becoming shallow and ragged as he approached the precipice of release.

As the tension escalated, Yunjin sensed the subtle changes in the man's breathing—a mix of shallow, quick breaths escalating into a desperate, primal rhythm. The air grew thick with anticipation, and her heart pounded in sync with his. The cock in her mouth, already swollen with arousal, seemed to pulse with an electric charge, signaling the inevitable. His body tensed, muscles rigid as his climax built to an unstoppable crescendo. With just a whisper of warning, the stranger's control slipped away. A guttural, low growl vibrated through his chest, primal and raw, echoing in the confined space around them. Then, the release. It came like a warm, forceful flood, his hot, salty essence filling Yunjin's mouth with a sudden rush. She felt the throbbing intensify, each pulse delivering more of his essence, hot and thick against her tongue. Yunjin, caught in the wave of his ecstasy, swallowed eagerly, the flavors mixing in her mouth—salty, slightly bitter, yet uniquely intimate. She closed her eyes, focusing on the sensation, her own arousal amplifying as she savored the taste, the heat, the sheer intimacy of the act. As he reached his peak, she could feel the tension in his body slowly ebbing away, the throbbing now a slower, gentler rhythm. The cock in her mouth began to soften, no longer the rigid rod of before, but yielding, becoming more pliable. Yunjin held him there, her lips and tongue still caressing, prolonging the connection. The afterglow of his climax lingered on her taste buds as she gently released him with a soft wet pop, her lips tracing a soft path along the now relaxed shaft, leaving a trail of warmth. The moment, intense and fleeting, left them both in a haze of satisfaction, their breaths mingling in the quiet aftermath.

A murmured thanks floated through the hole, a small acknowledgment of the intense connection they had shared, however fleeting. Yunjin took a moment to catch her breath, her heart still racing from the adrenaline of the encounter.

Despite the fleeting nature of their interaction, Yunjin felt a profound bond with the faceless man on the other side of the wall. It was a bond forged by mutual pleasure and vulnerability, a memory that would linger long after the carnival lights had dimmed.

Just as she began to compose herself, another surprise awaited her. From a different opening in the partition, a second shaft appeared—this one significantly larger and more imposing. Yunjin's breath hitched in her throat as she eyed the newcomer with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. The first encounter had been a warm-up, but this? This was a challenge.

She hesitated, pondering if she could accommodate such a size, but the thrill of the challenge won out. With a cautious but determined glance, she edged closer to the second hole. Yunjin was ready to take the ride.

As she steeled herself, Yunjin's gaze was locked on the formidable appendage that stood before her. It was a symbol of virility and power, and she was determined to conquer it. With a deep breath, she leaned forward, her heart pounding like a drumline in her chest. The moment of contact was electric; her soft lips met the massive head of the cock, and a surge of warmth and intensity coursed through her. She closed her eyes, surrendering to the sensation as she focused all her strength and concentration on the task ahead.

The journey had begun, and Yunjin was committed to seeing it through. She slid her lips down the lengthy shaft, each inch a testament to her determination. The cock throbbed and pulsed in her mouth, a living embodiment of the challenge she had accepted. It was a tight fit, pushing the limits of her oral cavity, and she could feel her throat constricting as she valiantly attempted to accommodate more of the imposing member.

Gagging and sputtering were inevitable, but Yunjin's will was made of sterner stuff. She refused to yield, pushing herself further, taking in more and more until she felt the cock hit the back of her throat. The sensation was overwhelming, but she welcomed it, pausing only to adjust before resuming her rhythmic motion. Her head bobbed back and forth, the cock sliding in and out of her mouth with practiced ease, a dance of passion and perseverance.

The thrill of the challenge was intoxicating. Yunjin's pulse raced with excitement as she deepthroats the massive cock, each thrust a declaration of her own capabilities. She was acutely aware of the wet patch growing on her panties, a visible sign of her arousal, as she moaned softly, the sound muffled by the object of her conquest. She was lost in the moment, her world narrowed to the feeling of being completely filled, completely consumed by the task at hand.

Her determination was not in vain. The man's body tensed, his breaths became labored gasps, and Yunjin knew she had driven him to the brink. The moment of truth arrived as his dick twitched and pulsed in her mouth, releasing a torrent of cum. She swallowed quickly, striving to keep up with the force of his ejaculation, but the sheer volume was overwhelming. Cum splashed against the back of her throat, overflowed, and covered her chin, dripping down her chest in a testament to her efforts.

Yunjin, a woman of remarkable poise and sensuality, found herself in a scenario that would have left many reeling. She had just concluded an intense session with two well-endowed partners, each man bringing his own brand of fervor and demanding her full attention and physicality. The encounter had been a marathon of pleasure and exertion, pushing Yunjin to the brink of her sexual prowess. Yet, as the second man withdrew, spent and satisfied, Yunjin was faced with an unanticipated third act.

Through the other hole stood another man, his desire evident and his anticipation palpable. His penis, while not as imposing as the ones that had preceded it, still presented a challenge. Yunjin, ever the consummate lover, was not one to back down from a challenge. She understood that satisfaction comes in many sizes and that her journey was far from over.

With a deep breath to center herself, Yunjin leaned in, her eyes locked onto his member as she took the whole cock easily into her mouth. The warmth of his flesh against her lips was a familiar sensation, yet it brought with it a new set of expectations. She was determined to lavish upon this man the same meticulous attention that she had given to the others, to bring him to the heights of pleasure despite the lingering sensation of fullness that still resonated within her from her previous encounters.

As she worked her magic, the man's response was immediate and visceral. He quickly reached his climax, and Yunjin braced herself for what was to come. To her astonishment, his orgasm was voluminous, exceeding even the generous offerings of the two men before him, combined. The warm, thick salty liquid hit the back of her throat with a force that caused her gag reflex to activate, the excess spilling out of her mouth and trickling down her chin.

The sensation was overwhelming, and Yunjin made a swift decision. She couldn’t take any more inside of her; she had reached her limit. Instead, she guided the man to finish all over her face. With her eyes closed and her head tilted back, she surrendered to the sensory overload. The cum splattered in waves across her face, marking her porcelain skin and staining her crimson hair with ropes of his essence. It dripped down her neck, leaving trails that soaked into her LE SSERAFIM top, a badge of honor from her latest conquest..

The absurdity of the situation was not lost on Yunjin. Here she was, a woman who had always prided herself on her control and composure, covered in the evidence of her sexual escapades. Yet, far from feeling debased, she felt empowered. The sensation was strange, yet not unpleasant, and in the midst of the chaos, she found a moment of quiet appreciation for the extremes to which her body and mind could be pushed.

As the man caught his breath and pulled away, Yunjin opened her eyes. A smile played across her lips, a silent acknowledgment of the journey she had just completed. She had not only endured but had triumphed, satisfying yet another partner with grace and determination. The experience had been intense, physically challenging, and emotionally exhausting, but it had also been exhilarating.

Yunjin stood, her body glistening with the remnants of her encounters, and made her way to the mirror. She gazed at her reflection, at the cum-covered visage that stared back at her, and she felt a surge of pride. She had pushed herself beyond her limits, and had proven to herself that she was capable of anything. In that moment, Yunjin embraced her strength, her resilience, and the sheer power of her sexuality.

She took a moment to catch her breath. She felt a weight lifted off her shoulders, and a sense of calm washed over her. But she was not ready to stop just yet. Quickly using the provided wipes, she cleaned herself slightly before she gathered up her remaining energy and boldly decided to continue.

Yunjin's heart danced to the staccato rhythm of her racing pulse as she navigated the dimly lit corridors of the building, her every step echoing the potent cocktail of excitement and trepidation coursing through her veins. She arrived at her destination, a secluded alcove whispered about in the hushed tones of the initiated, where the boundaries of the self are willingly blurred.

With a deep breath to steady her nerves, Yunjin began the ritual of undressing, each piece of clothing falling away to reveal the canvas of her unadorned skin. The cool air of the room kissed her bare flesh, sending a shiver down her spine, a tangible reminder of her exposed state. It was in this moment of nakedness, both literal and metaphorical, that Yunjin felt truly alive, her senses heightened to the symphony of whispers, rustling fabric, and the faint scent of desire that permeated the air.

Carefully, she positioned herself, ensuring comfort and security, but also the deliberate display of her most intimate self. The hole before her served as a portal to a world of anonymous connections, her bare pussy an offering to the unknown. As she closed her eyes, Yunjin surrendered to the vulnerability of her situation, a willing participant in the dance of the flesh.

The sounds from the adjacent room grew in intensity, a cacophony of deep moans and heavy breathing that spoke of the primal acts unfolding mere inches away. It was not long before the first of her anonymous suitors approached, his fingers tracing the contours of her exposed lower body with a reverence that belied the raw encounter to come.

He wastes no time in claiming what he sought, gripping Yunjin's hips with an urgency that communicated his need. She felt the heat of his body, the insistent press of his cock against her, seeking entry into the slick warmth of her tight cunt. As he entered her, Yunjin braced herself against the intrusion, the sensation of being filled overwhelming her senses.

The man's thrusts were fast and deep, driven by the intoxicating tightness that enveloped him. Yunjin's moans melded with the symphony of sounds that filled the room, her body responding to the relentless rhythm. Having spent the earlier part of the night pleasuring a succession of faceless men, now it was her turn to bask in the waves of pleasure that threatened to engulf her.

Yunjin's body trembled uncontrollably as wave after wave of intense pleasure coursed through her veins. She could feel every inch of the man behind the wall. His thrusts were relentless, almost brutal in their intensity, but she couldn't deny the way her body responded to his touch.

She could hear the man's grunts and groans growing louder with each thrust, his hips slamming into her with a primal urgency that made her heart race. It was clear that he was chasing his own high, focused solely on the intense sensations coursing through his body.

Yunjin tried to match his rhythm, meeting each thrust with one of her own, but she was quickly overwhelmed by the intensity of the pleasure coursing through her. She could feel her orgasm building deep within her, the tension coiling in her belly as she gasped for breath.

Yunjin, in that moment, was just another warm, wet body used solely for pleasure. An extension of the overwhelming stimulation that threatened to swallow her whole. The scent of sex was thick in the air of the crowded room, mixing with the heady aroma of cologne and the musk of aroused bodies.

All around them, others writhed and cried out in ecstasy. Moans and screams filled the air, punctuated by the wet slap of flesh on flesh. It was a debauched scene straight out of Yunjin's wildest fantasies. And yet, even as her body climbed higher and higher towards the peak, her mind felt strangely detached. It was as if she was watching the whole thing unfold from outside herself.

The man's thrusts grew more erratic, his rhythm faltering as he neared his own end. Yunjin could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter in her core, her nails digging into the supple leather beneath her as she teetered on the very edge of oblivion.

With a final, powerful thrust, Yunjin's body tensed as she felt her world shatter into a thousand pieces. Her orgasm ripped through her like a tidal wave, a rush of intense pleasure coursing through her veins and leaving her breathless. She threw her head back and cried out, the sound echoing through the room as she reveled in the indescribable sensation.

The man, still buried deep inside of her, let out a low groan as he felt her climax. He could feel her muscles contracting around him, pulling him deeper as she rode out the waves of pleasure. With a few more thrusts, he followed suit, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself into her. The warmth of his seed filled her to the brim, a delicious sensation that only served to prolong her own orgasm.

"Ohhh yes!" Yunjin cried out, her voice filled with pure ecstasy. The intensity of the moment was etched into her memory, a moment of pure bliss that she would never forget. 

As the first man finished his climax, he pulled out, leaving Yunjin's hungry hole exposed and glistening with a mixture of sweat and the evidence of his pleasure. But there was no time for respite in this den of hedonism. No sooner had he withdrawn than another figure loomed, his member rigid and ready. Without hesitation, he plunged into her cum-slicked opening, claiming her for his own.

He started pumping with an urgency that matched the rhythm of her own racing heart. The wet sounds of their union resonated throughout the room, a testament to the slick, fervent fucking that was underway. Yunjin's body responded instinctively, her hips rocking back to meet his every thrust, her fingers clawing at the edges of the bench that supported her.

"Yes, yes, yes!" she panted, her voice a symphony of lust and longing. She was a vision of abandon, her body undulating with each powerful drive of his cock. Her eyes were closed, her head thrown back in ecstasy, as she rode the wave of another impending climax.

The man showed no signs of slowing down, his own desires stoking the fire within Yunjin's core. She could feel the essence of her previous partner being churned inside her, the concoction adding to the intensity of the experience. "Mmmm it's so messy!" Yunjin gasped, the sensation of fluids squelching with each thrust only heightening her arousal.

He used the slickness to his advantage, fucking her with wild abandon, his hips a blur as he hammered in and out of her willing body. The room was filled with the sounds of their coupling—the slap of skin, the wet suction of her sex, and the growing crescendo of Yunjin's moans.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, I'm gonna cum!" Yunjin wailed, her voice cracking with the intensity of her impending orgasm. Her pussy clenched around him, the sensitive walls of her sex gripping him tightly as she reached the precipice of pleasure. Her whole body shook, racked by the force of her climax, a climax that seemed to tear through her like a storm surge, leaving her spent and trembling in its wake.

As her orgasm subsided, the man continued to thrust, drawing out every last shiver of pleasure from Yunjin's satiated form. Finally, with a guttural growl, he too found his release, adding to the cum-slicked mess that Yunjin had become.

Exhausted but thoroughly sated, Yunjin collapsed onto the bench, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. She was a writhing, moaning mess, her body marked by the intensity of her encounters. Yet, even as she lay there, the knowledge that this was but a moment in her endless pursuit of pleasure brought a knowing smile to her lips.

In the dimly lit confines of an intimate chamber, Yunjin found herself amidst a symphony of desire, a realm where pleasure was the only currency. After a series of passionate trysts, she braced herself for the final act of her evening, a performance that promised to be as memorable as it was intense.

As her body, still quivering from the reverberations of her last climax, began to settle, Yunjin sensed the approach of another. She was acutely aware that this would be her final partner for the night, and there was something decidedly different about him. The anticipation of his touch rekindled the warmth and pulsating sensitivity of her pussy, remnants of her recent orgasmic journey.

The man's presence was commanding yet tender as he teased her entrance, his warmth radiating against her sensitive flesh. She recognized him by his formidable size—the same man she had pleasured orally earlier. His endowment, both exciting and intimidating, had left a lasting impression, and the recognition only stoked the fires of her arousal.

As he began to enter her, Yunjin braced herself for the sensation of being filled beyond what she had ever known. His size was not just impressive; it bordered on the edge of her comfort zone, yet she found herself craving more. With each deliberate inch that slid inside, her body stretched to accommodate his girth, yielding to his impressive member with a mix of trepidation and eagerness.

The intensity of fullness was almost too much to bear, but it was swiftly replaced by waves of pleasure that accompanied each of his thrusts. Her body was being pushed to its limits, but in the most exhilarating way imaginable. She could feel every ridge, every vein of his shaft, creating a friction that sent shivers of delight coursing through her.

Instinct took over, and Yunjin began to match his rhythm, eager to feel him reach the deepest parts of her. The man responded in kind, increasing the force of his thrusts, making her gasp with each powerful drive. The room echoed with the raw, primal sound of their bodies uniting, a testament to the pleasure they were creating together.

Yunjin's heart raced, each beat a drumbeat echoing in her ears as she scaled the heights of her pleasure. Her legs trembled with the exertion, her muscles coiling tighter with each passing second. The air around them seemed to crackle with electricity, a palpable tension that begged for release.

"I'm so close," she gasped, her voice barely more than a whisper, laced with the raw edge of desperation.

He responded with a powerful surge, his body moving with an intensity that matched her own fervor. Their rhythm was frenzied, a dance of two souls seeking unity in the most primal way.

"Please," she begged, her pride forgotten in the face of the overwhelming need that consumed her.

His answer was a focused, deliberate motion, a targeted strike against her inner walls that made stars explode behind her closed eyelids. Yunjin's world shattered as she reached the pinnacle of her climax. Her voice broke the stillness, a cry of pure, unadulterated bliss that filled the room.

"FUCK… you’re so big!" she exclaimed, her body arching into his, every nerve ending alight with pleasure.

Her inner muscles pulsed around him, a rhythmic clenching that milked his own release. He threw his head back, a look of pure ecstasy on his face as he let out a deep, resonant groan. Yunjin felt the heat of his climax as he spilled into her, the sensation drawing out her own pleasure until she was utterly spent.

For a moment, they existed in a perfect state of satiation, their bodies still intimately connected. Yunjin's breaths slowly evened out, her heartbeat gradually returning to normal. She lay there, boneless and content, a soft smile playing on her lips as the aftershocks of their union rippled through her.

As the intensity of the moment subsided, Yunjin savored the feeling of completeness. The warmth of his release spread through her, a sensation that was both comforting and deeply satisfying. Her body, now spent and limp, was a testament to the pleasure he had wrought.

In the afterglow of their erotic encounter, she lay back on the leather that clung to her skin, her body a canvas of pleasure and fatigue. Her breaths came in slow, deep waves, each one a testament to the intensity of the experience they had just shared. She was in a state of blissful exhaustion, every muscle in her body seemingly liquefied in the wake of her climax.

The mystery stud, still poised behind the wall, looked at her quivering folds, his gaze held a mixture of pride and satisfaction. Then, with a mischievous glint in his eye he leaned in for one final, electrifying farewell.

His hand came down on her sex with a sure, resounding slap that echoed through the room, its sharpness jolting her senses. The stinging sensation arched her back, drawing a surprised moan from her lips as the sound lingered—a provocative reminder of their raw, unrestrained passion.

Before she could fully process the shock, his mouth descended with a searing kiss to her throbbing clit, warm and intent. The heat enveloped her, sending a fresh wave of pleasure rippling through her. His tongue moved deftly, coaxing her sensitive flesh to life with skilled flicks and gentle pulls, each movement reigniting her body’s desire.

A gasp escaped her as she shivered, goosebumps rising over her skin. Still sensitive from her previous release, she felt her body surge with renewed intensity. Her every nerve responded to him, the initial sting of his touch melting into the tender warmth of his kiss, the sensations mingling in a dizzying contrast that left her breathless. She was caught in the duality of it—the lingering sting meeting the sweetness of his lips—a perfect balance between the need to retreat from the intensity and the desire to lose herself in it entirely.

With a final, lingering kiss, he pulled back, leaving her body trembling and her chest rising with deep, satiated breaths. Covered in a light sheen of sweat, she had long since lost count of her climaxes, each one more powerful than the last. As she lay there, immersed in the warmth of their connection, she knew that this night would remain etched in her memory—a moment where passion, intensity, and an unspoken bond came together in something that transcended the physical.

She rose slowly from the plush cushions her legs trembling slightly from the exertions of the evening. Standing in the dimly lit room that had been her sanctuary, she caught her reflection in the nearby mirror. Her gaze drifted over her own form—a canvas marked by the unmistakable signs of release. Her skin was damp, glistening with the mingled residue of sweat and pleasure, each trace a testament to the intensity of the night.

She felt wonderfully full, her body carrying the subtle reminders of her encounters, tokens of the night that would stay with her as she stepped back into the world.

Yunjin moved to the bathroom, her steps careful, almost reverent. Warm water streamed over her, washing away the physical remnants of her indulgence, swirling down the drain in a quiet cleanse. Yet even as the evidence vanished, she knew that the essence of the night would remain—a secret, a sense of renewal that she would carry back into her public persona.

Dressed once again in her street clothes—a chic outfit that belied the wildness of her evening—Yunjin gathered her belongings: a sleek purse, comfy sneakers, and a renewed sense of self. She paused at the mirror, captivated by her own reflection. The woman staring back was radiant, her eyes alight with a new fire, a private victory that fame alone could never quite evoke. It was a glow that belonged to her alone.

At the front desk, Yunjin was met with the same quiet discretion as when she’d first arrived. The hostess, ever the silent guardian of this hidden world, handed her a sleek business card—a subtle invitation to return. Yunjin responded with a slight smile, a silent promise to herself that she would indeed revisit this sanctuary of indulgence.

Just as she turned to leave, a familiar voice rang out behind her.

“Hi, Ms. Jeon. Welcome back!”

Yunjin froze, her heart skipping as she spun around to see none other than her friend, Jeon Somi, standing just a few feet away. Somi’s eyes sparkled with curiosity, and she cocked her head, taking in Yunjin’s slightly disheveled appearance. Blood rushed to Yunjin’s cheeks, embarrassment rising fast—of all people, she hadn’t expected to see Somi here.

“S-Somi?” she stammered, caught off guard. “What… what are you doing here?”

Somi chuckled, enjoying Yunjin’s flustered reaction. She took a step closer, her gaze warm but curious. “I didn’t know you knew about this place.”

Yunjin shifted uncomfortably, glancing away. “Yeah, well…” She trailed off, unable to find the words, but Somi simply grinned and leaned in slightly, her expression softening.

Without a word, Somi’s eyes glinted with mischief as she inhaled, catching the faint scent lingering on Yunjin’s clothes—a subtle hint of musk and release. She pulled back, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

“I’m here for the same reason as you, I presume?” Somi teased, raising an eyebrow.

Yunjin’s face grew hotter, mortified that Somi could sense exactly what she’d been up to. She bit her lip, laughing nervously. “I… guess so,” she mumbled, managing a sheepish grin. “Didn’t think I’d… run into anyone I know here.”

Somi chuckled warmly, patting Yunjin’s shoulder with a playful smile. “Hey, we all need a place like this sometimes, right? No judgment.” She glanced back toward the hallways, her voice softening. “Anyway, I had a long day. I’ll see you around.”

Before Yunjin could respond, Somi turned and headed toward the dimly lit corridors, her footsteps fading into the quiet shadows of the hidden world they both shared. Yunjin watched her friend disappear, feeling a strange mix of relief, embarrassment, and an unexpected sense of camaraderie.

Left standing by the entrance, Yunjin took a steadying breath, her heartbeat gradually slowing. Tomorrow, she would return to her carefully crafted public life. But tonight, she carried the thrill of her private indulgence—and the quiet comfort of knowing she wasn’t alone in seeking a place to shed her public self, if only for a moment.

[shrimpybbq]

season 1 rafe with his gf & son

i have to be sooo truthful here in that rafe is like 90% the actual worst during the events of season 1 to high school gf!

he's still doing drugs and going to parties, never coming home until the early morning if at all

maybe he was on better terms with his gf for a while, but everyone on the island knows that the pair are always on-and-off

when they are good, rafe is surprisingly sweet to her. he's always opening doors and looking after their son so she can rest. rafe is so much more physically affectionate too during these times, with his hands always on her, stroking her hip or playing with her hair

and then when they fight, it's like all that goes away and he's back to ignoring her

she lives in the main house now as that's where their son's nursery is, but most of the time she's sleeping in the guest room after they argue

rafe's idea of family bonding is going to the country club, drinking his expensive whiskey and eating overpriced food. he likes seeing his son look around wide-eyed at the new sights and new people, and he enjoys having his son sit in his lap while he drinks, mumbling nonsense to see his little smile

he tries to take his son out golfing once only to realise that he couldn't be away from his mother for so long, much to his annoyance. it's fine though bc he's insisting they all go together next time - problem solved in his mind

rafe and high school gf! go to midsummer's together as each others dates. rafe wouldn't have let her go with anyone else anyway, but he likes the display of having her on his arm. he matches his suit to the floral design of her gown to make the statement even clearer (they have a child together and he's worried about people knowing she's his???)

he manages to hide a lot of the events that go on from his gf, but some of them still reach her ears courtesy of sarah, and he can't stand the disappointed look she gives him. sometimes though, he makes her sit down and listen to his explanation, trying to get her to see his side. he's so relieved when she nods and no longer looks at him in that way (but she still doesn't tell him he was right, he always notes)

when barry burns rafe, he's knocking on the door of the guest room with tears in his eyes, clutching his badly burnt arm to his chest. gf just looks at him wide-eyed, telling him to sit on her bed while she grabs the first aid kit. rafe can't help but let the tears stream down his face as she cleans, his head coming to rest on her shoulder as he sobs. that night is the first time he sleeps with her in the guest room, his head nuzzled into her chest as she cradles him

ok but if barry ever threatens his girl and kid rafe won't let it go. he's landing a punch on the drug dealer's face immediately, his rage spiking instantaneously. barry learns not to threaten them again after the second time he wore purple bruises on his chin

oh, sweet pretty gf has no idea what rafe has done to the sheriff, and he plans to keep it that way. he wanted to protect his dad, but he absolutely refuses to let anything happen to his own family. she's so shocked when he tells her of john b's actions, the boy having lived down the hall from them, and rafe plays into the role of protector again. he's got her in his arms as she cries about how he was around their son, and rafe just hums and tells her "i would never let someone hurt either of you, you know that right?". it warms his heart to see her nod into his chest.

sometimes his gf walks into the nursery only to see her son not in his crib, but she knows exactly where he is. pushing open rafe's door she sees the two of them in bed, her sweet baby cuddled up on rafe's bare chest as they both sleep. he needs to be with his son when he has a bad day, which seems to be more often than not nowadays

rafe is rapidly growing more mentally unwell and the only thing that seems to soothe him is his gf and son, and he spends as much time as he can with them. the little baby is always in his arms as he coos down at him, watching his kid's eyes brighten at the sight of his dada. rafe reasons with himself that everything he does is to protect his family and that he couldn't be wrong then, could he?

Click here for pre-season 1 rafe, gf & their unborn son

Click here for season 2 rafe, gf & their son

Click here for season 3 rafe, gf & their son

Click here for season 4 part 1 rafe, gf & their son

Click here for the 18 month gap before season 4 rafe, gf & their son

Oh this was a bit of a novel, but rafe truly has so many facets to explore, let alone once you give him a big motivator like a kid!

[aestas---estas]

Kaleidoscope

MDNI 18+ | Read on AO3 |

I felt sappy, this is literally just fluff

Simon Riley makes no fanfare the first time he tells you he loves you.

You'd been saying it to him for weeks, months maybe, time flies when he's with you — always telling him you didn't need to hear it back, you just wanted him to know he was loved, wanted, cared for.

The first time you said it, pink and orange painted the sky as the glow of the rising sun bathed you in warmth. He'd slipped out of bed early, sneaking to the balcony for a morning smoke, quiet and careful so as to not rouse you.

Simon was halfway through his second cigarette when the door beside him inched open. The dressing gown he'd gifted you on your birthday adorned your frame, soft and fluffy in the colour you had pointed out as most complimenting. A steaming mug warming your hands.

“Hey you,” you greeted him, handing him the tea as you perched yourself in his lap, plucking the cigarette from between his fingers. It had taken time to convince you that no, you’re not too heavy, but once he’d finally gotten it into your stubborn head, his lap seemed to be your favourite place to curl up.

Simon pressed a kiss to your shoulder, his free hand falling low on your hip to keep you in place. The sun was climbing over the horizon, a shining halo of rose and vermillion making you look ethereal. A soft exhale made smoke dance from your lips, swirling in the light breeze — it was fucking mesmerising. 

“Sneak out often?” you teased. His lips grazed your fingers as you offered the cigarette to him; intimate, domestic, homely. He hadn’t felt at home anywhere in a long time.

“Didn't wanna wake ya,” he said around a mouthful of smoke before exhaling it through the corner of his mouth.

You laughed at him softly, shaking your head as if you found his antics amusing.

“Drink your tea.”

The first time Simon spent the night you made him tea in the morning — it had been shit if he was honest. Tea bag merely dipped in the water in your haste rather than letting it steep. Too much sugar. Microwaved. He'd bought you a proper kettle after that, even though you argued that it tasted the same.

The morning after, with Simon glued to your back, his hands covering yours, guiding your movements as you giggled, he showed you exactly how he makes his tea.

“This a new blend?” he asked, smiling up at you before taking another sip. It was more flowery than his usual tea, tasted more like berries than he was used to. He didn't like change in his everyday life, not really, and when it was forced on him it always took time before his body and mind settled into it.

He swallowed another mouthful, letting the taste linger on his tongue as long as possible.

“Mhm,” you hummed, “made with love.”

“Yeah, yeah. Fuckin’ sap.” Despite the dismissive words he couldn't hide the way his eyes crinkled and shone with the smile he hid behind the mug.

“It’s made with love, Simon.” He could feel your gaze stroking his face, tender and affectionate, the corner of your lips ticked up in a perfect replication of Mona Lisa. “Because I love you.”

In that moment his world stopped spinning, rotated off its axis until it found a new sun in you. His heart stuttered in his chest, the air in his lungs evanesced as his breath seemed to halt.

His silence, the lack of an outward reaction, had you worrying your bottom lip; your brain drawing the opposite conclusion.

“I’m sorry,” you began, diving headfirst into an explanation that was entirely unnecessary. “I know it might be too early for you, and—” an audible swallow, “and you don’t have to say it back. But I just… I wanted you to know and—”

Your name fell from his lips, gentle adoration, as if the word itself was a prayer. Then repeated, louder this time, when your words still didn’t stop. It wasn’t until he occupied your lips with his that your words finally ceased.

“Stop talkin’, dove,” he murmured before kissing you again, harder this time, hoping his touch could relay to you what his words couldn’t.

It’s not something you say every day, but still it invades his senses. Feels it in the way you comb your fingers through his hair. Sees it in your eyes when they light up as you smile at him. Hears it in the way you say his name, when you sing it so sweetly, even when you yell it.

It’s overwhelming.

He never wants it to stop.

So when he's leaving your place one day, lazy morning interrupted by his work phone blaring and Price’s voice telling him they were wheels up at 1800 hours that evening, Simon kisses you long and hard. Unhurried. Passionate. His hands framing your face with gentle force, as if it’s something precious, something valuable — because you are.

“‘old the fort while I'm gone, ‘kay dove?”

“Promise.”

“Good.” He straightens up, slings his duffle over his shoulder, looking at you one last time as he pushes the door open. He wants to tell you then, feels it brewing inside his chest, eager to climb out of his throat.

But he doesn’t want to leave you with those words, not without being able to soak up the blinding smile and shining eyes he knows you’ll give him, not without getting to murmur his affection against your lips and sink his devotion into your very bones, not without an opportunity to revel in the love you both shared. It's only a week, he tells himself. He can wait one week.

But then one week turns into two.

And two into six.

He’s dead on his feet once he collapses in the too small seat of the plane that’ll bring them back home again, eyes bleary from lack of sleep and head pounding from the many hits it had taken.

The cracks in his phone screen split your head in three, but you’re still as beautiful as ever and he can’t help but smile as he smooths his thumb over your picture. You’re laughing in it, loud and boisterous, and your eyes crinkle in the corners. So fucking happy, so fucking lovely — it makes his heart ache.

You meet him when they land, jump into his arms and cling on for dear life. Not that Simon is any better; his hold on you is borderline painful, but neither of you mind. He wants to crush you against him, keep you so close not even air is able to pass between your bodies.

“Missed you,” you say into the crook of his neck, breathing him in until his scent is the only thing you smell.

“Missed ya too, dove,” he replies against the top of your head. Gaz says something Simon can’t be arsed to register and it makes Soap snicker. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is you, in his arms, in his heart.

It’s only when Price comes up beside him and claps him on the shoulder that you break the embrace. “Go on home, Simon. You’ve earned it,” Price says. It’s too friendly for an official order, yet just stern enough that they both can pretend it is one.

The mask gets pulled off Simon’s face the moment you’re on the road, and he keeps his hand on your thigh the entire drive home to your flat. The setting sun is shining through the side window, clouds smouldering with scarlet painting the inside of the car in shades of red and orange that makes your skin fucking glow. You tell him again, then, your voice quiet and soft and warm as the three words you give him so easily fall from your lips once more. You smile, not expecting him to say it back, content with just knowing he knows. His hand squeezes your thigh.

“Go jump in the shower,” you say once your front door closes behind you and he dumps his duffel on the floor, rolling his neck in an attempt to alleviate the stiffness. “I’ll order us some food.”

“This y’way of tellin’ me I stink?” Simon asks, but the way his lips tilt in a cheeky grin only makes you huff out a laugh.

“And what if it is?” you counter, trying your best to keep your face neutral but soon the giggle you had suppressed bubbles up and he can’t help but chuckle along. It takes him no effort to pull your frame against his chest, holding you tight, letting you fill his senses.

“Just go,” you say with a shake of your head once your laughter tapers off. Your hand pats his shoulder twice and he presses a kiss to your forehead before releasing you.

There is no kaleidoscope of colours bathing your features this time. No warm reds or pale pinks, no soft yellows or deep oranges. Because now the sun has set and stars are splattered across the evening sky — just barely visible, but there nonetheless. He finds some strange form of kinship in them.

“Yeah, yeah, love ya too, dove,” he says. Simple. Clean. As if it’s the easiest thing in the world rather than a concept he had struggled with most of his life and only recently opened his heart up to again.

His words root you to the spot as your brain plays catch-up, giving Simon enough time to get halfway to the bathroom before his words register. And once they do, you fling yourself against his back, arms squeezing tight around his middle.

“I heard that correctly, right?” you ask against his back, voice slightly muffled from the way you’re pressing your face against him.

Simon pries your hands off of him, ignoring your noise of protest, before turning around to face you properly. With one hand on your waist he brings your face close to his with the other. His lips claim yours in a kiss that is deep, slow, sensual. Being open and vulnerable is something he’s still getting reacquainted with, but he can’t deny how light he feels; like the weight he’d been carrying for only God knows how long has finally lifted.

“Yeah, dove,” he whispers against your lips, “I love ya.”

--- CoD Masterlist

[asce-of-hearts]

Can I request a yandere katakuri with prompts 🍳🥥

Over and over again

Contents: Yandere!Katakuri with prompts: 🍳🥥

more Katakuri content here

TAG LIST

PROMPT LIST

WARNINGS: ARRANGED MARRIAGE, SOFT YANDERE, BREEDING KINK, AFAB!READER.

It's overwhelming.

He's tall, and he's strong, and he's all over you.

Your wedding was a modest ceremony, against his mother's request because the Yonko always had a taste for the ostentatious. But Katakuri was shy, even if he tried to seem impassive. In the time you had to meet him, to get to know him you realized that. He was quiet, and he had a tender heart.

There was no explanation as to why he felt the way he felt for you, the promised bride he had only known for as little as a week. But he had this feeling, this aching in his heart for you. You, the small creature that looked up at him with tired and innocent eyes, with such kindness, without any prejudice. It's like heaven's chose you to be with him, despite being a monster, despite being revolting.

And he looked handsome in his wedding attire, military style gown for him, a simple white dress for you. Vows recited, rings exchanged, and a kiss to seal it all. You giggled when one of his sharp teeth punctured at your skin, and he felt himself melt at the sound. And now you were both inside his room, ready to share a bed for the first time. Sharing it, as in that instant.

His cock, as big as the rest of his body, nestled inside your gummy walls, fitting like pieces of a puzzle. The intrusion was painful, difficult due to the size difference, but in the end you managed. And he had you there, legs spread, folded like a pretzel and pounding inside you with slow, deliberate strokes, eliciting the lewdest moans as gasps from you.

"You're so perfect," He whispers, groaning as his hips continue to rock against yours, making you mewl when he repeatedly hit your cervix with ease. "And you're so beautiful, so small under me..." His lashes flutter, and his large hand comes to cup your face, engulfing it entirely with just his palm if he wanted to. "Please let me put a baby inside you." He begs, and you gasp.

"A baby? Isn't it- Too- Ah! Too soon?" You ask, your voice staccato as he continued to ravage you.

"Please, just one baby. One that looks like you," He begs again, voice cracking as your cunt tightens around his cock like a vice, gripping it deliciously, trying to milk him. "You're so pretty, you're everything I've ever wanted. Just give it to me, ___. I beg you. I'll be good to you, I'll be the best husband I can be. Just give me a baby that's as beautiful as you are."

You can't speak, only think about how good it feels to have his dick stretching your insides so perfectly. But you nod, and he smiles, mouth wide and toothy.

"I love you. I love you, ___. My wife, my wife," He grunts. "All mine, want you to always be mine. I want us to be together all the time. I wish I met you sooner so I could've done this earlier, make you all mine earlier." Your eyes roll to the back of your head as his large hands rubs sloppy circles over your neglected clit, making you cum in an instant. "How do you make me feel so much, I know you’re not feeling the same but you’re so sweet and perfect. One day, one day I'll make sure you love me back, and I'll make you mine over, and over again."

I just think he's a very sweet and caring lover oughhhh oughhhh get me pregnant giant mochi man

hope you enjoyed this

have a great day/night

TAGGING: @bookandyarndragon @shmyek @eroscastle @goldenglow149 @hbk99450

@3v37773 @mizzhellsingsstuff @coolnekochan9961 @chercheryblossomsweet @mimihaitani

@bad4amficideas @flow33didontsmoke @architectofsuffering @mrstraffy

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[ilium-ilia]

calyptra thalictri

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | "single mom" au | masterlist

metamorphosis

tw: medical talk, pregnancy, abortion mention, non-con, smut, piv, oral, breeding kink, somno, sedatives

You wonder if Mary of Nazareth felt like this when she was told she would have God’s son. When Gabriel came down to the heavens to give such sour news, was she as scared as you are now, trembling, hardly able to stand on your own two feet? Did she feel as violated as you do? 

Three pairs of parallel lines haunt you from the bin in the bathroom. They stare at you each time you enter to wash your hands or pathetically pray that there is blood to soak your underwear. You were certain the first time was a fluke. A false positive so cruelly given to you simply to see if you would keel over from the heart palpitations it plagues you with. So you take a second one, hopes high but mind reeling. It only rubs salt in the wound. 

By the third test, you sob. Crumbled on the floor, clutching your knees to your chest as if you were a school girl sniffling in the stalls again. Alone—terrifyingly alone and without guidance. 

You spend your night wallowing in bed, unable to sleep. Trembling fingers plug search after search into your online browser, looking for an explanation to your miracle pregnancy. You’re faced with the idea of miscarriages, of ovarian cysts, or possible cancer. Psychosomatic disorders, memory loss after violent sexual assault. 

The pink flesh in your brain splits. Cleaved clean in half, you’re presented with two terrible realizations—that something terrible happened to you—something that your mind purged in order to protect yourself—or you are simply crazy. You are lying to yourself to save face. So you don’t have to admit that you made a stupid choice, and are now suffering the consequences. 

In the morning, you call your gynecologist. The soonest she can get you in is in five weeks. 

Though you try hard not to, you cry on the phone to the receptionist. You babble about how you don’t know what to do, that you need help, that you can’t wait that long. Taking pity on you, she tells you that she’ll add you to the waiting list, and that you’ll be seen as soon as possible when there’s an opening. 

It takes them four weeks to call you to tell you that there’s been a cancellation. Four excruciating long weeks. Each time your friends invite you out to drink, they stare at you with narrowed eyes when you decline with restless hands. Countless nights are spent sleepless, or with Ghost pinning your body beneath his, allowing you no rest in the day or night. You think about abortion. You think about raising a child on your own. You think about wasting away in a cancer center with no one to hold your hand. 

Dropping everything, you rush to the clinic with sweaty palms and greet the receptionist with a smile that screams please do not congratulate me. She gives you two pages of paperwork to fill out, but your hands shake too bad for your writing to be legible. 

It takes them twenty minutes to take you back to the exam room. The clinical assistant asks you questions, but each syllable sounds fuzzy on your eardrums. What are you here for today? When was your last period? Are you taking any medications? What makes you think you’re pregnant? She takes your blood pressure and notes that it’s a little high, and leaves the room to let you sit in silence. 

Another fifteen minutes pass before the clinical assistant returns and says your doctor wants to do an ultrasound. She leads you down the hallway and into a darkened room with an exam table and a woman sitting in front of a machine that whirs enough heat to make the room suffocating. She looks up at you from over her glasses, hands you a gown, then leaves you to undress. When the technician returns, she wastes no time getting to work. 

Her small talk makes your teeth ache. Maw grinding teeth into brittle dust, you answer her questions with short, sharp responses. You are not here to receive the joyous news of a child, or the prospect of becoming a mother—you are simply here to get answers. To look at your options. You grit your teeth throughout the entire scan as the sonographer presses the wand deep into your pelvis. Her eyes look dully at the monitor before her as she taps away at her keyboard; she reveals nothing. No pity for a tumor, nor excitement over a foetus. 

When the scans are done, she lets you clean up before leaving you to sit back in the exam room. The walls are adorned with paintings depicting motherhood and children. Each stroke feels like a punch to the gut as you sit with your hands in your lap. This room is a cell, and you are on death row. The weight of it crunches your shoulders until you’re bent forward—broken. Your trial was held without you present—fate decided long ago. 

Your doctor enters the room with a simple knock. Several papers and sonograms sit in her hands as she takes a seat in the rolling stool next to you. She asks how you are, and though you say you’re fine, you can’t rip your eyes away from the items in her grasp. 

“You’re pregnant.” 

There it is. The killing blow. The lethal injection. You’ve been strung up, noose tight around your throat, and you swing in the breeze to be laughed and gawked at. All the blood in your face drains elsewhere, leaving you dizzy and lightheaded. You place a hand on the counter next to you to steady yourself. 

“You’re about nine weeks along, judging by the scan,” she continues. She finally relinquishes them; sets them next to you so you can view the proof for yourself. There it is, floating inside of you; a clump of cells slowly morphing into something that will soon walk and talk. “Everything looks healthy, and there’s nothing to be concerned with at this time-” 

“This can’t be possible.” Your voice fractures. It slices your throat from the inside out as your fingers extend to touch the terribly tangible proof before you. “I-I can’t be… I haven’t…” 

Taking pity on you, her face melts into something softer—something understanding. “There are many options we can look at. We’ll help you through this.” 

As soon as you get home, you toss the sonograms and every pamphlet your doctor gave you onto the kitchen counter and out of your sight. Cupboards fly open as you fix yourself a cup of tea through the blur of tears pooling in your vision. You have been crying nonstop for the last four weeks that you’re impressed you have anything left to give. 

Your nighttime tea doesn’t taste as good this evening. It scalds your tongue, powdery and bitter, but you chug the whole thing despite the burn. You slam your mug down in the sink and promise yourself that you’ll clean it in the morning after you’ve glued yourself back together. You do not want to think—you do not want to suffer through this right now. Over countless years of failed medications and meditations, this has been the only thing that allows you to sleep through the night. 

Well, as long as Ghost doesn’t visit you. 

And he does—he always does. 

A quarter past ten rolls around, and Simon is unlocking the door to your apartment with the same clandestine care he always does. The key slides into the lock as silent as a moth's wings on the wind, and then opens up with a creak in greeting. He stands in the doorway for a moment, toes inching close to the threshold that bars him from you, and listens. Everything is stilly. Not a single sound reverberates along the walls. 

He finds you in the same place he always does—curled up in bed. Your duvet is tucked under your chin as you keep your arms pressed to your torso as if hugging yourself. Avoiding the creaky spaces in the floor, he creeps to the side of the bed before bending down and rubbing the pads of his fingers over the apples of your cheeks. Each inch of your face is silky on his roughened skin; it’s a sensation he wishes he could capture in a bottle and pour out from time to time so he can savor you. 

Despite his touch, you do not stir.

Leaning forward, Simon presses a kiss against your mouth through the fabric of his mask before getting to work. 

Tonight, he decides to let you stay on your side when he fucks you. The mattress dips beneath his knees as he straddles you, thick thighs caging yours. After working your bottoms down your legs, he presses one of your knees towards your stomach. You are nothing more than a ragdoll beneath his touch. Every whim he has, you obey—as if you ever had a choice. 

Pussy now bare and on display, he rubs a warm palm over your rump before working his thumb over your slit. There is no arousal to aid the entering of his fingers, but he presses forward anyway, collecting any stray slick before rubbing it over your cunt. Once he retrieves his cock from his trousers, he does the same to himself before lining his head up with your entrance. 

His eyes flutter shut the moment he sinks into you. Lips parting, he grunts the moment he bottoms out, then rolls his hips as his cockhead kisses the slick surface of your cervix. Even in your sleep, you pulse around him. Faint, fluttering little kicks as if to draw him in—as if to confirm how much you truly want him. When he pulls out, he watches the way your pussy clings to him, how he comes out glistening even in the dim lighting of your bedroom. 

He never drags this out for long, though he wishes he could. Putting work over pleasure, he begins to rut into you with meaningful thrusts as he keeps ahold of your hips. If he had more time—if you weren’t swimming in sedatives—he would start you off on your back. Legs held to the side, he’d bury his face in your cunt before letting anything prod at your pussy. He’d draw out every whimper he could, and leave you a writhing mess before even letting you set eyes on his cock. 

He would wait until you begged for him, then he’d force you to keep eye contact as he makes you take every inch. Eyes widening, back arching, he would refuse to hold himself back. After all, he’d have to give you what you begged for. Nails scratching, cock pumping, sweat dripping, teeth digging, jaw clenching, mouth parting—reverently, he’d take you and he wouldn’t stop. 

And he won’t stop. 

Not until you give him what he needs. 

When Simon comes, his forehead crashes against your shoulder as the muscles in his taut core begin to shudder. He ensures that he stays sheathed deep inside of you so that nothing goes to waste; that he has the highest chance of success. Once he’s softened inside of you, he pulls out, returns your bottoms to their rightful place, then leaves you tucked into bed without so much as a kiss goodbye. 

Sighing, he rubs at his face through his mask as he wanders back to the exit, body too warm beneath his jumper and jeans to be comfortable. His skin itches. Mites tingle and burrow into his skin with each step he takes. The air feels different in your flat than it usually does—thick with some lachrymose cordolium that whispers from the baseboards. 

He doesn’t understand why that is until something on the counter reflects the dim glow of the stove light into his eye. Detouring into the kitchen, he approaches your counter where he finds a plethora of pamphlets, discharge papers, and sonograms haphazardly bunched into a pile. 

Snatching one of the sonograms, Simon quickly raises it to the light and then freezes. There it is. A tiny, muddled creature in the mix of amniotic fluid. Beneath his mask, he grins as he beholds the very first image of his child—the baby he’s so desperately been wanting from you. Something swells inside of him. Pride; ardor. These last countless months have finally given him the fruit he’d sown long ago.

Enraptured by the picture, Simon almost doesn’t notice one of the pamphlets on the counter as he turns to leave. Still, he catches the title out of the corner of his eye: Abortion - Your Options and Right to Choose. 

His throat constricts. Whatever mirth he held on the tip of his tongue vanishes the moment he sees that. Indignation broils deep in his stomach at the thought of you ever considering doing such a thing to him—to his child. Deciding to choose for you, Simon carefully places the sonogram in the pocket of his jumper before snatching the pamphlet off the counter and marching off through the door. 

Once he’s locked it behind him, he begins to shred the paper to pieces before tossing it in the recycling bin on the corner of the street, leaving it far out of reach.

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Eleven

The beeping is driving him kind of crazy. It’s familiarity an uncomfortable reminder. He’s tried pulling the sticky thing off but that just made a bunch of people come running, and then he got a professional explanation as to why he’s a moron, and not to touch the equipment.

That just leaves him here, languishing. His head is pounding, his mouth feels like some rough assed creature rolled around in there and then took a dump on the way out. He keeps running his tongue along the back of his teeth, they’re furry, and there’s a new little chip off one of the bottom ones. Eddie investigated it with his fingers, so he knows it’s tiny. Feels massive when he finds it with his tongue though, physically unable to make himself leave it alone.

He doesn’t remember doing it. Might have happened when he was drunk.

Might have happened in the bathroom, when he was done shoving stuff up his nose, he's pretty sure he fell over.

Might have happened when they had to shove the tube in.

He doesn’t know, but it’s no ones fault but his own.

Chrissy comes in carrying a coffee. One coffee. Nothing for Eddie. She sits and sips at it, not saying a word.

Her eyes are still red rimmed, bags under them from being up all night.

Truly, Eddie is the greatest waste of space on the planet. Someone should just ditch him off a cliff and have done with it.

Chrissy sighs, giving up on whatever she was doing on her phone, she holds it between laced fingers instead, clasped hands dangling between her knees. She stares off into space.

She still hasn’t looked at him.

Eddie guesses he deserves that.

There’s nothing he can ever say to make this any better.

Eddie’s being discharged in the next hour or so. He’s pretty sure he’s done. His career was hanging by a thread; the label won’t tolerate such a massive screw up. Eddie doesn’t really care about that stuff; he cares about the guys. He cares he might not get to write for the band any more.

He finds himself suddenly desperate to write again. He figures he must suddenly have something to say. He was angry with himself, in the face of Chrissy’s tears, but anger is a hot emotion, it burns bright and takes a lot of energy to maintain.

Self loathing, apparently, is low maintenance and Eddie feels like he could keep that up indefinitely.

His throat hurts, and all Chrissy has allowed him is ice chips to suck on.

He doesn’t expect Steve to turn up. Doesn’t know what to do when, at the sound of a knock on the open door, he looks up and finds Steve standing there.

Eddie doesn’t say anything, but Steve comes in anyway. Sits himself in the seat next to Eddie’s bed. It feels like a small, dumb thing to worry about, but Eddie has never liked rocking the hospital gown of shame; he likes it even less right now.

“Why did you do it?”

Eddie shrugs. Looks at his own hands. He had a couple of rings on, before. They’re gone now. Eddie’s been too frightened of what Chris will say if he asks for them back. He picks at his thumbnail instead.

“Because I said no to coffee?”

Eddie does his best to make a dismissive noise, but his voice is croaky and fucked from the tube. It hurts to swallow, and Eddie feels like he has to force it.

“Don’t lie,” Steve says quietly, “this is exactly why I said no. Because of this.”

Eddie makes another ‘pffft’ noise, or at least, tries too. “Because I’m an unstable drug addicted alcoholic-”

“No. Because you’re not ready. Eddie, I said no to coffee, and you’re in the hospital, what if we got together, and then broke up. How well do you think that would go, exactly?”

Eddie curls his hands up, staring at them, shamefaced. It feels like he’s being eaten alive by it, feels like he’s dirty and used up inside and the darkness of guilt and shame and worthlessness is going to crawl out of him and eat him whole. Steve's words gnaw at him, painful. They could have had something, and now Eddie's fucked it up before it started.

“How did you know?” Eddie looks up, everything a little misty. He seems to cry at fucking everything. Wet and pathetic and not like he used to be. He never used to be like this, before. He can’t remember ever feeling like this in his life. “How do you always know?”

Steve and his magic mind powers.

Steve sits back in the chair. Rubs at his face for a second. Watches the silent TV.

“I had rich parents,” Steve starts, speaking quietly. He pauses, then continues, but it’s halting. It’s the first time Eddie’s thought Steve sounded uncertain about anything, “big empty house. They were away all the time, especially once I was kind of old enough to be left. My place was where the party was at. I was drinking every Saturday by the time I was seventeen. Then every Friday and Saturday. Then Sunday afternoons. Then Thursday too. It was every day before I realized, and I graduated by the skin of my teeth. It got worse at college. The partying. Started to realize if I was going to keep up I needed something to pick me up a little, get me going in the morning so I could make it to class. Pills first, when I was partying, then other stuff. I flunked out pretty fast. Parents put me through rehab once, but the second I was back at college I relapsed. Couldn’t seem to help myself. The second time they put me through, they disowned me right after, and that was the end of college too. It was...bleak. For a while. But that's how I always know; I know how you think, because I used to be the same.”

That hangs. It hangs for a long time, like Steve’s memories are lingering in the room with them. Eddie feels like he should apologize, but he doesn’t know how.

He’s pretty sure it wouldn’t be worth anything, anyway.

He desperately wants to write; feels even more that if he doesn’t get this bubbling overwhlem of emotions out of himself somehow he’s going to end up plastering the walls when he finally explodes.

Steve stands, finally, and Eddie’s eyes are automatically drawn up to him. Steve leans forward, his hand in Eddie’s nasty hair. His big hand gripping and cradling Eddie’s entire head. Steve leans down, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s forehead. It’s warm, soft, and Eddie’s eyes slide closed and his hands lie limp and useless on the hospital blanket covering his lap.

“Remember, it’s what you do now that matters,” Steve whispers into Eddie’s hair.

He doesn’t expect the tug, but he’s limp and washed out feeling, knowing now the weight of everything Steve went though. Everything unsaid. Absent parents and missing out on whatever it was he wanted to pursue at college. Bleak, Steve had said. The word carries a lot of weight, coming from Steve. Eddie has no doubt he’s severely understating.

Eddie’s head moves with Steve’s hand, his eyes are still closed when Steve’s lips move to Eddie’s mouth.

It’s not like anything he imagined. It’s devastating. Steve kisses like he’s pouring his everything into Eddie.

Like he’s angry.

Like he’s frustrated that Eddie fucked this up for both of them.

Steve’s kisses are bitey and it won’t be until later that Eddie will finally have the wherewithal to be surprised that nurses didn’t come running considering how fast the monitor is beeping.

Steve doesn’t ask permission, he sucks on Eddie’s lip so hard it hurts, and when Eddie’s mouth opens on a pained gasp, Steve’s tongue invades with no hesitation. His hand is tight in Eddie’s hair; Eddie can’t move an inch as Steve holds him where he wants him, Eddie’s scalp stinging.

Steve’s kisses are an argument that Steve’s already won.

By the time Eddie manages to blink his eyes open, Steve’s already gone.

The guys all have some sort of cocktail, Eddie doesn’t say anything. It means Eddie’s drink looks exactly the same, which doesn’t bother Eddie, hasn't for a long time, but if it makes everyone else feel better, then he’ll go along with it.

They’re all celebrating; drinks in the back of a limo on the way to the airport feels a little gauche celebrity to Eddie, but the guys are giddy with the excitement of success and it feels just a little contagious, even to Eddie, who always sidelines himself from that kind of celebrating. Feels like he's kind of allergic to it all now, knows instinctively that it might poison him again.

Chrissy squeezes his hand on the seat, hidden from where the guys can see, but he knows what it means. Well done. I’m proud of you. I’m unbelievably fucking relieved you’ve held your shit together for a whole tour.

That kind of thing.

Eddie kind of likes flying. Well, he doesn’t like the idea of flying commercial. Eddie likes the comfort of the private jet, of course he does. No, the reason Eddie kind of likes flying is because he can’t really do anything for the next seven hours.

He has a book with him. He has his note books. He has a pen.

The low rumble of the jet is his companion, and all he can see is bright white clouds beneath them so there’s nothing to distract him there. Eddie writes.

He scribbles things out. He changes the order. He...nudges things along until the tune presents itself. And it does. It almost always does.

He hands one off; it’s not complete, but it’s complete enough that the guys should look. He listens with his eyes closed as the music is hummed, Gareth pacing up and down the wide isle.

Eddie half sings the words under his breath to match.

It sounds pretty good. A little janky maybe, but still. A solid start.

“Nearly got enough for another album,” Jeff tells him.

Eddie blinks his eyes open again, “yeah? That one okay?”

They say no just as often as they say yes now. Eddie doesn’t mind. He understands why half his stuff ends up back in the notebook. He agrees with their judgement. Some of what he writes now is different than it used to be, before everything.

“Yeah man,” Gareth tells him, “it’s great.”

Gareth and Jeff share a look, sliding into the seats opposite Eddie’s table. Eddie shuffles his things, moving some of his scrappy paperwork out of their way. Something is coming, Eddie can read them.

They’re definitely about to say something.

“You know those tunes you’ve written,” Gareth nods at Eddie’s notebook.

“The rejects,” Eddie confirms lightly.

Jeff rolls his eyes, “you know it’s not because they’re bad.”

Eddie knows. Eddie privately thinks some of it is the best stuff he’s ever written. But the guys almost immediately picked the first one out as ‘not their kind of thing,’ and since then Eddie’s had a pretty much fifty fifty pass fail rate with his songs. “I know...they just don’t sound like Corroded Coffin.”

“No...they don’t. But we’ve been talking,” a little curl of apprehension forms, because those words never seem to precede anything good, “and we thought you might have enough of that stuff for a double album by now.” He probably does. He nods, not sure where this is going.

Chrissy had suggested to him, once, that he make the tunes available to other artists. Ones whose style is better suited to the music. At least get it out there, and then just get the royalties, like a proper, grown up song writer. The thought of it had been physically uncomfortable to Eddie. These are his tunes, his music, and they...mean something to him that they never ever could to anyone else. The thought of letting someone else perform them feels gross.

“Anyway, if you want, we thought we’d do something with them.”

“Do what with them?” Eddie frowns, not understanding.

“Well...kind of like a Corroded Coffin unplugged, kind of thing. Or maybe like...just under your name, and we could still play for the recording, kind of thing. Just release the record as is. Or you know, get some other people in on it, there’s plenty out there who have wanted to collaborate. You know some of them would fall over themselves for a chance at guest performance.”

Eddie shuffles his papers, appreciates what the guys are saying, “can I think about it a minute?”

“Sure,” Gareth smiles big, “you know Chris will support you.”

And considering everything they’ve been through, Eddie knows without a doubt that she will.

Eddie shuffles though the rejects. It’s an affectionate name that he mostly never says aloud. He checks them over, makes sure they’re complete. Thinks about if he’d really like to hear them being performed.

He must do, really, since he’s confidently handed every one of them to the guys at some point to see if they liked them or not. If they'd pass muster, then the next thing along would have been to try performing them. That’s the workshop stage. The part where the guys wade in on the final polish. The listen back.

These never made it, so other than tinkling out on his acoustic, Eddie’s never heard any of them for real.

He could. He could now.

Eddie’s no stranger to bearing his soul in the form of his music.

Without really thinking about it, Eddie realizes he’s organized them into the order he’d like to see them on the back of an album cover.

He wonders what Steve would think of this album, if he ever heard it.

“Okay, yeah, I’m in. For the,” Eddie gestures at his scrappy notes, “you know.”

“Eddie, that’s amazing!” Chrissy gushes a little, and suddenly Eddie realizes that, actually this idea might not have, entirely, come from the guys.

“I have a condition, kind of.”

“Okay?”

Eddie takes a deep breath. Steve’s words echoing, what would Dolly do? “I don’t want to make any money from this. I want to donate. All the profits. My part of the profits. I don’t know where to, but, yeah...somewhere that helps people who are,” Eddie shrugs, “you know. Struggling? With...stuff?”

Chrissy covers her mouth with her hand for a second, her eyes already looking suspiciously wet. She’s hugging him, hard and tight, sniffling, “of course we can do that,” right in Eddie’s ear.

“Me too,” Jeff says, “so, two thirds profit.”

“Obviously I’m in, all profits get donated.”

Eddie watches them over Chrissy’s shoulder, “you guys don’t have to.”

Jeff shrugs, “the fuck else we going to do with it? You seen the houses we already live in, right? Gareth’s got six cars.”

Eddie snorts a laugh.

Part Thirteen

[covenofagatha]

I went to a new doctor today for the first time... And the (very hot) doctor said "good girl" under her breath when I followed her instructions during part of the physical exam and I nearly died. Is that anything? Doctor!Agatha? Also not sure if I can ever show my face at that doctor's office again.

Good luck the next time you go lol

Hands-on care

You and your boyfriend want to have a baby so you go see Doctor Agatha Harkness at her fertility clinic

Word count: 2500

Warnings: sex, fingering, oral, Agatha is very unethical, cheating, degradation, praise

The decision to have a baby with your boyfriend Matthew was a decision that you made on sort of an impulse. 

You’ve been dating for three years now, after he begged you to go out with him for all of college, and you’ve always wanted a baby. 

You two had talked about it, going back and forth about what that would look like, if you would get married, if you two look to buy a house instead of your one bedroom apartment. 

Matt kept saying the fact that you both couldn’t decide on the little things like that, then it meant you weren’t ready for a baby. So you had put off further discussion about it until one night, you got really drunk. 

Four shots of vodka and no food had you on a different planet, and you had apparently told Matt that you wanted him to put a baby in you that night. 

He didn’t, because you were hammered, but it opened up the door to a heavy conversation the next day and you both decided that you wanted to start trying. 

The Harkness Fertility Clinic seemed like the obvious choice of where to check your fertility and get options, just to make sure nothing was wrong. Everyone in town knew Doctor Agatha Harkness and her extraordinary work when it came to all things pregnancy.

So you booked an appointment and here you are now, staring into space while fiddling with the edge of the hospital gown that the nurse practitioner gave you to put on while you wait for the doctor. 

“You alright?” Matt asks quietly, his brows crinkled. You told him that you would be fine if he didn’t want to come, in case there was bad news, but he insisted. 

You nod and drop the gown. “Just a bit nervous,” you say and he reaches over to squeeze your hand. 

And then there’s a knock on the door and Doctor Harkness walks in, wearing blood-red scrubs and her dark hair tied into a neat bun. 

You didn’t realize how attractive she would be. 

“Hello, how are we today?” She picks up the clipboard from the table next to you and scans it. “It looks like you’re here for a standard fertility check. That will be quick and easy and we’ll have those results in no time.”

It’s hard to breathe with her blue eyes burning through you, but you manage to smile. “Okay, great, we just want to make sure that we won’t have any problems or anything.” Can she tell how hot your cheeks feel? 

She smiles back at you. Hasn’t even looked at Matt yet. “Well, we’re here to make that happen for you.” She launches into an explanation of how the test will happen, something with a speculum, but you are too busy staring at her to fully listen. “Do you have any questions?”

It takes you a moment to realize she’s done talking. “Oh, no, I don’t think so. Thank you,” you stammer and she smirks knowingly.

“Thank you,” Matt says again, causing Agatha to look at him for the first time. Her lips curl and she turns to him with a rather unpleasant look.

“Husband? Why don’t you wait outside while we do this.” It’s not a question, and he blinks at her. He glances at you, like he’s expecting you to tell him to stay, but all you do is shrug. Better to let Agatha do her thing however she wants.

He sighs and kisses your forehead. "I'll be right out there," he vows and you give him a tight smile.

She moves close to you, perches on the side of the recliner you’re sitting on and reaches her hand toward you. You instinctively flinch but relax when all she does is tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear. It’s incredibly gentle.

Agatha then trails her hand down the side of your face and grabs your chin, perhaps a little roughly. You let out a gasp that she seems to enjoy too much, and she strokes a finger over your lips. It’s all you can do to not take her thumb into your mouth and suck, and judging by the delighted look on her face, she sees how hard you’re restraining.

It’s so inappropriate. It’s so hot.

“I’ll put a baby in you,” she whispers. Your heart skips a beat. You know she just means fertility-wise you’ll have a baby, but the way she says it makes you wish she was capable of that. “Lie back.” She taps your shoulder and moves to situate herself on a chair by your legs. You spread them hesitantly and put them in the stirrups, knowing your underwear is already wet, just from being this close to her.

The chair rolls to the end of the cot so she's in between your legs now. You turn red again when her eyes drop to you, and she gets a look at what you’re sure is now soaked-through white cotton. Your stomach flutters when she bites her lip, and she meets your gaze with heavy lids.

“Oh, darling,” she says quietly, and you feel her hands moving up your inner thighs and a finger traces up your slit. You can hear the mocking tone in her voice but your hips buck ever so slightly. “I don’t think I’ll need to lube up the speculum with how wet you are.” It’s so wrong and she says it so casually and you didn’t think it was possible to get wetter. But you do, and you know she can tell.

“I’m sorry–” you try to stutter, the humiliation only making the fire inside your stomach grow.

You can practically hear the smirk in her voice. “I’m flattered, really,” she purrs. You wonder if this happens to her a lot; you definitely wouldn’t be surprised. But surely she wouldn’t still be in business if she flirted with all the patients.

She takes hold of your underwear and drags the pair down your legs, helping your feet out of the stirrups one at a time so she can slip them off. She chuckles and you blush harder than you ever have.

Fuck.

How are you going to survive this?

“Alright, are you ready?” You feel her press the cold speculum against your entrance and you hiss.

“Yes,” you squeak. Back to business. She is a doctor, she is Agatha Harkness. She is a tease, but that is all. You need to calm down.

She eases an inch of the speculum in and you grimace. The stretch burns. It would seem that you are not wet enough.

Agatha holds it still to give you time to adjust. “Relax. You need to relax,” she tells you.

“Easier said than done,” you joke with another wince. And then you feel her finger swipe your clit and you clench around the speculum with a spasm. Just a coincidence? 

“Is your husband not doing anything for you at all? Is his dick really that small? I think I might have to stretch you out first,” she remarks like she’s talking about the weather. You’re not exactly sure what she means but your stomach twists. The speculum is removed and placed on the table next to you. She pulls her gloves off.

“He’s not my husband,” is the only thing you have the effort to correct when she slides her middle finger into you. You let out a shaky breath. Agatha bites her lip, eyes dark.

She slowly thrusts into you, her thumb rubbing your clit every once in a while. You don’t remember the last time you’ve felt this good and she’s barely doing anything. She pushes another finger in and you moan loudly.

“Better quiet down so he doesn’t hear. Not like he’d know what these sounds are,” she muses, and you sink your teeth into your bottom lip. You’re so close, just from her moving her two fingers inside you slowly.

“Please.” It’s all you can say.

You whine pathetically when her fingers pull out and she sits back, hair mussed, a crazed look on her face. She sucks her finger into her mouth, she moans softly, and you almost cum right there at the sight. 

“You’re so deliciously perfect,” she tells you, and grins while you clench around nothing at the praise.

“Please,” you beg again. “I’m so close, I need you.”

“What do you need?” 

You've never been one to voice your thoughts, especially in bed, but Agatha has a way of pulling it out of you. “Please, I need you so badly. Please make me cum. I need you.” You realize maybe being vocal wouldn’t be such a bad thing for you to do every once in a while, if it’s going to lead to her leaning down and dragging her tongue up your slit, flicking it against your clit. You gasp and your hands tangle themselves in the loose hair from her bun immediately to keep her there.

You can feel her chuckle against you and the echoes only increase your pleasure. Two fingers enter you again, but this time, she curls them fast, and the palm of her hand hits your clit with every thrust. She mouths at your inner thigh before biting and sucking. Marking you. You throb at the thought of the red marks that will litter your legs.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan.

You won’t be able to be naked in front of Matt for a long time.

“God, you’re such a perfect little slut, dripping all over this chair for me,” Agatha comments. “I bet you were wet the moment I walked in. Wanting me to taste you. Wanting me to fuck you like the whore you are.”

You should feel ashamed of how nothing she said was wrong, but you couldn't care less. Part of you is wondering if this is standard protocol for all the women who have trouble with the speculum, or if it’s just you. 

“Dr. Harkness,” you moan and gently tug on her hair. You shouldn’t really be concerned with professionality at this point, what with her head buried between your legs and her fingers inside you and everything, but the title and the hair pull seem to have quite the effect on her. She groans into you and then the real fucking begins.

Her fingers thrust ruthlessly inside you and her tongue thrashes against your clit and you feel like you’ve died and gone to heaven.

“Dr. Harkness, fuck, please, need more, need you,” you babble, feeling yourself steadily approaching the edge. 

She pauses for a moment to fit a third finger inside you. The stretch is a little uncomfortable and she gives you a second to adjust, and then she’s back to it.

You come with a moan and it’s the best orgasm you’ve ever had by far. From the look on her face when she sits back, finally done fucking you through your climax, she knows it.

Her lips glisten with your wetness, but she makes no move to clean them.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re cumming all over my exam chair,” she says, and it takes all of your energy to not laugh at the absurdity of the statement. What did you just do? “Do you think you’re ready for the speculum?”

You’ve completely forgotten why you’re here, but you nod, and she is gentle when she pushes the cold metal in you for a second time. You’re a little sensitive from your orgasm, but it slides in much easier this time. Your walls flutter around it and you almost moan.

"Good girl," she says in a deep voice.

Before you can tell yourself how wrong it is, you hope that next time she uses a strap-on. Next time? No, there can’t be a next time. You know she would make it feel really good though. She fucked you better with her fingers than Matt has in his entire life, so imagine what she could do with a toy cock.

But Agatha meets your eyes and winks and you can tell she’s thinking the same thing.

She tuts with a hint of a smirk, and you flush red again. You know this won’t be the last time the two of you do this, and there isn’t a single part of you that’s upset about it. 

The rest of the check runs quickly and smoothly, and she goes outside to tell Matt he can come back in. 

You’re worried he can smell the stench of sex in the air or that he will notice the slight sheen around Agatha’s mouth and her mussed-up hair, but if he does, there’s no indication.

Figures.

“Your uterus is extraordinary, perfectly shaped for a baby,” Agatha says, voice dripping with sweet venom, pointing to the pictures to show you what she means. “There should be no problems, but you might want to come in here regularly just in case.” Her hand falls to your upper thigh and squeezes. She watches you bite your lip with a smirk.

“I think that’s a good idea,” you agree, and Matt hums. “Thank you so much for your help, it was so great meeting you. 

“Oh, believe me, the pleasure was all mine,” Agatha says smugly, dragging her hand slowly against her mouth, breathing your scent in. You choke on nothing. 

Matt turns toward you, the happiness evident on his face. “We’re going to have a baby!” He exclaims and you wish you felt just a little bit guilty about what you just did. 

“Alright. Well, I’ll let you get dressed and then I’ll see you next time. Have a wonderful day.” Agatha gives you one last wink and leaves. You and Matt quickly pack your things and you change back into your normal clothes, leaving the gown that smells like sex on the chair. There’s going to need to be some serious sanitation of this room.

Matt is clearly ecstatic about the good news, but you’re honestly dreading the thought of having sex with him after that. Plus you have those marks on your thighs. You inwardly curse Agatha and you make a mental note to try and get some concealer or something to hide it. You’re not sure how well you’ll be able to put off sleeping with your boyfriend, especially not now. 

As you’re walking towards the sliding front doors of the building, you hear your name called. It’s Dr. Harkness, standing on the stairwell that overlooks the lobby. Her bun is fixed now, not a hair out of place, and the wetness around her chin has been wiped off. But there’s no denying the dark look in her eyes.

She gives you a wave. “We’ll have that baby in you in no time.” 

You have no doubt. 

[itscherrylipsforme]

Benedict Bridgerton with wife reader. Benedict was protective of his children and wife who was constantly testing his patience and put him over the edge. She wondered if he would be dead/greying before knew she was pregnant (again!) if he continues to act like this. Just something fluff and cute. Thanks!! :))

Mama's boy: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!wife!reader

Blurb. Thanks for the ask dear, hope you enjoy it 🫶🏼

Masterlist Characters I write for

"Y/n! Lennox! Please, don't you dare!"

Your husband shouts loud enough to be heard by the whole tone, but not enough to stop you and your adventurous four-year-old son from climbing to the highest branches of an old oak in the Aubrey Hall gardens. So he cannot do anything but admire the scene unfolding in front of him, the laughs of the two people he loves and overcares most in the world echoing in his family's Summer residence.

The delicate cloth of your gown threatens to tear whenever it's caressed by the limbs. He could still hear Anthony's incredulous voice when he informed about his resolution to court you.

"Miss l/n, brother? Are you certain? She has quite the daring streak, or so the rumours say" Just a serious gaze coming from Viscountess Kate Bridgerton was the only thing needed to confirm his approval.

That was probably why he had been drawn to you in the first place. And do not mislead my words, he was glad his older brother had been correct.

"Ben, my dear, join us! The view is worthy of one of your paintings!"

Well, most of the time at least. But not when you were too reckless without a reason. What would any other sane gentleman when the ones he holds closer to his heart are far from his protection? There is no other option but worry to death, at least not for him.

"You two will be the dead to me, darling" He laughs reluctantly while leaning into the trunk. "He takes after you" His adoring gaze know shifts to Lennox.

The living proof of your love for each other. The light of his nights. But also the little boy who troubles him too much in times like these. You and your son exchange a mischievous glance and finally decide to listen to him and climb down in order to give him a break.

"Do not worry, I am sure that the next one will be more like his father. Caring, artistic gentle..." You smile as you place your head on his shoulder, pleased to your husband's shocked expression.

"The next one? y/n, is there something I must know?"

But no words are needed when you place his gentle palm over your belly. No explanation, just pure love and understanding.

"I am going to be an older brother, dada!" Lennox jumps into his father's arms and joins the familiar embrace which soon will hold another kid.

Likes and reblogs are appreciated ღ I do not authorize any of my works to be copied, translated or plagiarized ✗

[droaxa]

the villainesses scheme

✧ tags: yandere haikyuu male leads x villainess reader

✧ warnings: yandere behavior (later on), reader hits her head

✧ a/n: hi guys guess who’s back!! i love the isekai trope where the mc gets reborn a few years before their death and i needed to put my own lil’ twist on it! i’d love to turn this into something longer (like a series or something) so give me your thoughts!! my recent haikyuu obsession led to this one lol, inspired by: the male leads were stolen by an extra

You were a loser, well not exactly. You had a pretty stable job and a nice flat but lacked one major component in your life: friends. But it’s not like you were antisocial! Moving to a new city just a few months ago, you had been busy with moving in and didn’t exactly have enough time to make friends.

Besides you were preoccupied with your favorite web comic of all time: Flower of the Estate! A commoner girl that has three noble men falling for her? This girl really had some crazy cha(rizz)ma. You weren’t really into harem type stories but wow did it keep you coming back to see what happened.

It was another late night reading Flower of the Estate when you decided to head to the kitchen to get some snacks to keep you fueled. However, when you turned to retreat back you slipped on spilled water near the sink and hit your head on the granite counter! You mentally curse yourself for not cleaning it up as you drift into a deep slumber.

When you open your eyes and the lights blind you, quickly slapping a hand over your face you shoot up. Registering the soft plush beneath you you opened your eyes, when did you get in bed? Looking around your jaw drops, who the hell put you in a room like this! The whole room was illuminated by sunlight peaking behind the luxurious navy drapes and you gasped at the sheer size and extravagance of the bedroom. You were… in a castle?

Jumping off the bed you immediately fell to your knees with a thud. How long had you been out for that your legs were this weak? You push yourself up and stumble to the mirror on a vanity next to the bed. The satin fabric of your night gown fell to the ground, revealing the length that had been bunched up while you were sleeping.

In the mirror, the first thing you see is (e/c) eyes and a face eerily similar to yours. It was your face and body for sure but the state of it wasn’t, your hands were usually rough and your knees were scarred from playing as a child but now both were smooth and even. Then your eyes feel on a crest engraved onto the top of the vanity and your heart dropped.

The beautiful family crest of a black fox protected by two swords was a prevalent symbol in Flower of the Estate. It was the crest of the villainess. You, (y/n) Aleria, were the cruel villainess of the story, waking up here and looking like this had no other explanation. To see if it was true you quickly pushed the sleeve of your left arm up, on the wrist was a faint birthmark. A scar in the shape of a half moon, your fate was sealed. You fall back on the bed. ‘Shit.’

You were official the villainess of Flower of the Estate, who bullies the main character, get thrown out of high society, and then dies. You knew the path that the villainess followed and the actions she took, did that mean you could avoid facing the same death as her as well? The first mistake that she had committed that set her on the path of destruction was her bullying of the main character.

The villainess was notorious for her extravagant lifestyle and cruel manner, she didn’t have anyone close to her and the book never showed her point of view. You knew the basics about her but who was (y/n) — really? Was she really just jealous of the commoner girl that had managed to outshine her or was it deeper than that?

No matter why she behaved that way, you knew that following on her footsteps would only lead you to doom. You needed a game plan, plus you read enough reincarnation manga to know what basic things to avoid as the villainess.

Love Interests and Relations:

Tooru Oikawa - Childhood love (One sided) and (y/n)’s main obsession

Tobio Kageyama - Royal knight who pledged their loyalty to (y/n)

Ushijima Wakatoshi - Esteemed scholar who ended up being (y/n)’s tutor for a short period of time

Ok… this would a little harder than you thought. Why were all the love interests involved with the villainess anyway? Oikawa could be avoided easily enough, you just needed to distance yourself from him and considering that Oikawa was keen on getting rid of you. If you remembered correctly he was rather annoyed by the villainess who would cling to his side like a lost puppy. As for Ushijima, you knew that he would only be your tutor for a month, then leave your care to meet the main character who he would eventually fall in love with. Kageyama would be the hardest to get rid of compared to the other two, he would be around the villainesses the longest and somehow fall in love with her. However much like the others, he would fall in love with the female lead and leave (y/n) to be with her, withdrawing his pledge to be by her side.

Ugh. This is going to be a headache isn’t it?

[weabooii]

Sleep a Way Out!

Thoughts/ some explanations below the cut

It's a little disappointing to me that even though Zero abducts everyone in 999 at night, none of them seem to be in their pj's. So this is what I imagine their pj's (or in some cases, clothes worn around the house) would look like.

(left to right)

Ace's boxer fit is purely vibes based. He just seems like that kinda guy.

Lotus: I tried to bring some of her girl boss energy into her pj's. I imagine she wraps her hair in silk so it doesn't get messed up at night.

Clover just seems like she would chill in an oversized cutesy onesie.

Snake: My historical fashion obsession rears its head. He's wearing a Banyan, which is a European gown/lounge wear from the 1700s based on the Kimono and possibly other Indian robes if I recall correctly. The flower on its sleeve is a Chinese Lantern plant. He's holding a chamber candle stick as well. His cap is just based on stereotypical goofy historical pjs, just for fun.

Junpei: I couldn't bring myself to remove what I saw as some of the most iconic parts of Junpei's original design so I just remixed them. Instead of a flannel shirt he's wearing flannel pajama pants and instead of "bisexual sneakers" he's wearing one bisexual slipper (the other one got lost). I was originally intending to give him a generic college or baseball tee but while I was replaying through Ai the Somnium files I spotted the 999 reference by Sunfish Pocket and thought it would be fun to give him an old Lemniscate shirt instead.

June: She has to be wearing purple. Her fashion sense seems to be very natural, with a lot of knitting and textile ornamentation which lead me to think she'd probably wear a nice, simple cotton nightgown. And the bunny slippers are a little nod to her backstory.

Santa: You know, I just get the impression that Santa sleeps in the same clothes he wears in the game. And with a build like that he's definitely getting enough sun to have some embarrassing tan-lines.

Seven: Again, kinda like Santa, I get the feeling his pajamas could be the same clothes he wears in the game. But the shower sandals are a must.

Guy 9: There just wasn't enough for me to go off of for him. So I deleted him :) Sorry. He blew up.

[wlw-imagines]

Knifepoint - Amelia Shepherd x Reader (Grey's Anatomy)

a/n: ignore this is a day late and also that i have disapperead for a week, work was high stress - i may upload previous days or i may disappear for another week. with me - who knows!!!

summary: You’re a trauma surgeon known for rocking black scrubs and keeping cool under pressure. When a tense situation turns dangerous and you get hurt, Amelia Shepherd steps in to save you and things get a little complicated. Between the hospital chaos and all the unspoken feelings, you both start to realise maybe there''s more to your rivalry than just work.

Part of May Prompts (a black scrub top) AND Maylancholy 2025 (held at knifepoint - @may-lancholy) - that's right, we have a combo one in day sixteen!

Early on in your career, you made a choice to wear black scrub tops.

Not charcoal. Not navy. Not a trendy graphite hue that someone from plastics might mistake for fashion. Just black. The kind of colour that takes no prisoners.

They drape like shadows around you, absorbing everything, blood, questions and grief. You make no explanation for them, and in your silence, everyone else fills in the blanks.

Some say it’s a trauma thing, a symbolic mourning, whilst others think it’s rebellion. A way to set yourself apart from the chaos of surgical life, from the rainbow of department colours that try to make life-and-death look less... well, less like death.

You don’t confirm or deny. You just keep moving.

There’s something in your gait, unapologetic and smooth, that makes people step aside before they consciously decide to. You walk like someone who’s already memorised the next fifteen steps. Your stethoscope is always coiled neatly, and there is not a strand of hair out of place.

The residents know not to chatter around you. The interns whisper your name with reverence and fear, as if you’ll materialise behind them with a glare sharp enough to lacerate.

You’ve heard the nicknames: The Void, Reaper in Reeboks. One ICU nurse calls you death in Danskos when she thinks you’re out of earshot.

You don’t mind. Better that than someone trying to make small talk.

Only one person doesn’t keep their distance. Amelia Shepherd.

It didn’t begin as antagonism. More of a clash. She barreled into the scrub room mid-glove, her ponytail swinging. Her badge hit her chest as she moved, the words NEUROSURGERY catching the light. She stopped short in front of your locker, her arms folding across her chest.

"You’re not hijacking my OR just because you’ve got seniority and a God complex," she snapped, voice sharp with adrenaline and annoyance.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t even look up from the chart in your hand. "My patient is crashing. Yours is stable, sedated, and prepped."

"So that’s a yes on the God complex, then?"

"I’m trying to save a life," you said, calmly sliding your arms into your black gown. "If you’d like to argue about it with the chief, be my guest. But I’ll be done before you even know it."

She narrowed her eyes. "You better or you can be the one to apologise to my patient's family."

You met her gaze finally, with the slightest quirk of your eyebrow.

You’d been circling each other ever since.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

It was a few weeks later. The hospital had finally quieted to a dull hum, most of the chaos seeping into night shift rounds and whispered consultations. You sank onto the cracked leather couch with a sigh, unwrapping the worst vending machine sandwich known to mankind.

"You know," came a familiar voice, dry as desert air, "I’m starting to think you enjoy suffering."

You didn’t look up right away. "Big talk from someone eating protein bars like there's no tomorrow."

Amelia Shepherd let the door swing shut behind her with a soft thud. She was still in her scrubs, top untucked, sleeves pushed to her elbows, hair escaping in every direction. She looked like someone who hadn’t slept in twenty hours, which, given the shift schedule, was probably accurate.

"They do the job and at least they taste somewhat alright," she said, biting into her bar without a flinch. "You, however, look like you’re one bite away from a stomach pump."

You risked a glance at her, brows arching. "Did you come in here just to roast my dinner, or…?"

Amelia’s lips twitched. "I came for silence. I stayed for the opportunity to roast your dinner, obviously yes."

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitched upward. You tore a piece off the sandwich, then paused, glancing over at her. "Rough day?"

She gave a noncommittal shrug, flopping into the chair across from you. "They’re all rough days lately." You didn’t respond right away. Amelia tapped her thumb rhythmically against the side of her protein bar wrapper. "You haven’t been sleeping."

You blinked at her. "Is that an observation or an accusation?"

"Just an observation." She leaned back, regarding you with that unnervingly perceptive look she had, the one that always made you feel a little too seen. "You’ve got the whole haunted-in-the-hallway vibe going."

You bristled slightly. "You don’t exactly radiate sunshine and puppies yourself."

"Touché," she said with a smirk. Then, after a beat: "But I’m not the one deflecting by working double shifts and pretending it doesn’t bother me."

You met her gaze, something sharp and vulnerable flashing across your face. "And what would you suggest I do, Shepherd? Meditate? Journal? Scream into a pillow between rounds?"

Amelia didn’t flinch. "No. I don't have an answer yet. I wish I did."

"Ah, so you dish out this empty advice for free, huh?"

For a long moment, you sat there, two people balancing on the knife’s edge between pushing each other away and pulling each other in. Then Amelia sighed and stood, tossing her wrapper into the trash with unnecessary force.

"I’ll bring you real food next time," she muttered, already halfway to the door. "Try not to die of sodium poisoning before then."

You looked up, surprised. "You cook?"

She paused in the doorway, turning her head just enough to send you a small wink, "No. But I have very convincing delivery menus."

And then she was gone, leaving the door swinging quietly in her wake and something strange in your chest. You weren’t sure if it was annoyance or interest. Maybe both.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Another three weeks later, you’re mid-chart, back hunched at the nurses’ station, eyes moving too fast over patient notes that make you wish you could just go home, when you feel it.

A presence. Off-kilter.

You look up.

The man standing in the lobby doesn’t... belong. That much is obvious from the way his body holds tension. It's coiled, like a spring waiting to snap. He wears a hoodie too thick for the weather. His eyes dart from nurse to wall to floor. Sweating, fidgeting, vibrating with something that doesn’t match his surroundings.

You’ve seen that look before, where someone balances on the edge of unreality. A place where people either break down or break through.

Then you place him.

Angela Vasquez’s brother.

Angela, seventeen, who came in with a sudden thunderclap headache and collapsed in the elevator. You’d operated for six hours, cut and clamped and prayed with every ounce of precision you had. But the bleed was too fast. Too much.

She never woke up.

You were the last one to touch her. You’d stayed after the code was called. Sat beside her body. Pressed your palm against her cooling wrist and whispered her name.

Now her brother is here, standing across the atrium with that look in his eyes.

You push back from the desk and murmur low to the charge nurse, "Call security. Quietly." But it is too late.

He’s already moving. Three strides, maybe four. He closes the distance with a speed you don’t expect. There’s no time to back away. His arm rises.

Metal flashes.

The folding knife is cheap, dull silver with black tape around the handle. It catches the light for half a second before pressing hard into your chest.

There’s a shout. A dropped clipboard. Somewhere, someone screams.

But all you see is him.

His eyes are red-rimmed. His breath comes in short gasps. He’s not a killer. But he’s grieving.

"Say her name," he growls.

You exhale, slowly. Keep your body still.

"Angela," you say. "I remember. I was there."

He breathes harder. The knife digs in. You feel the press of it, sharp enough to pierce fabric, bite skin. "She walked in here. Alive."

"I know."

"She had a headache. That’s it."

"I know," you repeat. "I’m sorry."

The blade jerks. He presses it harder. Blood wells and there's a sting, then warmth. You'd hardly be able to see the liquid bloom through your shirt but you feel it become damp.

"Say it again!" he shouts. "Say it!"

"I’m sorry."

His eyes glisten, fury cracking into anguish. The whole hall is still. No one dares move.

And then- "Hey!"

The voice slices through the tension. Amelia.

She’s standing at the end of the corridor, wide stance, hands half-raised, eyes locked on the man’s trembling grip. She’s wearing her normal clothes and must have just come off shift. But her presence shifts the air.

"Don’t move," she says, calm and razor-edged. "It's just us."

The man twitches. The blade shifts slightly. Your blood spreads slightly wider beneath the black.

"She didn’t care," he says, voice cracking. "Didn’t even say sorry till I made her."

Amelia takes a step closer. "You’re right. It wasn’t enough."

You shoot her a glance. She doesn’t look at you. Her focus is entirely on him.

"Hurting her won’t bring Angela back," she says, voice thick with compassion and authority. "You don’t want to carry that weight."

He trembles. The muscles in his forearm twitch. "She was my baby sister."

"I know," Amelia says. "And I’m sorry. I should’ve caught the bleed. I’m the neurosurgeon. Maybe I missed it. Blame me."

Your heart spikes. "Amelia. No."

She finally looks at you, just for a second. And what’s in her eyes is not fear. It’s fury. It’s fire. It’s something too big to name.

"I’m not letting him kill you."

The man is confused now. His rage flickering, not knowing where to land. You feel his grip loosen. And so you move. It’s instinct. You slam your elbow into his ribs. The knife slices downward as he staggers, leaving a hot, burning trail across your chest.

Then you’re falling.

But you don’t hit the ground.

Arms catch you, steady, strong, too warm. Amelia's hands are on you, pulling you back against her body, her breath right against your ear. "Okay. Okay. I’ve got you. Just breathe. Stay with me."

You feel her pressure against the wound, fingers trembling just slightly. Blood soaks into her sleeves. Her hair brushes your cheek.

"That was monumentally stupid," you whisper.

"You’re a fucking idiot," she chokes. "A stupid, noble, infuriating idiot."

You wince. "Didn’t know you cared so much."

She huffs a broken laugh. "Don’t flatter yourself."

But her hand never leaves your chest.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

You wake up in post-op and feel sore. Slow. Heavy.

And you’re not alone. She’s there. Curled in the corner chair, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, her cheek resting on her fist. Her eyes are closed but not asleep.

You whisper, "Did I ruin your day?"

Her head jerks up. "You ruined my fucking month."

You give her a tired smile. "That dramatic streak. Neurosurgeons really are the worst."

"You bled on my sweater. And almost died. You don’t get to talk shit."

You reach out. Your hand finds hers. "You stayed."

"Yeah, I never left."

There’s a silence. Then, "Why?"

She swallows. "Because I didn't to. Not when you owe me for that takeout. It's your turn to buy me food."

"That makes sense." You smile softly and she shakes her head.

"Maybe I want to keep you around to see what happens too." She hums, a slight anxiousness in her eyes. But you are too blunt for this.

Your voice barely makes it out. "Say it."

She leans in, forehead brushing yours. Her breath is warm, her voice softer than you’ve ever heard it.

"I care about you," she murmurs. "More than I should. More than I ever wanted to."

You close your eyes.

And for the first time in weeks, maybe longer, it doesn’t hurt quite so much to feel.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Two weeks later, you’re back on rounds. You turn a corner and stop.

Amelia’s waiting for you and she is in black scrubs.

She raises an eyebrow, arms crossed. "Well? Do I look intimidating?"

You glance at her, lips twitching. "You look like my evil twin. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

She smirks. "I can think of some other things."

Teddy walks past, gaping and tilts her head, eyeing both of you with theatrical scrutiny, one brow lifting. "Okay. You can’t both wear black. People are going to think you’re in a cult."

Amelia didn’t even look up from her coffee. Her tone was bone-dry. "We are. It’s called the surviving trauma and deflecting with sarcasm cult."

You leaned back against the nurses’ station, a grin spreading slowly as you raised your coffee like a toast. "And caffeine. Don’t forget the daily sacrifices to the coffee gods."

"You need a catchier name, there's no way that'll catch." Teddy came to a stop next to Meredith, who was leaning on the opposite side of the counter. Meredith lifted her head and blinked at you both and deadpanned, "You two realize you’ve been matching every day for a week now, right?"

You shrugged with mock innocence. "Coincidence." Amelia, at the exact same time, replied, "Solidarity."

That earned an amused snort from Teddy, who shook her head. "So… solidarity in looking like you’re two seconds away from scoring a record deal with a broody indie hospital soundtrack?"

Amelia finally turned toward her, her grin blooming slowly. "If the scalpel fits."

Meredith took a slow sip of her coffee, clearly savouring the moment before droping in her next line, "Honestly, I just want to know how long until you two finally stop pretending that this is just a trauma bond."

You choked on a laugh and pretended to clutch your heart. "Meredith Grey with emotional insight? Who are you and what have you done with our queen of avoidance?"

Teddy leaned in, stage-whispering to Meredith with a gleam in her eyes. "I give them two more days before Amelia ‘accidentally’ kisses her in the elevator."

Amelia didn’t miss a beat. "Please. It’ll be the supply closet. Have some respect for tradition."

"Just for the record," you said, voice lower now, intimate in a way that made Teddy raise her brows and Meredith pretend very hard to be engrossed in her phone, "if it were the supply closet... I wouldn't exactly object."

Amelia tilted her head, mouth curving upward into that mischievous little half-smile she wore when she was two steps away from doing something reckless and brilliant. "Noted," she said, her voice just as soft.

Teddy cleared her throat, "Well. That’s my cue to make myself scarce before someone violates HR policy behind the linen cart."

Meredith finally looked up, smirking. "Just make sure someone actually does kiss someone before I waste another bet on emotional repression."

Amelia chuckled, stepping close enough that your shoulders brushed. "No promises," she murmured.

But the glint in her eyes said otherwise.

[blueblossomrose]

This special post is part of the Twisted Parents Series.

Content: Post-canon, FLUFFY, TOO MUCH FLUFFY 😭 my obsession with old Disney movies screaming, fem!afab!MC, family n children, MC having a dream of getting married, reference very slightly to Cinderella (1950) obviously, diasomnia boys having their happy ending.

Note(s): I AM SO SO SO SORRY ABOUT THIS HIATUS, GUYS 😭😭😭 My mind was so busy these last few months with all my works thinking about writing that fluffy fluffy special to make up for my days of writing block after going on vacation for Carnaval 👽 I hope you guys love it as much as I... that cried writing it 💀 and I hope this excuses this long inactivity ☠️

All gifs edited by me, but divider got from here.

Consider checking out my aesthetic blog!

Comments and reblogs are very welcome ♡

A Wish Your Heart Makes

Have faith in your dreams and someday Your rainbow will come smiling through No matter how your heart is grieving If you keep on believing The dream that you wish will come true

“Are happy endings fairy tale's thing?”

Malleus couldn’t say. Human inventions had always been a mystery to him. He always had a distant and almost skeptical view of the happy endings that human stories so extol. To him, these narratives were like the light breeze of a summer night, pleasant and fleeting, but difficult to grasp and truly understand. As a fae, his nature made him see the world from a different perspective, and the idea of an ending — whether happy or tragic — was, to him, a human thing. He found it curious how humans always yearned for a definitive outcome, as if it were a vital necessity of their ephemeral existences. They sought in stories the hope that, in the end, everything would work out.

Malleus had never given much thought to his own dreams. Not in the others sense, at least. He understood dreams as manifestations of the mind, echoes of the subconscious, scattered fragments of reality shaped by desire or fear.

To him, dreams were almost tangible, an intrinsic element of his own magic — and yet he had never stopped to consider what it was that he, Malleus Draconia, truly desired.

Not that Briar Valley didn't have its own stories... but thinking about it that way, humans are far removed from theirs.

Happy endings… the concept was foreign to him. Fairy tales were — ironically — human stories, created to comfort fragile hearts, tales where love always prevailed and heroes were rewarded for their virtue.

Dragons like him, however, were supposed to be the obstacles that prevented such happiness. Beautiful and powerful beings... but lonely.

But then, there was [Name]. The magicless human who one day appeared in his life and in a few months, made his already apparently consolidated worldview turn upside down.

It was [Name] who taught him to dream.

She spoke of dreams as something beautiful and fragile. When they were still in school, he had heard her whisper to herself, with a twinkle in her eye, about how she wanted to marry one day. Because she wanted true love.

“A dream is a wish your heart makes,” she had said once, and it's been stuck in his head ever since.

Such a simple explanation for something that took him a long time to elaborate. Maybe that was the simplicity that comes with such a short life. He admired it, even back then.

The thought did not linger, however. No, he knew. He was in love. Happy endings...

The great hall of Briar Valley Castle glowed with enchanted candlelight, reflecting off the stained glass windows that adorned the ancient stone walls. The air was filled with the soft melody of a waltz as nobles and ambassadors watched with interest as the king and queen’s eldest daughter, Princess Aurora, danced with her suitor, as her pink gown swirled gracefully.

It was a grand celebration, the 16th birthday of the half-fae princess.

The old senators of the council, those whom Malleus deeply despised, were present, but they kept to themselves. Their accessibility was limited, limited by the changes Malleus and his human had brought about over the years. There was still resistance — whom Malleus called idiots and fools when he was particularly angry — but most of the councilors and palace staff had already surrendered to the strength of [Name]’s kindness, which contrasted with her husband's sometimes skittish temperament.

Aurora, the star of the night, twirled around the ballroom, she looked a beguiling sight, wearing the pink gown she had specially ordered for the occasion — certainly influenced by a certain bat fae she referred to as 'Grandpa Lilia' — along with the jewelry she received as a gift from her great-grandmother, Maleficia.

From where they stood, Malleus and [Name] watched in silence. His green eyes shone with something between pride and nostalgia.

“She’s beautiful,” [Name] murmured, a soft smile on her lips as her eyes followed her daughter’s every graceful movement.

Malleus watched her for a moment before answering. “Yes… but I confess I didn’t expect this day to come so quickly. I still remember when she had to climb on a chair to reach my stomach.”

[Name] chuckled softly. “I guess now she might just look at you.”

Malleus let out an amused sigh, but his gaze returned to his daughter with a touch of melancholy. “Humans grow up too fast...”

Before [Name] could respond, a movement beneath one of the large buffet tables caught her attention. She frowned as she noticed two small silhouettes sneaking stealthily between the legs of the furniture.

The six-year-old twins Magnus and Kyrval were under the table, trying to steal sweets from the silver trays. Their green eyes glinted with mischief as they reached out for honey cakes and candied fruit. But before they could escape with their stolen candies, two soldiers scared the two by pulling them out from under the table.

“My lords... you can't just crawl through the royal hall like that!” one of the soldiers scolded, the respectful but firm voice.

“But we're hungry!” Magnus protested, holding a piece of cheese as if it were a precious treasure.

“And small meals taste better!” Kyrval added, blinking innocently.

“Magnus! Kyrval!” she scolded them almost immediately as Malleus held back a laugh.

“They inherited Lilia’s mischievous spirit… and a little of yours, perhaps.”

[Name] gave him an indignant look. “Mine? Malleus, I don’t remember myself going around stealing sweets at royal balls!”

He chuckled softly, leaning toward her. “No… but I do remember a certain young lady who stole my heart many years ago.”

[Name] felt her cheeks flush, but she smiled sweetly almost automatically with the phrase. “... Do you regret that, your majesty?”

Malleus didn’t answer right away. His green eyes roamed the hall — his children, his wife, the castle lit up in celebration... faes, half-faes and even some humans... not alone.

Then he looked at [Name] again, his expression softening in a way only she could see. “Never.” He gently took her hand, bringing it to his lips.

He never imagined he would have something like this.

Everything changed when the girl from another world appeared. No fear. No hesitation. No one knows why the magic mirror brought [Name] to Twisted Wonderland... but honestly? Malleus was glad it did. She was the deepest desire within his heart. His dream.

Dragons aren't usually given happy endings. Maybe, just maybe... he was an exception to the rule.

He looked at [Name], his eyes meeting hers with a soft glow. And he’s happy with it.

To dream is to wish.

Lilia had been thinking about this idea for years. In his long life of over 700 years, he had experienced many misfortunes, losses, and sorrows — wars that devastated kingdoms, bitter goodbyes, and the feeling of carrying the weight of everthing on his shoulders.

But he had also been able to find happiness.

In raising Silver, in the tenderness of caring for Malleus, in the moments of pride in watching Sebek mature, even if in fits and starts.

He had never really dreamed of anything more than that. If he were honest with himself, his wish was simple: peace. How it would come, in what form, with whom — it didn’t matter.

But, as always, life had decided for him. With his children grown up, with their own homes, paths and families, he thought it might be time to explore the world. To wander. To be in distant cities. To sleep under the stars, free from worries. But that was not what happened.

A sweet wife from a distant world without magic and lively triplets had made his life much more noisy. And he wouldn’t change a thing.

The kitchen was scented with lavender and some sweet-smelling incense he had bought on a trip they took a year ago. He remembers getting a huge scolding from [Name] for buying so many, but he light them almost every day. Lilia, wearing an apron embroidered with small berries — a gift from the girls last Father's Day —, washed the dishes while humming softly.

“Dad, come see!” Aisha’s voice cut through the air with excitement. “I’m humiliating Arista at the Kart again!”

Lilia raised his eyebrows with a smile on his lips. With a light snap of his fingers, the utensils began to wash themselves, floating gently around the sink. He took off his apron, drying his hands with a cloth and headed to the living room.

“Humiliating me?” Arista replied with a joking frown. “All I saw was you losing it and pushing all the buttons!”

It was Lilia's first time raising girls, and it was in this chaotic and adorable process that he came to an inevitable conclusion: raising children would always be a constant learning experience — regardless of your experience in the subject.

“Battle tactics, you wouldn’t understand!” Aisha declared with exaggerated confidence, lunging forward as if that would speed up her character in the game.

“I win.” Arista said in a calm and satisfied tone, leaning back on the sofa like a queen on a throne, the controller resting gently on her lap.

"Whaaat?!" Aisha screamed, jumping from where she was sitting as if she had just been stabbed. Her wide eyes stared at the screen where the dots shone mercilessly: Arista - 1st place.

Lilia, who was watching the scene from the kitchen door, laughed softly.

"Wow, Arista..." Adela said softly, briefly looking away from her book to her older sister. She wasn't the most competitive, but she was always there to support her sisters, even with her shy and quiet personality. At the moment, she was gently stroking the silky fur of one of Lilia's bats, which was sleeping curled up in her lap like a fluffy, furry ball.

Count Fabulous — as [Name] gave him when she and Lilia were still studying at NRC — was the most spoiled of Lilia’s bats. Ever since Adela was a baby, he had followed her around, perching on nearby furniture or on her head as if he were her personal protector. Now, he dozed heavily, his ears fluttering slightly, lulled by the girl’s soft voice, but with Aisha and Arista moving on the couch, he ended up waking up and squeaking when he looked at the screen.

“Even Count is surprised,” Lilia murmured humorously, watching the bat stir fluttering the fabric of Adela's dress.

Adela smiled, stroking his back with a finger. “He bet on Aisha, I think.”

“Cute little traitor.” Arista said, smiling despite the line.

With the girls still vibrating with the echoes of the game��s contention, the front door opened with a soft creak, followed by the familiar sound of [Name]’s footsteps. Lilia looked up with a soft glow in his red eyes and smiled as he saw his wife’s figure crossing the threshold of the house.

Without saying a word, [Name] walked over to the couch where the triplets were spread out and, with a theatrical movement, threw herself gently on top of them, like a human blanket. She didn't press too hard, of course — just enough to cover them with her body and elicit immediate reactions.

"Mom!!," Aisha protested between laughs, trying to free herself.

"Rescue mission! Fabulous, save us!" Arista shouted, laughing, while Count Fabulous just opened one lazy eye on Adela's lap before settling back down, oblivious to the commotion.

"Mama, you're feel cold... stay a little longer..." Adela murmured, hugging her mother's arm affectionately.

"My days off are coming..." [Name] said, her voice muffled between her daughters' hair and the pillows. "I missed my noisy gang so so so much~"

Lilia approached the couch with his hands on his hips, his eyes half-closed and a mischievous smile curving his lips. “Can I join you?” he asked with false innocence.

Before any of the four could respond, the couch rocked gently, and then, with a soft green glow, it tilted forward as if it had a life of its own, gently dumping all of the girls onto the living room’s plush carpet. A bundle of giggles, messy hair, arms and legs all jumbled together, collapsed to the floor like a pile of animated pillows.

“AH! Dad!!” Aisha and Arista shouted in unison, Aisha louder than Arista, actually.

"I was comfortable, papa!" Adela grumbled, sitting down with Count Fabulous all ruffled on her lap, flapping his wings indignantly before landing again, huffing softly.

"I can't believe it, Lilia!" [Name] said, trying to look angry, but already with a smile on her lips and her eyes shining with laughter. Lilia approached slowly, as if he were going to seal a peace agreement with a kiss, and so he did — he leaned over, laughing softly, and kissed her forehead sweetly before lying down on top of everyone like [Name] did moments ago.

"Not agaaaain!" the three shouted in unison, between laughter and attempts to escape from their father's arms.

Still stretched out on the rug, the girls pointed to the ceiling, commenting excitedly on the floating ornaments — small enchanted lights that spun gently like fireflies caught in a whirlwind. They were souvenirs left by 'big bro' — Silver — on his last visit.

To some people, the idea of a house still full of young children might seem like the complete opposite of a peaceful retirement. And by traditional standards of rest, it was.

But to Lilia it didn't matter. It never mattered. Being with his family was what he dreamed of. It was all he wish for. “In dreams you lose your headaches, whoever you wish for, you keep.”

There was his rest. Not in the empty spaces, but in the constant presence. In the sound of clumsy footsteps in the mornings, in the voices calling "Dad!" throughout the house, in the tight hugs, in the fights over the last cookie, in the notes left on the table and the stories told under blankets.

Yes, he still traveled. He had his moments of adventure, exploring new places with the girls strapped to backpacks, [Name] with the map in hand. It was in family. It was messy. It was noisy.

This was Lilia’s rest. A rest in true Lilia style: full of voices, chaotic, but overflowing with love.

Silver knew dreaming well. It was what he had done for most of his life, and it was also an instinctive part of his own magic. Dreams were a sweet treat, a place where his worries melted away and all that was left was the best, most beautiful sky and peace.

“Have faith in your dreams and someday, your rainbow will come smiling through,” When he thought of this, what came to mind was his desire to serve Malleus, to be the knight that Lilia trained him to be. At the same time, he wanted to be with his family and friends, but he didn’t expect to fall in love.

It came subtly, with dreams. He saw her. A charming girl, who in his opinion was beautiful. She was there, in his deepest dreams, and he did not understand who she was… until he saw [Name] for the first time.

He was lying on the couch, his head resting on [Name's] lap. She was gently stroking his hair, her fingers running through it like a gentle wind. With the book on one of her hands, she was quietly reading an old story, pausing only to smile at the faces Silver made when his bangs fell into his eyes because of her caresses. He had returned from work tired, not with the same chronic drowsiness of his adolescence, but with the normal tiredness of someone who dutifully fulfills his duties. As one of the most trusted knights of the king, Silver carried great responsibility on his shoulders. But at home, with them, he could truly rest. The sound of pages turning mingled with the distant ticking of the wall clock and the rustling of leaves outside.

"Daddy!" Hana yelled happily, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor as she ran across the room. Without stopping, she threw herself at Silver with an enthusiastic hug, nearly knocking him off the couch. Her blond hair flew like gold threads in the wind, and her auroral eyes sparkled with joy. Silver jumped a little on the couch, a gasp escaping him at the impact—more from surprise than pain.

[Name] let out a light laugh, covering her mouth with her free hand as her gaze danced between her husband and daughter. Silver, even exhausted, gave a gentle smile, his half-closed eyes opening a little wider to look at his beautiful — literal — princess. And she loved being called that. Every time she heard the title come out of her father's calm voice, her little face lit up.

Hana wasn’t old enough to know exactly everything about her family, so Silver tried to tell her what was appropriate for a child to know, sometimes with the help of Lilia and [Name]. He had long realized that his daughter loved the concept of princesses. But not political princesses, more 'real' ones— she liked the ones who sang with the animals of the forest, the fairy tale ones. He would never forget the almost heavenly glow in her eyes the day Malleus bowed slightly, placed his crown on Hana’s little head, and said with a faint smile: "There, now the princess has a crown." Hana was ecstatic. She spent a whole week wearing tiaras made of flowers or paper.

“Daddy, you came home early today!” she said, her adorable little voice filling Silver’s ears like sweet music, while those little arms wrapped tightly and lovingly around his neck.

"I was able to be released early by order of General Zigvolt, my princess." Silver said softly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

[Name] laughed again. She gently tugged at a lock of Silver’s hair. “Sebek released you? Now that’s a surprise,” she said, raising an eyebrow humorously.

Silver couldn’t help but laugh at [Name’s] words. Sebek was adamant about schedules most of the time, and that was no secret to anyone. On the one hand, it was good. He kept everything in order, like a true general. On the other hand… well.

Hana, who was squirming between her parents with the energy that children normally have, rolled over with such excitement that she almost slipped off the couch, but Silver was faster. With a fluid movement he caught her with one strong hand, wrapping it around her waist and pulling her back safely.

“Careful, princess,” Silver said, his auroral eyes resting on her with tenderness and attention.

Hana lifted her chin proudly, her little hands on her hips and a glint in her eyes. “I knew Daddy would catch me, so I’m not afraid!”

Silver smiled once more. “I will always catch you, but take care of yourself too, my flower,” he said, his voice as serene as ever.

“Okay!” Hana smiled at her father, that innocent smile that lit up the soul, before stretching backwards like a little cat in the sun. As her arms stretched lazily, her voice filled the living room, chattering about her day. Silver listened to everything with full attention, his calm eyes fixed on her, and his hands always ready in case she slipped off the couch again.

In a moment of pause, Hana began to play absentmindedly with the wedding ring on her father's finger, slowly turning it with her small, delicate fingers. Without warning, Hana simply sleep. She slid softly onto Silver’s chest, her breathing even and calm, her golden eyelashes resting on her rosy cheeks. Silver felt her soft weight and had to suppress the urge to laugh. Hana was a thousand times more energetic than he had been in his childhood, — which, honestly, wasn’t much of a feat, considering his old constant sleeping habits — but when she got tired, there was no warning. She would simply pass out, as if someone had flipped a switch in her.

Silver rested her little head on his shoulder and wrapped his arms around her, his hand resting on her back. He felt his daughter's heart beating softly, and the warmth of her pressed against his chest was all he needed to know that he was at home.

For a moment, all was silence and peace—the kind that only existed within the purest dreams. When he thought about his life now, about everything he had experienced—he never, not in a million years, expected to be graced with such happiness. His rainbow had come. And now it slept softly on his chest, in a little flowery dress, with her little hand still holding his finger.

"Daydreaming again?" [Name] whispered to him as she noticed his gaze.

"Living a dream, actually." He replied.

Dream? What he had was not a dream. It was conviction. A solid goal, an unbreakable purpose. He would become a knight worthy of serving Malleus.

Sebek trained until his bones ached, endured thunderstorms —literally— and never took his eyes off the goal. The half-human blood he carried? An obstacle to be overcome with discipline and hard work. “No matter how your heart is grieving, If you keep on believing...”

If anyone, back then, dared to insinuate that he would marry — how awful — a human, he would scream so loudly in their ear that their eardrums would beg for mercy.

But as a wise old man once said — or perhaps it was Lilia in one of his absurd proverbs: "The earth doesn't turn, it capsizes with style."

And now, here he was — Sir Sebek Zigvolt, General, loyal knight to King Malleus Draconia... beside his lovely human wife and their two radiant children.

“Ivan!” Sebek called, his voice still naturally strong, but intentionally softened— an effort he made for only one person. “Don’t pull on the reins so hard! You’ll hurt the horse!”

Ivan, atop a sturdy horse with a grayish coat and a mane that shimmered faintly, turned calmly to his father. His eyes gleamed with amusement. “I know, father. I was just testing whether he responded well to my voice,” he replied, with that subtle teasing tone that only Sebek recognized as a direct inheritance from [Name].

Nearby, sitting under the shade of a cherry tree with their daughter, [Name] held back her laughter. The pent-up sound still escaped in joyful sighs. “Where did you get that horse again?” she asked, arching an eyebrow with an amused smile.

Sebek huffs, trying to maintain his composure. "For training, of course."

"Of course it is." [Name] held back a slight loving eye roll at Sebek's words, that kind of response so typical of him.

She then watched him approach Amelie with affection visible on his naturally stern face—a softness that only emerged in front of his daughter.

As quietly as his voice would allow, he knelt down at her level and said, “Are you enjoying the stroll, my lady?”

Amelie looked at him with shining eyes. A small, bright smile spread across her face. “Yes, Daddy!” she answered happily, and raised her short arms toward him, asking to be held.

Without hesitation, Sebek picked her up with the greatest care in the world. He positioned Amelie against his chest, shielding her ears from the loud tinkling sound.

Ivan, who was watching everything from the top of the horse, arched an eyebrow as if he was about to make a sharp comment. But when he saw his sister nestled against his father's chest, her little fingers playing with the brooch on Sebek's clothes, he simply got off his horse and approached in silence.

"General Zigvolt, you are breaking the knightly protocol again," Ivan said, his tone exaggeratedly serious, but his eyes barely concealed the amusement.

Sebek gave him a half-closed look. "When you turn a father, you will understand that there is no protocol more sacred than that of protecting your children." He adjusted Amelie better in his arms. "And put on those gloves properly, Ivan. A knight must always be ready."

Ivan sighed at the drama. Then, he knelt down beside his dad, leaning down slightly until he was at his sister’s level.

“Are you having fun, Lie?” he asked softly, touching her nose with a finger.

Amelie laughed softly. “Yes! Ivan looks beautiful in his armor!” he declared, as if it were the greatest truth in the universe. Ivan blushed slightly, and [Name] could barely contain another laugh.

Sebek would be lying if he said he’d never considered having children. Perhaps, in some distant future—if he reached the pinnacle of his career as a loyal and worthy knight—he might be granted the honor of marrying a pure-blooded fae. It was the kind of future he’d always been pictured as: respectable, honorable…

But now… now, when he looked at his little Amelie against his chest, or at Ivan laughing as he receives a sweet stroke of his hair from his mother— the image seemed absurd. Almost laughable.

All his life, he had been taught, indoctrinated, encouraged — partially? Completely — by his grandfather Baul, to hate a part of himself. To deny it. To hide it. To regard his human half as inferior, weak, inconvenient. To view his own father with disdain. And for a while… he believed it. He carried that hatred like a banner.

He wasn’t crucifying his grandfather, of course not. Old Baul had fought in a cruel war, with countless losses. He was a marked veteran —scarred, traumatized, and horrified.

But the truth was this: Sebek was happy. Happy that this human girl without magic, from another world, had stepped through the magic mirror and—clumsily—interfered in his life. And stayed.

[Name] had changed him. More than anything else, anyone else. Sure, Silver, and even his insufferable classmates at Night Raven College had their part in deconstructing his prejudices. But the real turning point came with her.

He remembered well the day of his first visit to his old home. [Name] squeezed his hand. And he remembered the look in his father’s eyes. The way Mr. Zigvolt — that loving, always clumsy, always smiling dentist — looked at him with so much love… and no hurt. Even after all the years of rejection. Sebek bowed. And apologized. He saw his father’s eyes fill with tears. And yes — of course he had always been that emotional fool, and Sebek used to get irritated by it. But now, no. Now, he understood. And it didn’t bother him anymore.

In the middle of his thoughts, Sebek heard soft voices breaking through.

“Grandpa and Grandma will definitely make that recipe when we visit them next weekend. I mean, I bet great-grandpa will be there too,” said Ivan, with the confidence of someone who had already foreseen the entire menu and the habitual discussion from his grandparents' house.

“Haha, great-grandpa is so funny!” replied Amelie, swinging her legs back and forth. “He always fights with grandpa to hold us back..."

Sebek sighed with a tiny smile. The sight of Baul arguing with Mr. Zigvolt over who would pick up Amelie first was, in fact, more frequent than he cared to admit.

Sebek helped Ivan mount again, adjusting the saddle with practiced precision. When Amelie asked to climb on too, he didn't hesitate - his arms lifted her as if she were a feather, carefully placing her in front of her brother. She held the reins with wide eyes of excitement, and Ivan guided her with the same care that their father showed her. It was beautiful to see. It was in these moments that Sebek realized that he was indeed an example.

[Name] watched everything with a growing warmth in her chest. She would never have imagined — ever — that this half-impossible dream would end like this. No. It wouldn't end. It had started like this. A home. A family.

“The dream that you wish, will come true.”

And the funniest part? Sebek said,with all the letters, that he would never be like his father. But there he was, discreetly pushing a small, colorful package of magic candy into his children's hands after successfully dodging the horse.

"Don't tell your mother," he murmured, with a half-smile on his lips. [Name] watched the scene in silence, holding back her laughter. She saw Ivan and Amelie exchange knowing looks, make the silence symbol with their fingers on their lips and smile mischievously.

And that was true for Sebek, too. When he saw himself with a smile on his face — sincere, wide, light —watching his children share the candy, laughing and whispering among themselves… He realized. This was more than a dream. It was a reality.

His wish to become a knight, which had once existed only for honor, glory, and pride, had transformed. It wasn’t just for Malleus, or even for himself.

To protect his home. His wife. His children. That human part of him that he had once despised… but now, finally, he loved.

© blueblossomrose 2025, I do not allow copying/plagiarism of any of my fanfics.

[its-avalon-08]

Ok so this is a bit unique tbh, but can you write a story about being alexandra saint mleux's sister can falling for lando norris??? like you love charles and alex because THEYRE SO CUTE and u end up falling for lando. include alot of fluff anf cuteness. Thanks!

stop it ily so much for this! i adore adore adore charles and alexandra and omg have u seen his recent post? because leo the puppy u are ily so much what the heck! ok so here is my attempt at making this AMAZING request come true!

paddock love (ln4)

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y/n watched with a grin as charles spun her sister alexandra around in a clumsy waltz, their laughter echoing through the posh monegasque apartment. "ugh, you two are giving me cavities," you teased, collapsing onto a plush sofa.

alexandra, cheeks flushed, swatted playfully at charles. "mind you, y/n, you could find yourself a love story in the paddock too, you know."

you scoffed. "yeah, right. like any f1 driver has time for a normal person like me."

suddenly, the apartment door swung open, revealing a grinning lando norris and carlos sainz. "speaking of normal people," lando winked at you, his blue eyes sparkling. "ready for that movie night, y/n?"

your cheeks warmed. lando had been relentlessly charming ever since you'd met at a charity gala a few weeks ago. he always seemed to find a way to compliment your outfit, your laugh, or even just the way you handled a plate of hors d'oeuvres. it was...disarming.

flashback

the air crackled with nervous energy as you nervously adjusted your borrowed gown. attending a charity gala with your sister, alexandra, a rising wag in the f1 world, was exciting, terrifying, and utterly overwhelming. just as you were about to retreat to the bathroom for the tenth time that night, alexandra materialized beside you, a triumphant grin splitting her face.

"there you are! come meet someone," she said, dragging you towards a group where charles leclerc was holding court, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"y/n, this is lando," charles announced, gesturing towards a tall, lanky figure with a mop of floppy brown hair. "lando, this is my amazing girlfriend, alexandra, and her equally amazing sister, y/n."

lando's smile was like sunshine breaking through clouds. his blue eyes crinkled at the corners as he extended a hand towards you. "amazing is definitely the word for it," he said, his voice a charming mix of british and something vaguely exotic. "it's lovely to meet you, y/n."

you felt a blush creep up your cheeks as you shook his hand. his touch sent a jolt through you, a strange combination of warmth and nervous electricity.

"likewise," you stammered, suddenly hyperaware of the borrowed dress that seemed to suddenly itch everywhere.

alexandra, ever the social butterfly, nudged you playfully. "so, y/n, tell lando about your photography!"

you, relieved for the distraction, launched into a passionate explanation of your latest project, a series capturing the hidden beauty of everyday objects. lando listened intently, his head tilted to one side, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the photos you were showing him on your phone.

"wow, this one is incredible," he said, pointing at a shot of a chipped teacup bathed in warm sunlight. "it's like you found magic in the ordinary."

you beamed. "that's exactly what i'm trying to do!"

the conversation flowed easily from there. you discovered a shared love for vintage cameras and a mutual disdain for overcooked canapés. lando, it turned out, was as funny as he was charming, his quick wit leaving you breathless with laughter.

as the night wore on, alexandra and charles discreetly wandered off, leaving you and lando deep in conversation about the perfect lighting for capturing a raindrop mid-fall.

"so," lando said finally, a playful glint in his eyes, "i hear you're a bit of a photography whiz. maybe you could give me some pointers on capturing the perfect pit stop action shot sometime?"

"me? at a race track?" you couldn't help but laugh. the world of formula one seemed about as far removed from your quiet life as possible.

"why not?" lando shrugged, his grin widening. "besides, charles tells me you make a mean cup of tea. maybe a post-race debriefing is in order?"

the invitation hung in the air, a silent dare. you hesitated, then a slow smile spread across your face.

"alright, lando norris," you said, a playful challenge in your voice. "challenge accepted."

flashback ended

"uh, yeah, sure," you stammered, gathering your things. "see you guys later."

alexandra leaned in conspiratorially. "have fun! and y/n?"

you raised an eyebrow.

"don't be afraid to give him a chance. he might surprise you."

the movie night was...something. lando insisted on a ridiculous rom-com, complete with over-the-top declarations of love and pratfalls that had you snorting with laughter. halfway through, he paused the movie, leaning close.

"you have the most incredible laugh," he murmured, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

your cheeks burned. "thanks," you mumbled, looking away.

he chuckled. "is it just the movie, or are you actually starting to blush around me, y/n?"

you swatted him playfully. "maybe a little. but don't get any ideas, lando norizz."

he grinned, unfazed. "ideas are kind of my specialty. so, here's one: how about we ditch this cheesy movie and grab some gelato? my treat, of course."

you hesitated. this was ridiculous. lando norris was a formula one driver, a celebrity living in a world of fast cars and glamorous parties. what did he want with a regular girl like you?

but his smile was so genuine, his eyes so warm, that something inside you melted. "alright," you agreed, a shy smile creeping onto your face.

the gelato shop was a whirlwind of laughter and stolen glances. lando teased you about your ridiculous cone of every flavor imaginable, then pretended to steal a lick. you chased him around the shop, ending up breathless and giggly.

as you walked back to the apartment, the moon casting a silvery glow on the streets, a comfortable silence settled between you. lando stopped, turning to face you.

"you know," he said softly. "you're more fun than any trophy i've ever won."

your heart skipped a beat. he cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had escaped your eye. "maybe alexandra was right," he whispered, his lips hovering tantalizingly close.

before you could even think about it, you closed the gap, meeting his kiss halfway. it was soft, playful, filled with the promise of something more.

when you finally pulled away, breathless and exhilarated, lando grinned.

"so," he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "does this mean there's a chance for a "normal guy" like me?"

you couldn't help but laugh. "maybe," you teased. "but only if you promise to keep surprising me."

he leaned in again, his voice a husky murmur. "consider it a done deal."

and under the watchful gaze of the moon, a new love story bloomed, a testament to the fact that sometimes, the most extraordinary things can happen with the most ordinary people.

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

well i hope you liked it! thank you for sending in your request and do send more! thanks for reading!

leave a like, leave a comment!

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

[deepspace-raconteur]

Another Rafayel smut piece! This time based on Abysswalker. Still pushing the big dick!raf agenda tho lol

Princess!MC and Assassin!Raf, she gets drugged with an aphrodisiac but it’s not Raf, smut, she’s still clearheaded too she’s just ~suffering~, until raf helps anyway, she’s a little bratty too not super tho, idk if I like this one tbh,

Rafayel x MC, hinted relationship.

🌊🌙

The sound of a woman’s excited gasp echoes around the opulent hallway, just outside the princess’s chambers. A stark departure from the normal cautious behavior displayed by the princess, especially when it came to her secret dalliances with her favorite Lemurian assassin.

“Raf! You came back! I can’t beli-“ her joyful voice is suddenly cut off, a blur of purple and black swiftly pulling the elegantly dressed princess into a dark alcove.

“You are too loud.” The would-be assassin hisses into her ear, scanning the area around them suspiciously. Thankfully, it seemed the princess had been retiring to her room alone. His gloved hand covers the entire lower half of her face, leaving only her narrowed eyes visible. There is undoubtedly a petulant pout beneath his palm.

He makes the mistake of moving his hand, and quickly regrets it. “How dare you-“

“Tch.” He cuts her off again, and her glare becomes even more incredulous.

He scans the area again, then moves. His hand stays over her pouty, plush lips, even as he scoops her up easily with the other arm.

Her fists beat against his shoulders as he moves them into her chambers like a shadow. With the door closed firmly behind them, he scans the room. Satisfied that they’re truly alone, he finally releases her.

“I can’t believe you! I am a princess, thank you.”

“A drunk princess, sure. I’m gonna have to be careful around you till you sober up, unless you feel like playing a dragon”. He smirks, snapping his fingers. A tiny flame lights his fingertips, reflecting dangerously in his eyes.

The princess huffs and rolls her eyes, but calms, her moods shifting as rapidly as the tides. “To think, I was so excited to see you. Just to get manhandled like I’m some luggage.” She whines.

Her gown flutters around her as she stomps over to her opulently carved vanity. There, she plops down into the velvet cushioned bench and begins to strip out of her fineries, starting with the jewels.

“And anyway, I am not that drunk. I only had one glass this evening, and you know how I hate to drink at these things. The nobles were as predatory as ever.” The last sentence comes out as a grumble. Her earrings clink softly they are set into a decorative bowl, shaped like a shell. A real pearl glints in its setting at the bottom.

She doesn’t need to speak, just move her hair off the back of her neck, and Rafayel is there. He took his gloves off at some point, leaving his warm bare fingers to brush against the nape of her neck as he unclasps her necklace.

“And don’t you think that’s odd, princess? That you feel so affected by just one glass?” Rafayel comments idly. Her eyes flicker up to his in the mirror.

“What do you know, Raf?” She asks, her tone more serious than it has been all night.

“Your cup was spiked. You should really hire better guards, they’re incompetent… and I didn’t reach the culprit in time.” Rafayel’s eyes are sharp in the mirror, observing her as her lips purse. Her eyes aren’t hazy, yet, which could be a good thing.

“What was it spiked with?”

“Unfortunately I was unable to gather that information.” The princess wonders what sort of shape the culprit is in. If they’re still breathing, even. Her eyebrows furrow further.

“I assume you have some guesses, though?”

Rafayel grimaces and looks away. He wanders a few feet from the vanity table, instead leaning against the window seat he’d staked an unofficial claim on during each of his visits.

“I… do. For better or for worse. The noble didn’t belong to a house that wants you dead, so take that however you will.” Rafayel’s explanation fades off.

The princess turns in her seat to face him head on, eyes narrowing at him. She looks much less… princessy now. Hair down around her shoulders, jewelry all put to rest on her vanity. Even her heels had been kicked off beneath it.

Rafayel much prefers this version of her.

“You’re avoiding the answer to my question, Rafayel.” She states sternly, like he wasn’t already aware of that fact. He rolls his eyes.

“However, their house does have a vested interest in your honor. Particularly, in you… losing it.” The words are practically spit from between his lips in disgust.

She flushes red, from her cheeks to her ears, and down to her bosom, exposed by the low-cut dress. She’s rendered speechless- though, not completely unaware of those noble houses’ goals.

“From what I can deduce, it was some disgusting plan to spike your drink and lure you somewhere private. There, they would have gotten you…. Indisposed, then leaked the information. Given that the noble carrying out this plan had genitalia compatible for conception with yours, perhaps their goal could have even included trapping you with pregnancy.”

Rafayel is damn near growling with seething rage at the end of his explanation. Something other than just protectiveness rears its ugly head. Possessiveness over someone who had shown him kindness and gifted him freedom, one of very few. A dark need to be the only one who sees her ‘indisposed’. A gut-wrenching urge to wrap himself around her and cover her with his scent until no one can mistake her for anyone else’s but his.

An inclination to go find the body, where it was floating by now, and gore it further. To make it more easily digestible to the ecosystem, of course.

Meanwhile, the flush the princess had gained wasn’t fading. In fact, it might’ve gotten worse. Sweat prickles at her hairline, and suddenly her perfectly tailored gown feels too tight, itchy and hot and horrible against her skin. The opened balcony doors in her room letting in cool night air do nothing. She leans heavily on her vanity table, breathing quickening.

“How disgusting, but unfortunately… unsurprising…” she sighs, but her breath is noticeably shallower.

The mystery drug was finally beginning to run its course within her. The princess’ body felt hot and heavy, and she couldn’t help but rub her thighs together. She slumps over at the vanity to press her forehead to the cool marble, and tries to calm her racing thoughts.

Without knowing the exact drug… she was in for a long night.

“Princess?… hey, are you alright?” A hand caresses her back. The tone of Rafayel’s voice isn’t one she’s heard before, it’s… softer. Concerned for her wellbeing. It makes her smile a little, just to herself.

“Yes, I’m okay Raf. Just… preparing myself for a horrible night.” She sighs, sitting up. She needed to get out of her dress pronto, but with Rafayel still here…

“I… do have a suggestion.” He says, hesitating. She blinks up at him through heavy lidded eyes, idly drawing her hair up and away from her neck. He quickly has to shut down a thought process involving him bending down and leaving a bite mark right at her nape.

“Yes?

“Well,” he clears his throat. “If this drug is anything like a Lemurian one I know of with similar effects…” he fades off again. The princess sighs impatiently.

“… getting it out of your system via strenuous activity will be the quickest method.”

“And that means, Raf?” She pries, but the picture is already pretty clear to her. It’s not as if she hadn’t thought of lying with him, but…

“Fucking, princess. Rolling around in the sheets with someone is the fastest way to get it out of your system with the least suffering.”

He takes a second to gage her reaction, and his cock twitches in his pants excitedly when he doesn’t see her recoiling. In fact, she almost seems….

He bends at the waist, dipping down to whisper into her ear. “I could… assist in easing your suffering, if you’d allow it, princess.” He purrs. His hand ghosts along her shoulder blade, a tease of a touch. “I’ll treat you with only the utmost courtesy, fit for a princess. Unless, of course, you have different preferences in a bed partner…” he smirks wickedly.

She inhales shakily. The effects of the drug are only getting worse, but thankfully leaving her blessedly clearheaded even as her body rebels against her. She considers her options, or really lack thereof. She’d yet to even take a concubine, or a favored courtier, and the heat just continues to get worse between her thighs…

Before she responds, she turns to face Rafayel completely, and cups his cheek in her hand. She looks at him seriously, and he blinks at her in surprise.

“I graciously accept your offer, if you promise me that it is also something you want. I am not in the habit of taking coerced partners.” She states seriously, and Rafayel can only nod helplessly, eyes wide and unguarded.

“I… yes, princess. My offer comes from my own want and free will.” He breathes. His cock twitches again, and his pants feel sinfully tight now.

The tension breaks when she smirks. “Then get me out of this godforsaken dress, and take me to bed, little assassin.”

Rafayel can’t help the sharp burst of laughter. He offers a hand and helps her stand, and begins to unclasp the complicated backing of her dress’ corset. “We’ll see if you’re still calling me little when we’re both undressed, princess.” He leans down to press a kiss to her shoulder, and she shivers.

His hands are deft at most things he does, stripping princesses’ out of their sumptuous garments included. Scattered kisses across her upper back cause shivers down her spine, and desperation is already stalking at the edges of her psyche.

“R-Raf, please, hurry up-“ her voice shakes, every sensation quickly becoming too much and not enough all at once. She leans back into Rafayel’s touch, momentarily pinning his hands between them.

“Whoa there, princess. Don’t fall over.” He murmurs, steadying her with firm hands on her hips. Even through the dress, he can feel the heat radiating off her, and he’s still got 2/3 of the annoyingly difficult fabric to unlace. His lips purse, and Rafayel makes an executive decision.

“Apologies for your dress, princess.” He states, then pulls apart the tight corset. The ripping of the eyelets out of the delicate fabric is overshadowed by the relieved sigh that escapes her. She mumbles something about the royal tailor, then rolls her shoulders, newly freed from their constraints of the evening. The gossamer sleeves slide down her arms easily, and all at once the dress slides off her and hits the ground.

She’s left in just flimsy panties made of delicate lace, a royal blue that reminds him of the sea at the farthest reaches of the world. Places that only the Lemurians had ever touched.

Rafayel is suddenly grabbed by the strong urge to be the only Lemurian to ever touch her here. The only other person, period, actually.

His fingers brush along the waist of the undergarment reverently, pressing himself against her bare back. He relishes in the way she presses herself back into him, the leathers and straps of his suit digging into her over sensitized back.

She grumbles, kicking her dress away and turning to face Rafayel. “Take all this off.” She demands with all the countenance of a princess, despite the pink painting her cheeks and throat.

“You’re cute when you’re demanding.”

“Am I? Imagine how cute I’ll be whe… when…”

Her voice fades off. Rafayel’s hands had moved with the grace and quickness of someone who’d stripped out of the garments a thousand times. The overcoat dropped, the belts at his throat and waist undone. It all happens so fast, and suddenly Rafayel is in front of her, clad in just his underwear and dangly earring.

Her eyes can’t meet Rafayel’s, focusing instead of following the path of her hand as it brushes across his chest.

Heat surges suddenly, and a wave of dizziness washes over the princess. “Ah, fuck-“ she winces, her head falling to his shoulder.

“This drug is really… is really a menace.” She breaths. “Can we hurry and…?”

In lieu of a verbal response, Rafayel hooks an arm around her thighs and picks her up. It’s a short distance to the large, canopied bed. He tries to be gentle, but she still gasps and bounces when he puts her down. She welcomes him between her legs like he belongs there, and draws him into a kiss. Already, she paws at his undergarment, pushing it down his hips.

He chuckles against her lips. “So eager, princess. It’s almost like you’re drugged or something.” His finger traces around her nipple teasingly, then pinches it sharply. Her body jerks, and she pins him with an extraordinarily dirty look.

“You think you’re so funny, huh?” She retorts, then in a move that’s frankly impressive given her state, she flips them over. She straddles his hips victoriously, look everything like a queen who just won a battle.

Rafayel just grins and grips her hips. “I know I’m funny, princess- fuck!” He yelps as his underwear is roughly yanked down his legs. “Touchy, touchy.” He grumbles, but gets no response.

The princess is a little too focused on the monster that had just been revealed to her. She thinks she might drool a little, and Rafayel quickly catches onto the look in her eye.

“What was that you said earlier about me being a ‘little assassin’, princess?” He teases, and the princess finally looks away from his cock and back up at him.

“I’d apologize, but-“ she lowers her hips, grinding her soaked, panty-clad core along the length of him. “I’m a little busy.” She moans.

Rafayel’s eyes flutter, and he groans, tamping down on the urge to buck up into her. The feeling of wet fabric along his pulsing cock is sending him up a wall, and he grits his teeth.

The words “get these off” that come out of his mouth are more of a demand than a request. His fist knots into the fabric at her side. It doesn’t take much to rip the gauzy lace off completely, the shreds getting tossed off the edge of the bed. His sigh of relief as he finally feels his bare cock slide between her slick folds is cathartic.

She grinds down on him again, the lack of fabric between them making everything glide so much nicer and feel so much better. The head of his cock nudges against her clit, and she shudders, fists clenched where they rest atop his chest. At every pass, his cock catches on her hole, and it takes everything in him to not just thrust up into her and sink in deep.

“C’mon, cutie. You’ll feel better with me inside you.” Rafayel purrs, rolling his hips up again slowly. He’s the image of temptation like this, below her and as close to begging as he’ll probably ever get. Even then, it’s really more like invested persuasion than begging.

“Yes, yes, yes,” the words fall from her lips like a chant, and she clumsily lifts her hips again. The heat is still making her dizzy, as is evident in the way she sways dangerously to the side. Rafayel sits up, snickering. “Here, princess. I’ll help you.”

Help really turns out to be him controlling everything. His grip on her hips is tight, but she’s grateful for the lended strength. Like this now, she can use his shoulder to brace herself as she kneels up on shaky legs. He fists his cock and guides it smoothly to her entrance, cockhead nudging against her insistently.

She tries to lower herself too fast, and Rafayel catches her just as his head presses past the initial resistance. He groans and buries his head in her throat, kissing at the sweat-slick skin there. “Careful, cutie. You could hurt yourself if you go too fast.” He warns, thumbs rubbing circles on her hipbones.

A wobbly whine escapes her throat, and he chuckles. “Such an impatient princess. I can tell you haven’t been told ‘no’ much in your life, have you?” He kisses up her throat to her jaw as he speaks. She turns her head and catches his lips with hers, nipping at his bottom lip.

It’s a slow process as she sinks lower and lower on him. When she finally no longer has to hover awkwardly, it feels like he’s in the back of her throat. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes as she breathes through the stretch, and Rafayel busied himself with leaving hickeys down her throat and collar.

When she finally comes out of this, he’ll be in so much trouble. But for now, he’s satisfied in knowing that he’s left his mark on her. That everyone will know that she’s given herself to someone, even if he remains in the shadows.

For now, at least. The god of the tides knows when to bide his time.

It’s sudden when she lifts herself, Rafayel choking as she squeezes around him. She smirks in satisfaction, and rolls her hips.

She sets a quick pace, chasing her orgasm like a woman gone mad. She scratches Rafayel’s back as she rides him, nails digging into his flesh, and he relishes the feeling.

Yes. Mark him, as he marks you. Make him yours in turn.

Her fingers thread into his hair as she gets closer to her orgasm. Rafayel moans, mouth hanging open as he pants against her chest, hips thrusting up to meet her.

When her orgasm finally wracks her body, she curls around him with a cry. One hand digs one final set of scratches in his back, and the other pulls him close by the hair, pulling sharply. There isn’t an inch between them, and he leaves a bite on her collar as his own orgasm peaks.

They stay like that, panting and clutching each other. Physical feelings and emotions crash and surge in them both, and Rafayel feels as if something just clicked inside him. He’s terrified of what it might be, but he knows this: he’ll never be able to leave her again. Not truly.

She’ll always draw him back in, like the tides to the moon.

[idyllwave]

There is No Law that Emperors Must be Fair

Emperor ! Jing Yuan x Princess ! Reader

Chapter 16 | The Lion, the Wolf, and the Not Amnesiac

Summary | You are set to marry the Emperor, Jing Yuan. In order to break the engagement, you stage an accident and fake having amnesia. But now, your own cruel, cold, and distant fiancé, who seemed to not want anything to do with you, is now acting all lovey dovey!

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You fiddled with your necklace as you paced your room. Throughout the rest of the day Jing Yuan had shown you around his castle. To say you were impressed would be an understatement. The place was huge and it was far more than you have seen then in your previous lives. He even showed you the door to his room which was a lot closer to your own room then you previously thought.

And now that you were back in your own room for the night after dinner, you were left with a promise that Jing Yuan would come get you.

You’ve already bathed and done all the other basic hygiene routine, so now you just have to wait… right?

Or maybe Jing Yuan wants you to come to him!

You immediately started to pace the room. Your eyes hastily turning to the door before steadying your breath and deciding to just go for him. That way you can just get this over with and not get any grey hairs while you wait here!

Opening the door, you had accidentally startled Gepard who had so graciously taken up Blade’s- wait Blade is guarding my door too?!

“I- is it really necessary for me to have two guards at my door?”

“Usually one would suffice,” Gepard answered, “but Blade here doesn’t trust me,” he ended his sentence with a pointed glare directed at Blade.

“You are a guard from a foreign land and the princess doesn’t remember you.”

“Funny, cause last time I checked you’re a guard keeping her in a foreign land who she also doesn’t remember.”

The two glared at each other causing you to sweatdrop, oh dear…

“Well, while you two chat I’m just going to…”

“And where are you going princess?”

“To… go to the Emperor’s room…”

“Didn’t he say that he will come get you.”

You fiddled with your nightgown, “he’s taking too long and I feel like I will back out if I wait any longer. Besides, he never said I couldn’t go to him first.”

Blade sighed at your explanation, but Gepard saw this opportunity, “alright then princess, we’ll be right with you.”

Blade grumbled something under his breath, but didn’t say anything else on the matter as you left to go in the direction of Jing Yuan’s room. The two following closely behind you.

“Then it’s just this turn here, right?”

Bingo!

Smiling to yourself as you spotted the familiar door, you went right up to it.

Knock first, y/n.

Straightening your night gown, you then lifted your arm and gently knocked on his door. Your knuckles hitting hard against the wood as a sound reverberated loud.

You heard an irritated, muffled voice from behind the door and hoped he wasn’t mad at you, but it was too late now. Just smile and-

The door opened and you found yourself frozen still.

The maid from the dining room who had spilled your drink on you by pushing Jiaoqiu was standing before you. Her top and skirts where gone, along with her under clothes. The only thing that covered her was a heavy blanket.

“How many times do I have to tell you girls, it’s my turn-,” she stopped herself when she finally focused on who was in front of her. Her lips slowly curling into a small little smirk.

“Oh princess,” she said in a mocking tone, but you weren’t going to have it. Stepping in front of you, Gepard glared down at you, “you dare present yourself to the princess and mock her, maid?”

Push her aside and confront Jing Yuan or go back to your room. You weighed the options carefully.

“Gepard.”

You grabbed his arm and tugged at him to get him to back down.

“Yes, princess?”

“You are not to follow the Emperor’s orders anymore, and Blade. I don’t care if you’re my supposed guard. Gepard is all that I need, so you are dismissed.”

You turned on your heel, “follow, Gepard.”

The blonde was happy to oblige, leaving Blade at the Emperor’s door next to the maid.

“You better get back in there, or the Emperor will wonder what’s taking you so long.”

The maid merely giggled and closed the door back. Meanwhile, you hurried back to your own room and even went as far as brining Gepard in there.

“Uhm.. Princess, I don’t think I should be in here…”

“Gepard, please not now.”

He watched you for a few seconds as you paced around the room, and Sunday’s words echoed back at you on how you needed Blade as an ally, however, you looked to Gepard and made your decision. At one point in time, you and Gepard were friends. He was someone you could trust with your life.

“Gepard.”

“Yes, princess?”

“I don’t have amnesia.”

“I know.”

“In fact, I staged the whole thing of getting amnesia in hopes of the engagement being broken off and so I can go home- wait…. You know? How?!”

“That act may fool the Emperor and Blade, but I’ve known you since we were kids. You have a few tells that let me know when you’re lying.”

“I have tells?! Like what?”

Gepard smiled and kept his lips shut tight on the matter, “if I told you, then you would just try to hide your tells.”

You grumbled as you crossed your arms over your chest, “and when were you going to tell me,” you asked.

“When we were alone or at least near other allies.”

“Other allies?”

Gepard nodded, “I didn’t just come here to be your guard, I came here to get you out too. Your father… talked to some trustworthy people a day or two ago, and we think they can help us out.”

“Who?”

“Do you know who Jiaoqiu and Moze?”

You nodded. Technically speaking, you hadn’t met Moze in this life yet- wait. But Moze literally helped kill you that first time?!

Calm down, y/n. That was a past life and at the time your father hadn’t gotten help yet, so when you died that one time, Moze wasn’t an ally then, but he is now.

“But they are retainers of…”

Gepard nodded again, “we are getting help from General Feixiao.”

Taglist pt 1

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