#anon is so so so good with words and phrasing just

[crybaby-bkg]

Wolf hybrid!Izuku methinks!!! He’s pretty much raised himself in the woods his whole life, doesn’t know to speak much except scrambling a few words and loose phrases here and there that he learnt on his short trips to the city to gather essentials, and during a wildfire his entire home in the woods is burnt away but you , being a sweet, empathetic first responder at the scene, agree to take him in!

And it’s great except Izu is beeg, beefy and doesn’t fully understand the concept of clothes, often leading to you reprimanding him for walking around the house naked, with his humongous build, abs and girthy cock all on full display.

Whew. You are NOT Gods strongest soldier.

Because as soon as he goes back into his room to change, you’re pressing your thighs together at the memory of what you saw. Poor you, your job takes up so much of you and you haven’t had the time to get laid in so long. And Izuku can smell it from the other room yaknow? Your slick, your faint whimpers that any normal person couldn’t hear, but Izuku can! He’s confused at the strain in your voice and the heat radiating from between your thighs. Oh no, you’re injured, he thinks.

So he does the only thing he knows to do to treat injuries. Pins you to the couch , tearing your flimsy shorts and laps at your sweet cunt, ignoring your confused and questioning whimpers and whines.

It’ll be good for you, he thinks, as his long tongue thrusts into your hole. And so what if your cunt is the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted? So what if at some point his focus shifted from making you feel better to devouring your pussy whole? Its a win win either way!

-(hiiii ive been a lurker for a WHILE, can I be 🕸️ anon? And excuse my grammatical errors english is like my 5th language and a bitch is exhausted from classes)

I have been losing my mind over this. for so long. U DONT GET IT!!!!!

he genuinely does mean well, when he’s in between your thighs. doesn’t really know how to ask, are you okay? what can I do to help? what is making you uncomfortable? how can I soothe you?

so he does what a wild thing like him knows best; he uses his tongue to quiet that ache that’s obviously causing you so much discomfort. he’s always been alone, never been around other hybrids like himself, much less humans. a part of him, a primal part, knows that the taste of you on his tongue is doing something dangerous to him. his cock doesn’t usually grow thick outside of his ruts, but he thinks he’s harder than ever with every pass of his tongue against your cunt.

it’s meant to soothe you, to quiet your whimpers and whines. but it only makes you louder, your body twisting this way and that as you try to push him off of you. but you’re just akin to a little pup to him; you don’t know what’s best for you, even though Izuku is starting to think this isn’t the best thing for him, either. not in the way he ruts his hips so firmly against the couch, how he drools thickly against your clit, his tongue wide and thick as he licks and licks and licks.

and when you cum, he doesn’t think he’s finished quite yet. you’ve only gotten louder, your cunt only getting wetter. he can’t stop until you’re a quiet, pliant thing, no matter how long it takes.

(and the next week, he finds himself hiding his own clothes, so you can’t chastise him to put them on. not if seeing him like this gets him between your thighs, tasting that sweet cunt of yours.)

[i-like-forcefem]

Fuck. I could actually eat you up. I was just going to send you that ask and call it a day. I couldn't resist checking back again, sure, and it was very funny to see how flustered you are - but even then, I wasn't going to interact anymore. I mean, SERIOUSLY love, you sure left enough blood in the water reacting there. I'm sure a sweet girl like you can attract plenty of other well-meaning sharks if you're really thattt intent on flailing.

But then I saw how many times you've posted just thinking about this. I couldn't help reading and rereading you tripping over yourself. I mean, it, is, just, precious, hahaha. I turn your wind-up key once, and this little clockwork doll can't help running round, and round, and round like it's all she's ever been built to do. I don't know which I love more. The carefully spilt nothing-verses of stammering and rambling you had to choose to send (just to make it so clear how much you love playing the role) or some of the genuinely confused typos that show how quickly you really have typed, how head-spun and silly you sincerely have been at points since I said hi. Don't be too enamoured by me, sweetie. It's easy to point out someone's place when you can tell how desperately they want to be there. See how badly you want to play?

And fuck, you're so polite. Shy little thank you ma'ams. All those lovely compliments, peppered with Goshes and Gollies like you were raised puckering up to soap. And doing your best to stress to me, it's okay if I don't dm you, you're just PATHETICALLY grateful, please please please no worries either way but if you want to then it would be REALLY COOL...

How could I not kiss whatever mark I've made better after that???

So hello again, little wound-up doll. Well done on being so sweet - I think you've earned a treat. I'm going to be leaving you again after this, I'm afraid, but don't you worry. You may not know who I am, but I know who YOU are. A very good girl. A girl I could tease by dressing up just how I like her, tracing her collarbone just to hear a sweet little gasp. One I could teach to smile, curtesy, and behave herself as I mould her from silly stuttering mess to my prize possession. One who couldn't ever protest, not about the humiliating things I make her do for my amusement, not of whether her pink face is most perfect thing I've ever had the privilege of prettying, and CERTAINLY not of whether she wants any of it. Because she's been begging for it. And if I have to discipline you over my knee while you read out these transparent confessions you've written here to beg me to perform each and every one, I'll do it until I know you mean it.

But... promise not to tell, but between us, I'd believe you the moment you opened your mouth. Mixed-up things like you are just too concentrated, too serviceable, and too desperate not to be subconsciously squealing the truth. I can always hear it. Look at how you've responded, and tell me that your clockwork wasn't always strung tightly to one place alone. That's not why we play these games.

The secret is, even if a wind-up doll does a very pretty dance on her own, sometimes it's even funner to hold her parts and move them around yourself. I know who you are, cutie-pie. So do you. That's why I want to force you to be yourself anyway.

Keep writing, mkay? I'll be reading, I promise. And smiling.

HOLE FUCK THAT JUST- I-

(follow up on this I-)

Just, THANKS MA'M

Gosh just so amazing like- I, gosh

Can't even think after that one just

Wow

Thanks a lot for the attention Miss, know it's incredibly appreciated, you are so so so talented at um- this >< - and I hope you'll have the enjoyment in this space you deserve (whether sub dom or otherwise)

Gosh just- Incredibly amazing (I, wow gosh, just actually stunned me when I've got places to be and just woke and so flustered and just wow)

-I um, hope my little dances will amuse you Miss

And I'm glad you're not feeling the pressure to do more, just showing up, putting me in my place, and ending it when you see fit

I'm glad you can take care of yourself!!!

I wish you a lot of love and support and nice things!!! Thanks so much for everything

And I hope you'll have a nice day just- yeah gosh wow

[not-poignant]

Hello Pia how are you? Not really an ask but more sending thanks and love for all of your writing. I've been a reader for over a year now and am still in awe of your skill (and speed!). I've been getting back into writing and struggling with feeling inadequate or like my stuff reads childishly, as a result I can barely get out 5k aha, but I'm working viewing it as a lifelong dedication to improvement. (On a side note: your work got my teenaged self to snap out of purity wank, forever grateful!)

Hi anon,

It is so awesome that you're getting back into writing!

Honestly, it is a sign of a kind of growth to notice the things you don't like in your writing, because if you feel it reads childishly (and I bet it doesn't all read like that, or most of it doesn't), that means you have skillsets already to aim towards. You can see how you want to get better. This is a skill!!! It's a more painful skill, and it's not a good one to listen to all the time, but it's a good skill to have.

When it feels dispiriting you can balance it out by intentionally looking for and writing down your strengths as well, and writing more of those. It might be only a few lines, or it might be all of the dialogue, or it might be the descriptions, but there will be strengths too!

Also 5k is impressive! Everyone writes differently. It took Mark Z Danielewski 10 years to write House of Leaves, and I love that book a very great deal. Quantity =/= quality, and you also have to remember I've been doing this in a pretty focused way for 10 years! Trust me, if you did this in a focused way for 10 years, you'd be in a different place with your output (which isn't obligation to do this for that long, just that...things take time <3 )

I'm glad you were able to snap out of the purity wank mindset anon, it's a tough one to be in, because it makes you feel like you're not safe in your own mind, and after a while it shuts down curiosity because it feels like everything you're interested in has to be examined just in case it's a moral trap or says something 'terrible' about you if you show interest in it. And that's really hard! It makes sense to me why so many antis kind of really lock into what they think and believe, because they've gotten so used to treating themselves with paranoia, how can they not treat others that way?

And that's a miserable way to live. It's the opposite of benefit of the doubt.

So being able to separate from that is incredible! And that's a tribute to your own curiosity in the world, and interest in exploring different ways of doing things, and I think that's really cool. :D

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

not a request whatsoever i just want to say i absolutely adore you and your writing. whenever you post it always fits so perfectly into my brain like it was always meant to be there. i am pressing your writing between glass like flowers and i mean that in such an astronomically positive way. i love you and hope you have a wonderful day/night. here’s a cool leaf 🍁

i spent a good 20 minutes reading and rereading this, trying to think of something to say and nothing good enough came to mind >:O this means a LOT to me anon!! it makes me very happy to know you like my writing :> and i am smiling so wide from the way you phrased it (how do y'all come up with such creative phrases howwww it's so wonderful!!!!!) i hope i can keep making cool and satisfying little brainrots for you!!!

oohohoo,,, thank you for the leaf,,, i will put it next to one of my Cool Rocks :)

[writingwithcolor]

how to convey arabic language in a specific dialect is being spoken without lengthy descriptions of how words/specific letters are pronounced?

Anonymous asks:

I believe my question revolves around linguistics, but please correct me if there’s something I didn’t take into account. I’m an Egyptian girl who speaks Arabic (the Egyptian dialect specifically), and I am currently writing an urban fantasy set in modern day Egypt. Naturally, the characters would be speaking Egyptian arabic (i even have a scene where my character converses with a tourist and struggles to speak to them ‘in english’)  But as the story is written in english, I found this is really hard to convey, especially with the entirely different alphabet, and the words that simply cannot be transcribed (sometimes in definition, and sometimes in letters that don’t have an equivalent). What would be a good way to send the message that these characters are by no means speaking English (unless stated) without having to hold the reader's hand through lengthy descriptions of how a word is pronounced at every corner?

Hi Anon! This is a tough spot. I’m no expert, just a mod and fellow writer trying to support your fantastic ask. Any bilingual readers, especially other Arabic speakers, feel free to chime in.

1- Disclose they’re speaking Arabic, even though you’re writing in English:

Example A: “Hey, Noor! Wait up,” he said in Arabic. 

Example B: “Habibti, I haven’t seen you in a while,” she reminded me. It was true - I had missed the lilt of her Darija-Moroccan dialect-so different from the Mesri, the Egyptian twang, that rolled off my tongue.

2- Consider using Arabic semantic structure or phrases and idioms used mostly in Arabic.

Example A: She reddened with embarrassment. // They whitened at the sight of it. ((English would probably say she ‘turned red’ rather than reddened, or ‘paled’ rather than whitened. Since Arabic has this natural and fun ability to let color be a verb, which English can but doesn't have naturally - make use of it! It will read differently in English because it’s an Arabic construct. Use other examples like this that you’d know better than me.))

Example B: Consider using “May the Gods smite her house!,” instead of the classic English ‘Fuck You.’ Or use “On my eyes” rather than ‘min ayooni’ or its English translation of ‘of course.’ Since Arabic language is beautifully expressive, you could lean into that when you can rather than using common English alternatives.

 Example C: Consider interspersing Arabic transliterations of common words/phrases like; habibti/habibi; yani; mashallah casually through the story.  

3- When speaking with English speakers, consider using informal text/chat speak (Arabizi?) to communicate the Arabic, since it’s already transliterated to the Roman alphabet. [disclaimer - I am atrocious at this, and will be surprised if anyone can read it… but for science!]: 

Example A: Instead of (انت طالب بالجامعة) or “are you a student?” it becomes; 

“Ente 6albeh bel jam3a?” I asked, staring at the textbook in his arms. 

He looked at me confused. “I don't understand,” he said. “I can’t speak Arabic.” 

“Wain 3m tedrus? Where do you… y3ni… where do you study?” I tried again in slow, awkward English.

These examples may or may not work for you. It’s important to remember that there’s no single "right" way to do this, but it’s mostly about finding a balance that reads well, and feels good to you. Subtle cues like sentence structure, idioms, the occasional untranslated word, and natural context can help to show the language shift. Good luck and happy writing!

~ Melanie 🌻  

P.S. Mod Meir suggests checking out the book When the Angels Left the Old Country by Sacha Lamb, which handles this issue well. There's a lot of "He said in English" or "He repeated it in Yiddish for the old woman's benefit" or "It took him a moment to realize he had spoken in English" (( Thanks Sacha! @kuttithvangu ))

[ruinix]

Quinn with the 'when I say sit on my face, i don't mean hover.'

Lovely anon, do you know how downbad I am? No? Well, I am. Also, are you in my Instagram algorithm??? That phrase kept showing up even if I say ‘not interested’ (I am but you know, I’m trying not to be the whore that I am). Anyway, it’s maybe a bit cringe…I swear I tried...Sorry in advance…😭🧎🏻‍♀️

Perfectly Divine

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Implied Unprotected Sex (use protection, silly), Oral (fem receiving), Face-sitting, Cum eating… 👀

Count: 1106 words | Masterlist

You’re not listening to him. Why are you not listening? Is what he said so hard to understand? Quinn is seriously stunned—utterly flabbergasted—when you try to get out of the bed.

“Quinn, get off me!” You grumble, trying to slip out of his hold, but Quinn is still stronger than you. “This is holding me against my will! Kidnapping! Hostage taking!”

Quinn bursts out laughing. Fuck, you’re so silly sometimes. It’s never a dull moment with you, even when you are suddenly on a different wavelength. No, not even, especially. Quinn holds you closer, hand resting over your middle, pulling you closer against his chest.

Soon, your laughter follows—a beautiful mix of giggles and chuckles. Your sound makes him warm all over. When you crane your head so your lips graze his cheek, your hand  entwining with his, the other holding his jaw, Quinn almost forgets why he was holding you in the first place. You trickster.

“You’re distracting me,” he growls softly in your ear. Your little squeak makes him chuckle as he nips at your nape, your shoulders, your jaw. “You can’t get out of this.”

“Quinn,” you whine, “we just had sex. I’m sensitive! Plus I’ve already sat on your face earlier.”

“Sat,” he scoffs. “Sure.”

“Is that attitude?” You twist around so quickly, beautiful eyes narrowing, lips pouting, hair still very much disheveled from your earlier rounds, your nail scratching over his chest. “Don’t scoff at me, Quintin.”

Quintin. His first name. Fuck, it sounds so good.

Quinn sighs, pulling you closer, hooking your thigh over his hip. “Sorry.”

You both groan when his cock graze your pussy lips. Quinn’s member rousing. Yours quivering, leaking with your arousal and his cum. Oh, right. He filled you up so good, didn’t he? Quinn presses against your pussy, feels your entrance pulse, sees your hooded eyes.

“Again? I’m tired,” you whine, protesting but it’s you who reaches his cock to press it against your hole. “I’m so full, Q.”

Are you? You’ve already wasted a lot of his cum. Already so spent for the day. Quinn knows that. He fucking knows that. Despite wanting to pound into you, to fuck you until the next morning—and the through the whole day—he needs to hold back.

That’s why he fucking needs you to sit on his face. Right now.

“Then why is your pussy begging for more?” Quinn asks, eyes hooded, watching every shuddering breaths that escapes your lips. “But I know. You’re busy tomo—”

“Quinn, shut up.” You grab his cheeks and kiss him so sloppily. “I’m so sore, Quinny,” you whine when his tip teases your entrance.

You keep protesting, but it’s you who pushes your hips, chasing after his dick, seeking more and more.

“Sit on my face, my love.” Quinn whispers. His words echo in his ears. Does it with yours? Does his voice rattle your soul as much as yours with his?

“But…” You still hesitate.

You’re rarely hesitant. But when you are, you are. Like he will be turned off by you. Like he will care about your filled up pussy. Like he will suddenly be disgusted with you when he could very much lick the ground you walk on, kiss the pebbles of sweat on your body. Oh, he got you. Silly girl. Just breathe and you already have him hard and begging for a fuck.

“Trust me,” Quinn pleads, pressing his forehead against yours. His nose touches yours. He can see the little fear in your eyes, the doubt, before it dissipates into lust. “There we go.”

He gives you a small peck on your blushing cheek. “And, my Love, when I say sit on my face, I don’t mean hover.”

The wanton moan that escapes your lips is Quinn’s last straw. He could just fuck you. It would be too easy. Just one thrust and he’ll be inside your pussy. Just one kiss and he’ll have you begging for it—sore or not. But he doesn’t. Not when you finally agree.

Quinn helps you over him. His hands glide and grip your skin. He can feel your shivers and trembles as you kneel over his face, legs beautifully parted for him to see your flushed pussy, too used and fucked.

“Quinn,” you whimper, hands planting on the headboard.

He mutters your name like a prayer and when you lower your pussy to his face, he knows his Goddess—you—answered.

He gives your clit a small kiss, tongue flatting over your trembling slit. The way you squeal and say it made his heart flutter faster and faster in his chest. You taste divine. His cum combines with yours. Salty, musky, and somehow sweet.

This is what he fucking wants. He needed—still needs—this for so long. To be able to savor what he has done to you. To know how perfect your pussy would be with his fucking cum that he has never dared to taste before.

Fuck.

Oh, his love of his life. So perfect, so delectable, so fucking divine.

He's so happy that you’re not hovering. So happy that you finally listened. So happy that you’re grinding your pussy against his lips, using his nose to your clit, letting him hear every moan, groan, and whimper that escapes you. So happy to feel your weight on him.

He grips your thighs securing to him as he slips his tongue in your pussy, tasting more of you and him.

More.

Quinn thinks he should have done this earlier. Should have filled you with more cum and not let you argue and waste a single droplet. Should have feasted on you, stained and dirtied by him. Fuck. He needs more.

For every gulp and lick, your pussy tightens around his tongue, squeezing out his cum and your addicting arousal. Quinn can feel your thighs quiver, your pathetic attempt to escape him.

Oh, you can’t.

He won’t have it.

 He needs you to come. He needs to feel you rob him of air as he does when he wrapped his fingers round your neck as he fucked into you.

He needs this.

Fuck. He’s so hard.

Maybe he can convince you for another round—rounds—of him buried deep in your pussy. Maybe he can persuade you not to attend the appointments you got tomorrow. Maybe he can just fuck you, clean you with his tongue, then fuck you again. Again. And fucking again.

Because this is not enough.

God, he’s so selfish. So fucking selfish.

He needs more and more of everything you can give him. His life is yours. Forever.

[purploozi]

Boyfriend | Chwe Han Sol

Pairing: bf!Vernon x Reader

Genre: fluff and Vernon

Warning: none, just Vernon

Boyfriend!Vernon who NOTICES every little detail about you. To be honest, he knows you better than you know yourself. He remembers all of your likes and dislikes, even the most random ones. From how you like your coffee to the exact water temperature you prefer in the shower—one day he casually dropped one of those facts, a simple “with three spoons of sugar…and I already stirred it five times” as he handed you a mug of coffee. You were like, what? And as nonchalant as ever, he just shrugged and said “you always stir your coffee five times after adding the sugar” (you hadn't even realized you did that).

Boyfriend!Vernon who is CLINGY with you (not literally but in his own way). He does it without realizing, but somehow his hand always seems to find its way to you. He'll softly grab your hand, wrap an arm around your waist or rest his palm on your thigh. Gentle and light touches, but full of meaning.

Boyfriend!Vernon who LIKES watching movies and listening to music with you. The first time you watched a movie together ended with a late night discussion about it, and he absolutely loved it. Now, it became a regular thing in the relationship—to pick a movie regularly to comment on it afterwards. You also exchange music recommendations all the time, if someone saw your private chat with him they'd mostly see a lot of song links and one occasional random text in between.

Boyfriend!Vernon who looks at you LOVINGLY (y'all know that look in his eyes). The first time it happened your heart warmed and your cheeks flushed—his stare was so full love that it caught you completely off guard. Months into the relationship you're used to his shining stare, but still every time it happens, your heart melts. You love that of him, the way he looks at you like you're the most important person on earth, like if every word you say is interesting and as if you were his whole life.

Boyfriend!Vernon who ENJOYS staying at home with you (being with you anywhere is enough for him but at home is his favorite). He is all about being cozy with you, a warm cup of coffee, a soft blanket and a good movie on the tv—his dream afternoon. Late at night, he’ll order some takeout to eat while commenting about the movie, and in the background a soft playlist fills the room with calm vibes.

Boyfriend!Vernon who says I LOVE YOU in quiet, unexpected ways. He says the words sometimes, but more often he shows it in softer—and not so literal—phrases, like “be safe” or “text me when you get home”. Just little reminders that he cares about you, but when the feeling overflows so much that he can't keep it inside, he'll look at you with those full-of-love eyes and say “I love you more than anything

This was a request from an anon, simply Vernon~💜

[melanchoire]

ME AND MY HUSBAND ──── pham hanni.

── ( 🍸 ) stuck in your brother's shadow, you've always craved the love your parents freely give him, until his girlfriend arrives, and suddenly, it's her warmth that makes you feel seen for the first time.

pairing. soft dom!brother's fianceé!pham hanni x sub!fem reader

warning(s). sensitive topics (cheating, daddy & mommy issues, dysfunctional family, no one is mentally healthy here.) smut (cunnilingus, fingering, making out, nipple play, pet names, praise.)

word count. 4.6k

request. anon only requested hanni stuff and wasn't specific about preferences or anything in particular so i had to use one of the ideas from my twisted brain 🫶🏻

the weight of expectation had always felt like a physical pressure, a constant hum beneath your skin. your older brother, the golden child, had carved a path that your parents seemed determined you should follow, each step meticulously measured against his achievements. kindergarten, elementary school, high school — milestones he’d breezed through, each one a testament in their eyes to his inherent superiority. even as you navigated the same terrain, it felt like you were walking a path already paved, the only acceptable outcome being a perfect replica of his journey.

your brother, of course, thrived on this. you saw it in the glint in his eyes, the smug curve of his lips whenever your parents lauded his accomplishments. he seemed to revel in the way you’d bite your tongue, suppressing your own frustration, unwilling to start an argument you knew you couldn't win. his “achievements”, you’d often privately fume, were nothing more than the bare minimum, inflated by your parents' unwavering adoration. he was the teacher's pet, the goody two-shoes, the one who always did what was expected. and you? you were always just… you, never quite good enough by their standards.

university applications loomed, and the familiar chorus began. “your brother aced his entrance exams, you know.” “he had multiple offers, it was so difficult to choose.” you’d nod, biting back the retort that tasted like ash in your mouth. yes, you knew. you knew every detail of his accomplishments, every carefully phrased praise from your parents. it felt like his life was a highlight reel, constantly being replayed before your eyes, a stark reminder of your perceived inadequacy.

and his relationships? it was like a cruel joke. every new girlfriend was another opportunity for your parents to ask about your lack of romantic endeavors. “hen are you going to bring someone home?” they’d ask, their tone tinged with a mix of impatience and disappointment, as if you were actively choosing to fail in this specific area. your brother would watch, a smirk playing on his lips, clearly relishing in your discomfort. ue was the star, and you were the ever-present shadow, perpetually in his periphery, constantly being reminded of the light he cast and the darkness you supposedly inhabited.

then, hanni came into the picture, and everything shifted, not in the way you expected, but in a way that sparked something within you. pham hanni, your brother’s girlfriend, was a breath of fresh air, a radiant burst of sunshine in the dimly lit landscape of your family dinners. a law student with a smile that could disarm any bitterness, she possessed a charisma that was impossible to ignore. you couldn’t, and you didn’t try. you found yourself watching her when you thought no one noticed, observing how her brow furrowed slightly when she was concentrating on a conversation, the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed.

she possessed an undeniable radiance, a magnetic charm that seemed to draw everyone in. your parents, of course, adored her. they praised her intelligence, her ambition, the way she effortlessly fit into their carefully curated image of the perfect daughter-in-law.

she was a distraction, a welcome one. during those strained family meals, when your parents would inevitably turn their attention to your lack of romantic prospects, hanni would interject, her voice a gentle melody in the cacophony. “how are your studies going?” she’d ask, her eyes warm and genuinely interested, making a noticeable contrast to your parents’ perfunctory inquiries. she’d actually listen, unlike your parents, nodding attentively as you explained your latest project, offering compliments that felt sincere, not forced like the ones from your family. “that's fascinating!” she'd say, her tone making you feel like your thoughts and words held value. you were used to being invisible in your own home, and she saw past that. you were not invisible to her.

your brother and parents would be engaged in their usual self-congratulatory routines, the air thick with unspoken comparisons. but then, hanni would reach out, a question about your day or a gentle comment about something she’d noticed. it was like a brief escape, a stolen moment of warmth in the chill of the constant scrutiny. you started paying attention, noticing the small details. the way she would laugh at your jokes, her hand briefly touching your arm during a gesture, a small brush of her fingers as she handed you a dish, or the lingering gaze she would offer you across the table. she seemed to see you, not just as your brother’s sister, but as an individual with thoughts, feelings, and dreams of her own.

it was… different. it was the kind of attention you craved, the kind you hadn’t realized you were missing. and it was coming from the one person you shouldn’t be fixated upon, your brother’s girlfriend. was it possible to develop real feelings for her? the thought was a dangerous whisper in the back of your mind. she was everything you admired; intelligent, beautiful, kind. she was the antithesis of everything you had ever been made to feel, and you fell for it hard.

the feelings that stirred within you confused you. was it just gratitude for the kindness she offered? or was it something more? was it possible to develop genuine feelings for your brother’s girlfriend? it felt like a transgression, a betrayal of some unspoken code. and yet, when she laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners, or when she’d ask about your latest writing project, your heart would flutter, a sensation both exciting and terrifying.

beyond the pleasantries, there were these fleeting moments of intense connection. the way her soft tone, when addressing you, seemed to carry a different weight than her interactions with your parents or even your brother.

you started analyzing her every interaction. ehen she spoke to your parents, her voice held a polite formality, a careful curation of tone. but with you, there was a different warmth, a hint of something deeper. her gaze, too, held a different quality when directed at you. it lingered, an unspoken question hanging in the air. during a particularly drawn-out dinner, as your brother regaled your parents with his latest legal victory, you felt a soft pressure on your hand. you looked down to see hanni’s fingers lightly resting on your own. her eyes were on you, a small, almost conspiratorial smile playing on her lips. you pulled your hand away, a jolt running through you, and focused on your plate, your cheeks flushed.

once, while your brother was rambling about his work, she’d slid a small, intricately folded napkin across the table towards you, and as you discreetly opened it, you found a simple doodle of a smiling flower and a short note, “hope you’re having a good evening! <3” it said, her handwriting neat and elegant.

another time, as you were helping your mother clear the dinner table, you felt a gentle touch on your back. it was hanni. “let me help.” she’d said, her voice soft and low, her breath tickling your ear. your skin prickled where her fingers had been, and you felt a wave of heat wash over you.

these moments were like fragments of a dream, confusing and alluring. was it your imagination, desperate for connection? or was she subtly hinting at something, a shared undercurrent of feeling that she also seemed to be aware of? the lines were blurred, and you found yourself caught in a whirlwind of uncertainty and longing.

then came the engagement announcement. your brother and hanni were getting married. the news was delivered with the celebratory fanfare you’d come to expect from your parents, as if your brother’s engagement was an achievement they could also claim. the questions, of course, intensified. “when will you bring someone home?” your mother asked, her brow furrowed with concern. you wanted to scream. to point out the hypocrisy, the absurdity of constantly reminding you of your perceived failures while you grappled with feelings you barely understood.

and still, despite the engagement, despite the impending wedding, hanni continued to look at you, continued to touch your hand, to whisper your name in a tone that sent a tremor through you. it was as if the engagement hadn't changed anything between you. you were caught in a whirlwind of confusion, desperately trying to decipher her signals, her glances, and her unexpected gestures. was it possible that she felt something too? or was it your own wishful thinking, your desire for her attention coloring your perception of reality? it was torture, this constant push and pull, this sense that you were on the precipice of something you couldn’t fully understand, something that felt both thrilling and terrifying. you couldn’t tell if you were confusing things or if she was actually hinting at things. it was hard to tell if a girl was flirting with you, being a girl too. maybe that’s why you felt like you were drowning in a sea of indecision.

you were caught in a loop, constantly questioning your perceptions. was she playing some kind of game? was she just being kind? or was there something more to her actions? being a girl, you weren't used to the subtleties of flirting between women. the signals felt blurry, coded in a language you were only just beginning to decipher. you longed to understand the truth, to know if the feelings simmering within you were just a fantasy, or a shared flame waiting to be ignited. and you were terrified by the prospect of either possibility.

the clatter of plates against each other was a familiar soundtrack to your evenings. you meticulously wiped each dish, the ceramic cool beneath your fingertips, while your mother rinsed. your father, a creature of habit, methodically cleared the remaining debris from the table, a newspaper tucked under his arm, ready for his post-dinner read. and your brother? he’d already sunk into the couch, a possessive arm draped around hanni, his focus entirely consumed by her smile. typical. you sighed, a puff of air that ruffled a stray strand of hair.

you turned from the sink, the kitchen light casting long shadows down the hallway. you were halfway up the stairs, the familiar squeak of the third step a comforting sound, when a hand clamped onto your forearm. you turned, annoyed. your brother stood there, his usual smirk slightly sheepish.

“hey…!” he began, his gaze shifting nervously. “so, uhm…can hanni sleep in your room tonight?”

your eyebrows shot up. “what? why?” you couldn't quite keep the exasperation from your voice. hanni always slept in his room, nestled amidst his chaotic collection of video game paraphernalia and discarded energy drink cans. why the sudden change?

he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “well…” he started, his tone laced with reluctance, “tomorrow is our anniversary. and…i have her gift. it's on my desk, in my room. i don't want her to see it before then.”

you crossed your arms, a mixture of amusement and disbelief bubbling inside you. “so you brought her here and now you can’t even spend the night in the same room together because you can’t hide a gift?” you asked, a pinch of irritation in your tone. “why even bring her here at all if we aren’t going to spend time together?”

he winced at your words. “it’s just—… please? just for tonight?” there was a desperate edge to his voice that you couldn’t entirely ignore. he’d never really ask for anything, and that was probably the reason for your next response.

you rolled your eyes. “fine.” you conceded, though the word felt heavy as it left your mouth. “but this is ridiculous.”

upstairs, your room felt suddenly inadequate. you carefully pulled a padded cloud-like mattress from the storage closet, laying it neatly on the floor beside your bed. you covered it with soft sheets and a fluffy quilt, adding a couple of pillows for good measure, trying to make a somewhat comfortable space. you were barely finished when a gentle knock sounded at the door.

your stomach did a strange flip as you opened it. hanni stood there, a soft smile playing on her lips. her dark hair was pulled back from her face, highlighting the delicate curve of her jaw. she looked almost ethereal in the dim hallway light.

you stepped back, ushering her inside. but in that moment, you felt a strange wave of self-consciousness wash over you. your eyes scanned the room, mentally cataloging the chaos. piles of clothes formed a precarious mountain on your desk chair, your old stuffed animals lined the shelves, their button eyes staring blankly ahead, and a random assortment of art supplies lay scattered across your desk. you felt your cheeks flush, hoping hanni wouldn’t notice the disarray.

you braced yourself for a judgmental smirk, but it never came. instead, her smile widened.

she did notice, of course. her gaze swept over the room but instead of the judgement you expected, her face softened into a smile. “it’s cute.” she said, her voice warm and genuine. “it feels very… you.”

you blinked, surprised. most people just saw the clutter. you gestured vaguely to the mattress on the floor. “so… make yourself comfortable, i guess.” you muttered, feeling a sudden awkwardness settle over you.

you settled into your bed, the silence in the room feeling thick and uncomfortable. you tried to focus on a book, but the words blurred before your eyes. you couldn’t shake the awareness of her presence, so close yet so far. the small sounds of her breathing, the faint rustle of fabric as she shifted on the mattress, all seemed amplified in the quiet of your room.

hours seemed to pass like molasses. you shifted, trying to find a comfortable position, but sleep seemed to elude you. suddenly, her voice broke the silence, low and gentle.

”you seem... restless.” hanni's voice was soft, breaking the silence. you turned on your side and faced her.

“i can’t sleep,” you admitted, feeling foolish. “it’s… new, having someone in here.”

she giggled, a soft, musical sound that made your insides flutter. “well, i have something to distract you.” she reached out, her finger gently brushing against your arm. “i wanted to ask you something important.”

you sat up, your back against the headboard. "okay?"

her eyes sparkled in the dimmed light. “i want you to be one of my bridesmaids, at the wedding, of course. but, specifically, i want you to be my maid of honor.”

your jaw dropped. this was… unexpected. you weren’t even friends, not really. bridesmaids were reserved for the closest friends, the people who had been there through every step of the way. “what?”.

she sat up, her eyes sparkling in the faint light that filtered in from the window. “When i get married, i want you to be one of my bridesmaids.”

“but… i'm not…we’re not even friends," you stammered, the words tumbling out of your mouth. “bridesmaids are supposed to be people close to you.”

she smiled, a small knowing curve of her lips. “i want you close.” she said, and her tone made you feel like she didn’t mean it in just the literal sense. “the most important one, the special one.”

you were speechless. you barely knew her, had barely exchanged more than a few words with her. she was your brother’s girlfriend, that was the only connection between you two. why would she want you?

but her words resonated within you, a strange mix of confusion and something else, something that felt a little like hope, but you quickly pushed it down. “but why me? i—" you ask.

“shhh.” he whispered, her voice low and husky. “i’ve been watching you. and i know."

“know what?” you try to ask, but a wave of nervousness washes through you at how close she is.

before you could even form another question, you felt the presence next to the mattress shift. the edge of your bed dipped, the springs groaning beneath the sudden weight. you looked to the side, your eyes struggling to adjust in the darkness. hanni was there, a shadow against the dim light, yet you could still recognize the curve of her lips and the intensity in her gaze.

she didn’t answer with words, instead, she leaned down, her lips brushing against yours. it was a tentative touch, a gentle exploration, and yet, it sent sparks flying through your veins. you tried to pull away, but she held you there, her fingers tangling in your hair.

“hanni…” you whispered, your voice a mix of shock and bewilderment. “what are you doing? go back to your mattress. your anniversary... the wedding, what would your fiancé say?”

she reached out, her hand cupping your cheek, her thumb caressing your skin. “he can wait.” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. “i’ve been watching you for a long time, you know? i know the way you look at me. i know what your family is like with you.”

tour breath hitched. how could she know? how could she possibly understand?

“but—...” you began, trying to regain some semblance of control, “you can’t just—”

she silenced you, her fingers moving to trace the line of your jaw, her touch sending shivers down your spine. “i want to make you feel loved,” she whispered, her lips brushing against yours, a feather-light touch that sent your senses reeling.

the kiss was soft, tentative at first, a gentle exploration of your lips. but after a few seconds later, the kiss deepened, her lips parting yours, her tongue tracing a path along your lower lip, tasting you. your protests melted away as a desire you didn’t know you possessed surged within you. the kiss became more demanding, more urgent, and your body responded instinctively, arching towards her touch.

she pulled back slightly, her breath warm against your skin, and continued kissing you, your jaw, your neck. each touch sending shivers down your spine. her hands moved to your shoulders, gently pulling you closer, deepening the kiss, her lips claiming your skin, exploring each curve and hollow. there was a hunger in her touch, a possessiveness that both frightened and thrilled you. you were being consumed by the feeling, your mind swirling, and for the first time tonight, you didn’t want the night to end. you were hers, completely.

her hands were everywhere, exploring the contours of your body, pulling you closer and closer until you were practically melded against her. the kisses were coming faster now, more insistent, more demanding, as she slowly took control of the situation, leaving you breathless and overwhelmed. you wanted to resist, to tell her to stop, but the words were lost in the intensity of her touch.

hanni leaned down and captured your lips in a slow, sensual kiss. her lips moved against yours with a tender passion, her tongue teasing the seam of your mouth. one hand caressed your cheek, while the other trailed down the side of your neck, over your collarbone, and down to the neckline of your nightgown.

“can i undress you, sweetheart?” she breathed against your lips, her fingers already working on the hem of your nightgown. “i want to see all of you... taste all of you.”

hanni’s touch was gentle and reverent, her intentions clear. she wanted to make love to you, to bring you pleasure and satisfaction. the room was filled with the soft sounds of your breathing and the gentle rustling of fabric, an intimate and sensual atmosphere.

the weight of reality falls on you in that instant. you’ve never had anything so intimate with someone before, not even a relationship. but... with her this felt different, it felt right. so, you don't see the need to refuse or back down. “... yes.”

hanni smiled softly at your breathless consent, her eyes darkening with desire as she slowly took off your nightgown. she peeled the fabric away from your skin, revealing the lacy bra and panties you wore underneath. her gaze traced over the curves of your breasts, the dip of your waist, and the flare of your hips, taking in every inch of your exposed skin.

“you’re so beautiful…” she murmured, her voice low and filled with wonder. She leaned down and placed a tender kiss on your collarbone, her lips lingering on your skin. “i want to touch you everywhere, taste you everywhere.”

hanni’s hands slid up your sides, her fingers splaying across your ribcage. she unhooked your bra with a deft flick of her wrists, freeing your breasts from their confines. she took a moment to admire the sight of your hardened nipples, before leaning down to capture one in her mouth.

she swirled her tongue around the sensitive peak, suckling gently as her hand cupped and kneaded the soft flesh of your breast. her other hand slid down your stomach, her fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your panties. she could feel the heat emanating from your core, the dampness that had already soaked through the delicate lace.

hanni’s touch was slow and sensual, focused on building your pleasure and desire. she wanted to take her time with you, to explore every inch of your body and bring you to the heights of ecstasy. she knew she had all night to make you hers.

hanni’s fingers slipped beneath the fabric of your panties, brushing against your slick folds. she groaned softly against your breast, the vibrations sending shivers of pleasure through your body. she could feel how ready you were for her, how much your body ached for her touch.

slowly, teasingly, hanni peeled your panties down your legs, tossing them aside onto the floor. she settled herself between your thighs, her breath hot against your most intimate place. she looked up at you, her eyes dark and filled with lust, seeking permission.

“can i taste you, baby?” she murmured, her fingers brushing against your clit, spreading your folds open for her.

but you couldn't keep up the lie for long. “... i've never done this before.”

hanni’s heart melted at your shy admission, a soft smile spreading across her face. she leaned up and pressed a gentle kiss to your stomach, her hands caressing your thighs soothingly.

“shhh, it's okay baby. i'll take care of you.” she murmured, her voice low and reassuring. “i promise i'll make this amazing for you. just relax and let me love on you, sweetheart.”

hanni settled back between your legs, her fingers gently parting your folds. she leaned in and placed a soft, closed-mouth kiss on your clit, before dragging her tongue along your slit, tasting your essence.

she groaned at the flavor of you, her eyes fluttering closed in bliss. she delved deeper, her tongue exploring your folds, before focusing on your clit. she circled the sensitive bud with the tip of her tongue, before suckling gently, sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body.

hanni’s hands gripped your thighs, holding you open for her as she feasted on you. she could feel your hips starting to rock against her face, your body seeking more of her touch. she obliged, two fingers delving deep inside you, curling against that special spot that made your toes curl.

hanni’s fingers pumped slowly in and out of you, her tongue never stopping its sensual assault on your clit. she could feel your inner walls fluttering around the invading digits, your body instinctively trying to draw them deeper.

she looked up at you, her eyes dark and filled with lust, watching your every reaction. she could see the pleasure playing out across your face, the way your brows furrowed and your lips parted in soft gasps and moans. it spurred her on, making her double her efforts to bring you to your peak.

hanni’s free hand slid up your body, cupping your breast, rolling and kneading the soft flesh. she pinched your nipple gently, sending a jolt of pleasure-pain straight to your core. she could feel your hips starting to jerk and writhe against her face, your body tensing as your climax approached.

she pulled back for a moment, her fingers slipping out of you. she gazed at you with a wicked grin, before diving back in, sucking your clit hard as she plunged three fingers deep inside you. she curled them just right, rubbing that special spot that made stars explode behind your eyelids.

“that's it, baby.” she urged, her voice muffled against your sex. “come for me, baby. i want to taste your cum on my tongue. let go, sweetheart.”

hanni’s fingers pumped faster, her tongue working overtime, determined to push you over the edge and into ecstasy.

hanni could feel your body tensing, your inner muscles clenching around her fingers as your climax approached. she doubled her efforts, sucking hard on your clit as she pumped her fingers in and out of you at a rapid pace. her other hand slid down to your ass, gripping the soft flesh and pulling you harder against her face, desperate to taste your release.

“come on, baby.” she urged, her voice strained with desire. “give it to me. i want to feel you cum all over my face.”

with a final, hard suck on your clit and a curl of her fingers, she sent you hurtling over the edge. your body convulsed, back arching off the bed as a scream of pure pleasure tore from your throat. hanni moaned against you as your essence flooded her mouth, lapping it up greedily, relishing the taste of your climax.

she gentled her touch as your body trembled and shook, riding out the waves of your orgasm. she placed soft kisses on your sensitive flesh as your breathing slowly returned to normal. finally, she pulled back, a satisfied smirk on her face as she gazed up at you with adoring eyes.

“that's my good girl.” she purred, crawling up your body to capture your lips in a searing kiss. She let you taste yourself on her tongue, moaning softly as she savored the flavor. “you did so well, baby. i'm so proud of you.”

hanni cuddled you close as you both caught your breath, her arms wrapped around your trembling body. she stroked your hair, your back, your arms, anywhere she could reach, trying to soothe you down from your intense high. her touch was gentle and tender, full of a quiet adoration she rarely showed.

“you okay, sweetheart?” she asked softly, tilting your chin up to look at her.

“yes, yes i am, don't worry. it's just—it was very intense.” you murmur breathlessly, running a hand through your hair, pushing away the loose strands that stuck to your forehead and face due to the fine layer of sweat covering your skin.

her thumb brushed over your cheek, wiping away the tears of pleasure that had slipped down your face. “you were amazing. so responsive and sexy. i loved every second of making you cum like that.”

ahe leaned in and kissed you again, slow and deep, pouring all her desire and affection into the embrace. her tongue danced with yours, letting you taste the lingering essence of your climax on her lips.

breaking the kiss, hanni nuzzled into your neck, breathing in your scent, a mix of arousal and satisfaction. she nipped and suckled at your pulse point, marking you as hers in a way that would leave a visible reminder of your intimate encounter.

“i'm not done with you yet though…” she murmured, her voice low and full of promise. “i want to make you cum over and over again tonight. i want to worship this beautiful body of yours until you're completely spent and satisfied.”

to emphasize her point, one of hanni’s hands slid down your stomach, her fingers toying with the slick folds of your sex. she could feel the renewed heat emanating from your core, the dampness that signaled your body's willingness for more.

and well, this would definitely give you enough closeness to her to be able to be one of her bridesmaids.

[r3starttt]

LA DÉDICACE

PAIRING: Princess! Abby Anderson x reader

SUMMARY: Where abby falls for the woman she met at a mascarade.

CW: angsty asf but also lots of yearning and happy ending. It's a request ♡ thanks anon

TAGLIST: @twopeoplee @greysontheidiot @sapphic-ovaries @bilsvlt @tlouloser @marsworlddd @1-800-fantasy @prwttiestbunny @thesevi0lentdelights @lvlymicha @stickycherritart @abbys-muscles @lott6i @imagoddess @lovelyy-moonlight

A.N: Inspired on Renee Vivien's poems. I enjoyed writing this request so much.

I was originally doing this for Caitlyn but ended up working with Abby. Either way... it's pretty good, me thinks.

I will beg for u, pretty amazing reader to please leave a comment or reblog this or both if you liked it even the tinniest bit. Please and thanks ♡ hope u enjoy.

It was a rare affliction, a peculiar and persistent condition that ran through the veins of the noble bloodline, one that neither healer nor sorcerer could eradicate. For two decades, no remedy—no enchanted herb, no mystical fruit, nor sacred flower—could cleanse it, as if the hand of God itself had decreed this fate. For nearly every noble child born in that time had been gifted—or burdened—with the biological form of a woman.

This had become a growing concern, a burden for those aware of the little time the King had left. What would become of the kingdom when the king passed? Would the throne remain empty, or worse, be claimed by someone unfit to rule?

Even so, Abigail had come to embody the very heart of her father’s reign. There could be no missteps, no flaws. Every moment was a calculation, for any slip would cost her dearly. With every five steps forward, one misstep could undo it all, leaving her at least six steps behind.

Her father’s affection for her was evident, but she knew it could only stretch so far. He could not afford to show weakness, even in the face of his own daughter’s love. His affection was tempered by his duty, by the crown’s expectations. She was aware that, despite the love he had for her, it would never grant her complete freedom.

Yet, Abigail remained soft-hearted, her nature too gentle for the hardened world around her. She was born to love, to represent the purest form of royalty—one that transcended power and wealth.

Her speech was carefully honed, polished with elocution and intelligence, words flowing with a cadence so refined that only the most learned would comprehend them. Consonants and vowels twisted into intricate phrases, a vocabulary that demanded respect, reserved for those worthy of understanding it. And so she adapted. She humiliated with her words, She wielded her intellect as both a shield and a sword—using it to humiliate, to elevate herself above those who sought to diminish her.

Abigail reveled in the confusion, for it was their inability to understand her that made her presence all the more commanding.

And the thought—faint at first, yet persistent—began to root itself in the deepest corners of her mind: that perhaps, somewhere beyond the stone walls and polished silver of her upbringing, there existed a man whose tongue would not stumble over flattery, whose gaze held clarity, and whose heart could mirror her own in strength and tenderness. A man whose hair bore the color of summer grain like her father’s, and whose nobility ran not through lineage, but through his deeds.

-

You weren’t supposed to be here.

A favor, a borrowed mask, and a friend in the castle kitchens had slipped you past the guards. It was foolish—dangerous even—but something in you longed to see how the other half lived. Just for one night.

The palace shimmered under golden candlelight, each chandelier catching the gleam of masked faces and embroidered gowns.

And then you saw her.

She stood at the edge of the ballroom, tall and composed, a detailed mask made with the most expensive materials, the only one who worn color. Raming eyes and golden hair coiled back with precision. Her dress was different from the others.

When your eyes met, she didn’t look away.

She approached.

You spoke of nothing and everything—books, cities you’d never seen, dreams that didn’t belong to your class. She was clever and soft-spoken, but there was steel in the way she carried herself, like she’d been taught to command even in silence. Still, you didn’t question her name, nor did she offer one.

Hours passed unnoticed. At some point, she took your hand, guiding you through a dance you didn’t know. Her touch was steady. Gentle.

You expected mockery when you stumbled over a step, but instead, she leaned close, her breath brushing your ear.

“Follow me,” your body understood the rhythm better than your mind ever could. The rest of the world blurred. Your feet moved not with grace, but trust. It was enough.

Laughter and music spun around you like a spell. You couldn't remember the last time you felt so light, so seen. When she smiled—soft, private, meant only for you—you realized the knot that lived in your chest had loosened.

She didn’t ask about your dress, which was borrowed. Or your speech, a little too rough to pass for nobility. She didn’t seem to care. Or perhaps… perhaps she already knew.

As the night wore on, the candles melted lower. Midnight loomed, and with it, the unraveling of fantasy. You felt it before you heard it—distant bells from the outer ward, signaling the change of watch. A quiet reminder that time was not yours.

You pulled back slightly, your hand still in hers. “I should go.”

Something flickered across her face. Regret? Frustration? She didn’t argue, but she also didn’t let go.

“One more minute,” she said, her voice barely audible above the music. “May I have your name?"

You hesitated. Your eyes drifted to the crowd, to the towering ceiling, to the place you knew you didn’t belong.

Her lips parted slightly—just slightly. It wasn’t quite a smile. Not this time.

“Let me see you,” she said, as if taking your mask off with her voice.

But you couldn’t.

You slipped away. And she let you go.

You didn’t know her name.

And you would soon haunt her thoughts.

-

When the moon weeps,

illuminating flowers on the graves of the faithful,

my memories creep

back to you, wrapped in flightless wings.​

Love, if only you would come again—

My hands could hold your fragile wings.

But time slips like water through my fingers

And my soul remains thirsty, empty.

— A. A.

-

Abigail found herself longing —selfishly, perhaps—for such a intimate encounter like she had with you. For someone who could shield her without binding her, who could love her not despite who she was, but because of it. Someone as soft as you felt that night.

She prayed. Quiet, hopeless prayers to a god she was not even sure she believed in, hoping that if divinity ever listened, it might listen now. And though the desire was delicate, even innocent at its core, it was also indulgent. For a woman born into power, even dreaming of such things was its own form of rebellion.

Still, she clung to the thought like one clings to warmth in winter, and eventually, it drove her to act. With uncharacteristic nerve, she asked the king—her father—for a rare permission. She wished to leave the palace walls. Just once. To see beyond the curated beauty of rose gardens and marble columns. He agreed, reluctantly. And so she went, dressed in garments that barely clung to her body, coarse fabric draped in a way no noblewoman would dare be seen. A cloak of shadows sewn by her trusted maid, who accompanied her closely.

The streets were crowded with the hungry and the poor. The scent of ash, sweat, and desperation lingered in the air like a curse. But she was not broken by the sight. She had always known this world existed—her education had not spared her such truths—but it had remained a distant concept until now. Weakness, her father once said, is a luxury afforded only to fools. And she had taken that lesson to heart.

Still, it was in this moment of carefully guarded defiance that fate began to stir.

She thought her journey would remain uneventful—a quiet, dangerous indulgence.

The same path that had led her through narrow alleys and cobbled streets now brought her to a modest marketplace. Here, the world was loud and alive—vendors shouting prices, children pulled tightly by their mothers' hands, food exchanged for coin in desperate urgency. She moved with care, slipping between the crowds, eyes wide and curious.

And then she saw it.

A small wooden stall, nearly hidden among the others, bore a collection of books. Old and weathered, but dignified. One, in particular, caught her attention. Its spine was cracked, its edges softened with use, but the author’s name glinted faintly beneath the dust—poetry, surely. She reached for it, compelled by a hunger she could not name.

Before her fingers could graze the cover, a hand snatched it away.

“It isn’t for sale,” came a voice—calm, firm, feminine.

Startled, she looked up to meet the eyes of a young woman, perhaps no older than herself. Her hands were ink-stained, her gaze sharp.

Abigail’s brows furrowed, not in fury, but confusion. She was not used to being refused.

For a moment, the princess simply stared—no words, no breath, no pretense. Just awe.

A woman… with a book.

Abigail straightened, smoothing the front of her coarse, borrowed cloak as if it could somehow conceal the nobility in her posture. She reminded herself that here, in the dusty stalls of the outer market, she was no more than another traveler with a few coins to spare.

"I apologize," she said, her tone soft but poised. “I thought it was part of the selection.”

The woman didn’t answer. Her gaze was lowered, careful, her body turning slightly to hide the book from further view. Not defiant—guarded. As if hiding something more dangerous than poetry.

Abby tilted her head, her curiosity blooming faster than she could contain. She knew what that kind of secrecy meant. That book hadn’t been purchased with ease. It had been fought for—perhaps traded for meals, hidden under floorboards.

The round eyes of the princess flicked over the rest of the stall—stacks of worn leather covers, the delicate crinkle of pages long loved or long forgotten. Titles that ranged from crude farming manuals to religious texts, even a faded volume of sonnets with gilded corners. Her fingers hovered over the bindings like someone choosing which star to pluck from the sky.

"How much for this one?" she asked casually, selecting a thick, obscure volume she already owned in triplicate back in the palace library.

The woman hesitated. Named a fair price.

Abby smiled, polite, distant. “And the rest of this row?”

That drew the woman’s eyes upward. Suspicion. Curiosity. She named another sum—one that no commoner would offer so easily. Abby didn’t flinch. She placed the coins on the wooden table, deliberately overpaying by more than half.

She didn’t say why.

And as she turned to leave, she caught the briefest glimpse of the woman watching her—no thanks, no smile. But her fingers had softened around the book, her shoulders ever so slightly less rigid.

Abigail walked away feeling like she had read something more intimate than poetry that day. And she would return.

-

Abigail approached the book stall quietly, her eyes scanning the crowd. She'd already passed by it twice before finally deciding to stop, half-hoping the woman wouldn't notice her hesitation. Her cloak fluttered lightly behind her as she moved through the throngs, a deliberate, purposeful walk to the stall that had caught her attention so many times before.

It had been a week since their last encounter. She had meant to return sooner, but her duties had held her captive.

As she reached the stall, the woman looked up, their eyes meeting with the briefest flicker of recognition. There was a coolness in the air between them. The woman’s eyes spoke volumes of the caution she held.

“You're back” The woman’s voice was guarded, but there was a faint curiosity hidden beneath it. A statement and a question at once.

Abby nodded, glancing at the books displayed on the rickety wooden table. She ran her fingers over the leather bindings as she spoke. Her fingers gripped a small, intricately bound book she’d picked up from the royal library.

It caught your attention. That was clear. But after having received a huge amount of money from the woman in front of you, all you could think of was to not trust her. You knew better than to fall for money, but hunger had made you take it.

The nobles where selfish, and as much as you desired to allow their charity, you knew the consequences of it could go as far as ending with your life.

“You’re generous, but I’m not in need of charity.”

"Who said anything about charity?” She set the book down gently on the table, pushing it towards you. “It’s a trade. Nothing more.”

As far as you could tell, her tone was as honest as it was sophisticated. You hesitated, your fingers brushing the book before returning your gaze back to the woman in front of you. “You’ve been very generous with your coin before. A little too generous for my taste,” your tone cutting yet with a layer of genuine wariness.

Abby glanced down at her hands, feeling a flicker of guilt. “I don’t want your distrust.”

You leaned forward, just enough to get a proper look of her face. “A woman like you has no need for my meager books. And yet… you keep returning. That’s more than I can understand.”

And after a small pause, you reached for the small pouch of coins the blonde had placed beside the book. You allowed your fingers to brush the velvet fabric, giving the woman a quiet appraising look.

“This is more than I could ever ask for,” your tone tinged with both surprise and reluctance. “You’ve given me far too much.”

Abigail smiled again, though this time it was softer, more genuine. “I will come back." Her lips curved up into a subtle smile, and for the briefest of moments, the tension eased.

-

Ever since that first exchange, Abigail kept returning. At first, it was infrequent—perhaps once every few weeks, when the weight of royal duty would lift long enough for her to venture outside the palace walls, wrapped in the guise of a mere commoner. She was careful, always cautious not to attract too much attention.

Abigail never brought more than what was needed. She was always respectful in her exchanges, never forcing the conversation beyond what was comfortable.

For the first few exchanges, you kept your distance, aware that life could be changed by the mere presence of a noble. Abigail would offer her a few extra coins, always polite, but never asking anything of it beyond the books. Each time, you would glance at the coins, as though calculating their worth, and then slip them into your pocket, still with some doubt.

But it was the books that spoke more than anything. With every new volume that Abigail brought, a part of her own story unfolded for you. She brought not just simple novels or works of fiction, but the classics—poetry, philosophy.

What intrigued you most, however, was that Abigail never expected anything in return—at least, not explicitly. She didn’t press for anything other than the books in exchange. There were no strings attached, no promises of wealth or favors. She had all of that already.

But over time, something changed. It wasn’t just the books. The more Abigail returned, the more she lingered, sometimes even engaging in brief, innocent conversations. She asked about the books and your opinions, what you'd learned from them, and sometimes, if she was feeling bold, about your life outside the stall. At first, you had been hesitant to share any details. Your life was full of hardship, days spent scraping by. You wasn’t someone who had the luxury of talking about dreams or aspirations.

“Do you ever think about leaving?”

It was an innocuous question, one that any other noblewoman might ask in passing. But there was no pity in her eyes. Only curiosity.

“You can’t leave. Not when you’ve nothing to your name but this stall.”

Abigail nodded, understanding. “But surely you have dreams, something you long for?”

You swallowed, suddenly feeling the weight of each of your unspoken desires.

“I dream of reading more,” you admitted, not honestly but enough to suffice her curiosity.

Abigail’s gaze softened, but there was a quiet intensity in her eyes, as though she could see the layers beneath your words—those that you had not said aloud. She didn’t press you, but she was patient, allowing the silence to linger between you.

“You dream of reading more…” Abigail repeated your words, her voice gentle but knowing. There was no judgment, no disbelief. She simply allowed the truth to unfold in its own time.

“Books are a start,” she said softly, her tone warm. "But there's more than books in life."

You shifted uncomfortably, avoiding her eyes for a moment, but her soft expression never wavered. She wasn’t asking for anything more. She was simply… acknowledging.

"Not for everyone," you said finally, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

Abigail was silent for a moment, but then she stepped a little closer. “You could have more than just books.”

You looked at her then, the magnitude of what she was offering beginning to settle over you. You had always been taught to rely on yourself, to take what you could from life, no matter how little. But here was someone offering to change that, offering something you’d never dared to ask for: a chance.

And the strangest thing was, you didn’t know whether to be skeptical, to distrust her offer because of who she was—or to believe.

But fear is bigger than hunger some times.

“I don’t know what you mean," you said softly, avoiding her gaze as to end this conversation.

Abigail’s gaze softened. She would never give empty promises, and less ask for anything in return. She was simply offering what she could.

-

It happened swiftly.

A nobleman—one you’d only ever seen from afar—had spotted you lingering at your stall too long. Perhaps it was the way your fingers turned the pages with too much familiarity. Or maybe the way your eyes scanned the titles like you knew them. Whatever it was, it drew attention.

They returned at dawn with two guards and a parchment bearing the royal seal. You tried to deny it, claimed the stall was someone else’s. You were simply helping. But a quick search unearthed your notes hidden beneath the crates, your writing—your handwriting—and books you’d copied by hand. Evidence, they called it.

A woman. Reading. Selling books. Writing.

Unheard of.

You were dragged through the streets, past jeering stares and hushed murmurs, your skirts muddied, your lip bloodied where a guard had lost patience.

You were being held in a cold, stone chamber. You hadn’t spoken, keeping your eyes low, your body still.

Until the doors burst open.

And there she was.

Not in her common cloak or with dirt on her cheeks—but in velvet. Dark and royal. Her golden hair braided up and away from her face, her spine straight as a sword.

“Release her,” she said. Her voice didn’t raise—it didn’t need to.

The guards glanced at one another. “But, Your Grace—”

“She stands accused of treason. An accusation of such gravity must be handled with care, not brute force,” Abigail said coolly, a tone laced with sharp authority as she stepped forward. “I shall escort her to His Majesty myself.”

You stared at her, betrayal and awe mixing in your stomach. Her Grace?

Abby didn’t meet your eyes. Not until the guards obeyed, not until your wrists were cut loose and your trembling form collapsed against her without meaning to.

Then, and only then, she looked at you.

“I apologize,” she whispered.

You didn’t answer. Not yet.

But when her hand slipped gently into yours, guiding you down the echoing halls of the palace, you didn’t let go.

-

The palace corridors were colder than you had imagined—colder even than the cell. The air hummed with stillness, untouched by wind or warmth. Each step echoed too loudly, your muddied skirts whispering shame against the polished stone. Behind the impassive masks of the guards, behind the glint of helmets and spears, you could feel the eyes. Watching. Judging. Knowing.

Maids lingered in corners, nobles passed at a distance, halting ever so slightly as if they sensed something was amiss. A peasant woman, bruised and bleeding, being pulled through the halls by the hand of the princess. You caught their glances—curious, disgusted, afraid. Perhaps some pitied you. Perhaps they remembered once standing where you stood now. Or perhaps they simply watched the spectacle unfold, as people always did when someone beneath them stumbled.

And still, she didn’t look back.

Abigail’s hand stayed firm around yours, steady and warm despite the chill. Only when the heavy doors closed behind you, cutting the world away with a soft thud, did she stop.

Her chambers were suffocating in their beauty. A great fire flickered in the hearth, gold and amber licking the carved stone. Velvet curtains billowed faintly over tall windows that framed the last light of the sun. The furniture gleamed with polish and expense, everything arranged not for comfort, but presentation. It was the kind of room that could silence a person.

And it silenced you.

Because here, now, surrounded by the spoils of her life, the truth became unbearable. With one of her rings, she could buy a year of your survival. One of her shoes, a month of bread. With a single necklace—forgotten, perhaps, at the bottom of a drawer—she could pay off every debt you’d ever inherited.

It was obscene. It was staggering.

It was her.

She turned to face you then, and for the first time since the cell, the mask cracked. Her poise faltered—not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for you. Enough to know it cost her something.

“I am sorry,” she said, not softly this time, not like before. Her voice trembled with something deeper, something close to shame. “More than I can say.”

“You lied to me.”

It came out flat, brittle, like a blade dropped on stone.

“I did not lie,” she answered carefully. “I withheld the truth.”

“That is a lie.”

She flinched—not visibly, but internally, something shifted. She stepped toward you, paused, then held herself still with deliberate restraint.

“It was never my intention to deceive you. I swear it. But revealing who I am—it would’ve placed you in more danger, not less. I thought... if I stayed silent, I could keep you safe.”

Your chest tightened, the words catching like thorns in your throat. “It was never going to be safe,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Not for me. Not for people like me.”

She said nothing. Because she knew.

“You,” you continued, your voice growing steadier, harsher, “You can wrap a scarf around your head and walk through the market like it’s some kind of game. Smell the rot, hear the cries, pretend to understand. But I live it. I bleed for it. I stood there every day until my legs gave out, until the guards tore my stall apart and dragged me through the filth for daring to read. And you—”

Your voice cracked. “You disappeared. And I paid for it.”

Silence settled, thick and suffocating. Abigail’s eyes dropped for a moment, her jaw tight with guilt.

“I would give anything to go back,” she said at last, voice low, deliberate, every syllable weighted with remorse. “Had I known what would happen, I would have torn down the palace gates to stop it. But I did not know. And now all I can offer is this: let me make it right.”

She stepped forward, slow, her hands open at her sides. “I will speak to the King. The charges will be erased. I will see to it myself.”

You stared at her. “And then what?” you asked. “You think I can just go back to the ashes of my life and start again?”

“I don’t expect that.”

Your voice dropped. “I have nowhere to go.”

She winced again, and you knew then she’d never considered what having nothing truly meant. Not until she saw it stitched into your skin, bruised into your lip.

“You can stay here,” she said, quieter now, but with clarity. “Not as a servant. Not as a prisoner. As my guest. Protected. Free, for as long as you choose.”

You let out a bitter laugh, sharp and hollow. “Free? Under a crown? Under your watch?”

Abigail’s expression didn’t change. But her voice, when it came, was fiercer than before.

“I will not pretend that I can erase your suffering. Nor will I insult you by asking for your trust. But know this: no harm will come to you while I draw breath."

And still, you didn’t speak. Because it didn’t feel like a choice—it felt like surrender. All that you had built—small, fragile, secret—burned down in a single morning. And in its place, stood a stranger wrapped in velvet, offering a different kind of cage.

Yet what choice did you have?

With your heart bleeding in your hands, with pride worn thin and dignity stripped bare, you nodded.

-

The door creaked open long past midnight.

You were more than awake. Sleep had long abandoned you in this place—where the sheets were too soft, the air too still, the silence too unnatural. You sat at the window, knees hugged to your chest, the fire burned low behind you.

Your eyes were still red, body and face bruised and covered in dirt and sweat.

When she entered, Abigail looked heavy. It was clear the news would not be nice. Not for you.

Her braid had started to come loose around her face and her hands were held tight. For once, you allowed yourself to stare back, to look every inch of skin that defined her face. Until she spoke.

“He’s allowed it,” she continued. “You may stay. You won’t be tried. The charges are to be forgotten.”

For once today it felt like maybe your life was worth it. Like the rage in your stomach could be forgotten if you just let out a breath you've held since she left you in the overwhelming of expensiveness.

“But,” she added, and you held your breath again. “It comes with condition.”

Of course it does.

You said nothing. She waited, but you didn’t speak, and so she did instead.

“You’ll have to work. Officially. Be assigned a role—maid, laundress, kitchen help. You’ll be paid. Fed. But you won’t be free to wander. And you will answer to the steward.”

You scoffed—barely more than a breath, but she heard it. Her clothes moved beautifully as she dragged herself closer to you. “I begged him to let you stay as my guest. But he wouldn’t allow it. Said no woman without title or trade stays under his roof without purpose.”

She continued after you held your words.

“I accepted,” she said, precise. “Because the alternative was your death.”

That shut you up. Any single thought on your mind erased at the pronunciation of such word.

“I’ll see to it that you’re given the lightest duties. You won’t scrub floors or clean privies. I’ll speak to the head of the linens or the kitchens—”

“I’ll do what I must,” you cut in quietly. “It’s more than most get.”

You stood then, brushing your hands down the plain clothes you've worn all day.

“I can’t promise I’ll be grateful,” you murmured.

Abigail’s voice was softer than before. “I don’t need your gratitude.” She meant her words, and you could tell.

You looked at her then. Really looked once again. She was oddly beautiful in an impossible way—too poised, too noble. But her eyes were tired, red at the corners. Her jaw was tight. You wondered how many people had ever dared speak to her without bowing.

You stepped past her to the bed and simply stared at it. Not like something to be used, but something to be earned.

You just stood there—fists curled, muscles drawn tight, like you might still be dragged away at any moment.

“When do I start?” you asked.

“Tomorrow,” she said.

You nodded once, like it hurt.

Abby hesitated. Then stepped closer—slowly, carefully, like she was approaching a frightened animal. Her voice gentled. “You’re still bleeding.”

You blinked.

“I saw it earlier,” she went on, eyes catching the cut at your lip, the ugly purple swelling along your cheekbone. Her voice caught, almost imperceptibly. “Please. Let me help.”

You didn’t answer. But your silence wasn’t a refusal. Just… stunned stillness.

“There’s a basin in the side room. I’ll draw water." Her tone became more formal, more deliberate—like she was giving you a choice no one else ever had. “You can bathe in privacy. I’ll send for clean cloths. And I have balm for the bruising—rosehip and myrrh. It’s gentle.”

You stared at her, your throat thick. No one had ever offered you softness after pain. Not like this.

“For tonight,” she added, a little quieter, “let me make it less unbearable.”

Still, you hesitated—until you caught the way her hands shook slightly, clasped in front of her. You weren’t the only one wounded here.

-

When the moon gazes upon my face,

I think of you.

When the night holds me in silence,

I hear your breath.

Your name is the last thing

I speak before sleep takes me.

— A. A.

-

The sun had barely begun to rise, and already the garden was alive with fresh smells. You found yourself there—on the edge of the palace’s sprawling grounds—fingertips brushing over the cool leaves of the herbs. There was something oddly peaceful about the place, about the quiet hum of the early morning. No jeering, no judgment. Just earth beneath your feet and the scent of thyme and rosemary in the air.

The task was simple—gather what you could for the kitchens. But in a place like this, simplicity felt like a fleeting thing. Everything about the palace weighed heavily on your chest. The duties you now had, the role you played. Even if it was a “gift,” the reality of it felt more like a gilded cage than sanctuary.

You bent down to pluck a few sprigs of parsley, the cool soil soft against your hands, when the quiet hum of footsteps reached your ears.

Abigail.

She didn’t announce herself.

You didn’t even see her approach, but you felt her presence the moment she stood just behind you, a space between you but still close enough for you to hear the rustling of her silk cloak as it moved with her.

“Should you be here?” you asked without looking up.

Yet, before she could make any sound, one of the older maids had come around the corner and froze at the sight. “Your Grace,” she whispered, blanching. “You shouldn’t be—if the steward finds out—”

“I’ll speak with him,” Abigail said simply, without turning. “And if he has concerns, he may bring them to me.”

“But—”

Abigail turned around, the sternness in her frown being enough for the woman to duck her head and vanish.

“You’ll get us in trouble,” you murmured, withdrawing your hand from your task. “They think I’m not suitable. If you keep showing up, they’ll start treating me worse, not better.” Your tone had grown quieter since you arrived.

Abigail wasn't only here for you, but you were indeed the main interest.

She had slept in worry about how would you adjust. If you would be in any danger when she wasn't around.

That you didn't know, and for your eyes she was a selfish princess who thought knew better.

“They wouldn’t dare,” she said softly. “I made myself clear the night you arrived. You are to be shown dignity, same as anyone else in this castle.”

You blinked at her, struck silent. Each time she spoke it only got you confused. You simply won't ever trust her. It was impossible to comprehend such a woman. She couldn't actually care about a stranger. And if so, it had to do more than just a shared love for books.

-

"Would you allow me to help?" her question made you jump at the sudden if sound other than breeze and women yelling in the kitchen.

You hesitated only a moment before nodding. "Sure."

She had insisted for weeks now. Not with words but with the way her eyes stared at what you'd gathered or how she wandered in the kitchen even after being begged by the women there to stop doing so.

She knelt beside you, her fingers delicately brushing against the leaves, almost like she was afraid to disturb the stillness of the space. You couldn’t help but notice the ease with which she worked, how even something as simple as this seemed to become something of grace when she was involved.

The two of you worked in silence for a while.

It wasn’t the silence that struck you, it was the subtle closeness that had grown between you, the quiet understanding that was slowly building with every small gesture.

Maybe you could eventually trust her.

"Do you know my name?" she asked suddenly, her voice laced with a kind of quiet amusement, as if the question was an invitation.

You blinked, not entirely sure where this was going. "Abigail," you said, your voice hesitant, as if testing the waters. "That’s all they say."

She paused for a moment, leaning back as her expression softened at the sight of a bee dancing over lavander. She stared at you then, looking at your hair, your neck. Your eyes and nose and lips. "What may I call you?”

She looked with innocence. A genuine interest.

And as you spoke your name, it all made since.

-

There is no garden where I walk,

But a world of roses

That you have left behind.

Each step I take upon your name,

Each breath a memory you have given me.

— A. A.

-

You eventually grew familiar with the castle.

Not comfortable—never that—but familiar. You memorized the rhythm of the guards steps, the scent of the kitchens before noon, and the way the light warmed the stone differently depending on the time of day. You came to understand its mood. And more than once, you found yourself lost in it—on purpose.

After all, it wasn’t the first time you’d walked those halls.

But now, your steps took you beyond the scullery and the washroom. Beyond the garden paths where you pretended not to notice the woman who always found you there. Abigail. Princess. Her Grace.

She had made it a quiet mission to gift you books—slipping them into your hands when no one looked, pretending they were forgotten things, unwanted. But her eyes always lingered a beat too long, her voice always softened at the handoff. At first, she gave you simple stories. Then poems. Then banned texts again, bound in worn leather or too-new covers that meant she’d taken risks for them. For you.

Her shame was as small as her restraint. She invited you to her alcove again under the guise of reading. Then to the library, with a confidence too casual to be honest. You never said no, not once. But you never let yourself stay long, either.

Still, she had not once left you alone for a whole day. Somehow, she always appeared—ghostlike and golden—on the edge of your hours. In the garden with some excuse. In the kitchen asking about herbs she already knew. Sometimes, knocking at your chamber door, only to say she’d forgotten what she meant to say in the first place.

Abigail wasn’t sure when it began. The unraveling.

Only that it had. And that now she was helpless against it.

She thought of you more often than the laws she was born to uphold. More than her duties, her gowns, her name.

She didn’t know how to bear it.

In the solitude of her room, when the moon hung heavy and she was left with her thoughts and too many luxuries, she thought of the first time she saw you.

Not in chains. Not bloodied.

But in silk.

Under the soft light of the masquerade—when your mask had been simple but your laughter louder than music. When your hand had brushed hers for a moment too long, and she’d thought, foolishly, that she’d never forget the feeling of it. That was the night she’d wanted to kiss you. When she still didn’t know your name but already wanted to learn it.

Now she did know it. She whispered it into her pillow when refused to allow herself pleasure.

And it only hurt more. It tore at her to remember who you had been before she failed you. Before her world and its rules pulled you into a prison. And she hated herself for having the power to save you and still not being able to give you freedom.

She couldn’t kiss you now.

Couldn’t touch you.

Couldn’t even stare for too long without fear clawing its way into her throat.

What if you hated her for it? What if you saw her as nothing more than your keeper, your chain disguised in shiny velvet?

What if someone saw?

So she suffered in silence, and soothed herself—ironically—with the very thought that burned her.

You.

And meanwhile, you did everything in your power to keep yourself away from thoughts like those.

She was the princess. A tender built of stars and stained glass. And you—now—were just another girl who worked beneath her roof. One of many.

You folded linens and scrubbed your hands raw and didn’t dare speak her name aloud unless required. That was reality.

And anything else was more than foolish.

It was dangerous, even.

You would not dream. Could not afford to.

But god, at times… when you let your guard slip—when she tilted her head just so, or smiled too softly, or touched your wrist under the guise of handing you a book—your eyes betrayed you. They slipped to her mouth. To the freckles dotting her cheekbones. To the scar by her cheek she never spoke of.

And you would hate yourself for it.

You would remember that night at the masquerade. You would remember how she’d held your waist without trembling, how you’d felt like a secret worth keeping, how you’d nearly leaned in—

And you would regret.

Regret leaving. Regret not kissing her. Not touching her longer. Not letting her look at you like you mattered.

And worse still, you would feel guilty for missing a fantasy, when she had granted you a reality—life.

She had let you live.

And you were squandering it on daydreams. On sighs.

You told yourself to forget.

But your body remembered. Your heart

It remembered everything.

-

There is no place I belong

more than the space between your hands

when you braid your hair in the sun

and forget that I am watching.

You reach for thyme in the garden—

fingers brushing mine,

and I pretend it is the wind

that leaves me aching.

It looked like a profanity to you. The words you've written on the paper, now hidden between the pages of a book you were meant to return soon.

Yet your heart could wish for nothing but them profanities to reach Abigail.

You needed her to know.

Needed her love even if it killed you.

-

She hadn’t meant to read it. Truly.

She hadn’t even seen the small piece of paper until a servant noticed it.

At first, she thought it a recipe perhaps. And her respect for you held her from reading it.

It was her hands holding the thin material– reluctant to let it go and return it to you–that had her eyes reading her name. Not written but confessed.

Abby froze. The silence of her alcove pressed in close, thick with breath she forgot to take.

Her fingers trembled as they unfolded the rest of it, and her lips parted without a sound as she read.

The paper felt too fragile in her hand, like if she blinked it would disappear, like it had been meant only for the moment her heart cracked open and not a second longer.

She read it again. And again. Each time slower.

And then she was moving.

The book slammed shut. She left her alcove without else but her thin white sleeping clothes, her heart thundering louder than her steps as she moved through the hallways. Past guards. Past a maid who startled at her pace. Past the kitchens and their fire. Into the shadowed servants' wing.

She didn’t hesitate. She knocked until you opened the door.

"Abigail?"

She crossed the room before your breath could catch. She held the paper—the poem—shook in her fingers.

“You wrote this,” she stated in a tone similar to a plead. It wasn’t a question. Her voice was low, as if the walls might echo it back too cruelly. But there was wonder in it too. Terror and reverence.

You looked down. Shame bloomed in your throat. “No.”

“You wrote this.” She said it again, softer. She was trembling now. “And it was me you meant. Wasn’t it?”

The breath she exhaled was sharp, close to a sob. Her hand came to her chest, clutching fabric that meant nothing now.

“The masquerade. I never forgot.”

Only there you looked. She was breaking beneath you. And there was no point in denying it.

“I remember,” you said.

Silence. But not the painful kind.

“I have longed for you in silence,” Abigail said. “And hated myself for it. But if there is truth in these words…” She raised the poem slightly. “If there is even a sliver of hope—then say it. Please.”

Your breath caught, and for the first time, you didn’t look away.

You opened your mouth—but nothing came. Nothing except a soundless ache, the shape of a yes that wouldn’t yet rise to meet your lips.

And Abby’s eyes—God, her eyes—searched yours like she was drowning and looking for shore.

She moved.

Not a question.

She kissed you like she’d been waiting her whole life for the moment to arrive.

Her hands rose, hesitant at first, until she cupped your jaw and cheeks, and her mouth met yours like prayer. Like poetry. Like your poem.

Like her poems.

The paper drifted from her fingers as if it, too, knew it was no longer needed.

And your body—your body betrayed you beautifully. It leaned into hers before you could even think, lips parting to meet her, your hand rising to rest just above her heart, where it beat frantically beneath silk and skin.

The world hushed.

It didn’t vanish, not entirely—but it softened. The walls receded. The rules and roles and titles dulled to distant echoes.

There was only the warmth of her mouth, the way she trembled against you, the faint salt of a tear neither of you dared name.

When she pulled back, it was barely an inch. Her breath was on your skin.

And all you could do—all you wanted to do—was pull her back in.

So you did.

You kissed her like you were finally allowed to breathe.

[wholoveseggs]

Could you do blood sharing smut with one of the Mikaelsons? or even a headcanons or one shots on how they would each react to you asking them about it?

~✦~ Biting the Mikaelsons ~✦~

Klaus, Kol, Marcel and Elijah ♡♡♡ and hating on finn at the end

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Just some headcanons on what I think bloodsharing would be like with the Mikaelson men.

♡♡ Thanks for the request anon, love doing headcanons like this ♡♡

1.8k words - Warnings: descriptions of sex, bloodsharing & dirty phrases.

Klaus

~Hybrids first!~

❥ Blood sharing is an incredibly intimate act so if you asked Klaus it would feel like a declaration of love to him.

❥ He's overjoyed that you trust him that much to take care of you and give you pleasure in your vulnerable state and will give you anything you need. He always bites you first so that when he pulls away you're already squirming and all worked up for him.

❥ A bit sadistic by nature, but with you he's as slow and deliberate as possible to savor the act and every moment of you in his arms, tasting your blood and giving you yours in return is just pure euphoria.

❥ He would bite you on your neck or maybe your shoulders just to make you shudder, hold you so close to his body that there wasn't a space in between you and while you drink he'll have you close your eyes so the sensations feel heightened.

❥ He likes you pressed tightly against him, close enough for him to taste and feel everything he's feeling through your bond, running his fangs slowly so that your bite lasts for a long time and when you drink his blood he's watching your face, savoring the feeling.

❥ He would have you sitting in his lap with no clothes, all pretty and flushed, he would get you all worked up before letting you have a taste. He wants you to associate the taste of his blood with sex and pleasure so that you'll crave it whenever you're together.

❥ But naturally, it's Klaus, he will get a little rough with you after, the passion and intensity increased because of the blood. He bites your neck hard while thrusting, making sure that you're connected in everyway possible. He still takes care of you but he also wants to savor this more than he already has.

❥ Definitely bites more than once. He will find excuses to do it, all over your body until you're an exhausted and droopy mess, letting out sweet little moans of satisfaction.

~He will say things like~

--- 'Oh darling,' pulling your hair away so he can see the bites on your skin, 'you were hungry for it weren't you?'

--- 'Even better than I thought, did I not have a claim on you enough?'

❥ He's not going to apologize for drawing out the fact that he's now basically making you drunk on pleasure. If anything, he'll tease you for getting so riled up from a simple bite.

--- 'Tsk tsk, and you wanted my blood? Beg for it now.'

--- 'Naughty girl, a little taste of me and you let me taste the parts of you only I get to see.'

--- 'My name tastes so good coming from those lips, doesn't it dear? Say it again.'

--- 'Better?' Nuzzling his face into your shoulder, 'Is that what you needed? Don't ever be afraid to ask me.'

❥ When you are both satisfied he will carry you to the shower, anywhere where you two can clean up, undisturbed. He's a complete softy when it comes to you in these moments, it's such a rare opportunity to see his vulnerable side.

❥ But, once you share this intimate act with him, he will consider you his. Marking you not just with the bite on your skin, but in his mind and in yours. 

Kol

~High risk of death with this one!~

❥ Drunk. This man. Is. DRUNK on pleasure. Sex and blood sharing? Such a godlike combo, you've created a monster (but really Kol's a monster already. You've just unleashed the beast.)

❥ Wants it often, though doesn't pressure you at all about it. The thirst for it is always there, in the back of his mind and during your more intense sex it's all he can think of.

❥ When you asked him about it he rushed you to his bed without a second thought. Kisses and bites at all points, not even sure where he wanted to bite you the most and didn't care at the moment.

❥ He thinks this is the perfect way for you to realize how sexy you are, if the way he stares at you is anything to go by he already knows it. Wants to savor your taste, how beautiful you look, everything.

❥ He likes giving the first bite right at your thighs so it sends sparks everywhere, he goes absolutely feral between your legs. Easily makes you into a trembling mess underneath him while licking you clean and then biting you again at your thigh.

❥ It's very intimate for him, but in a wilder, more passionate way. He's slow in his movements, likes to have both hands on your thighs while tasting your blood, his mouth sucking at the skin, giving you the utmost pleasure as your life essence pours over his tongue.

❥ When you drink his blood he comes fast. You can do whatever you want with him in that moment and he won't complain. But, he always wants the last bite.

~He will say things like~

--- 'Have I made you a bloodthirsty little minx? As much as I encourage your requests, darling, it's a bit of a torture to have those lips on my neck and not on my cock,'

--- 'Fucking delicious, you are,' as he gently nibbles, 'taste even better than I thought...'

--- 'Well, if I get to see this side of you, I'll offer you my blood anytime, love.'

--- Laughing, nuzzling his face into you he'll smile, 'better than I imagined, sweetheart, and all because of my pretty little pet.'

❥ Afterwards, he likes to play with you, knowing you're vulnerable as he laps at your thighs, or even fingering you. He'll let you mark him up in return if he's in the mood for it (which he often is) and enjoys snuggling into you and kissing you, tasting you on his tongue for a while.

❥ When you're both calmed down he will want to hold you close. Run his fingers through your hair and watch you with an awed expression for a bit. He can't believe how lucky he is to have you, on top of being his girlfriend, willing to share such a personal part of you with him, he's not going to take it for granted, swearing to prove to you how much it means to him to have your trust.

Marcel ~Don't let Rebekah catch you!~

~Couldn't find any gifs of him drinking blood :( ~

❥ When you tell him he's eyes widened and you heard his breath hitch before he takes you into his arms and smothers your face with kisses while lifting you up, just excited to be able to be as close to you as possible.

❥ He's playful with you, laughs and bites down gently all over your skin, little pecks before another nip of his teeth, never sinking in to deeply or in the wrong way, he's experienced, so he never has to worry about how deep he's going. His favorite bite spot is your breasts but he will tease and place playful bites over the rest of your body as well.

❥ After a few bites he'll end it by making your orgasm together and he'll moan your name. He's not much for talk but he's super sweet to you after. Let's you do the biting or the drinking as much as you like before cuddling into him and when you finish, he smiles, running his hand through your hair.

~He will say things like~

--- 'You know, you'll never get rid of me now right?'

--- 'Relax baby, I got you'

--- 'Love that sweetness in your voice,' tugging you down, "You want more?'

--- 'That's right sweet girl, don't you know what you've gotten yourself into?'

❥ When he's done, he will lick your body and wounds, healing them with his blood if necessary and lay you down while covering your face and lips in kisses, letting your suck the remaining blood from his lips while slowly fucking you.

Elijah

~Saving the best for last~

❥ When you tell him that you want him to drink your blood during sex it shocks him but before you can even open your mouth and explain he just picks you up and carries you to the bedroom, kissing you gently and asking where you want him to bite you.

❥ Very delicate, pristine, he will have you under him, safe in his bed with him holding you against his chest, biting his own wrist first and then yours. For him, drinking is different, the intimacy increases as he stares into your eyes as he takes your blood for the first time. It's deeply romantic for him, he'll keep you close to his heart while doing so, telling you how good you are and how much he loves you.

❥ He's hesitant, he doesn't want to hurt you in any way so he asks a dozen times to make sure it's okay. He's so gentle when he drinks, he strokes your hair and then your face, watching to see what you're feeling and reacting to it, but then he starts to drink more and when he is tasting the very essence of you he groans against your neck, overwhelmed by the sight of you underneath him and by the taste of your blood on his tongue. He is sure you're too beautiful to actually be his.

❥ His favorite thing is to have you climax the same time he drinks, so he can taste your lust and your blood on his tongue and it has the added effect of you clinging on to him, shaking and squeezing around him, while feeding him, opening yourself up to him.

❥ When you bite him he has a little quirk. He will have a light chuckle that grows a bit as the pleasure courses through him, holding you tight against him as he feels your mouth on him. You're sweet, wonderful and a pleasurable little dove to him and the chuckle melts to a groan.

~He will say things like~

--- 'Are you sure, my love? This is a...intimate act, something I've craved from you, for us to feel connected as one,'

--- 'That's it,' pulling you closer to him, feeling your heartbeat, 'take what you need,'

--- 'I love you,' He takes your hand and kisses your palm tenderly, 'Are you sure this is what you want?'

--- 'Good girl, sweet girl, that's it, yes. Let me feel you give in to it.'

--- 'Can you feel my blood in your veins? How connected we are?'

❥ He will run his tongue all along your neck and the parts he's bitten making sure there's no mess and that you are okay. Has an affectionate way of sitting you up and stroking your back as he does so, kissing your shoulder in-between murmurs of praise, how good you were and how it's important for you to be comfortable during and after.

❥ He will clean you up and heal you afterwards and wrap his arms around your body while whispering adoring words into your ear, kisses trailing over your face and your neck. He will whisper 'Thank you' in the softest voice that causes you to wrap your arms around him, feeling safe and loved as you thank him back.

Finn

~Born a hater, die a hater~

When you ask him to bloodshare, he goes still. Blinking at you once then twice, but stays silent, denying your request.

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

♡ @gorgeouslydangerous ♡ @starkleila ♡ @lydia1369sworld ♡ @notleylaaa ♡ @vampiresluv ♡ @vamprium ♡ @myanmy ♡ @xflowerbombxo ♡ @maryvibess ♡ @always-and-forever-daydreaming ♡ @criminallminds ♡ @theesexystallion ♡ @rosemarypotion ♡ @spnaquakindgdom ♡ @amournoir ♡ @loving-and-dreaming ♡

♡ @meeom ♡ @damienmorton ♡ @wickedmuse ♡ @sunkissedebony97 ♡ @idk00sblog ♡ @savannaounana ♡ @cs-please ♡ complicatedandconfusing-25 @hamiltimes ♡ @akala6670229 ♡ @yeaiamme2 ♡ @itsjulzandmydiamonds ♡ @spideysbabe ♡ @witch-of-letters ♡ @elijahmikaelsonsboy

[okaysonny]

Gun relationship hcs Pls!! I love ur fics smmm!!!😋😋

dating headcanons ╏ gun park

a/n: ptj is in a throuple with gun and his wife so you're better off asking him :/ but tysm anon! ❤️ here's my take (^_-)

✦ i won't sugar coat...you have to be good looking loool. appearances are important to him.

✦ No ambition. No determination. No will. No money. In short, losers.

yes, i think this also applies to what he likes romantically! maybe not the money bit, but he finds tenacity + aspiration attractive traits. gun finds it hella lame if you have no goal or purpose in life.

✦ independencey + competency is also very important to him. gun's days are hectic and dangerous...he doesn’t really want to spend time coddling you 😖 leaves you to your own devices (for the most part) because he knows you can look after yourself.

✦ nonchalant gimmick to the MAX with this one. i think with guarded characters like samuel, johan, xiaolung etc, you can manage to make them flustered. gun? no. do something bold/sensual and the most he'll give is one of those amused smirks 😭

✦ idk the best way to phrase this without making you seem like a tool...but because of the environment he grew up in, gun views (committed) relationships like an obligation. it's something he thinks about when he wants to settle down. so if you're dating gun, you're dating to marry.

✦ probably wants kids to continue the bloodline, but again, this is really out of (what he thinks are) obligations, because he's not fond of them 😅

✦ gun's love languages: receiving gifts + quality time.

on receiving gifts: he's rich so that #lavish lifestyle is to be expected 😇 idk if gun is the type to let you go wild on his credit card, but he gives expensive gifts, because he thinks it's a good way to show affection without saying it.

on quality time: remember when he saw him wood carving while listening to music? surprised me very much! i did not think he'd be into that 😭

i'm taking this detail and headcanoning that he enjoys tranquil hobbies in general (pottery and gardening? 🤔) to unwind from all the chaos. and these are only things he does by himself!

at a certain point in your relationship, gun invites you to join him. just silence as he hands you a knife and a block of wood. it's actually boring as fuck, like watching paint dry boring. but he wants to spend time with you!!! he's turning his 'me' time into 'me + you' time. you're terrible at wood carving, but gun doesn't mind teaching you.

✦ a cute little scenario: you're super sick and gun makes a japanese flu remedy for you. it tastes like ass ❤️

but again, this is his way of saying he cares. why would you ruin the moment ?

✦ he likes receiving: words of affirmation + acts of service.

✦ so yes, i think gun very much shows his affection though actions. he gives you his umbrella when it's raining 😆

"why don't we just share it?" gun: 😮

✦ if you want this man...please reconsider he is very weird and goo is a better bf.

✦ eventually, gun finds your relationship doesn't feel like an obligation anymore. it's his volition. 𖹭

divider: @plutism

[strawbeerossi]

You Think, Genius?

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: Being friends with Spencer Reid is an adventure within itself. Movie nights are no exception.

Content/Warnings: Friends type humor, tension, mention of food/food fight, best friends to lovers trope, heavy kissing, very sweet smut (wild because I hardly write that, I feel like lmao).

Word Count: 2.7k

Anon Request: spencer reid x sarcastic funny reader? not mean but like kinda like Chandler from friends humour? with earlish seasons reid (season 3/4)ish cute smut. ADDING TO THE SARCASTIC!READER SHE AND SPENCE HAVE A BESTFRIENDS TO LOVERS ARC 🫶🫶

Navigation || Criminal Minds Masterlist || Request

RIP Matthew Perry, thank you for playing the king of sarcasm and being my inspiration for this. 🩷

“Serial killers and childhood neglect have actually been linked together for years. Some of the most notorious serial killers were abused in some shape or fashion at home. Which makes sense whenever you take into account how easy it is to psychologically break a person and cause them to shut down, children being more receptive than most adults.” Spencer rambled on about some study he had been reading about.

Everyone was mostly tuned out besides you, your left hand holding the travel size cereal box up in clear view, your eyes wide. “That explains why I can’t stop eating this cereal! My mom made my life a living hell and now, all I think about is cereal. Oh god.” You said in a sarcastic tone, causing Derek to chuckle from his desk.

“She’s a cereal killer.” He joked while you both were giggling, making Spencer look between you and Derek, a confused expression on his face.

“She’s not a serial killer. I don’t think she’d be working here if she was one.”

The laughter continued on at your coworker’s obliviousness. “No, Spence,” JJ shook her head as she approached your chair, gently taking the little box before holding it up. “The joke is that she’s eating cereal. Cereal killer.” The blonde explained as you were turning back to Spencer.

“Oh, it’s no joke. I’ve got six bodies in my apartment right now. Just waiting to get home to do away with them.” You continued on, a little snort leaving your lips as you were getting your cereal back.

As you were pushing a handful in your mouth, you watched as Spencer looked at you with his head tilted to the side. “You haven’t killed anyone. I know that for a fact. You’re too nice.” He said while he was tapping his pen against his desk, JJ let out a huff and waved him off before she was walking away from your desk to get to her office.

“Isn’t there such a thing as killing people with kindness? That is my big move. I will be nice to them and boom,” You punched the palm of your hand to appear menacing. “I go in for the kill.”

Spencer was shaking his head with a soft giggle at the mere idea of it, your sarcasm slowly seeping through the cracks in an obvious way where he could see it.

“Right. How foolish of me to not understand it.” He joked softly while looking back down to the page he’d been doodling on. Your humor was new to Spencer, something he wasn’t really used to. You were a very sarcastic person, hardly ever having a conversation without injecting the encounter with your wit and sarcasm. He was still pretty clueless with it, however he felt he was getting better. Especially now that you had him saying his own sarcastic phrases at random times. It was weird for the rest of the team seeing the way you’d slowly brought Spencer out of that little bubble he was used to.

He was always the one who didn’t understand jokes or take sarcasm, appearing confused a good chunk of his career from the jokes and lighthearted banter. Being friends with you was a good way to learn how to understand though, which was why he was so lucky that you were his best friend.

“I was thinking of watching a movie. Do you wanna join me?” You asked, packing up your things as you looked over at Spencer as he raised an eyebrow.

“Tonight?” He asked, making you shake your head.

“No. Next week.” You answered with a deadpan expression while he crinkled his nose.

“You’re.. Being sarcastic..” He began while you rolled your eyes fondly with a smile.

“You think, genius? Come on, are you gonna come over or not?” You asked while putting your bag over your shoulder.

“I don’t see why not. Can we watch that new show that’s airing tonight?” He asked curiously, already following you out of the bullpen. He knew you’d give him a ride rather than sending him to go on the metro and meet you there later.

“Sure. I’ve been interested in it anyway. The new sci-fi one, right?” You asked as you made it to the parking garage with him as you were both in search of your car.

“Yes! It actually looks very interesting because from what I’ve read, they don’t make up their own rules as they go. They are using actual scientific data and evidence.” He gushed while you were clapping your hands together.

“Like learning in school! Oh how I loved school!” You were laughing as he had taken notice of the sarcasm and nudged your arm.

“Seriously. It’s going to be great! You may not think it now but you’ll enjoy it while learning about the real world when it comes to tech and space exploration.”

“We’ll have to see about that Dr. Reid.”

The ride back to your apartment was peaceful, the sounds of some radio station filling the quiet atmosphere of the car as you passed by numerous street signs. The comfortable silence was something you liked, never needing to strike up a conversation to enjoy Spencer’s company. Even if he was just reading while you were on your phone.

Back at your apartment, you’d just gotten the channel you needed pulled up, having about ten minutes until the show was supposed to air. Spencer made sure to tape it back at his own apartment, wanting to go back and watch alone to fully appreciate the show for more than its entertainment quality.

“Do you want me to run to the kitchen and get snacks?”

“You don’t have to run, Reid. You can walk.”

“Ha ha. So funny. Snacks or not?”

You were waving him off with a little laugh, offering a smile. “Yeah, yeah. Please go get some snacks. I think I have a big bag of that buttered popcorn you’re obsessed with.”

Spencer practically skipped to the kitchen upon hearing the news, retrieving one of your mixing bowls from one of your cupboards. After filling it up generously with the snack of choice, he was stopped by the fridge to grab two water bottles. With the two cold beverages under his arm, he was hurrying to the living room.

“I think we are all set.” He beamed with pride while placing the bowl on the table.

“Perfect. You’re right on time. It should start after these commercials.” You informed him while leaning forward to get a handful of popcorn from the bowl. While pushing a piece of popcorn into your mouth, you were only raising an eyebrow when you felt a pair of eyes on you. “What?” You asked, head turning to face Spencer as he quickly put his hands up in self defense.

“Nothing! I just wanted to see if it was good, that's all.”

“Right. I hate to tell you this, it tastes like buttered garbage. I don’t think you should subject yourself to eating it.” You joked, picking up a piece before flicking it in his direction, his eyes widening as he felt the snack hit his cheek.

“That could’ve taken out my eye!”

“Too bad it didn’t. We could get you an eyepatch.”

That was when Spencer took it a step further, getting a small handful of popcorn before throwing it in your direction. He was too busy laughing at your expression that mirrored his shock from earlier, pieces of popcorn in your hair and some on the couch.

“Is it a war that you want?”

“Me? You started it! Call it returned fire.”

That kickstarted a popcorn fight that didn’t seem to let up. Spencer was reaching into the now empty bowl before letting his eyes widen. He had no more ammo yet you had two handfuls. He was done for.

“You can apologize and we can end this.” You warned, your body now propped up on your knees as you had eventually turned to face him on the couch. “Just one ‘I’m sorry’ can end this bloodshed.”

“Never.”

“Suit yourself, Reid.” You were winding back one hand whenever Spencer was moving quickly to grip your wrist. There was some screaming, some laughing, and eventually you were being wrestled down onto the couch.

“Drop it!” Spencer laughed, both of your wrists being pinned down. “You do that and this will be all over.”

“No way.” You laughed, panting as you were being pinned down, some of Spencer’s long hair tickling the skin of your cheeks. You had both been in that position for a few more minutes before things calmed down, leaving you and the man above you to stare at one another and wait to reach a stalemate.

There was a growing tension, your faces only inches apart as he had you trapped between his body and the couch. Those beautiful eyes were looking down at you, almost as if Spencer was using the close proximity to take in every feature on your face. It was enough to make your face flush, cheeks hot from his gaze fixed on you and only you. The sound of the opening credits for the show you were supposed to be watching was playing in the background yet you could only look at each other.

There wasn’t a beat missed as he leaned down, lips against yours in a soft, yet cautious kiss. He felt like he had to play it safe, although the way you were feverishly returning the kiss told him all that he needed to know.

There was a fiery passion as your lips slotted together, almost as if they were made for one another. Your hands were moving to tangle in his hair, legs now wrapped around his waist as you both gave in to your urges that were always bubbling under the surface for however long you’d known the loveable genius.

It felt right, in a way. The way your were wrapped in one another’s embrace while having a moment of passion that you never expected to happen. However you had to admit, this was better than you ever thought.

Spencer was pulling out of the kiss, face flushed as he stared down at you with a shy smile. “It felt right. I’m sorry.” He whispered, only being pleased with the way you responded by pulling him down to connect your lips again, wanting to savor another moment as if he were going to disappear in thin air if you let him get too far.

The kiss had escalated soon enough, both of your clothes in a pile on the floor as you were tangled up on the couch, nothing but underwear separating you from each other. “Are you sure that you want this?” Spencer soon asked, his forehead against yours. Your friendship was always special to him, so naturally, he was worried about preserving those positive memories and the relationship as a whole.

“Definitely sure. I’ve thought about this for years.” For once, you were genuine. There was no hint of sarcasm dripping from your tone. That’s how he knew this was serious. “I’ve always loved you. I know you know that because I tell you all the time but it’s.. It's different than loving your best friend.”

Your confession had Spencer’s cheeks bright red, head nodding slowly to show he was paying attention. “Y-yeah. I love you more than a friend too.” He said slowly while he was bringing his hands down your hips, his fingertips tracing over your hot skin as he was hooking his fingers in the waistband of your panties.

Your hips lifted to assist him tugging your underwear down, your own cheeks hot from being exposed in one of your most intimate areas. It wasn’t like you hadn’t had sex before and you had confidence when you did but this seemed different.

“I need.. Hold on.” Spencer began while pushing himself up a bit, your watching with a raised eyebrow as you propped yourself up on your elbows. He went for his slacks, getting his wallet.

“Are you gonna pay me for this?”

“What?! No! I-I just..” He began, shuffling through the wallet before he was pulling a condom from one of the wallet folds.

“You have a condom? You were planning for this?”

“No! I have.. I asked Derek for one. Obviously not for tonight but I had to be prepared!” He said quickly while tossing his wallet on the table.

You didn’t tease him any farther, instead your eyes gazing over his body as he was shimmying out of his boxers while standing. Just kissing you had his cock semi-hard, his hand wrapping around his shaft to give a few pumps in order to complete the process although it wasn’t too hard with the anticipation of what was to come tonight.

After sliding on the contraception, he was heading over to get settled between your legs. His eyes were glancing over your glistening pussy, your arousal shining in the dim light of the living room. “Wow.” He whispered, hand moving between your thighs as his thumb pressed against your throbbing clit. The pressure alone was enough to make your mouth go slack.

“Fuck.” You breathed while feeling the pad of his thumb start to rub your clit, your arousal coating it with each swipe. He was taking his time with teasing you, at least.

When he was finished with massaging the bundle of nerves and he couldn’t hold back any more, he was grabbing his cock before lining his tip along with your entrance, thick tip breaching your slick cunt as he was slowly pushing into you when you were both ready enough.

There was a pleasurable burn as he was stretching out your inner walls, your hands tightly gripping onto his shoulders as you pulled his body down onto yours just to feel his skin against yours. It was oddly more intimate than you could’ve expected, even with him staying perfectly still with his cock nestled deep inside of you.

There was a soft gasp leaving your lips when he gave a slow thrust, just testing the waters for now as he didn’t wanna go too crazy before you were ready. He didn’t plan on going super hard anyway, that wasn’t who he was. “You alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Keep going.” You urged.

Once you proved comfortable enough due to your persistence, Spencer’s thrusts began to pick up a steady pace and rhythm. Your moans were enough encouragement for him to feel confident enough in the act, not shying away from you as much as anyone would’ve expected.

They rhythmic sound of his skin slapping against yours coupled with your gasps, shaky breaths and moans were filling the living room, the long forgotten show still filling the background noise. Spencer had since embraced you, one arm wrapped under your frame as the other kept himself pushed up over you. He just wanted to feel you close, to hold you as he made love to you.

It was beautiful to him, the way you were holding him and keeping him close in return. It was like you were the only people in the world, no responsibilities other than being close to one another. The warmth of your flushed skin against his was all he needed to be happy.

It was a dream, essentially. A dream so vibrant that Spencer didn’t want it to end, even if he knew that realistically he couldn’t be in a dreamland forever.

As he was torn from his thoughts at the feeling of your hands on his cheeks, he was offering you a smile as you were locking eyes with one another. “I love you.” He said softly, repeating what you’d both confessed earlier while leaning down to press his lips against yours.

It was after the fact whenever you were finally speaking again, body sitting up from the spot you were in on the couch as Spencer had retreated to the kitchen to dispose of the used condom. “Do you wanna come take a shower with me? No funny business.” You put your hands up in defense.

“No. It’s too personal for me to see you naked.” For the first time, Spencer was the one to be sarcastic with you, making you both burst into laughter.

“I’ve taught you well. Come on.”

[allisluv]

this is definitely not inspired by a recent dream of mine

if you had a wet dream about finnick odair. GOD IF YOU HAD ONE ... the first thing you feel when you wake up in the semi-darkness of your room, your eyes squinting at his still sleeping figure, would be SHAME. you just feel miserable because you feel like you're like these capitol's citizens who are unable to see past his divine beauty </3

you go to get a glass of water, and wake up with finnick, half asleep, in the doorway, concern on his face. you don't want to tell him directly what is the cause of your awakening but we all know that he will manage to get the words out of you.

he does not blame you for a moment. "you should see my dreams about you", he says without a care and leaves you speechless. and then ... the dream becomes reality <3

he wears the most smug look after + says something like "i bet it was better than that dream"

— 🫀

dreams.

summary: finnick takes care of you after an... imaginative dream

a/n: hi hi hi! i've never written smut before so constructive criticism is welcome just please don't be mean because i will cry (fr) thank you anon for your request + i hope this lived up to expectations <3

content warnings: established relationship, porn with a little dash of plot, oral (fem!recieving), praise kink, use of the phrase good girl, unprotected p in v (please wrap it before you tap it), lots of consent and finnick being cheeky as always. oh and not proofread for the time being

pairing: finnick o'dair x fem!reader

It takes a while for you to register your surroundings when you shake yourself awake. It's dark in your room and you have to squint in order to make out Finnick's sleeping figure next to you. His chest rises and falls in shallow breaths and you're relieved that you didn't wake him.

As the dream runs through your head like an old movie, you squeeze your thighs together to get rid of the ache between your legs. Shame bubbles in your chest and bile hits the back of your throat.

Wasn't this exactly what the people in the Capitol did? Got off to the thought of him kissing his way up their bodies? You bite the inside of your cheek until you can’t focus on anything other than the metallic taste of blood flooding your mouth.

You pull the covers back and swing your legs over the side of the bed, padding across the wooden floorboards in your bare feet. Flicking on the light switch in the kitchen, you grab an empty glass before filling it with cold water from the faucet.

A pair of warm hands sneaking their way around your stomach is the first thing that you manage to register in your hazy mind. Finnick presses a kiss against the shell of your ear before asking, "What’re you doing up this early, honey?"

"Couldn't sleep," you murmur, setting the glass back onto the marble countertop. “Did I wake you?”

Finnick presses a kiss to the crown of your head as his fingers trace patterns up and down your arms. “Your side of the bed was cold. Was wondering where you'd gotten to, that's all," he shrugs and turns you around to face him. "You gonna tell me whats going on in that head of yours? Was it a bad dream?"

You slide onto the countertop and Finnick's hands instinctively fall to your hips. "Something like that," you mutter. "It's nothing."

"Doesn't sound like nothing," he prompts, gently using his thumb and index finger to tilt your head towards him. Your gaze remains glued to the wall behind him but he angles his head to catch your eye. "I need you to use your words, baby, cause I don't understand."

You shift uncomfortably on the countertop, praying that he'll drop it, (which isn't likely to happen, because Finnick O'dair is the text-book definition of stubborn). "I didn't have a bad dream."

"Then what was it?" Finnick asks, his eyebrows knitting together in a blend of confusion and concern. Warmth creeps across your cheeks. "Oh."

You try to bury your face in your hands but his reflexes are quick and he catches your wrists in between his fingers. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about, baby. You should see my dreams about you," he grins proudly. "Why didn't you say something sooner, honey? Are you gonna let me take care of you?"

Goosebumps rise on your skin as your tongue runs over your lips. You nod without making a sound.

Finnick's fingers skim the lace at the bottom of your nightdress. He's teasing. "Gotta hear you use your words, baby." His hand trails higher and higher until he's tracing feather-light touches along the outline of your black underwear. "Come on, use your words for me."

Your heart beats against your ribcage as he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your stomach. It's hard to think when your thoughts are consumed by him. He pulls your nightgown up to your hips, exposing your damp panties. His thumb toys with the hem. "Please," you whine breathlessly.

"Please what baby?" he peers up at you through his lashes. "You know I'll give you whatever you want, just need to hear you say it."

"Please fuck me."

He gives a satisfied hum and sinks to his knees in front of you. "Good girl. My gorgeous, needy girl. Am I gonna find you soaked under here?" His fingers work the soft material down your thighs. "Can I?"

"Please touch me." Your hips chase forward in search of his hand and he runs his fingers through your folds. Your eyes squeeze shut, hand balling his white shirt into your fist. "Oh my god."

He drops his hand and buries his face in your cunt, tongue easing you open as he tracks his way to your clit. Your hands find purchase in his hair and you tug hard.

"You feel so good," you scratch his scalp with your blunt nails and he moans into your cunt. Finnick reaches between your legs, his fingers feeling between your folds as he sucks on your sensitive clit. Familiar tightness was coiling in your core and, as if he could sense it, Finnick stood up.

You whined at the loss of contact but he swallowed it with a kiss. His warm hands smooth your hair out of your face and back behind your shoulders. He was always so gentle with you.

You threw your head back and he obliged by trailing wet kisses down the expanse of your neck. He hummed against your skin as you tug at the hem of his t-shirt desperately.

Finnick chuckles as you strip him of the thin cotton. You toss it to the side, not bothering to look where it lands. All you can focus on is how much you want him to fuck you.

Finnick kisses you lazily and pulls down his sweatpants and boxers in one go. You palm his bare cock and he twitches in your hand, hot and heavy. "Are you sure you're ready for me baby? I don't wanna hurt you or anything," he frowns.

You kiss the crown of his forehead and pull your nightgown over your head. The cold air nips at your bare breasts and Finnick's eyes darken at the sight. "I can handle it. Please, need to feel you."

Finnick grips your hips in his gentle hands and lines himself up with your entrance. His tongue slips into your mouth as he pushes into you with such force that the breath is knocked from your lungs. No matter how many times he fucks you, it always takes a while for you to accommodate to his size.

He presses gentle kisses to your nose and your cheeks before finally brushing his lips against yours once more. "You still with me, honey?" He brushes a hand across your forehead, wiping away the strands of hair that had gotten stuck from the sweat. "Being such a good girl for me, sweetheart. Always so good for me. Stretching me so well."

Your pain soon morphs to pleasure and as your hips cant forward, he thrusts to meet you. "Feel so full, Finnick," your nails drag against his bare back, no doubt leaving marks.

"Yeah?" Finnick smirks, lifting one of your legs and wrapping it around his waist. The angle drives him deeper inside you, and to make it even more impossible to string together a coherent sentence, he drags his tongue over your sensitive nipples. "Are you getting close, baby? Yeah you are, I can feel you squeezing me."

He kisses you slowly as he pushes his hips to meet yours again. Your mouth leaves his and you kiss along his jawline, moaning into his ear as he fucks you. "Finnick," you whine, clinging to the space between his shoulder blades. It's the only word you can think of. Your thoughts are consumed with him.

"I've got you, honey," he hisses as his hips slam into you. "Come for me. You're beautiful, baby. Come for me, I know you can do it, I'm so close--"

Finnick surges up to capture your mouth in a kiss as your orgasm washes over you like the waves outside your house. Finnick's hips still and you can feel his warm seed pumping into you.

Too exhausted to hold yourself up, you collapse against Finnick, who holds you close as you both come down from your high. Your kisses are sloppy and languid but you feel so warm, so full, that nothing else really matters.

You whine when he pulls out but it's not so bad when he's soothing it better with soft kisses and gentle caresses. He whispers that he loves you and offers to carry you to the bath but not before getting one smart remark in. "Bet I was better than in the dream, huh, honey?"

[mythicmanuscripts]

Just a notion relating to sub aemond

Imagine not being a native speaker of high valyrian but learning the phrase good boy in high Valyrian and then out of nowhere one day just springing it on him when he's close to finishing, and then he does epically

I think the best way is to use it sparingly only on special occasions when he's been extra good so it doesn't loose its affect on him😂

Idk if its just me but I think that shits hawtttt

(Big fan of your blog btw!!!)

Absolutely brilliant idea anon! I love this so so much.

NSFW sub!aemond below the cut!

My immediate thought with this was actually just that Aemond would probably get so emotional to realise you spending time to learn something important to him? I don't just mean a wholeass language either. If he realises you've been reading some of his favourite history books or taking note of his favourite foods or even just asking him about his training.

From the moment he was born he had countless duties shoved upon him. He had so many expectations of him the moment he was born and all he's ever known is desperate attempts to meet those expectations and always failing by virtue of being the second son.

Of course he eventually learnt his own interests and things he enjoys, mostly just riding Vhagar, reading and training. He never actually thought he'd have anyone take any interest to what he likes, and he certainly never expected anyone to actually want to spend time with him.

So when he meets his future wife and you start to ask him things about what he likes, he's confused. At first he thinks you're just trying to make small talk to make things less awkward and he really has no idea what to do with himself when you actually remember everything and bring things up later and try to form a real connection with him.

The first time you mention that you were actually busy reading a book he had said was one of his favourites he has to turn away from you to prevent you from seeing the tears welling in his eyes. He just... he didn't know it was possible to actually bond with someone like he is with you.

(Sidenote before we get into the actual content of the ask: I think in response to this he would dive head first into literally anything you were interested in. You best believe he will read every favourite book of yours multiple times, will ensure the kitchen is always stocked with your favourite foods, will spend hours learning about something you like)

I think the idea to learn a few choice High Valyrian words and phrases came about when you started to realise how much Aemond prides himself on his High Valyrian. You knew he was fluent, but it takes a while to realise that he has spent many many more hours learning it than necessary and he prides himself on being able to speak and read it fluently.

So you decide to surprise him by learning a few special words and phrases in the language. It takes a while before you can find a tutor that you're confident won't spoil the surprise but once you do, you get to work on ensuring your pronunciation is perfect.

The first time you call him a good boy this way is during a very intense scene. Aemond loves to be pushed and wrecked, loves being made to cum so many times he can't stop twitching and whining. For his last orgasm of the day, you ride him and just as you're about to finish you whisper 'good boy' in high Valyrian in his ear and yup he's done for. It takes him HOURS to come back from subspace that time, just laying with you and letting you look after him without a care in the word because... because good boy.

After that reaction you ensure to use it whenever he's been really really good and no matter how many times you do so, it always turns him completely to mush.

I also think he'd be so touched and happy if you started trying to learn the language properly? The moment he finds out you're still meeting with the tutor he confronts you and when you say you know it's important to him so you want to learn it, he nearly starts crying again.

Needless to say, he tells you to stop paying the tutor and to let him help you. At first you're worried about it because he's obviously very very far ahead in it, but you quickly realise he absolutely loves teaching you. Normally he has no time for those he seems less intelligent but it's completely different with you because he doesn't see you that way at all. He's well aware of just how intelligent you are in other fields and he's so touched that you'd learn a whole language for him.

Some of Aemond's favourite nights are the ones spent curled up by the fireplace with you, a book in High Valyrian on his lap with you leaning against him, listening or trying to read some of it. Over time you become fluent in it and pretty soon Aemond speaks to you more in High Valyrian than he does in English.

[gghostwriter]

Can I request a Lil fluff with the team (mainly Spence) where the reader had a massive potty mouth (like they're from a country that isn't so harsh about swearing, England, Australia, New Zealand?) But she's all very professional when need be but when talking with the team she's cursing up a storm (maybe the terms "good cunt" and "shit cunt" turn up?

Good cunt means someones great, amazing

Shit cunt meaning well someone's bad) and Spence gets anxious but she reassures him that she's not swearing AT him but more making sure her words hit to where they need to go?

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader Trope: Friends who Flirt (?) ; Fluff just fluff! w.c: 0.9k Warning: CM violence; citizenship inaccuracies idk A/N: Apologies again that this took a while! I am not from Australia so I had to search up some more slangs to use for this. I hope I did it justice and I had fun writing this, Anon! Thank you for requesting 💗 Main masterlist

Down Under. // Spencer Reid

It wasn’t your fault the Americans didn’t have ‘swearing’ programmed in their DNA. It was although your fault why you ended up in the FBI—receiving looks and eyebrow raises from the team—rather than in a bustling city of your homegrown country in the southern hemisphere, Australia. 

But you really couldn’t blame yourself now could you? The idea of giving up your citizenship to be a part of the illustrious BAU was too good to pass up. So you packed your bags, entered the FBI Academy, and passed with flying colors—nearing perfect that David Rossi pulled ranks just to get you in the team even with how green you still were. 

“So what do we have?” you asked, rounding into the conference room with Spencer in tow. 

“Sadly, my precious koala, we have murder,” Penelope answered with the remote in her hand, flashing the photographs of numerous mutilated bodies. “Jacksonville, Florida reported a series of killings over the past month and it’s not looking pretty. Each victim had been dumped in alley ways and all missing a toe.” 

JJ slightly reeled back. “Well, that’s a new type of trophy.” 

“It’s not very common,” Spencer backed up. “Jerome Brudos, ‘the Shoe Fetish Slayer’ is the only known serial killer that kept a foot trophy from his first victim. He was only named as such because of his disturbing foot fetish and collection of women’s shoe catalogs that he considered as pornographic material.” 

“Ah a shit cunt,” you remarked, making Spencer shift on his seat to look at you with inquiry. 

“Y/N,” Emily warned. “Alright, wheels up in thirty.” 

———

The case file was too thin for the team’s liking. How was it that a serial killer with five, possibly six, victims under his belt only had a couple of pages on it and with incomplete identifications and no missing or initial reports done. 

“Emily, is this it?” Luke waved the slim folder up in the air. “I mean, I know the victims were all homeless but damn. Did they even walk and ask around?” 

She sighed. “I called it in and the only reason we were invited is due to the upcoming elections.” 

“Bogan coppers are they? Why doesn’t that surprise me at the least,” you scoffed

“Matt and Luke, you’ll visit the last location of the body—” Emily instructed before turning to the rest of the team. “JJ, coordinate with the media to get them to cooperate. Y/N and Reid, talk to the forensics. Rossi and I will settle base at the station.” 

A series of hums and agreements echoed throughout the compact jet before settling into a lull. 

Spencer shifted on his seat, turning to face you who was busy shifting through the papers. “Hey, in the office you—“ he cleared his throat. “said a phrase, what did it mean?” 

You turned slightly, noting his nervous gaze. “You mean ‘shit cunt’?” 

He nodded. 

“It means someone bad, low life, scum of the earth—wait, you don’t think I meant you, right?” 

“What—no, no!” He sighed, having spied your raised eyebrow. “Well, maybe? I didn’t know what it meant so I don’t know.” 

You giggled. “Spence, if I was going to describe you it would be—pardon my French, good cunt.” 

“For someone so tiny, you sure do curse a lot,” Rossi interjected. 

“What can I say, us from down under just have colorful vocabulary,” you shrugged. 

———

The team was finally back in home base after five days in the sweltering heat of Florida and you couldn’t feel any more tired than this moment as you waited for your sister to come pick you up. Granted you could taken the last train ride home but you just didn’t trust yourself to not miss your stop plus she volunteered so you hastily agreed—never one to say no. 

“I think I’ll wait until your sister arrives for you,” Spencer volunteered, taking your go bag out of your hands. 

“I am an FBI agent, Dr. Reid,” you teased. “Perfectly capable of taking care of myself”

“And I don’t disagree! I’ve seen you take down Luke in training and shoot multiple unsubs but you look dead to your feet.” 

You blushed, grateful that the night made it less obvious. “So are you my knight in shining armor then?” 

He cleared his throat, holding on to your gaze. “I could be.” 

You sucked in a breath. 

The temperature between you suddenly felt hot. Did that mean what you think it meant? Did that mean he liked you too? You opened your mouth to ask but was interrupted by a car halting to a stop in front of you. 

It was your sister, what rotten timing.

“Oh please, stop caking and get in before I get ticketed or better yet make it worth it and just pash already!” She shouted through the rolled down window. 

“Caking? Pash?” Spencer repeated. 

“Well—I have to go. Thanks for keeping me safe, Spence.” 

He stops you on your tracks, holding to your hand. “Wait what do those two words mean?” 

You laughed, squeezing his hand in return, and felt a sudden burst of confidence. “Come find me when you figure it out.” 

With a wink, you left Spencer dumbfounded and dazed on the sidewalk.

Some notes: Bogan - an uncouth or unsophisticated person Coppers - policemen Caking - flirting Pash - passionate kiss

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[ryusuisloveinterest]

Hii, it's 🚙anon. Thanks for the last headcanon!

And so with the new idea (will write more later)

The Five Wise Generals and their s/o who has bad hearing/is deaf. How would the guys treat them, interact, learn to communicate and what will be the reason they fall in love w/them? (Ukyo will be interesting)

Welcome back 🚙 anon!! I had such a fun time writing this so I hope you like it! Let me know if you’d like anything else!

5 wise generals with a deaf S/o💖🌷

Senku:

I feel like he would know basic sign language

Like hello, yes, no, etc.

He’s definitely down to learn

Will probably pick up everything in like one or two days

He’d also make you hearing aids if you want them (or whatever implant thing people get I don’t remember what it is)

If you start crying when you hear for the first time, he’ll smirk and place a hand on your back

“Heh, what wrong? Already tired of hearing all the noise?”

I don’t think he’d just sit down and teach you how pronounce things

He’d just throw you in random situations and sign to you on the side what people are saying 

If you don’t want hearing aids then he doesn’t mind occasionally being your interpreter, but there are some times he is too busy to help out

Wouldn’t treat you like your fragile, expects the same thing from you as he expects of everything else

He doesn’t really react when you first say I love you

Just smiles and nods

“Yknow I love you too”

Chrome:

“Soooo you don’t have the fuzzy eye sickness but you have the stuffy eye sickness????”

He’s really trying his best

Definitely wants to learn sign language, it just might take him longer to learn than senku

It still might not click to him fully that you’re deaf cause he still kinda shouts to get your attention

“y/n…. Y/n…Y/N…!!!”

Everyone just looks at him like wtf is your deal bro then it clicks to him again lol

He’d have no problem being your translator, but like I said before he’d have a harder time learning than senku, so he might be a bit frustrated with HIMSELF (he’d never be frustrated with you!) that he can’t help you more

If you want hearing aids/surgery then he’ll do everything in his power to get it for you 

Has no idea what to do if you start tearing up from hearing 

“Wha- I don’t- is something wrong??? Is it too loud????” He asks in the loudest voice possible

Definitely teaches you words and phrases one by one, contrasting from senku

Will definitely start off with phrases like, “chrome is my boyfriend” or “chrome is so cute”

When he hears you say you love him he immediately gets overwhelmed with love and emotion and starts to cry

“S-sorry… I don’t know whats gotten over me… I love you too my gem…!”

Stop bro chrome is so freakin cute!!!

Gen:

This MORON

Does not give a flip that your deaf, but he uses you so much to get out of working

“Sorry dear Senku-Chan~ but my sweet y/n needs help communicating with Francois so I’ll be on my way then” he says knowing damn well that Francois knows way more sign language than Gen could ever dream of of course Senku knows this and still makes him work

He loooooovees whispering somewhat dirty things in your ear because he knows you can’t hear it, but he always does it when he’s behind you cause he doesn’t want you reading his lips

“My sweet y/n If you only knew what you did to me. All I wanna do is kiss every inch of your beautiful body until I’ve covered every last in of you”

And then he just walks off like nothing ever happened 💀

Like Senku he probably already knows basic sign language and of course is willing to learn more, but just cannot grasp anything being taught to him

If you’re really good at reading lips he’ll just stick to that 

If not then he’ll keep learning but mainly write you notes

If you get hearing aids/surgery then he’ll quickly begin teaching you how to speak 

You remember how I said he just randomly comes up from behind you and whispers perverted things in your ear?

There was a time he forgot you had hearing aids and said all those things😗

The only reason he remembered was because of the deep shade of red that spread all over your face

When you are able to say I love you, his face is just shocked

But it soon fades into a sincere smile

“I love you too my heart”

Ukyo:

Ukyo would love you no matter what

Has no problem using sign language or writing things down on a piece of paper

If he learns sign language then he’d learn it faster than chrome but not as fast as senku

I still think Ukyo would want you to speak though 

I’m not saying the other generals wouldn’t want to hear your voice, but Ukyo NEEDS to hear it 

Doesn’t matter what you think your voice would sound like, Ukyo thinks it’s beautiful because it’s part of you

If you’re self conscious about it then he’ll definitely reassure you with rubbing your hands or soft forehead and cheek kisses

Every time you speak he signs “beautiful” or “lovely” for extra encouragement 

Loves being your translator

He likes how he’s basically become your voice for everyone to hear

If you chose to get hearing aids/surgery then he’s immediately teaching you basic phrases to get around

As much as he would love to hear you say “I love you” or “I’m happy with you” he knows he needs to teach you phrases that’ll actually help you

But one day as both are heading to bed he hears what he’s always wanted to hear

“U-uku-Ukyo… i lo-love you….”

He just freezes, his eyes are already overflowing when he turns to look at you 

“Can you please say that again…?” 

He makes you repeat it over and over as he holds you and cries

He’s so happy, he never thought he’d hear those words come out of your mouth yet here we are 

“Thank you y/n… I love you so much… more than you’ll ever know…”

Ryusui:

Ryusui might be a little overdramatic on how he cares for you 💀

Will NOT let you out of his sight

Worried about you getting in trouble or getting hurt because you couldn’t hear something coming this is also just an excuse to be around you too lol

Im not saying the other guys wouldn’t be concerned, Ryusui just takes it to the EXTREME 

already learned sign language when he first found out you were deaf

He was all like, “I desire to speak with you, which way is easiest for you???” And then learned sign language lol

Besides being overprotective he’s still normal, obnoxious Ryusui 

Always down to be your translator, whatever you need he’s there

Ryusui doesn’t care if you get hearing aids/surgery or not, he just wants what you want

If you don’t want any then that’s that, he’s not gonna make you do anything you don’t want to

If you do then you get it within seconds

So very patient and supportive when teaching you to speak

“Amazing job love! That’s one more word than yesterday!”

Whenever you first say I love you to him he’s the happiest he’s ever been in his life

He just picks you up and spins you around laughing and kissing all over your face

“HAHAH! I love you more my beautiful y/n! I love you love you love you!”