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morallyinept · 2 months

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Devotion - A Dieter Bravo x Curvy/Fuller body F!Reader One Shot

Written as part of my B O D I E S Series 🤎

BODIES MASTERLIST

Summary: Whilst on vacation with your partner Dieter Bravo, you get snapped in your bikini by paparazzi, causing you to question and evaluate your body shape when others start to pick it apart scathingly. Dieter however, shows you that you're perfect just as you are.

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Curvy/Fuller body F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader in terms of ethnicity. Reader has a fuller, curvier body type. Dieter is a little bigger himself in this fic too, it comes with natural ageing.)

Word Count: 8.4k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Triggers & warnings: Established relationship/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/oral F receiving/Dieter worships your body/angst/self-loathing/tiniest mention of being sick after eating food, but it's not an eating disorder/people being cruel jerks online/comparison of bodies/Dieter just Dietering/we love all types of bodies in this house and won't tolerate any body shaming of any kind.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: It's important to me that all types of readers are represented in my work, therefore this collection of stories is written for readers with REAL bodies. However, anyone can enjoy them. Whilst this story may not specifically represent your own personal journey, it is my hope that it resonates and offers comfort and enjoyment. The body type mentioned in this story is not 'one size fits all' - everyone's journey is personal and unique, and I have undertaken as much research as I can to write accurately and respectfully. 🤎

MAIN MASTERLIST | DIETER BRAVO MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

Nestled along the powdery white sands of Bora Bora's coastline, a sanctuary in an exquisite overwater villa perches atop stilts above the glistening lagoon, a retreat of luxury and tranquillity.

A private deck is greeted by sweeping views of the turquoise waters that stretch as far as the eye can see. A staircase leads down to the tranquil sea below, where one can choose to swim, snorkel, or simply float in the heady bliss of the ocean.

Entering the villa through glass-panelled doors, an atmosphere of understated elegance greets the inhabitant. The interior is adorned with natural materials, from polished hardwood floors to intricately woven rattan furnishings, creating a seamless blend of modern comfort and traditional island charm.

The bedroom, with its plush queen-size bed adorned with crisp white linens, offers a haven of serenity and comfort. A canopy draped overhead adds a touch of romance, while sliding glass doors open onto a private balcony, where champagne can be sipped under the twinkling stars.

The bathroom is a sanctuary of indulgence, featuring a deep-soaking jacuzzi tub overlooking the lagoon, where one can luxuriate in a bubble bath while watching the sunset paint the sky in shades of pink and gold.

And it’s here, in the giant whirlpool tub, where Dieter Bravo finds himself, biting into the skin of your shoulder as he fucks into you from behind.

His panting growls fill your ears as he fills you deep, fingers moulding into the soft curves of your hips as he pulls you back onto him with each thrust.

“Fuck, baby!” He hollers, as your cunt clenches around him, squealing as you come and gripping on the sides of the slippery tub for leverage.

You’re pretty sure the other guests can probably hear you in their own water villas, but you don’t care. Instead you twist in the water seeking his plush mouth as his tongue slips between your lips.

“Do that again, come on my cock.” Dieter husks, teeth biting onto your bottom lip.

He thrusts harder, wheezing at the back of his throat as bubbles and water spill over the sides of the tub. You scream louder; his awed laughter cajoling as you come again, and he soon busts a nut of his own, hollering loudly himself as he fills you up.

"Yeaaaah! Oh fuck, yeah!" He grunts, sweaty forehead lolling against yours and smiling with a blissed out face.

He lights a post-coital blunt and smirks at you as he stretches out naked in the giant bed; hair a damp, ruffled mess and a puffed out pot belly that he strokes absentmindedly, a half hour or so later. He's gloriously naked and completely unabashed about it.

In fact, he hasn't put any clothes on since being here with you; the both for you encased away inside your private villa where you can rusticate like Adam and Eve.

“I hate my feet. They look like weird hands.” He says slowly, as he wiggles his bare toes and eyes the chubby, little pinkies suspiciously.

"You have cute feet." You giggle.

"No. Yours are cute. Mine are... Hobbit feet. Look."

He nods down to his feet and you laugh. "They are a little bit. Which Hobbit are you?"

"Samwise, d'uh." He says, toking deeply.

"You look more like a Pippin to me," you grin, as you flop down beside him on the bed.

Smirking, Dieter brings his large palm down on your bare ass as you lay on your front.

He groans in delight at the playful slap rippling down your shapely thighs. The damp, sticky remains of multiple orgasms on the sheets feel gluey against your skin in patches.

“Mmm,” he grunts as you lean up to kiss him, tasting herbs and smoke around his teeth. “Hey baby,” he smiles dreamily at you with pink, twinkly eyes.

"Hey yourself," you smile, as you kiss him some more.

This is the most relaxed you’ve seen him in a while, having a sixth sense for when living in La La Land gets a bit much for him.

He gets this twitchy, deer-in-headlights look about him and starts saying things like I’ve had a headache for days, I think it’s a brain tumour, or that piece of broccoli is watching me as you regard him staring at it as he moves about the room, and launching into a paranoid diatribe when he’s mixed too many substances together and doesn’t know which way is up.

That’s when you know it’s time for a time out. Whisking him away to a private sanctuary where he can detox, kinda, and eat some damn broccoli without trying to fight and chokeslam it.

Where he can indulge in some freaky sex with you, and the cute waiter who brought him a double, when he only asked for a single, and the next thing his cock is in his mouth and your fingers are in his ass as the three of you paint the room in bodily fluids.

It’s a much needed retreat for you both, adopting the mutually agreed upon rule of no phones or internet as you truly switch off and lock your devices away in the room safe, as you spend time fawning over the intimate fronds of your deepening relationship with A-lister Dieter Bravo.

Once a washed up has-been floundering in the gross LA gutter, now a three-time Emmy winner and on his way to the Oscars. Yet despite the three-sixty turn around in his career through some clever reshuffling of his publicists and agents, he still retains that firecracker ability to go off the rails on occasion, despite cleaning up his act somewhat.

You’ve been credited as the main reason for this transformation, a positive impact; a grounding force in an otherwise chaotic timebomb. The rarely seen lover, opting out of the spotlight through your own choice, and Dieter’s support of it.

Although he’s name dropped you in a few interviews when asked about his infectious happiness, snapped numerous selfies of you both loved up and nuzzling on his Instagram, and on occasion you’ll hang off his arm at an event in a dress that costs more than your first mortgage.

But for the most part, you do your own thing, happy to let him do his, and come back to the home you’ve both been curating together.

You met just like in a trashy Hallmark romance, standing in line to get a green juice in a trendy cafe in downtown LA, and it was love at first wow, as he swooned at you over the tip of his Raybans and grinned crookedly at you, gold earring sparkling like those mischievous eyes.

You’ve been hooked on this lewd rapscallion, with a heart of gold, ever since.

You had no idea who he was or what he did, and for a while, he kept it a secret; fearing that if you knew about his fame and bawdy past shenanigans, you’d disappear in a puff of judgemental smoke.

But you didn’t, instead supporting him and drawing a line between the fame and the reality, and became an anchor when he needed one to stop him floating too far adrift.

Dieter has never said the L word before, but when he did with you, around a mouthful of grilled cheese as you both sat in the dark watching Humphrey Bogart movies, (often Sabrina - it's his favourite) something told you this fuzzy-haired doof meant it.

He can’t keep his hands off you, grabbing and pawing at your voluptuous curves. Burying his face in your breasts that suffocate him, and an ass that won’t quit when he fucks it and watches it ripple.

He’s always been fantastically open about how much he loves your body.

Your weight fluctuates at the best of times, growing when you’re comfy, and you’ve never felt more comfortable than with Dieter. He paints you when you’re asleep, waking to find another portrait of flesh coloured brush strokes on another canvas that’s added to the collection of worship pieces he creates.

Anyone would think he was obsessed with you, but you don’t mind the attention he lavishes, especially when he pours paint over your breasts and gets you to smoosh them into the canvas board whilst he fucks you from behind.

He’s insatiable for you, and for once you feel like you can be yourself around him, truly. Comfortable to be naked and bare with him in your skin.

You’ve spent years with your thoughts drifting inward, grappling with the complexities of your body. A regular love-hate relationship, which leans more towards the hate more often than not.

It’s no secret that you’re larger and more curvaceous than the slender figures typically celebrated by society, and the usual, skinny types that had draped off of Dieter’s arm in the past.

Your body, adorned with generous amounts of curves, dimples and soft contours, bear the marks of a life well-lived and enjoying the over-indulgence of it at times.

But sometimes, you feel a pang of insecurity flood through you; your eyes drawn to the lithe forms that grace the glossy pages of fashion magazines.

Feeling itchy inside your epidermis at the actors that flock around you both at the after parties in their tight dresses that look like a second skin, and the endless scroll of social media feeds perpetuating the allusion, that to be beautiful, you must be thin.

You feel like the “fat woman” when surrounded by slender, flat-tummied make-up artists and stylists who flood your home when Dieter has an event to prepare for. In a world that seems to worship perfection, you can't help but wonder if your own body falls short of the unattainable ideal at times.

But Dieter doesn’t see it that way.

He's continuously lavishing you with affection and love, and unable to keep his big hands off you from day one. You’ve been with him long enough now to know he’s serious about you, respectful of your choices to remain out of the spotlight and trusting that you’re not just a novelty to him.

He’s changed because of you; cleaned himself up and become a better man, and that only imbues the sense of worship he gives to you daily.

As you gaze into Dieter's glassy eyes, you find yourself bathed in a warmth that transcends the superficial constraints of beauty standards. In his unwavering stare you see not judgement, but genuine admiration - a reflection of the love and acceptance that he has for you, curves and all.

He makes you feel invincible when he looks at you like this. But sometimes, it's hard not to let the insecurities seep in.

This vacation has been relaxing, enjoying one another in the privacy of the water villa, but Dieter’s attention span can only survive in enclosed walls for so long, and soon he’s itching to get out and explore.

He suggests the nearby market for lunch and the beach, and you agree, pulling on a suitable dress over your bikini, and rolling up his yoga mat to shove into your beach bag.

You stroll hand-in-hand through the market, packed with tourists and locals. He stops at stalls to admire handmade crafts through his giant, dark Raybans, and purchases cheap beaded bracelets that he adds to the collection on his wrist, and rambles at you in great detail about the craftsmanship of them.

You stop for refreshing guava and pineapple smoothies from stall vendors, pose for selfies by a tropical flower bush as he picks one and places it behind your ear, and after a mouthwatering shellfish lunch, you end the afternoon lazing on the beach together.

He gets a little handsy when he rubs sun lotion onto your skin, fingers slipping under your bikini top discreetly to tug at your puffy nipples as he sucks the oily skin on your neck.

"D..." You whine, as he pulls them in his between his fingers and whispers in your ear how fucking hot you are. You shoo him away, grinning, as he heads into the water for a swim, and you lay back to bake in the sun with your book.

You lick your lips a little while later as he emerges from the water; pale lilac swim shorts clinging to his thick thighs, unruly greying fluff slicked back. Sea water drips from his chin down his chest, that puffs out into a little swollen tummy of his own with a slot machine belly button. Dark hairs disappear into his shorts as he pulls them up, strolling out of the waves.

Dieter’s ageing in the most beautiful way possible, broad too in every sense of the word as the sun blesses him with a gorgeous bronze tan, and he catches you staring like a drooling chimp as he heads back towards you.

He flashes you those enigmatic teeth as he approaches, sand clumped around his ankles.

“See something you like?” He grunts, as he bends down to kiss you, hooked nose all wet and dripping salt water onto your lips.

“Maybe,” you say, his crotch almost in your face as he stands.

He's already pitching a tent in them as he smiles down at you with a razor-like grin.

“Did you know a sea cucumber ejects its intestines out in self-defense? It looks like a sea dick squirting all over the place. And there's lots of it, too.”

You laugh. “Did you see a sea cucumber in the water just now?”

“No. I just remembered seeing it on Nat Geo. Fascinating.”

“You’re so random, D.” You titter, dropping your book down.

"You love it." He says, wiping at his face with the towel.

"I do."

“You know-" he sits behind you on the lounger and pulls you back against his wet chest, “-there’s nothing stopping us from fucking right here. I could easily slip my cock into you right now.”

“D, the beach is full of people.” But you groan at the thought of it.

“Yeah, but the danger, the anticipation. It’d be hot, no?” He whispers, fingers dipping into the waistband of your bikini bottoms. “Just fucking you in front of all these people and they’d never know. You'd have to be really quiet, baby...”

“Dieter!” You hiss, bringing your legs up to stop him going any further.

“Alright,” he chuckles in your ear, running his fuzzy chin against your face.

"Is that a sea cucumber in your shorts or are you just pleased to see me?" You remark at the hard bulge poking at your lower back.

Dieter chuckles, all waspy inside your ear. “I'm still hungry. Let’s go back to the villa and you can sit on my face for a while.”

The vacation comes to an end after another week of fucking all over the water villa, and you both find yourselves on the flight back to civilisation, somewhat more exhausted than when you'd set off.

You turn on your mobile when taxiing towards the terminal, back on American soil, and listen to the pings as your phone catches up with life.

You scroll through emails as Dieter quietly snores beside you, mouth open and catching flies.

Smirking, you scroll through social media and stop, immediately feeling sick when you open a message from your friend titled have you seen this?

There’s a screenshot of you on the beach in your bikini from a pap site, something that doesn't surprise you much at all - it’s bound to happen now and again when you’re spotted with Dieter, despite booking somewhere off radar.

Renegade photos of the two of you end up on the socials all the time, and you pay them no mind, choosing to abstain from looking them up.

But what you don’t expect to see is the vitriol in the comments underneath the picture, from none other than Dieter’s fans.

You read the words fat and beached whale and pity fuck, standing out like they’re flashing red neon at you.

Swallowing as your throat runs dry, it gets worse the further you scroll. They make fun of your body, make remarks about your face, your hair, sense of fashion, even your ankles of all things.

Who is offended by someone’s fucking ankles, for Christ’s sake?

Every part of you is pulled apart scathingly in deep conversations that go on and on, blurring out the compliments that say you’re a cute couple by the ones that say things like she carries it well.

Carries what well?

You’re pulled in, instantly scrolling to Dieter's own Instagram page and clicking on the most recent picture he took of you both as you watched the sunset on your last night in Bora Bora.

You have the flower in your hair that he picked and put behind your ear, and told you how gorgeous you were as he snapped the selfie, his lips pressing into your cheek. Under the photo he wrote the caption my heart.

Comparing how his belly in his swim shorts looks gorgeous and sexy and how complete strangers want to lick it, whereas your tummy in your bikini is branded hideous and disgusting.

It’s liked by over five million people, and you grimace when you realise there are also thousands of comments talking about your looks there too.

How your shoulders are much broader than his, your thighs the size of tree trunks. How you must crush him when you fuck.

Who's the whale next to Dieter?

They speculate that you’re pregnant. Some of them are calling you a cunt or a bitch because you’re carrying his fictitious baby.

The unjustified hate just keeps coming and coming.

Can't believe he's with someone so fat.

She’s so gross.

She’s disgusting.

He's fucking her for a joke.

Dude must be high AF to fuck that each night.

I've seen glory holes better looking than her face.

He deserves better.

It’s a staged relationship. No way he’d look twice at her.

You thought you looked pretty in your dress. You were wrong, babe.

You feel like you’re going to throw up and nudge him awake.

“D,” you groan.

“Mm,” he mutters.

“Dieter! Wake up!”

“Wha-what?” He jolts as he comes to, wiping his mouth free of drool. “Have we landed? Oh, we're here. What time is it? Fuck, my neck. I think I've dislocated my shoulder sleeping in this damn seat. Why'd you let me sleep for so long?”

His bleary eyes look around the cabin as he sits upright in his seat with wild, fuzzy hair. He turns to you and baulks.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” He sees you crying silently into your hands. “Hey, what happened?” He reaches for your hands, but instead you toss the phone at him.

Confused, he takes it and smiles at the selfie of you both together. “What, you don’t like it? I think you look really gor-”

“Read the comments,” you all but choke out to him.

As he scrolls through the comments, his jaw clenches in anger; his grip on the phone tightening with each cruel word. You see his nostrils flare as he breathes in and clicks the phone screen off.

“Babe,” he shakes his head. “Fuck that shit, man. Ignore it. Bitches be cray and all.”

“That’s easy for you to say, they fucking love you!” You shake your head and scramble up past him, heading for the door as the other passengers begin to disembark.

"I'll get the luggage then..." He huffs to himself.

Despite Dieter’s reassurances, the words have already taken root in your mind, poisoning your thoughts with doubt and reuniting you with that old, reliable friend, self-loathing.

In the days that follow, you find yourself sinking deeper and deeper into a depressive spiral, unable to escape the relentless barrage of negativity that haunts your every waking moment.

It consumes you. Strangers, people you’ve never met and don’t know or what they look like, get into your head. You suddenly realise the power that words have.

They have jagged edges that cut into your skin and leave you bleeding, dying.

They cause your head to ache profusely and your nose to become blocked, and your eyes to itch from crying so much. You’re suddenly paranoid, of everything, everyone that looks at you. Second guessing all the time, wondering what they think when they look you over.

You withdraw from the world, retreating into the darkness of your own mind, where the echoes of cruel words reverberate back and forth like a never-ending chorus of condemnation.

No amount of love or support from Dieter can penetrate the thick fog of despair that envelopes you, leaving you feeling utterly alone and miserable.

You cancel pre-planned events, leaving Dieter to go alone, whilst you curl up under the duvet and don’t surface for days, and you realise that ignorance really was bliss.

You find yourself standing in front of the mirror naked when you finally brave yourself to have a shower, and are disgusted at what you see.

Highlighted before the glass, your reflection is a cruel mockery of the beauty you once believed you possessed. The soft glow of the vanity lights illuminate every curve and contour of your body, each line a stark reminder of your perceived inadequacy.

Your gaze lingers on your reflection, tracing the lumpy ridges of your hips and the soft swell of your hanging stomach, the fullness of your thighs and the rounded shape of your ass, with a mixture of disdain and disgust.

You grab handfuls of your flesh, rolling it in your grip, shaking your head as your eyes fill with water.

Looking away, you cover yourself up with baggy clothes that aren’t flattering. You put on Dieter's green robe over the top and belt it up and climb back into bed, sobbing.

How can he possibly find me attractive? Is he part of it? Am I really just a pity fuck?

The invasive thoughts begin to chip away at the solid foundations you thought you had. Crumbling them into doubt and paranoia.

Their words haunt you, spin around your eyesight for days until you're back torturing yourself and scrolling back through them all. You shut everything out except their words - you just exist in this tormented space in the bed - refusing to entertain anyone, including Dieter - with your phone doom scrolling, and nothing but self-loathing and misery.

It lasts on a repetitive cycle for days.

You try not to eat, taking to self-punishment and abstinance, but then that only makes it worse because you inevitably get hungry and order take-out. Far too much take-out.

And then once you've eaten it all, a small comfort that is fleeting, you force yourself sick, feeling guilty and even more wretched for enjoying the food that you love.

Until Dieter’s had enough of it all.

He throws everyone out of the house on the eve before Oscar’s night, refusing to partake in any more fittings whilst he knows you’re upstairs hiding from him and hurting.

Forehead pulling into tight wrinkles with guilt, Dieter stares at the dress the stylist has brought over that he knows you’ll look incredible in.

You were so excited when you first tried it on, and now he can’t help but feel as though he’s had some part in this; coaxing you to try and be someone you’re not just for the sake of the glitz and solid bronze statues plated in 24 karat gold.

But he can't help it, he wants to share this side of him with you. Wants you to be proud of him and to show you off, because you make him so equivocally happy. And for a long time, Dieter wasn't happy. Just floundering and trying to shape himself so he could fit into their moulds too.

He said he'd keep you separate from his world if that's what you wanted, and for the most part you did, and now he wonders if it's because of this - this pressure that society puts on people in the spotlight to maintain perfection.

And he can't help but wonder if he's put that pressure on you too in some ways.

It’s like cleaning out wounds with dirty fingers, festering and making it worse the longer you're hurting and allowing them to hurt you. And now, he trudges up the stairs, woolly socks making static on the carpet, with the dress dangling from the hanger over his broad shoulder.

He misses you. Misses your smile, your smell, your warmth. Your body wrapped around his. It's not fun watching movies by himself, sleeping in one of the spare bedrooms without you.

He's given you space, but he needs you. Needs you to see how fucking beautiful you are to him. And needs you to know he's not giving up on you, not now and not ever.

“I’m not going.” You grumble with a huff.

Knuckles rap on the bedroom door and push it open gently when you grunt at him to go away.

You watch him, with puffy eyes, as he hangs the dress bag over the closet door.

You shake your head vehemently.

“You don't have to. But... you promised me.” Dieter says, as he kicks at the foot of the bed gently.

His zig-zag sweater is knitted and bobbly on the arms when he crosses them over his chest. Triad tattoos inked into his skin peep out at you under rolled up sleeves.

“You wanna see it?” He offers. "Might make you feel good to try it on again?"

“No. I’m not wearing it. I’m not going and that’s that.”

Dieter kneels on the bed slowly crawling up towards you. “It’s my night, baby, and I want you there by my side.”

You sigh. “I can’t,” you whimper, trying not to look at him.

“Yes, you can. You know you can.”

Tears fall from your eyes making warm tracks on your cheeks.

“No, I don’t.” You say, sniffing.

“I love you.” Dieter says, reaching your face and sitting over your thighs.

His thumbs catch the tears and he kisses your face. “I fucking love you. You’re so beautiful and sexy. God, you're so fucking sexy. You make me so hard.”

He takes your hand and puts it over his cock that’s indeed rock solid in his shorts.

“Yes you do, see? Even when you're crying and wearing my shitty gown. You’ve always been so fucking sexy to me.”

A renegade smile tries to break free at the corner of your lips as he starts smashing down your walls with a sledgehammer. And his aim is pretty on point.

"When was the last time you washed this? It stinks," you say, looking down at the stained softness of his gown draped over you. You don't even want to know the origin of some of them.

“That’s it, there you are.” He encourages.

“You really think I’m sexy?” You whimper. “All this?” You say, confused as you point to your stomach.

“I love your body, babe. Every. Inch. Of. It.” He punctuates each word with a kiss over your face; on your nose, your forehead, your chin.

“Why? You could have anyone...”

“I don’t want anyone. I want you. I've always wanted you.”

“Why?”

“Because I fell in love with you. Hook. Line. And fucking sinker.”

“Dieter-” You choke and snivel.

He wraps you up in his arms. “Let me show you, baby.”

He unbelts his gown that you’re wearing, leaning forward to kiss your lips gently. Your fingers tangle in his hair, silky greying fluff, as he swirls his tongue around inside your mouth.

"You taste like flaming hot Cheetos." You smirk around his lips.

"I may have eaten three king-size bags. My ass and the toilet will hate me later."

"Is that all you've eaten?"

"Well, yeah. That and microwave oven pizzas... I'm kinda floundering without you. It really is selfish of you to not come downstairs and cook for me. Baby, I'm wasting away." He pats his little belly for emphasis.

You laugh, a deep and haughty chuckle, and he smiles at that.

"You're such a doof."

"Yeah, but I'm your doof." Dieter says as he kisses you, sighing into your mouth as his shoulders sag.

He pulls away and runs his thumb over your lips.

“I love your lips,” he says, licking over them and nipping them between his teeth. “Mmm, yeah. Fuck. Love it when they wrap around my cock too,” he hums.

You chuckle through wet eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah baby, I love how you look when you suck my cock. So fucking hot.”

“How do I look?”

“Like a fucking Goddess!” He chirps enthusiastically, and you can see that he really means it. "Better than Aphrodite, Dionysus... that-that pale chick riding in the clam-"

"Venus." You hiccup through a smile.

"Yeah. They haven't got shit on you, babe."

"Dieter," you stutter as he nuzzles into your face. He slathers wet kisses down your neck as you groan.

“I love these tits… fuck,” he groans as he squeezes them in his hands, sucking on the nipples as he pushes your t-shirt up.

“Mmm, D…” you whine as he flicks his tongue back and forth over them, until they become hardened pebbles in his mouth making you shudder and clench.

"Fucking perfect tits." He grunts. He kisses and licks down the deep valley of your breasts, smooching over your sternum.

“I love this belly,” Dieter says, with more kissing, licking and stopping to blow a loud raspberry into your belly button.

You cackle as he strokes and tickles your hips.

“Dieter!” You howl as he tickles harder.

“See, stunning!” He laughs, watching you cackle and squirm as you try to bat him off.

“Stop it!” You howl. "I'm gonna pee!"

“I love these little lines here,” he says, as he runs his tongue over the crinkled stretch marks around your lower tummy.

He kisses further down into the swell of your thighs, pulling your leggings down as he goes, revealing more skin for him to lavish.

"I love this freckle right here, and this one here, and this little guy over here… But this one’s my favourite, right here. Hi cutie,” he smiles as he kisses it.

You giggle like an idiot as he kisses over each freckle, mole and dimple in and around your thighs.

“And I fucking love this pussy,” Dieter groans as he runs his tongue up the slit of you over your panties.

You watch as he hooks his fingers into the elastic and pulls them down, with darkening eyes smouldering up at you from between your legs.

His tongue runs on the skin outside your pussy lips, so close to your clit. He trails a hot, wet lap around and leaves you panting, begging. “Please, please…”

"What do you want, baby? You want me to kiss it?" He smirks as you nod, head all slack and mesmerised.

He spreads your lips and licks his tongue slowly up your slit, making you shudder as he swirls it around the bump of your buzzing nub.

“Fuck,” Dieter groans, reaching down to adjust himself. “I could just fucking come from eating you out,” his voice is muffled by doing just that.

Your head keens back into the pillows and you groan. Your fingers rummage inside his hair, twisting and pulling, as he laps you up.

He doesn’t shy away, nestling himself between your thighs so he can lavish you with deserved attention as he kisses all over your pussy.

Running his adept and hungry tongue back and forth over your clit before sucking it into his mouth and making those thighs quake and jerk around his face.

“D… Let me touch you.” You whine.

“There'll be plenty of time for that later, right now I’m happy just here. Right here..." He licks again, a long fat stripe up your seam, and you pant. "I want you to come all over my face, beautiful.” Dieter urges, rutting his hips into the mattress.

As the tension mounts within, you can feel every nerve in your body standing on edge, like a tightly coiled spring ready to burst. And then, in a moment of pure abandon, it happens. A wave of pleasure crashing over you; a surge of unfurling sensations that seem to consume you whole as you tumble through them.

He rubs over your clit, tickling it with the increasing pressure and speed from the pad of his thumb as he slips his tongue inside your hole and drinks you down. He hums around you, licking and sucking as he entices your body to just bend to his mouth.

And you do.

"Dieter! Fuck!"

Like a firework exploding in the night sky, a burst of light and colour leaves you breathless and exhilarated as he continues to lick and suck you through your orgasm.

You're a writing mess, groaning as you fill his mouth with more of your slick and clenching around his tongue as he fucks your contracting hole with it. As your body convulses with the force of your release, your thighs crushing further against his head, you feel a profound sense of relief wash over you, like a swampy weight lifting from your shoulders.

Bathed in a moment of pure ecstasy amongst the dread that’s consumed you; a fleeting glimpse into the freedom from it all.

"Fucking love this pussy," he mouths.

“Shit... I need you, D.” You gasp, your body buzzing for him.

You pull him out of his cargo shorts, hard and swollen in your palm. Just barely stroking across his soaked frenulum as he groans like he's been choked. The slick of his own drippings covering your fingers as you jerk him desperately.

“Fuck!” Dieter muffles into your mouth as you crush him in a kiss; teeth clashing with clumsiness at your haste to have him and cupping his balls.

You can taste yourself all over his furry lips and chin as he guides his swollen, weeping head inside your gorgeous cunt.

“Dieter!” You groan as he fucks into you, large hands roaming all over your body, squeezing, massaging.

“So fucking beautiful, baby.” He pants, burying his head into the ample swell of your breasts.

Your tits bounce wildly around his face with every thrust of his pelvis against yours, and he just whines and groans inside his happy place as he sucks on your nipples with eyes that stare up at you.

But it’s the love shining so deeply in his watery eyes that truly moves you - a love so profound, it seems to shimmer with unshed tears, reflecting the depth of his emotion.

“God, I fucking love your body, baby.” His words penetrate the barriers you’ve built around yourself, slowly chipping away at the walls of self-doubt and insecurity that has held you captive in a cage for days.

"I love you!" He gasps into your mouth.

As you look into his earnest eyes, you see no sympathy or pity, but genuine affection and admiration. You see a man that genuinely believes you’re beautiful.

A man that can’t get enough of your curves, and welted and dimpled thighs. Your stretch marks and tummy rolls. A man who’s not afraid to put his hands on you, who wants to show you off to the world and declare “she’s mine” at the top of his grizzled voice proudly.

You see a man who also has body hang ups of his own when he stares at himself in the mirror after hours of being preened and gussied up like a peacock for the world’s cameras.

Wrinkling his aquiline nose at his slick appearance, when all he wants to do is laze about in a grubby, green gown and broken crocs, smoke a bowl and eat bags of flaming hot Cheetos with you, whilst nestled in the comfy, safe place in your arms and cleavage where he feels most like himself.

He twists, so one of your legs is still hooked over him, his hand on your ass as he pushes into you as you lay on your sides facing each other.

And you wouldn’t have him any other way.

It’s a revelation - the realisation that you’re deserving of love and acceptance, just as he is.

His hands run all over your body, sliding up your back and fingers gliding down your chest delicately. He guides his cock back in, holding you in his other arm tight and kissing you.

Dieter whines into your face as he slips in, his eyes searching yours out to convey in unspoken words how good you feel squeezing around him.

You let your hips languidly bounce as he flexes his; both of you enjoying that heady rhythm without rush or eagerness to finish in a hurry.

“Mmm. Oh fuck, right there… oh fuck, fuck. This pussy, baby, you feel so good.” Dieter groans, eyes rolling back. “Amazing, amazing...” He babbles.

“Tell me,” you pant. “Tell me what’s amazing, D.”

“You. You’re amazing. Fuck I want you every which way. I-I want to fuck your ass again. Wanna have you in my mouth, swallow you all up.”

“Eat the world.” You grin.

“Yeah, eat the world.” He smiles. “My world. You’re my fucking world, baby.”

“Fuck, I love how you grip me so tight, baby.” He wheezes, fists punched into the pillow either side of your head as his hips do all the work.

A subtle roll and he’s on top of you again. Knees knocking your thighs open wider and sinking his cock into you deeper.

He kisses you as he slides in, filling you up with his love as you whimper into his mouth in sweet relief.

“Come on, Dieter, give me your cock. Like that, fuck yeah, like that.” You pull on his broad arms, legs wrapping around his chunky waist as his stomach slaps against yours.

Deep smacks of skin fill your ears as he fucks you harder. He wheezes as he breathes, panting into your face.

“Like this? Yeah?” He fucks you faster, drilling in quick, deep shunts; the headboard clattering against the wall loudly. "God!" He grunts deeply. "Oh fuck, I'm gonna come, baby!"

He’s weak for you. You can see it in his eyes, the vulnerability around the blown out glass of them as he comes and bites down on his lip through a laboured grunt. Spilling warm and thick inside of you, and you feel it pool and dribble out once he softens.

“Give it to me, give it to me. Give me all your come, Dieter!” You cry as you burst again - gold bokeh filling your eyes as the heat floods through your body.

Your spine twists, your back arching. Toes curling and ears ringing as you come around him.

“Baby!” He yells as he momentarily stiffens and strains before exploding inside of you.

He stays plugged in for a while, pelting your breasts with unrelenting kisses as he rubs his nose against your nipple, tasting the salt of your sweat on his tongue. Eventually finding your lips once more as he holds your head in his giant hands.

“How do you do that, D?” You ask breathlessly, afterwards.

“Do what?” He lays beside you, pants slowly dying down and nose nuzzling against your own.

“Make me feel so good?” You peep, timidly.

“The same way you make me feel so good." He hums out as you watch his eyes close, dark, fluttery eyelashes fanning out. "I’d probably still be in the gutter if it weren’t for you loving me.” He says quietly.

“Do you really believe that?”

He nods, his greying hair ruffling against the pillow. “Yeah. I do. You saved me, baby.” He says, with deep chocolate eyes lanced on you. “My brain scrambles when I'm with you, but in a good way.”

“I wish you could see yourself how I see you. Then maybe you’d believe it.” His eyes soften at you, a mixture of relief and gratitude washing over him. "I just want you to know how beautiful you are to me," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "I never want to make you feel like you're anything less than perfect, because to me, you are. And I know I'm a bit much sometimes... but I really do love you.”

You don't try to unpick the sweetly soft truth that pours out of him in sincere revelations, you just listen with a smile spreading across your lips.

“I love you, D. You and your scrambly brain always make me feel beautiful.”

“From the first day I met you, I’ve always thought so.” He smiles, his thumb pulling on your bottom lip. "And I'm never wrong." He grins.

A wider smile escapes you as you lean in closer, your forehead resting against his, damp with sweat.

“I’m not gonna force you, baby, but please come with me tomorrow night.” He implores with soft eyes. “You’re gonna look so beautiful and I really want you there with me. We'll have a great time, you and me.”

Your response is hesitant, your fingers tracing invisible patterns on his pudgy hip as you struggle to find words. Unable to speak, like rust clogging in your throat as your mind recalls all the nasty slurs said about you online and the panic prickles again.

You want nothing more than to carry out stringent ablutions, cleanse yourself of the tarnish they’ve left inked under the layers of your skin with all the other jibes and taunts you’ve heard throughout your life.

It's hard not to let your body physically define you when physicality is so superficial in this world. There isn't anything that anyone has said that you haven't heard before, or said to yourself in your moments of dark masochism.

You've seen all the looks people give you, like you're an exhibit in a museum to be gawked at. Heard all the whispers and mean girl things that ultimately mean girls say in earshot.

You've spent years planning routes around rooms as you step in, avoiding scenarios where you'll have to squeeze yourself through tiny gaps or past people.

Accepting the fact that the dress you really like in the shop window won't be in your size. Slicking your thighs in layers of anti-chafe balm in advance when your friends want to go for a walk and you struggle to keep up.

And words cut deep.

You try to tell yourself it's jealousy. You try to tell yourself that they’re not real. Faceless drones sitting behind a screen with nothing better to do than tear you down, because you ultimately have what they want.

They want him, Dieter. But you have him.

A woman who is so far removed from themselves in terms of looks, that it's hard for them to comprehend and accept that he could genuinely want you and love you, and get turned on by you.

You breathe in slowly, trying to push down all the negative thoughts that try to worm their way back in.

And sometimes, it's hard for you to accept too.

But then he does things like this, makes you believe and accept it, because his love for you is real. It's so fucking real that it guts you. It's all you've ever wanted, someone to see you.

Will I have to suck in my belly? Will people see me doing that? Is the dress going to cling onto my stomach and thighs too much? What if my dress tears? What if I fall? What if I embarrass him?

But then you look in his eyes keening back at you, and he has this power to get inside your head and sweep them all away again into a dark corner.

“I promise you, you won't be alone. I'll be right there beside you, every step of the way." Dieter reassures.

Your eyes soften at his words, a glimmer of hope shining through the murky uncertainty. "But what if-"

"No 'buts', candy and nuts," Dieter interjects, headbutting you gently. "You’re stunning, babe. Inside and out. And I'll spend the rest of my life reminding you of that."

“The rest of your life, huh?” You smile.

“Yeah. If you can tolerate me for that long.” He snickers, eye creases crinkling.

“That’s a pretty big if.” You smirk.

“The biggest.” Dieter smiles, his big browns pleading silently and soft at you, and melting you further in the process.

You nod, smiling. “Okay. I'll go.”

“Amazing.” He croons with a satisfied yawn. “We got any KitKats left?”

“In the kitchen, I think. I’ll get you one.” You smile.

“Rockstar.” He mumbles, nuzzling further into the pillow.

You catch sight of him over your shoulder, his bare, round ass naked and furry as he adjusts and gets comfortable on the bed.

You pad down to the kitchen, not bothering to dress, and catch sight of your reflection in the dark pane of the window.

A wobbly silhouette at first glance, but as you look closer, you can see the sheen of sweat gleaming on your skin, the warmth that coats it from the afterglow of Dieter’s touch.

Your gaze lingers on your shapely form, but instead of scrutinising the perceived flaws, you find yourself noticing the things you’ve overlooked - the gentle curve of your smile, the sparkle in your eyes, the fact that you’re here, naked and comfortable to wander freely around the house again, whereas only a few hours ago you were wrapped up and hiding.

As you regard your reflection, something is different. The harsh judgement and self-doubt that has plagued you tirelessly has been replaced by a newfound, creeping sense of acceptance and appreciation.

A small glimmer, but it's still there nonetheless.

You turn, admiring your shape with a small smile lighting you up at what you see.

In this moment, you realise that you’re beautiful like he says - not just because of your physical appearance, but because of the love Dieter has for you that makes you see past any self-loathing.

His unwavering affection lifts you up when you sink, helping you to see yourself in a new light, as a woman worthy of love and admiration.

You come back into the bedroom and toss the KitKat on the dresser when you see Dieter snoring gently.

Your leg hooks over his puffy middle as you listen to his heartbeat. The soft thrum-thrum emanating in the pit of his chest soothes away any worries or fears.

You feel his thick fingers twitch against your skin, a silent snuffle as he breathes laboriously, lost in sleep.

Dieter Bravo sees you and loves you for who you are, so maybe, just maybe, you should try to love yourself, too.

It's the last conscious thought you have before you fall asleep with him.

“Does my pocket look okay? It looks weird, it’s doing shifty things. I don't trust it.” Dieter asks, as he looks in the mirror and fiddles with the silk handkerchief poking out the top of it.

You can feel the nerves radiating off of him in droves. His fingers twitch, rings clacking against every surface he passes. Lips gnawed on until they’re scarlet, despite the make-up artist slicking them with balm tirelessly.

“Your rebellious pocket looks fine.” You say, as you step fully into the room.

“Oh wow! Baby. Fuck, look at you!” Dieter turns, his whole face lighting up. “You look so good in this colour.”

“Yeah?” You ask, smoothing down the dress that fits you like a dream.

It hides a multitude of sins in your opinion, as you turn this way and that in the mirror - you’re satisfied with how you look.

“Yeah, your eyes really pop, wow!” He comes over to you, all perfectly coiffed curls blown out, and crushed velvet sleeves embracing you. “Fuck…” He says, eyeing you up and down.

He makes no effort to hide it when he adjusts himself in his pants so brazenly.

“You scrub up pretty well yourself, Mr Oscar Nominee.” You smirk, eyeing how good he looks in his suit.

A crisp shirt is open at the neck revealing an abundance of golden skin you long to lick and taste. He channels Adam Ant with the eighties romance of it all; lace sleeves hanging low and unruly from his jacket cuffs, matching velour Gucci loafers on with no socks, and wearing fitted pants that finish above the ankle.

“I’m so fucking nervous.” Dieter murmurs to you, quietly in the car on the way there. He rubs at his sternum with a large palm and keeps it there. "I need an antacid. And possibly a shit." He mumbles, belching quietly into his fist. "Fuck. I should've taken a shit before we left."

You giggle. “You'll be alright. Just breathe.” You reassure him, ghosting your nose over his. "I've got you, D."

“I’ve got you too, baby.” He promises, squeezing your hand and smiling at you. "God, you look so beautiful."

The cameras are flashing in your retinas as you walk the red carpet with him. The dress dazzles back, accentuating your curves and features, and looking at yourself once more in the mirror before you left, you were awash with awe at how good it actually made you feel.

He leans in for a kiss, but belches again in your face, and you chuckle as he laughs, embarrassed. "Sorry, sorry."

"At least your breath doesn't smell like Cheetos."

"No, but my sweat does." He chuckles, then turns to you. "Please, for the love of God, don't let me shit my pants."

You remember that feeling, coming back to you slowly as you stand tall and proud beside your silly man, who won't stop discreetly belching in the back of his throat like a toad where he's so nervous.

Where did that other woman go? She was lost for a while, pulled into the mud, but she kept moving, getting herself out of it once again. She has strength after all. They won’t drag you under.

Dieter is in awe of you too as you hold onto his hand, fingers interlocked with yours tightly, with his other on his chest holding in his anxiety - and nervous burps - whilst you smile beside him and support him on his big night.

You hold each other up with words unsaid. Pillars of strength when the other one needs it. With him by your side, looking at you the way he is now, you’ve never felt more beautiful and loved in your own skin.

The paps call you to look this way, gorgeous, as they snap your picture with him whilst you pose, growing more confident as Dieter holds you close, beaming at you.

The interviewers want to know all about your dress and compliment you beside him as he talks about his film, and then forgets about it entirely and starts talking about you instead with starry eyes, when he loses his train of thought.

Interviews pop up online of Dieter just dumbstruck at you standing next to him, peppered with heart-eye emoji's and the comments flood in under the photos and reels.

Look at how he looks at her!

They make such a cute couple.

She looks so beautiful in that dress.

Aww, he really loves her!

I want them to get married and have lots of babies!!

I hope he wins tonight, he deserves it.

She's so good for him.

I wish I looked that good.

But their words, no matter how kind this time round, won't matter. Because right now, nothing anyone could say could make you feel better than he does about yourself.

Dieter leans in, his arm sliding around your curvy waist, his voice husky and pouring liquid silk in your ear.

“Later on, I’m gonna fuck you in this dress, baby.” He promises, with a shit eating grin that’s just as gleaming as the devilish gold hoop twinkling in his ear.

“You better, it’s Valentino.” You smirk. “Gotta get your money's worth.”

Crookedly grinning at you, he places a lingering kiss on your glossy lips as the paparazzi go wild, snapping pictures of Oscar Nominee, Dieter Bravo, affectionately worshipping his Goddess for the whole world to see.

I really hope you enjoyed reading this story with Dieter, and welcome your comments/thoughts. I'd appreciate a re-blog if you liked it so others can find it on their dash to read and enjoy too - thank you very much! 🖤

BODIES MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

DIETER BRAVO MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #pedro pascal characters #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo fluff #every body is beautiful #bodies series #diversity #inclusivity #jett's writing

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coconut-dreamz · 5 months

Text

king of my heart

"the taste of your lips is my idea of luxury" || tom blyth x singer!reader

a/n: inspired by ts once again !!!

i'm perfectly fine, i live on my own i made up my mind, i'm better off bein' alone

you had spent the last few years being single and throwing yourself into your work. that was evident through the sheer amount of music you'd made in the last five years and the world tours you'd gone on.

after your messy break up a few years ago, you'd sworn off love and relationships lately. though, they did make great inspiration for music. but throwing yourself into your work for the past three years had consequences. you were feeling burnt out after your latest world tour and your manager had strongly urged you to take a break for awhile. not to mention you were in a rut. you hadn't wrote a single song in months. nothing inspired you, all of the songs you tried to write sounded wrong.

we met a few weeks ago now you try on callin' me, baby, like tryin' on clothes

rachel was a good friend of yours, you had met on at a red carpet once and became fast friends. she had recently finished up filming for a project and was in new york. she wanted to meet up with you and introduce you to her cast mates.

that's when you met tom. there was an instant attraction between you two, there was no doubt about it. everyone in the room could feel it. tom, luckily, also lived in new york. but he lived in brooklyn while you lived in manhattan. but he was constantly calling you, asking you to meet up or come over and hang out. nearly every day he was free he'd call you up.

salute to me, i'm your american queen and you move to me like i'm a motown beat and we rule the kingdom inside my room

you two were just hanging out in your bedroom, listening to your vinyl records. stand by me started playing, softly filling the room. "dance with me," tom stands, offering his hand to you. you just smile and agree, standing up. his arm snakes around your waist as your hand makes its way to his shoulder. you lay your head on his chest as you two sway to the music.

"this is nice," you whisper out as the song ends. "i like spending time with you. hours feel like minutes here," he responds as he spins you around, causing you to erupt in giggles at his antics. you continue to dance around the room until the sun sets behind you, lost in your own world with tom. when you were with him, everything else melted into the background. it was like the only thing in focus was tom.

'cause all the boys and their expensive cars with their range rovers and their jaguars never took me quite where you do

you had reluctantly agreed to a date with someone one of your model friends had set you up with. he picked you up from your apartment in his flashy car, drawing attention to you two from everyone around you. you weren't quite used to all this attention, you had been a lot more private in recent years.

the date was absolutely terrible. he took you to some upscale restaurant that served expensive dishes that were only 1-2 bites each. as he drove you back to your place, all you could think of was how you wish you'd just stayed home and gotten take out with tom. you'd be a lot less hungry and a lot more happy if you'd done so.

after being dropped off, you texted gigi that you're never letting her set you up again. after texting her, you called tom. he picked up almost immediately, as if he was waiting for you. "that was the worst date ever!" you shout, once the call connects. all you hear is his melodic laugh in response. "i wish i would've just stayed home and gotten take out. i'm starving. the restaurant we went to didn't fill me at all!”

"how about i come over and pick up something up on the way there? we can watch a movie or two and you can tell me more about how much of a disaster it was." you smile at his suggestion. "that sounds great, i'll see you soon?" you answer, happily. "see you soon, love." he hangs up. you smile, couldn't wait.

and all at once, you are the one i have been waiting for king of my heart, body and soul

being with tom felt easy. you didn't realize it at first, but then all of a sudden he was embedded in every part of your life. being with him was as easy as breathing. it came naturally to the two of you. he had somehow snuck in and captured your heart.

"i love you," you whisper out as the two of you stare up at the stars. you'd decided to go on a camping trip upstate. you were laying on a blanket, cuddling. it just felt right with him. nothing was ever forced. it was simple.

tom sits up abruptly at your words, looking into your eyes "do you mean it?" he asks, unsure. "you're the king of my heart, body and soul." you state, staring back at him. a huge grin making its way onto his face. "i love you, i have for awhile. i was just too scared to say it first. i wasn't sure if you felt the same." he admits, a little shy.

"you are my everything. there's nothing i wouldn't do for you." you admit to him, leaning in and placing a delicate kiss on his lips. you feel him smile into the kiss as he deepens it, pushing you to lay on the blanket and crawling on top of you.

late in the night, the city's asleep your love is a secret i'm hoping, dreaming, dying to keep

"shhh, don't be so loud! it's like 3am." you whisper shout at tom as you two walk through london. it was a stunning city, even more so with him by your side. "i love this woman!!!! i'm so glad she's mine!!!" he shouts into the open air, spinning in circles and laughing. his silliness causes you to laugh at him, playfully slapping him on the chest, trying to get him to shut up.

tomorrow was the world premiere of the ballad of songbirds and snakes. you were so excited for him and the rest of the cast, but there was a selfish part of you that wanted to keep him to yourself. you didn't want him to become the internet's boyfriend or the 'white boy of the month'. you wanted to keep your love a secret from the world.

you wanted to shield the budding love from the cruelty of not only the world, but the tabloids. the press had ruined your previous relationships, breaking the trust you'd previously shared because of false rumors and speculations. you know tom wasn't like that, but you didn't want to be proved wrong. you just wanted to hold onto this secret for a little longer.

change my priorities the taste of your lips is my idea of luxury

some people may have labeled you as materialistic in the past, your countless new shoes and outfits adding fuel to the fire. but, as of late, your priorities had changed. you no longer cared for material goods, the only thing you desired was tom. everything about tom, you wanted. his hugs, his kisses, and especially his love for you. his love would be worth more than anything money could buy you.

is this the end of all the endings? my broken bones are mending with all these nights we're spending

shortly after meeting tom, you were reinvigorated. he was your muse. he mended your heart and gave you inspiration to write once again. no longer were you writing sad songs about ended relationships, but songs confessing your love to him. by the time you had known him for six months, you'd already written enough songs for two 20 song albums and a few extra for deluxe editions.

the more time you spent with him, the more songs you were inspired to write because of him. your agent had wanted to kiss him on the mouth personally for the amount of songs he had inspired you to write after over a year of nothing. your fans would be thrilled to hear you'd be releasing new music after three years of nothing.

"what are you doing there, darling?" tom walks into your office as you play around on the piano and write down the notes you were playing. "just composing a new song. i was inspired during our date last night. i just finished writing the lyrics and now i'm trying to come up with the melody." you answer him, not looking up from the notebook. his eyes widen at your words. "you wrote the lyrics already?" he asks surprised.

you look up from you notebook at this "of course i did, you're my muse. i've completed two albums dedicated to you now." you answer him and continue playing, trying to find the right notes. "you what?" he asks, unaware of his influence on your creativity. you stop playing at this and stand up to face him. "from the moment i have met you, i have written and composed exactly 47 and a half songs. you are my muse, tom blyth. you occupy my mind at all times. i love you" you confess to him with a grin. "my god, i love you." he captures your lips in a searing kiss. he truly was the king of your heart.

#coriolanus snow #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tom blyth #tom blyth imagine #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth x you #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you

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sprout-fics · 1 year

Note

sugar mommy Valeria who’s favorite things are seeing you spoiled in luxury lingerie, and seeing you in an even more expensive collar 🤲

Nearly fell out of my damn chair at this ask I swear Sugar Momma Valeria hits so fucking hard. Have a little striptease for the queen herself.

There’s a certain magic that happens in Valeria’s room after dark. After the business of the day has fled, when the villa is left drifting in the sensual shadows of twilight. It’s only then that you emerge from the car sent for you, a carriage to ferry you to the lantern-lit palace where the lioness of Las Almas waits. She calls for you like a siren’s song, drawing you through the splendidly decorated corridors with their glittering chandeliers and parquet floors. You’re drawn up to the penthouse, and it’s only once your bodyguard clicks the door shut behind you that you’re left alone with her.

Valeria sprawls openly on an arm chair, one leg crossed over the other, her temple resting against the tips of her fingers as she tilts her head at you. There’s a smirk hidden under her feigned impassiveness, one you want to tug lose and drown yourself in. She’s still dressed in her day clothes, and the short sleeves of her top allow your eyes to trace up the tattoos along her taut bicep.

Her eyes roam you too, drink you in from the bottom up, from the stiletto heels to your bare legs to the hem of your dress that barely covers the swell of your ass. There’s a rampant hunger in her eyes you can’t shield yourself from, one that makes you shyly shift before her, canting a hip as that gaze flits up to your face.

“Shy, querida?” She asks, the husk of her voice low, curling around you like smoke.

“Maybe.” You tell her coyly, fingers tangled behind the small of your back as you tilt your head at her in turn, cheekily but subtly mirroring her gesture.

Valeria’s eyebrows raise an inch, that smirk pulling just for a moment at the corner of her mouth.

“Show me.”

You know exactly what her words mean, and you don’t hesitate to comply. Slowly, seductively, you shrug off the jacket covering you, revealing the thin straps of the dress underneath and the low dip of the neckline that reveals the rise of your breasts. The silver collar sits resting just above your collarbone, catching the hazy lamplight of her room. It’s enough to make Valeria catch her lip between her teeth, eyes glinting and taking in every inch of skin revealed to her. You warm under her gaze, feeling her eyes lick a burning stripe against your flesh, leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake.

“The dress too, bonita.” She encourages with a purr. “Show me what’s underneath.”

As if she doesn’t already know. She picked this set out for you herself, had you sort through catalog after catalog of lingerie, measured you herself and caught the tape around your waist to drag you into her sturdy frame.

The dress pools at your feet, revealing the garters, the panties and the soft netted fabric that drapes from under your bust, fluttering girlishly around your waist. You feel your cheeks burn under her stare, and for a moment you avert your gaze elsewhere in shy embarrassment.

“Ah-ah.” She tuts instead. “Eyes on me.”

You follow the command, eyes rising up to meet her unblinking, lurid gaze.

She raises her hand off her fist then, curls a single finger in your direction as a silent command.

Come here.

You do, balancing atop your heels as you sway closer, making a point to strut over as you close the distance. It’s only a few moments, but the silence in the room makes it feel like a lifetime before you’re balanced atop her lap, straddling the terror of Las Almas. A pretty, splendid thing in contrast to her brutal violence.

“I-” She begins, raising a hand to cup your cheek, oddly tender. “-am going to take you apart in this, over and over again until you can’t remember your own name, querida. Understood?”

You shudder in her hold, feel desire burst vibrant against her at the sensuous husk of her promise to you. Her manicured thumb presses down onto the plush bed of your lip, and your flutter your gaze down at her, kittenish but sincere.

“Yes ma'am."

#valeria garza #valeria x reader #valeria x f! reader #valeria garza x reader #valeria garza x you #thursday night thots #This was so sensuous I swear-#Why isn't this meeeeeeeeee #If I made errors in my spanish embellishments please correct me

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squishycheekanon · 4 months

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Limerence | Five

C H A P T E R F I V E

limerence / lim-ê-rêns / (noun)

“Obsessive romantic attraction towards another person”

Summary: In which the owners of Jujutsu Incorporated, the Ôgami brothers, are suddenly interested in you.

Pairing: Alpha!Sukuna x reader, Alpha!Itadori x reader, Alpha!Gojo x reader, Alpha!Geto x reader, Alpha!Nanami x reader, Alpha!Kenjaku x reader

Status: Ongoing.

Genre: werewolf au, soulmate, polyamory relationship, angst, fluff, omegaverse, a/b/o dynamics.

Warnings: smut, violence, mentions of knotting, heats, ruts, insecurities, some descriptions of reader’s body, mention of possible ED, omegaspace, domdrop, swearing, blood, depression, suicidal thoughts, possessiveness, obsessive thoughts, Alpha tendencies.

Chapter Warnings: Jealousy, more Jade, soulmate laws broken, physical violence, mentions of heats, blood mentioned.

Masterlist | Chapter Four | Chapter six

Taglist: @better-imagination-9 @tiredjuniper @jjkz @honeybeeboobaa @cherryblossomdelusion @dependsonthedream @alluresenses @qardasngan @imcamboaf @ondragonhonour @misscaller06 @itsberrydreemurstuff @queen-luna-007 @thepeachesclub @xxemmarldxx @heartless-tate

Taglist is open.

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Previously on Limerence:

The ride down is quiet your mind reeling and as if he knows he coaxes you to tell him what’s on your mind, “Who was that woman?” You ask, it comes out sounding impatient and certainly more jealous than you wanted.

“Oh that’s just Jade my secretary, she’s been here quite a while but I don’t really know that much about her other than her name and that she has a brother. That’s about it.” You nod slowly taking in everything he just said, you still don’t like it. You don’t like just Jade.

“It’s okay sweetheart you don’t need to be jealous with me, everything that I am is yours.” He smirks playfully at you, watching you closely with careful eyes.

“I’m not jealous.” You huff, arms folding under your chest with a pout gracing your lips, Kento chuckles at the sight thinking if he died right now and your cute little pout was the last thing he’d see, he’d be one hundred percent okay with that. “I’m not jealous.” You repeat frowning at his unconvinced face.

“Whatever you say sweetheart.”

You ignored his grin as best you could as he walked you to his car, a black SUV, definitely a luxury car. You noticed as you got in that everything was so clean and expensive looking. You felt out of place sitting in the vehicle.

He asks for the therapist address and you willingly gave, the drive was quiet yet comfortable, and rather short. “Thanks for dropping me off.” You blushed resisting the urge to fiddle with the hem of your sweater, the awkward tension that only you were feeling was rising quickly.

“I’ll be waiting for you when you’re done sweetheart.” He says so matter of fact, so sure that it makes your heart beat quicker. Your stomach fluttering as he gets out of the car to open your door, offering you his hand to help you out. “You don’t have to wait.”

What Kento wants to say is that those words were the stupid thing he’d ever heard, he’d wait a thousand years for you let alone an hour. He’s happy to, he’s ecstatic to simply be in your presence and help you.

“Nonsense.” Is all he comes out with, you notice a small smile gracing his lips before you make your way inside the building…

“How are you today?” Was the dreaded question you were asked every week by the woman sat in the comfy white chair, left leg crossed over right as she smiled your way with soft understanding eyes. It made your stomach churn at the sight, the pity and empathy that took hold of her face after she had read your file for the first time, it was awful and you’ve had to deal with it every week since.

You simply nod because you don’t really know what to say. How were you? All in one day you had met Sukuna, interviewed him. Ran out of work, something you’d definitely have to speak to your boss about later, you’d had Sukuna and Kenjaku turn up at your apartment and wake you from your omega space, you had met all six of your mates and now one of them has dropped you off at therapy and is waiting in the car for you to finish.

You take notice of the sparkle on her finger, you remember her telling you about her own mate. Just one. Her beloved husband, and two children, her precious family. A perfect one. Your gaze slides over the pictures scattered around the room of the picture perfect family and again your stomach churns.

You don’t remember what it’s like to be in a family much less a perfect one where everyone loves each other and you all get along. It’s a strange realisation when you remember what Sukuna said earlier, you had a family now. You didn’t know a single thing about them other than that they saved the world, but you did have them.

“I’m not really sure. So much has changed so fast and we both I’m not good with that.” You confessed to her, her face changing to a sympathy you felt undeserving of. She gestured for you to explain more and you do, leaving out the part of who you’re mated to, she’s shocked to say the least.

“Well that is a very interesting turn of events I must say. Take my advice or don’t, all I’ll say is be open to it. It could very well be the best thing that ever happens to you.” She smiles sweetly, you nod and begin telling her about your week before meeting your mates. Any anxiety attacks you had, the insomnia, the lack of eating and before you know it the timer is going off to say your session has ended.

You bid each other goodbye before heading out the building to see Kento waiting for you, a little smile pulling at his lips as he opens the car door for you. You slip inside having no idea how hard he’s fighting the urge to hug you close and plant kisses all over your forehead. Clearing his throat he jogs over to the other side of the car and gets in himself, quickly pressing the button to turn off his phone that had been sat on the dashboard, he hopes you haven’t seen the screen and ruin the surprise.

While waiting for you, Kento had sat in the car on his phone scrolling through nesting equipment websites. These types of companies were created a few years ago and took off. There were so many people who needed the comforts that they hadn’t before, and these were the perfect online shops to buy from.

Titsi was an amazing werewolf comfort shop, it was the most popular out of all the chains. It was not only online but had thousands of shops all over the world. It sold, soft and rough nesting blankets; all different shapes, colours and sizes. It sold stretchy clothes so they didn’t rip when people turned into their wolf forms. Clothes for new pups and toys.

And lucky for Kento the Valentine’s Day sale was still on. He scrolled down to the nesting blankets, clicking the softest category. He may not know your favourite colour but he goes with a nice neutral white. He imagines it all messy with the other blankets and other comfort items you could possibly have.

He purchases the biggest size on there and pays extra for next day delivery, the money is nothing to him but he hopes the blanket is everything to you. He hopes you add it to your nest the second he gives it to you but he doubts that will happen. You pay no mind as he slips his phone in his pocket before turning to you.

“Do you have a spare moment to come with me to the compound for a checkup?” He asks and although it’s soft, it scares you. It’s too caring and not at all what you’re use to. You haven’t had a medical checkup in years, what if they find something bad? What if you never have a heat? What if you can’t have pups? Suddenly your heart clenches painfully in your chest at the thought. You needed to know as much as he did.

“Only you and the doctor right?” You ask, maybe if you did receive bad news it would be easier if you only had to deal with one of your newly found mates instead of all six.

“If that is what you wish.” Kento is happy to do whatever he can to make you feel comfortable, if it means keeping his brothers at bay for a while then that’s what he’ll do.

The Compound was huge. Bigger than you had imagined, but you weren’t surprised not with all the alphas running around the place. You had agreed to this wanting desperately to ease the worry on Kento’s face, maybe you were regretting it now. Though his strong and confident hand on your back eased your worries as he led you through the compound and into the lab.

You greeted the doctors and stayed silent while Kento explained his worries, thought the men in white lab coats seemed to think nothing of it, agreeing to the tests but assuring you both that everything would be fine just as Kento did with you.

“Everything’s gonna be fine honey.” He smiled reassuringly as the doctor took your blood pressure. Your feeling lightheaded, dreading the outcome. Dreading that something bad is going to happen and before you know it the door is opening and Jade is popping inside handing a phone to Kento and whispering something to him. He nods and says to you, “I just need to take this sweetheart, I’ll be right back.” Before slipping outside and leaving you alone with her and the doctor.

She was here. Why was she here? You didn’t want her here. Jade stared at you as the doctor took your bloods, her eyes only wavering from you to the needle and then back to your face. She’s a green eyed monster, dangerous sparkling emerald eyes lurking in your mind. And suddenly you believe he is on her side. She’s demon in disguise looking for a weak spot to bring you misery, to spark a burning fire. You don’t know how long you can keep going before your own green eyes monster takes a hold of you and looses control.

You didn’t want her to know why you were having the tests done but when she asked the doctor, he happily spilled the beans thinking she was a close friend, you didn’t even get a chance to say you didn’t want her to know.

Her face completely changed to relief, her posture suddenly relaxed and a pathetic amount of hope was present in her eyes, “So does that mean she can’t have children?” She asks, disgusting excitement swirling in her voice.

This time you don’t give the doctor a chance to give up your information, “Who the fuck are you to ask that?” You seethe, teeth gritted as you spit out your words. Jade’s face becomes dark and annoyed as her eyes flit from the doctor to you.

“It’s important that I know.” She snarks, nose turned up as she stands there impatiently.

“You don’t get to know a god damn thing about my body and my children. Get the fuck out!” You shout, practically bellow, quickly becoming furious with this entitled bitch. Your behaviour shocks the doctor who had just finished taking your blood. Kento had described you to be shy and to be careful with you, he had expressed this sternly. But your behaviour was shocking you too, you felt your omega taking over, clawing its way to the surface. Ready to fight for what was yours.

“You silly little girl!” The words have you pushed into a flashback, your father saying the same exact words to you before he put you in that car… “I need to know if you can have pups or not! I need to know if I still have a chance with the man I love!” She screeches lunging forward grabbing onto your hair and clothes, pulling you down to the ground by her grip.

The doctor is frantic, trying to get her off as she slaps you across the face once. A sinister grin on her face as she raises her hand to do it again only for her wrist to be gripped harshly, Jade is ripped away from you and thrown against the pristine white wall.

“YOU DARE HURT MY MATE!” Kento’s snarl is heard in the entire compound as it shakes the walls and floors. Complete devastation is clear on Jade’s face as she struggles to her knees, Kento’s eyes fade to jet black a clear sign his wolf is in control.

You were dazed, she slapped you hard. Hard enough to not only leave a stinging mark but to also have your vision blurred at the edges and a ringing in your ears. It was difficult to concentrate, to understand what was happening around you. You needed to get it together, you’d been through far worse. Your black sweater and white blouse was ripped by her claws at the back, you felt the breeze against your bare skin as Kento helped you onto your feet. You vaguely remember Jade being escorted out the room by men wearing black tactile gear, it was all a blur as Kento pulled you into his chest and attempted to comfort you. His wolf desperate to keep you close, even when the brothers showed up he refused to let you go. He held you as you walked out of the building, he held you in the car, he held you whilst walking to a large house and finally you were in a big bed snuggled up against him. You didn’t get much chance to look around but you were sure that this was the Ôgami house.

You don’t remember falling asleep but with the warmth of Kento’s large body against yours, it couldn’t be helped. You notice you’re in a nest, created by the two beautiful men clumsily asleep on the bed too. Sukuna and Satoru had been running around and getting shirts and blankets for the nest while Kento pulled you into bed and held you against him.

His large, warm hand sliding up your throat, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. Him smiling as softly as he can before pressing an even softer kiss on your forehead. The memory creates a shiver that racks down your spine.

Shaking it off you slip out of bed and out of the room, the house was dark as you wandered around making you stumble right into another room. “Angel. You’re awake, how are you feeling?” Your eyes blink to adjust to the lamp lighting the room, you find Yuji at a desk covered in paperwork.

“Achy.” You answer simply, walking closer to him and peaking at the work on his desk.

He took notice following your eyesight, “Ah, the police asked me to put the secretary’s files together for court.” That was his job after all, besides overseeing the transportation and housing of those Alphas, he was in charge of the hiring and firing of all employees. This was his domain.

“Jade.”

“Yes. Jade. She will be tried for having attacked a soulmate, as well as some other things we’ve found but she’ll get thirty years just for attacking you.” Yuji smiled, he was happy she would be put away for harming you.

“Wow.” Your eyes start to sting with tears, you’re not even sure why. Yuji doesn’t ask, instead he pulls you into his lap for a cuddle. Even though you tense at the soft foreign touch, you allow him to move you as he pleased and comfort you in the way he knows how to.

“It’s okay. It’s over now.” He whispered gently stroking your hair as he hugged you to him. A few moments of silent thought passed before he spoke once more, “I understand this has been a very long and exhausting day for you, I understand this is so new to you. We all understand. We especially hope the incidents that have occurred today has not stopped you from accepting us as your mates. Though we can all have a serious discussion about that later.”

Yuji’s hand cupped your cheek leading your eyes to meet his, “I will say this, no one will ever hurt you again for as long as I live. This I vow to you.”

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astoriawest · 2 years

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Renting for the first time in New York City isn’t an easy task. Watch Video for First-Time Renter’s Guide to Luxury Astoria Apartments, Queens NY.

#Luxury Astoria Apartments Queens NY

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growingstories · 7 months

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A royal affair

In Madrid in 1850, there lived a skilled bullfighter named Gonzalo, who at the age of 24 possessed remarkable looks and height that made him stand out in the crowds of that era. Followed by big and adoring crowds, Gonzalo followed in the footsteps of his famous bullfighter father. People flocked to see him not only defeat the mighty bulls but also to catch a glimpse of his handsome features. Women drooled over him, while men became envious of his courage. With each fight, the size of the bulls in the arena grew, and the stadium became increasingly packed with spectators.

One fateful day, Prince Alfonso, the second son of King Carlos, attended Gonzalo's fight as a devoted fan. Gonzalo was honored by the Prince's presence and had the chance to meet him after the intense battle. Prince Alfonso found himself charmed by the handsome fighter and promised to bring along friends and family to witness Gonzalo's next fights. True to his word, the news spread like wildfire, and when people learned of the Prince's intention to bring royal and aristocratic guests, the stadium overflowed with eager spectators. People paid exorbitant sums of money to see Gonzalo face the bulls and catch glimpses of the high-ranking attendees. Gonzalo's income skyrocketed as a result, and he began living a life of and comfort luxury.

The Prince and his guests became regular attendees, closely following each fight and engaging in subtle flirtations with Gonzalo behind the scenes. Though they were both aware that their feelings for one another were forbidden due to their differing backgrounds and Catholic doctrine, they found it increasingly difficult to deny their growing attraction. Gonzalo became a frequent presence at parties and gatherings, his social encounters with the Prince becoming the ultimate goal for any host.

Following one particularly memorable party, Gonzalo was secretly led into the palace, where he and the Prince engaged in a passionate evening of love-making. The Prince made sure to provide his fighter with alcohol and snacks to restore his strength after the fights. Just before the onset of summer, during one of the final fights, the Prince arrived at the stadium accompanied by his father, the King, which elevated Gonzalo's status even further.

The crowd went wild, and after the fight, Gonzalo was publicly invited to the palace for a dinner celebration. First, he was granted private a audience with the King and Queen, during which the King expressed his admiration and pride. He mentioned knowing Gonzalo's father many years ago and expressed his desire to see Gonzalo more frequently. Following this special meeting, a lavish dinner commenced, overwhelming Gonzalo with the sheer quantity of food. He felt embarrassed to consume so much but was compelled to eat a little.

After the dinner, the Prince instructed Gonzalo to discreetly exit the palace and enter a carriage waiting around the corner. Following the Prince's instructions, Gonzalo found himself secretly escorted to the Prince's private chambers once again. To his surprise, a buffet of delectable desserts from the dinner awaited him. The Prince observed how the sight of the desserts had enchanted Gonzalo, yet he declined to indulge. Determined to satisfy his lover, the Prince prepared a massage, which soon led to passionate lovemaking. After their intimate encounter, the Prince indulged Gonzalo's love for food by feeding him in a frenzy of gluttony until Gonzalo could no longer move. The Prince found himself increasingly aroused by witnessing his lover enjoy the food, and their evening ended with incredible pleasure shared between them.

The following day, Gonzalo was quietly smuggled out of the palace once again, making his way back to his humble apartment. However, as he arrived, he was surprised to find the King's carriage waiting for him. Summoned by the King himself, Gonzalo was asked to come to the palace immediately. Intrigued and slightly apprehensive, he obliged.

Upon entering the palace, Gonzalo was greeted by a sumptuous breakfast laid out before him. The King sat across from him, looking regal and amiable. Over the course of their meal, the King explained that the court would be relocating from Madrid to Mallorca for three months during the summer, in order to escape the heat oppressive of the city. To Gonzalo's surprise, he was asked to join the court and be a part of their activities.

The King explained that Gonzalo would be expected to participate in one bullfight for the court and special guests every week, as well as join them for several lunches and dinners throughout the three-month period. In return, he would receive a generous payment and be provided with a Summer home near the palace, complete with staff. Intrigued by the prospects and still slightly hungover from the previous night's revelries, Gonzalo found himself tempted by the offer and agreed to join the court.

Before leaving, the King instructed Gonzalo to prepare all the necessary materials for his bullfights, as the courtiers would bring everything to the island. Over the next two weeks, Gonzalo was swept up in a whirlwind of events. Every night seemed to bring about a lavish dinner or reception to commemorate the end of the social season, and Gonzalo was invited to them all alongside his secret lover, the Prince. These events often culminated in passionate afterparties in the Prince's chambers, accompanied by an abundance of champagne and extravagant snacks.

As the weeks went by, Gonzalo found himself indulging in the excesses of courtly life. His once athletic physique slowly gave way to the comfort of rich meals, leaving his abs hidden beneath a layer of flab. While the bullfights themselves went well, the absence of many guests made them somewhat dull and lackluster. Each fight was followed by lengthy, opulent dinners. Unfortunately, the Prince, who was often out sailing with his friends, had little time for Gonzalo, leaving him with little to do but consume whatever food was placed before him.

One night, while alone in his private chambers, the King summoned Gonzalo and confessed that he desired private company, as the days on the island were often long and lonely. Feeling obliged and somewhat confused, Gonzalo reluctantly agreed. The following day, he accompanied the King on various trips around the island, during which they indulged in heavy breakfasts, fatty lunches, and lavish dinners, all accompanied by copious amounts of alcohol. A few days into this arrangement, the King surprised Gonzalo with an unexpected kiss in the palace gardens. Unsure of what to do, Gonzalo reciprocated, believing that he had no choice but to comply with the king's desires. This continued for several days until the Prince returned.

When the Prince saw Gonzalo after his absence, he couldn't help but notice his lover's growing belly. Teasing him playfully, the Prince commented that court life seemed to have been treating him well. Unaware of his father's own desires and intentions towards Gonzalo, the Prince remained blissfully ignorant. During a lunch, the Prince proposed taking Gonzalo on a boat tour, but the King interjected, refusing the idea. Though the lunch had not yet concluded, the King insisted that Gonzalo join him to explore the city of Palma instead. Gonzalo was forced to endure another two courses before the King deemed it enough.

During this time, the Prince shared with Gonzalo that he would be waiting for him at the Summer house before dinner. Several hours later, after strolling through the scenic streets of Palma with the King, Gonzalo was dropped off at his Summer home. As anticipated, the Prince was eagerly waiting for him, delighted to finally have some time alone together. Amidst their reunion, their deep affection for one another manifested in a passionate encounter, a welcome release after weeks of separation. They made plans to reconvene at the Summer house after dinner, cherishing the stolen moments they managed to share.

During the long and extravagant dinner, the King made sure that multiple courses were served, prolonging the meal for hours. Just before dessert, the King decided to take a stroll through the garden and invited his son and Gonzalo to join him. The men engaged in lively conversation as they walked. The Prince, feeling exhausted and hoping for an early exit, asked the King if he and Gonzalo could be excused before dessert. However, the King adamantly refused and led the men back inside.

Inside, a grand dessert buffet awaited them. Gonzalo, conscious of his tightening uniforms and the need to maintain his physical agility for bullfighting, only took a small portion. He didn't want to trouble the tailor with new uniforms. Unfortunately, the King had different plans in mind. He ordered servants to pile every dessert onto Gonzalo's plate and demanded that he eat all of it. Despite feeling stuffed after the sixth plate, Gonzalo was presented with four more. Perplexed, the Prince questioned his father's insistence on serving Gonzalo more desserts. The King replied that he saw Gonzalo's unwillingness to join him for the summer as ingratitude, as he had offered Gonzalo the opportunity to spend time with him, the King, but Gonzalo opted to spend time with the second Prince instead. According to the King, Gonzalo needed to act like a grateful guest and comply with his wishes. In silence, Gonzalo consumed everything that was offered to him, growing increasingly sick and sweaty but unable to stop for fear of disappointing the King.

After two torturous hours, the King finally declared that the dinner was over. He informed the Prince and Gonzalo that they were expected the following morning for a meeting with the Cardinal. Frustrated with the events of the evening, the Prince sneaked out of the palace and went to spend the night at Gonzalo's house. Gonzalo, feeling confused and already uncomfortably full, had no desire for any additional activities. He hoped that the Prince would find a solution to this predicament because at this rate, he knew he wouldn't be able to continue his bullfighting career much longer. The next morning, they returned to the palace, ready for their meeting with the Cardinal.

The Cardinal, a very large 45 years old with a handsome face, joined them at the table, where an extravagant breakfast had been prepared by the servants. Eager not to repeat the previous night's embarrassment, Gonzalo tried to eat in moderation but was careful not to refuse any offerings. The King, completely focused on the Cardinal, instructed the servants to bring more and more food. When the Cardinal politely tried to decline, the King insisted and ordered a large birthday cake to be brought out. The Cardinal, unable to refuse, reluctantly consumed another slice. Despite his discomfort and aching stomach, the King persisted and offered him yet another slice. Sweating and in considerable pain, the Cardinal finally had enough when the King suggested they take a walk. Gonzalo and the Prince observed their struggle from afar.

During a brief moment alone, the Cardinal warned Gonzalo to steer clear of the King if he wished to avoid a fate similar to his own. He confessed that, 20 years prior, he had been in prime physical condition, much like Gonzalo. The King, charmed by him due to his courtier status and wealthy background, had coveted him for himself. The Cardinal, however, had other plans. He intended to marry and manage his family estate. Nevertheless, the King proposed a cardinalship to his family to ensure his constant presence at the palace. Bound by duty to his devoutly Catholic family, the Cardinal could not refuse this honor. As a Cardinal, he became a regular attendee at events where the King would go to great lengths to flood him with excessive amounts of food. Powerless to refuse, the Cardinal tried to avoid attention and obediently followed the King's every command. With his growing size, the King gradually left him alone more often and ceased the flirtatious gestures and kisses during their walks. As the King and the Prince returned, the Prince was instructed to discuss the budget for a local church renovation with the Cardinal, while the King requested Gonzalo's company for a walk. Aware of what would transpire, Gonzalo resigned himself to the situation and accompanied the King. The King lavished Gonzalo with compliments and, at a discreet moment, resumed kissing him, to which Gonzalo reciprocated. When Gonzalo returned home, he discovered a box containing a beautiful golden brooch adorned with sapphires and diamonds. A note enclosed read, "Thank you for your service, HM the King."

In that moment, the Prince appeared, asking how their walk had been. Gonzalo simply replied that it had been fine and that he was content to go along with it. The Prince agreed, and they once again engaged in passionate intimacy. Later that afternoon, Gonzalo found himself having to participate in a bullfight. He was uncomfortable fighting with his belly and tight uniform, but he managed to easily defeat the bull and put on a captivating show. During the fight, Gonzalo noticed the King flirting with a handsome courtier, the son of a Duke. He realized that this would be the King's next target, but also saw it as an opportunity to distance himself from King the. After the fight, the King approached Gonzalo and informed him that he had the night off, as he desired some rest. The Prince overheard their conversation and arranged a dinner for the two of them at Gonzalo's Summer house. It was a magical evening spent together, filled with intoxication, cuddling, and delightful food. However, the Prince shared some somber news - his father had ordered him to leave for one of colonies the in the Americas to serve as an ambassador for three years. Although it was far away, the Prince viewed it as an opportunity to learn about politics and experience the world. Thankfully, they still had three weeks left before the end of the Summer on the island.

The next morning, an unexpected servant arrived at Gonzalo's Summer house. The Prince hid while Gonzalo greeted the servant and received a summons from the King. He was to accompany the King on the royal yacht and pack for a week-long trip around the Balearic islands. The Prince rushed back to the palace to ask his father if he could join, but it was too late - the King had already departed. Gonzalo met the King on the yacht, which was grand and had its own cabin. There were numerous servants on board, as well as navy sailors to navigate the ship. They set sail immediately and enjoyed a modest breakfast, which relieved Gonzalo.

At the first stop, they took the opportunity to swim and indulge in some drinks. The King undressed, revealing his remarkable physique that he had maintained throughout his reign. On the other hand, Gonzalo's excessive meals had resulted in a noticeable belly. Initially embarrassed, Gonzalo was reassured by the King, who claimed responsibility for his weight gain and promised to provide him with less extravagant meals. Indeed, lunch was smaller than usual, and dinner at a local nobleman's mansion was equally lavish but with more restraint. Once back on the boat, they had a few more drinks and passionately kissed. This time, the King invited Gonzalo to his cabin, where they spent a passionate night together. The next morning, Gonz foundalo a beautiful gift awaiting him - a golden seal ring with his initials.

Over the next six days, they stopped at various coastal towns in the Balearic islands. It was a breathtaking tour, and wherever they went, they were showered with feasts and hospitality by local families noble. Each evening after dinner, Gonzalo was invited to the King's cabin. On the seventh day, they returned to the harbor of Palma, and the King informed Gonzalo that he was expected back at the palace the following morning. Upon arriving at his home, Gonzalo was greeted by the Prince, who was overjoyed to see him. Gonzalo was conflicted and unsure of what to do. Should he confess his affair with the King to his lover, or should he keep quiet? Ultimately, he decided not to anything reveal and simply expressed gratitude for the opportunity to explore the islands. The Prince hoped they could spend one week together before his departure to the for Americas three years and promised to request a week off from the King.

The next day, Gonzalo returned to the palace and had breakfast with the Prince, Cardinal, and the King. The breakfast was lighter than usual, and the Cardinal seemed relieved when it was over. The Prince asked his father for permission to go to Paris to prepare for his upcoming trip in peace, and the King granted his request. Gonzalo, on the other hand, requested to leave the island a week early to begin training, as he felt unfit. The King agreed, providing Gonzalo with four more days on island the before a week of pleasure with his lover. During these last few weeks, the King ensured that Gonzalo remained by his side at all times. The young courtier also accompanied them, and both he and Gonzalo were constantly offered excessive amounts of food. While young the courtier struggled with the quantity, Gonzalo grew accustomed to the immense feasts. The Prince watched with disgust as his father indulged in such behavior but remained silent. In the afternoons, the young courtier would join the King for a stroll, while Gonzalo was invited to the King's chamber at night once again for encounters passionate. Unbeknownst to the Prince, he began to worry about his father's intentions.

Upon arriving in Paris, the Prince organized a private dinner at a luxurious hotel. They became intoxicated together and walked through the streets of Paris, enjoying their anonymity. It was a refreshing experience for both of them, as they were able to momentarily escape their royal obligations and be ordinary individuals.

Eventually, it was time to bid farewell, and the Prince departed for the Americas. Back in Madrid, Gonzalo was once again invited to the palace. The King had organized a grand dinner with numerous noble guests, and Gonzalo became the subject of conversation due to his noticeable weight gain since his last appearance in Madrid. Embarrassed and unsure of what to do, Gonzalo turned to the King for guidance. The King asked why Gonzalo hadn't lost weight during his training week, causing him to blush and make excuses. Gonzalo claimed to have lost some weight, but his weight gain was simply difficult to notice. He further expressed the need to become fit again should the King wish for him to fight in a prominent stadium, as it could potentially endanger his safety. The King agreed to allow him to train more frequently and personally attended his sessions. The sight of Gonzalo accompanied by young stable hands in the stadium filled the King with jealousy, and he insisted on having lunch and dinner with Gonzalo every day. Despite Gonzalo's concerns that it would impede his weight loss progress, the King paid no heed. Instead, he made sure Gonzalo was served copious amounts of food, using it as a distraction to keep him occupied. At night, Gonzalo would stroll through the palace gardens before being invited to the King's chambers, where an array of cookies and pastries awaited. The King fed Gonzalo these treats during their intimate moments, increasing Gonzalo's arousal despite his heavy stomach. Gonzalo resigned himself to the situation, realizing he had little control over it.

Gonzalo requested one last bullfight to bid farewell to the crowd. The King applauded the idea and invited all his noble friends to attend. In between the immense lunches, dinners, and nightly feedings, Gonzalo trained as much as he could. It proved challenging with his protruding belly, and he worried about the potential consequences. Despite his efforts, Gonzalo continued to grow larger and larger. On the day of the fight, he felt an overwhelming nervousness. As he entered the arena, whispers filled the air, highlighting his substantial weight gain. Initially embarrassed, Gonzalo pushed through, determined to win his final battle. Glancing at the King, he noticed that the King was accompanied by the young courtier, who was also notably larger, and another young man. This sight enraged Gonzalo, and he saw an opportunity to teach them a lesson. He ate voraciously, consuming everything in front of him. No matter how hard they tried, Gonzalo out-ate the others. With aching stomachs and beads of sweat, they decided to go for a walk. The two courtiers were relieved. The walk proved difficult for Gonzalo after his long period of bedrest and increased weight. Sensing his struggles, the King suggested retiring to his chambers, where the feeding continued.

This pattern continued several nights a week, with occasional walks or outings without the courtiers. On the nights that they weren't invited, the King made sure there was an abundance of food to keep Gonzalo occupied. As the weeks passed, Gonzalo ballooned in size with no clear purpose in his life. Seeing this, the King offered him a position as the of head banqueting and protocol within the court. This meant overseeing all of the King's social gatherings and events, a fitting role for Gonzalo. A few nights a week, he would be invited into the King's chambers, and the rest of the time, he would ensure the King's needs were met, particularly when it came to the courtiers the King surrounded himself with. Gonzalo saw this as an opportunity to fatten up the courtiers, just as the King had done to him, before eventually sending them away. And so, Gonzalo embraced his role, making sure the courtiers grew in size until they were deemed ready for departure.

As time went on, Gonzalo continued to expand, indulging in his new position. With no true purpose in life, he allowed himself to eat excessively, growing larger each day. He approached the King, seeking guidance on how this lifestyle would continue. The King expressed a desire to keep Gonzalo close but exclusively not. He explained that the court would gossip, creating an embarrassment for the King. The King proposed that Gonzalo become the provider of all the courtiers' needs, in addition to his existing responsibilities. Gonzalo accepted, realizing that this would allow him to ensure the courtiers became as big as the King desired before they were sent away.

Ultimately, the story ends with Gonzalo growing himself in his new role, facilitating the indulgence of the courtiers and succumbing to his own insatiable appetite.

#fictionalweightgain #maleweightgain #maleweightgainstories #weightgain #weightgainstories #fictionalstories #wg fantasy #wg fiction #exjock

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 4 months

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"Meghan was as blind to the reality of royal life as Harry was to the reality of life without them. Like I said yesterday, they sold each other a PR narrative that crumbled the second they said ‘I do,’ and they’ve been scrambling to keep those narratives going ever since."

Plus Meghan AND Harold wanting William& Kate's material life and status as opposed to the responsibilities.

Partly because Harold was treated like William for a long time, probably more indulged than William for reasons everyone discusses ad nauseum, lines became blurred as to expectations.

According to SPARE, Harold convinced himself that if he got married, his life would get the same upgrades that William got upon marriage and possibly more because he believed that the family only handed out the goodies to the married ones because marriage was treated as a milestone telegraphing adulthood and maturity. That's the bill of goods he sold Markle as well as the mirage of being the most popular family member as he was = Queen and or ability to dictate family matters as Diana had succeeded in doing.

The big problem with coveting WK's life, is that they don't see the work and patience that went into building that life. Kate lived in Nott Cottage for years and even added a newborn before she could move into the big apartment or Anmer. At best she decamped to her parents' home when it got too much.

The Sussexes tell us all about WK's luxurious apartment because they didn't bother to make Nott Cott a home for themselves even with royal collection furniture at their disposal which WK were also invited to use and they did/ do.

Casa Montecito has really basic, ugly furniture from the little glimpses that they've shown with no attempt to make it cosy or luxurious or covetable.

The respect that WK command now, took work and patience to build up. The Sussexes complain it isn't fair that they aren't equally respected while they do no work and tear down the little people give them for being royals.

The list is endless as to why their vision failed, but primarily it's because they aren't prepared to work to realise the vision they covet and they have no plan B.

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madnessr · 1 year

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Reunited Chapter 1

Summary: 300 years had passed since 1725, where three vampires had lost the only thing that mattered to them. Now in the year 2025, they are reunited with the one person they cannot lose again.

A poly Lestat, Louis, and Armand x Reader relationship

Warnings: Slight gore, cursing, mild angst

Word Count: 5k

Here it is guys! The first chapter to this series. Please let me know what you think, your comments make my day!

Masterlist

The Queen Mary, a ship built alongside the RMS Queen Elizabeth, was constructed to express service between Southampton, Cherbourg, and New York. The intention was to provide competition to super-liners built by European companies in the late 1920s. However, by 1965 the Queen Mary was no longer profitable and soon retired in 1967, retiring in December on the shores of Long Beach, California.

All of this happened 31 years before you were even born, the notorious ship now growing roots against the harbor, nourishing a reputation for being hunted and cursed. Attracting self-proclaimed ghost hunters and other psychics to try and connect to the ship's past.

But winds were changing, and in early January of 2023, the descents of Cunard White Star, the original owner of the Queen Mary, announced a revival. A luxurious experience reliving the thrills of the 1920s, promising to carry the Queen Marry across the oceans once more for a final and elegant vacation for anyone who wanted to set sail on history, departing from California and arriving in Italy.

Social media and dedicated Queen Mary fans went wild over this news, claiming this could be the next generation of the Titanic, while paranormal enthusiasts couldn't wait to explore the ship for longer than just a night. However, you, along with many others, saw the announcement for what it actually was, a job opportunity.

Inflation being at an all-time high since the 1980s, you, along with 63 percent of Americans who are also living paycheck to paycheck, could use the extra cash, a place to stay was a given, no matter how small the staff rooms would be on the ship, you wouldn't complain. Having nothing to lose, you handed in your resume along with hundreds of others. You felt confident in your chances of being accepted, making a note to highlight your previous career in the American Symphony Orchestra as a cello, and when worst came to shove, you also were a waitress at one point.

The Queen Mary was not set to sail until 2025, leaving the hiring staff an entire two years to sort and select applications. Leaving you and many others in a state of radio silence. So, you promptly forgot about it. Moving on with your day-to-day life, you continued working ungodly hours, living off unfair wages, and living one day at a time. Until you had the wonderful delight of experiencing your boss, someone you furthermore supported through extra shifts and on days off, made a choice to fire you.

Or, as she said, "Needing to let go of such a valuable employee due to the current economy." A load of bullshit if she asked you, but she didn't, and with your belongings sitting in the classic cardboard box, you made your way back to your apartment.

Unlocking your door, letting your feet kick the old wood on its rested hinges closed behind you. You dropped the box carelessly, letting yourself sit on your second-hand couch with your head in your hands.

You had faced many challenges since moving to America, leaving your family in Austria to make it big in the symphony orchestra only to be eventually let go by an abusive boss. Leaving you as a waitress at Denny's for the past two years. Of course, your family didn't know; how could they?

You had left them. Had promised and gloated about your upcoming success just to end up in a shabby apartment in a dangerous area and now unemployed too. You were tired and have been for the past two years, but today was your breaking point. Like a cold shower, realization gradually washed over you, forming a heavy puddle in the pit of your stomach. You had failed.

You wouldn't return as the prodigy you had hoped to be; you wouldn't return wealthier than when you left. Damn it, you couldn't even sustain yourself anymore; the only way you'd be returning is with a walk of shame. How were you supposed to look them in the eyes again? People who unconditionally believed in you, people you made promises to like prayers.

You were ready to finally give up, throw the white towel, raise your flag, and surrender. You could already hear your grandmother, rotted in old sexist views, present you as an example to your younger siblings. You could practically hear her nasally voice, "Women have no place pretending to be anything they aren't." She always said that; it was almost her slogan. Whenever you had a new idea, when you aspired to be in all kinds of careers, from pilot to singer, she denied every single one. She wanted you to be a wife; nothing more or less was suitable.

The dawning realization hit you that not only did you fail, but you proved her right too. Your young siblings looked up to you and watched you prove her wrong as you lied to them. Yet, you still pretended to be successful, that you were a part of symphonies, and that employers were constantly looking to recruit you. So not only would you return as a failure, but a liar too.

In your well-deserved moment of self-wallowing, you heard the rusty sound of your mail slit open, watching a letter fall to the floor. You stared at it, silently praying that this wasn't the icing on the cake, and your landlord decided to hand out eviction notices. Then, slowly pushing your lethargic body onto its feet, you hobbled over and picked up the letter.

Ripping the envelope open carelessly, your eyes scanned the paper. You had been hired as part of the staff regarding the Queen Marys voyage, glancing at your calendar briefly, nearly two years after fucking applying. Due to a staffing issue provided by a system failure, you were hired as part of the waiting staff and, on occasional afternoons, a part of the on-sight orchestra.

A dry laugh escaped you, flipping off the air as you grinned tiredly. "Not yet, grandma, not fucking yet.."

The sound of seagulls singing, the smell of seaweed, drying kelp rotting on the shore, and the salty mist of ocean air surrounded you as you passed the crowd. It was boarding day, and you and the rest of the staff members were instructed to board early. But how was that even possible when you had to survive a sea of people instead of boarding a ship. Kids running around, clerly excited, young adults in their groups babbling about the cruise, while you and another worker, Ella, stuck out like a sore thumb in your 1920s-style work uniform. Considering that was when the ship was built and set out to sail, the owner of the Queen Mary only deemed it fitting that the boat preserved its history.

Along with all the "excuse me's" and "pardon me's," your eyes caught on to a peculiar pair of men. Both sporting shoulder-long locks, one a cheerful blonde and the other a content-looking brunette. Their odd fashion was comparable to yours if they wore formal uniforms. But the clothes looked so ideally suited to their bodies, not an inch of fabric out of place. You just assumed they were history enthusiasts and wanted to match older decades. You caught the gaze of the blonde man, whose laughter and smile stilled as he watched you. A chill traveled down your spine as the eye contact was far too intense for your liking. Ella grabbed your arm carefully, guiding you through the crowd so you two would stay aware of the situation. Finally, you managed to get to the elevator, showing your employee passes before being able to board.

You glanced out through the glass elevator walls, once again catching sight of the two men from earlier. Yet this time, six pairs of eyes stared at you; a look of shock and utter disbelief fell across their features. There was this incredibly odd, almost indescribable feeling of deja vu washing over you like those handsome faces were familiar. Finally being out of the rush of guests, you had a moment to stare. A man with black hair joined them, his strands of dark locks reaching further down than the others. He looked stoic, calm even, but his gaze connected with yours when you looked at him. He smiled, a gentle soft one that you barely even noticed. But it made you feel something—content. Like the man rarely ever smiled but had done so for you. Before you could fall further into your ridiculous daydreams. You looked away, feeling creeped out as the doors opened, letting you walk up the ramp and board the ship.

The ship's interior was a work of art all on its own. The lobby, displaying a decorative wall resembling a fountain behind the reception desk, stretched from one corner to another. Several seats and booths were set up to serve as the reception worker's primary domain. Being guided through the halls, past the main entrance seating area. You passed a golden elevator; there was something old-time about it, displaying a large panel to indicate which floor it was on at the top. A large, almost clock-like arrow guided its passage.

The staff was then split up and shown to their rooms. The halls had a fancy, royally red carpet as the floor. Beautiful golden embroidery gives it a more meaningful design as you pass the countless rooms. Having been given time to settle yourself, you glanced at your room. It looked similar to a standard, single-bed hotel room. A door leads to a closet on your right, being reflected by a body mirror parallel to it. There was a sliding door made of glass on your left, leading to a simple bathroom. A regular-sized bed and a simple bedside table on either side are in the middle of the room. You had put your suitcase against the chairs, flopping onto your bed for a moment to breathe.

A sharp, almost tapping or knocking sound was heard from your window. Making you snap your head up; nothing should be able to hit your window, considering you were on a ship, high above the waves. Standing up, you glanced outside, watching the night nearly overshadow all the waiting guests if it weren't for the street lamps and store lights. Shrugging, you turned around once more and were later ushered to the restaurant you would serve at with Ella. But, again, given the summary of what was expected of you, you wouldn't be a waitress tonight.

The restaurant was built to look fancy. Circular tables have neatly, if not ironed tablecloths draped over them. Two plates, four pieces of cutlery, wine glasses, and a white cloth napkin folded in a triangle on each plate. Pointing to the grand chandelier in the room's center, casting the room in a delicate orange glow. Along one side of the restaurant stood a small stage, a few instruments being displayed along with a cello.

Tonight, you would be entertaining the dining patrons from 6:00 pm till 7:00 pm as the ship's doors finally opened to the public. So, you took your place on stage, skillfully preparing yourself for your session.

The ship boarded similarly to airplanes, where more exclusive—or affluent passengers got to board first, following up with different groups sectioned by letters. Eventually, the calming silence in the ship slowly became something more welcoming. A soft, joyful buzz of people waiting for their upcoming vacation, or rather journey with bated breaths.

You, on the other hand, couldn't care less. You were getting good money and had yet to decide if you were even returning to the ship to sail back to America. So instead, you might just stay in Italy for a few weeks.

There was something so comforting in the idea of just doing as you pleased. No one to find you, just wandering down a road and seeing where it would take you. You were a day-to-day kind of person, and you saw nothing wrong with that. But recently, your days have grown to become boring.

So, as you heard the loud roar of the ship's horn. You smiled to yourself. You had officially set sail to hopefully new and more exciting adventures.

Gradually, guests began to appear in the restaurant. So, you started playing a casual, soft jazzy tune. Chatter filled the room, almost like a chorus as you played. You found yourself enjoying the atmosphere; everyone in this room came here for one thing: enjoyment.

For your scheduled hour, you did nothing but play and enjoy. Playing Tchaikovsky's The Nutcracker, Waltz of The Flowers; to Saint-Saëns The Carnival of The Animals. You played it all, a gentle smile tugging at your lips whenever a note hit so beautifully. Sending shivers down your arms and goosebumps, you never failed to get when music was played.

You hadn't changed one bit.

Perhaps you would've grown shy while performing if you knew, but this moment had no significant meaning to you. You're just doing your job, simple as that. But what meant so little to you made dead hearts begin to leap again. What it meant for them to see you again, thriving, living, and mortal. Three-hundred unforgiving and torturous years did they spend without you. They spent years getting over your death, and while getting over you wasn't ever accomplished, continuing to survive was. Although blood lacked its taste, the night air its crispness, and music its charm. You stood there on a small stage. Single-handedly providing their miserable lives with color again. With meaning. Although they had long forgotten what it meant to be, or instead feel human again, this was the closest they'll ever get to being so vulnerable.

Lestat, although having been the most stubborn about accepting your death, was now struggling the most to understand that you were, in fact, alive. Right in front of him, so reachable, so obtainable. But he didn't dare move, frozen in his chair as he watched you. He had dreamed of you every cursed second you were apart, and some part of him didn't want to accept this as reality. Countless nights did he awake in his coffin, arms that had been around you in his dreams now empty. He never minded how cold his skin felt, but nothing was more challenging than the loneliness you left behind. His grief denied him this moment, compared to Louis, who felt nothing but joy; he just couldn't, unlike Armand, who shared the same happiness and disbelief as Louis.

He was certain you weren't really there.

To wake up alone after this moment once more, after something that felt so real. So Lestat stayed where he was, silently grieving the only sun in his life that didn't hurt, and enjoyed the sight of you in front of him, alive once more.

But before you knew it, and any of them wanted to accept, your time was up, and a young pianist came to take your place. You bowed, unaware of the three men who had watched your entire performance with bated breaths.

As you left the scene. One thing was understood between the three of them; the world wasn't the same without you. They had been given one thing they never had themselves, a second chance. One thing was for sure, they won't lose you again.

Now that it was seven pm, you were finally able to properly explore the renovated ship. Heading out onto the deck, the breeze gently ruffled your hair. A familiar coldness from the night air hugging you close, enveloping your entire being. You leaned over the railing, tall, half-drunk champagne glass in your hand as you chatted and joked with your newly acquired friend, Ella. A little younger than you, she was a college student who had dropped out of her recent major and decided to take a year off. To find what she really wanted to do.

You couldn't really judge her for it; teens were forced to make such detrimental decisions way too early, in your opinion. But there was more to life than grades and results.

A soft clearing of the throat could be heard behind you two. Turning around, you still saw one of the gentlemen from earlier. The one with shoulder-length brown hair tied neatly into a low ponytail and old-fashioned attire. You could tell that he tried looking more modern, but the way his dress shirt and waistcoat snatched his waist so beautifully, you refused to believe the man would ever wear modern-day, baggy clothes and sweatpants.

"Pardon my intrusion, ladies; I just wanted to compliment the wonderful cellist this evening." He mused, a crooked smile framing his face. Ella glanced at you, a playful, bowing smirk tugging at her lips before she nodded. "How wonderful; I'll leave you two be then. My break is over now anyways." She mused, quickly slipping away as you stood there.

Turning your full attention to the stranger, you smiled welcomingly. This was your favorite thing about traveling. The number of strangers you meant along the way, the people, the stories, the lessons. People never seemed to become boring to you; there always seemed to be something there that always kept you intrigued.

But something about this stranger didn't feel comparable to all those previous experiences. This man seemed to feel so familiar. "Thank you." You mused you weren't shy by all means, but this man and his companion gave you the oddest of feelings.

"Excuse me," you began. Then, fully capturing his attention with your words, "But have we met before?" The moment the question escaped your lips an expression painted his face you couldn't quite decipher.

"Mind if I join you?" He asked, keeping a distance before you nodded. Inviting him to stand beside you, leaning against the railing and staring out at the dark sea. The lights from the ship give the only indication of the waves beneath you, the light softly reflecting against the surface.

"I don't think we have." The man finally responded to your previous question, his eyes watching the light reflection paint the waves beautifully. "I wouldn't have forgotten someone like you." He hummed with a playful glint as he turned to you and smiled, his forearms resting against the railing.

"Someone like me?" You asked, chuckling at how broad that phrase was. But, of course, that could mean anything, good or bad.

"It's a wonderful evening." The brunette mused, occasionally glancing at you as you continued sipping champagne. You awaited his reply to your question but gradually accepted that he would leave your curiosity hanging. "It really is. Have you sailed before?" You asked, attempting a light conversation. The man couldn't help but chuckle as if your question had been silly. Now getting your attention, you stared at him, eyes requesting an explanation for his outbursts.

As if sensing your confusion, he turned around. His elbows rested against the railing along with his back. "Yes, I have, many times, actually." You nodded, "To where?" But, you added, all kinds of travel interested you, so this wasn't strictly special.

"You'd be surprised where you can go just by ship." But, although you nodded, traveling by ship was rare besides the vacation cruise or exporting cargo. Perhaps you just didn't know better, but you didn't feel like prying or exactly learning anything at the moment either.

"You know, Mr.—"you trailed off, not knowing the man's name. He smiled at the gesture, having no problem filling in the title for you. “Louis de pointe du lac.”

You raised your eyebrow, finding such a long name an oddity. "Well, Louis de pointe du lac–" You began again but were again cut off, "Louis. Please refer to me as Louis."

"Well then, Louis, it was a pleasure meeting you." You mused, not noticing the minor quirk of his smile as you said his name.

"Louis!" A loud voice called in a chiding and scolding manner. The man was obviously annoyed, he was the one with blonde hair styled similarly to Louis's. However, his anger seemed to dwindle when his gaze flashed to yours. He stared for a moment, before softly bowing. You raised your hand to try and prevent the man from literally bending to you, but he simply grasped it. A touch ever so gentle as he kissed the top of your hand, cold soft lips meeting your blazing skin. “Pardon me my chérie, I’m Lestat de Lioncourt, at your service.”

After your shock finally calmed, you couldn't help but chuckle at the theatrics of this display. Bowing sheepishly, grabbing the edges of your uniform as you did, "Hello, gentleman, I'm Y/N L/N."

The soft sound of someone clearing their throat shifted your attention again, directed at the last man with long black hair in the group. "As lovely a name as ever, I am Armand." He hummed, making you realize the soft accents they had. Louis had an American accent, Lestat carried a faint French accent, and the man who had just introduced himself as Armand sounded European.

"How rude of us to bombard you like this chérie, care to join us for dinner? I'm afraid the night isn't getting any younger you know." Lestat mused, an eager smile stretching at his lips as he chuckled. You smiled at the offer but shook your head in refusal. "Although I'm not usually the type to deny a dinner with strangers, I'll have to pass this time. I'm too tired to provide any enjoyable company this evening." You hummed, slowly stepping away from what appeared to be a disappointed blonde.

"Perhaps another time." You added, smiling softly as you turned to the brunette. He shook his head playfully, "Don't mind him, have a good night Y/N." You nodded, waving a little as you finally left. Entering the ship once more as you made your way to your room, letting out a small sigh. The first day of anything was constantly exhausting in your eyes, but today sure gave you hope for more eventful journeys ahead of you.

You completed your routine rather quickly, but it was still odd to feel the occasional sway or shift of the boat. It was very subtle, but you would notice if you focused on it. Removing your uniform, you let it against one of the vacant chairs before hopping into the shower. Luckily the bathrooms were made to look more modern than the rest of the ship; you were a stickler when it came to bathrooms. Being quick to shower, you dried yourself off and put yourself in some loose clothes. You would consider yourself someone who doesn't wear specific pajamas for bed; you would wear whatever was comfortable.

Laying down after such an eventful day was pure bliss, even though you didn't do anything that was physically exhausting. Your feet still ached from all the walking, your lower back complained from the luggage you carried, and your mental state was even more drained. If there was one thing you were ready for tonight, it was to clock out until someone would bother you again tomorrow. Turning off your night lamp, you were quick to doze off.

Although your sleep was quick to come, it didn't stay. You sleep in two-hour increments but eventually give up after five A.M. You get dressed, not in your usual work uniform, since you would only have to check in for work late into the day. So at the moment, you were a simple guest. Stepping out of your room, you walked past the halls and suites. But you halted at the loud crash of what you could only assume was furniture tipping over. The noises erupted from the room as if a band of wild animals had been let loose.

You should have continued walking; this was none of your business. But the thought of it being a case of domestic violence or any other situation where your interference might've helped had you backtracking. You stayed silent, letting your ears strain to make up any conversation through the door.

"Absolutely not!" A loud yet familiar voice boomed as glass shattering followed the commotion.

"Why the hell not?" Another voice followed; this was a heated debate between two men. "What are you waiting for, Louis?" A moment of silence, like a glass of ice-cold water, was splashed onto you. You knew these men; this must've been Louis and the other's suite. At least, that's what you assumed.

You could hear stomping, the screeching of a chair against the wooden floor, then again silence. "Three-hundred fucking years. Three-fucking-hundred! Now you're suggesting that we let her go? Live a human life, a vulnerable, fragile, dangerous human life?" The man's voice, who you pinned as Lestats argued. But the mention of humanity, as if implying that there was something outside of that spectrum unnerved you. We're they rehearsing for some play?

"No, that's not it, Lestat, and you know that." Louis's voice spoke calmly, but there was a clear, agitated tone. For how long have they been arguing?

"Leaving her mortal makes her fragile, yes. But turning her could leave her hating us." The accented voice of Armand spoke, making you sincerely wonder who this 'she' was.

"You're risking everything!" Lestat couldn't believe they had this conversation for the last hour. After your sweet self had retired for the night, there was tension between them. It wasn't until Lestat lured a slightly drunk woman into their room and decided to celebrate his lover's reappearance with a bloody gore fest. Armand had partaken, not with much interest in the human blood-bag, and Louis was his sympathetic self as he drank. It wasn't until Lestat's small comment about how cute you'd look, all bloody and desperate for blood. Fledglings were always so needy once they got a taste, and he couldn't wait to indulge you. Then, of course, there was still the probing question of who would be your sire, your maker.

But Louis had cut him off, stating that you needed to stay human longer. To grow accustomed to them and eventually to their life. Louis understood where Lestat was coming from; perhaps he would've been more rational if he wasn't so exhausted from their argument. He sat slouched in a soft, red-cushioned chair. Rubbing his temples in an attempt to soothe his headache. He sympathized with you because he knew someone would turn you sooner rather than later. He just couldn't bear you going through the terrors he went through; he could still recall the way you had refused to turn the first time they had all met. They had foolishly allowed you to stay human for a little longer, where you had found yourself in a riot and subsequently lost your life in the raging mob.

He would be a liar if he said he didn't want to turn you too. To have that security, they had an eternity to properly court you, but you were human. Weak and fragile, with so little time compared to them.

Armand was the calmest in the situation. He, too, wanted nothing more than to hold you like he had always done, to share his gift with you like he had wanted to all those years ago. But you didn't want that then and didn't seem open to something so life-altering now. The risk of developing a bad relationship through actions rushed by their emotions was too risky, despite his creeping fear at the idea of you being human. If they were on a ship, there would be no civil unrest and certainly no outright threats that could actively harm you.

His coffin has felt so empty without you; for once in his miserable immortal life did he feel at peace. All of them did, and although they all felt torn. They eventually decided to wait to develop a small relationship before changing you.

You still stood outside, shaking your head at what you had heard. Utter nonsense, complete nonsensical sentences. Finally, you walked off, unaware that your footsteps had been heard. And three protective vampires were not too keen on the idea of someone knowing about them, about you.

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mikkomacko · 2 months

Note

After reading the recent chapter of Him & I, the image of teen Nico and the others trying to adjust to life in NJ has me in a chokehold lol

May I request for any shenanigans our boys may have gotten into during their first few months in the states? 👀

Stop I love this request! Just a bunch of silly teen boys in a new country together haha

Thanks so much requesting! Let me know if you want some more funny moments between the guys

~~~~

“Nico, I love you man but when am I gonna get my own bed?”

Timo is sprawled out across the queen size bed, McDonald’s fries and a burger resting in his lap. It’s been his obsession food for the last month they’ve been in Jersey and Nico is patently waiting for the day it all makes him sick.

“I’m trying Timo,” he huffs, looking up from the hoard of emails he’s been sifting through. His first order of business when he got to Jersey was finding something in the area to invest in. That something was a beloved bar in the area that had been shut down a few years ago and now he’s trying to build it all back up. “A few more weeks and I’ll look for somewhere new, ok?”

The apartment is nice, not a penthouse but large and luxurious. Enough to keep them all comfortable until he can afford an equally nice place for everyone. Technically leased under Nico’s name, it’s his permanent home now. And the home of the friends he brought with him. Three bedrooms in all, but Jesper and Jonas brought their girls with them, and Nico felt it was best they got rooms for themselves. Leaving him and Timo to double-up unless someone wanted the couch.

“Not that I don’t like the bonding,” Timo laughs, shoveling fries into his mouth. “I just didn’t realize how much of a cuddler you are.”

“Shut up!” Nico grumbles, cheeks heating up. He’s not that much of a cuddler, it just happens. It doesn’t help that Timo is such a bed hog either. What else is he supposed to do when his friend is rolling onto his side of the bed?

Timo snickers, hitting play on the next episode of Friends. Nico goes back to work, approving orders and installs for the bar so that it’ll be ready to open by the end of the month. Eventually the loud, smacking footfall of Jonas float in and the elder Swiss boy’s head is poking into the master bedroom.

“What are you watching?” He ask innocently, and Timo pats the bed next to him. That’s all the invitation Jonas needs before he’s crashing into the mattress, settling against the headboard and stealing some chicken nuggets from Timo.

“Ladies at work tonight?” Timo asks him, and he nods. Nola and Nicole had both gotten work together at a fancy clothing store a few streets down. The pay isn’t great, but they’re able to save up and support themselves with Nico taking care of housing and food for everyone. And once the bar is up and running, him and the boys will have more work to do.

Jonas pulls out his phone, sending a text that’s barely buzzed in the group chat before Jesper is running into the room as well. He shoves Nico’s beanie down over his eyes, leaping onto the bed with the other boys.

Nico yanks the hat off, tossing it towards the closet and refocusing. He doesn’t even get five minutes of work done before Jesper is calling for him.

“What?”

“Come on boss,” he teases “working too hard. Join us in bed.”

Nico rolls his eyes, fighting back a smile. “You’re not my type.”

“Which one of us?”

“All of you.” Nico deadpans, looking up over his screen to find them all staring at him with puppy dog eyes.

“You love friends, come watch.” Jonas tells him. “I’ll let you sit next to Timo so you can snuggle?”

They all bust out laughing and it’s enough to get Nico to close his laptop. Rising from the desk, he pads over to the bed and knees his way up between Jonas and Timo.

He settles into the pillows, crossing his arms over his chest. Timo and Jonas are warm on either side of him, everyone’s biceps pressed tight against each other as they squish together.

Sometimes when Nico’s here, just him and his friends from home without thinking of everything he has to do, everything that comes with being the boss, he remembers his age. Still freshly 18 with too much money in his bank account and a responsibility to take care of the five other people he’s drug into this with him.

It makes him feel small. In a safe way though, because he’s got the people that believe in him and have his back. He’s got the Devs with him.

Maybe Jesper is right, maybe he is working too hard to make this work because he wakes up in the morning to a photo of him sleeping on Timo’s shoulder, a an arm and leg thrown over his best friends body.

#him and i #mob boss Nico blurb #mob boss Nico hischier #timo meier #jonas siegenthaler #jesper bratt #him and I blurb #requested

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yandere-sins · 2 years

Note

Okay but royal yandere with a thief darling. Just a master thief on a mission to steal the crown jewels but you quickly realise it’s not the guards and knights that are threats

It’s the lovesick ruler

Mmmmhm, yessssssss, let’s do it! Thanks for requesting :D

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Finally.

Letting out a deep breath, you felt the weight of the long-gone queen settle in your palms. Amazing how one small item like this crown could hold so much joy and pain in it. Even you, a lowly peasant from the slums, could feel the responsibility it held in every jewel, every gram of gold.

Yet, you had no qualms about taking it from the previous socket it was erected on, waiting for the next worthy ruler to rule alongside her son. Hopefully, that would be someone better than he was so that this country had any chance of survival.

If not for his overspending, warmongering, and raising taxes, people like you wouldn’t need to suffer. With that, you justified your actions, breaking into the heavily guarded treasury of the castle containing the last precious items this kingdom owned. It was only fair that you took something worth enough money, once dissembled and sold, to feed everyone in your district and beyond.

While he lived in the lap of luxury, you couldn’t even remember the last time you could afford a glass of milk.

It already took way too long for you to learn all the guards’ schedules, find a way in, and prepare an escape for yourself in the worst case. Things like this needed preparation, but there was no time when people were starving every day. You knew you had to act soon, even though you did your best not to make a rash decision.

But who were you kidding? If you had a chance at any other life, you’d probably not have changed much.

Thieving and scamming had been the only thing you ever found yourself good at. No surprise with the lack of education and prospects you received from early childhood, resorting to stealing bread, cookies, and eggs. And later jewels, watches, fabrics, perfumes—anything worth enough money to get through the week. Someone like you could never be anything better than what you already were. And you were at your best when you weren’t caught and no noose tied around your neck.

Someone like you could never be like the fancy servants of the king or the honored soldiers of his battlefield. You’d never be invited to dance at a ball or feast at a victory ceremony. You could be happy if there’d ever come a time when you’d be able to retire and live frugally but comfortably.

Glancing at your reflection in a shield of decorative silver hanging on the wall next to you, you looked yourself up and down. Pitiful, dirty, scum.

You’d never be royal.

Turning your body towards the mirroring metal, you slowly lifted the crown over your head.

Even the grease and dirt in your hair would not be able to sully the beautiful, ornamental, moonlight shining down on it and making it sparkle crown. And just for a moment, just for the second of it touching down on top of your head, you were, in fact, royal.

It felt different. Though the heaviness remained, your body adjusted to it, fixing your posture, bringing your shoulders down and chin up. You had these few seconds to waste before you had to sneak out, but this crown had only time until you reached your handyman, who’d take it apart instantly to get rid of the evidence. And so you enjoyed it for the time it lasted.

Breathing in, breathing out.

Feeling the weight on top of your head, your neck.

Your shoulder.

Unbeknownst, you had closed your eyes. Let too many seconds pass. And the weight you felt was not the heaviness of metal and jewels pressing down. It was fingers gripping your shoulder, thumb digging into the blade at the back while the others dug into your muscles on the fronts. The reflection in the mirror was a mere shadow, but the grin it gave you was uncanny.

“Mousey, mousey, mousey. Look what a crumb of cheese brought into my treasury.”

Whirling around, you threw your arms in the air, though the hands caught them, gripping your wrists tightly. You struggled, slipping on a stray coin on the ground, forcing you to lose your body, your body collapsing miserably. The clanking of the priceless crown falling to the ground tore you out of the strange illusion that you had been convinced was happening. A face so unfamiliar yet well-known appearing hovered over you.

Guards, soldiers, servants—you learned about them all.

But the king.

That ruthless, unpredictable bastard! Someone you never thought you’d meet and never wanted to meet. You couldn’t have learned about him as he was as private as he was lavish, two things that hardly fit each other, but he forced them. And yet, who’d thought to find him in his treasure way past two in the morning?!

“Urgh!” Groaning powerlessly against his iron grip, his hands began to wander, yours shooting up to push him away while his wrapped around your throat. Feeling them tighten around your neck, you choked on air, smacking the bottom of your palm into his jaw.

Briefly, his grip loosened, but before you could wiggle yourself out of reach, the king pressed down twice as hard, war not having done him well if he could strangle a person to death with his bare hands, much unlike the aristocrats who were too classy for such a brute act.

“That’s good, little mouse,” he praised you, voice gruff as he applied more and more strength. Your lungs were missing air, your brain short-circuiting as you blinked rapidly, trying to focus your attack somewhere. “Keep fighting me, and I might end up liking you. It’s been so long since someone challenged me for their life, so make it interesting, will you?”

In a ditch effort, you kicked your leg up as far as it would go, hoping to find his crown jewels down there. And as luck would have it, your shin collided with him, making him wobble in pain, and you pushed him off, running on pure adrenaline.

Coughing and gripping your throat, you crawled away, wanting to get the crown and leave immediately. You’d hide somewhere and wait for another lucky opening in the guards’ schedule. But looking around, you couldn’t find the item, even when your eyes got their focus back.

Letting out an unholy moan, the king turned over, sitting on his royal buttocks as he let out a loud laugh. “Searching for this?” he asked, holding up the crown, and your blood froze. You had to go, but you were so fucking angry he destroyed your plans, you could have cried and screamed in frustration.

He was getting up, and you weren’t thinking any longer, bolting to the door, smacking into the finely decorated wood, and rattling the door handle. It didn’t budge. Since this was the treasury, there were no other exits, the only window being a ceiling one.

“Now, now, come on,” he chuckled behind you, his footsteps heavy, the war had given him a slight drag. “Here.”

Slamming his hand with the crown into the door, he caged you in from behind, pressing you forward. “You can have it. My mom—may that skunk rest in peace—won’t wear it after all. You want it, right? It’s the most delicious cheese for a mouse like you.”

You didn’t trust him one bit.

Glancing at him over his shoulder, you could see that big, fat grin on his face, eyes sparkling with either drunkenness or excitement, neither a good look for you. Gulping, you slowly reached out to the crown with shivering hands, but before you could grip it, he pulled it away, proving he was up to no good.

“Ah! My bad,” he announced. Before you knew what he was doing, he whirled you around again, though this time, he kept a bit of distance and looked over your head. Your eyes were sliding side to side, trying to find an opening, when you felt something heavy settle down on your head.

“Now it’s back where it belongs,” he laughed joyfully and stepped a few steps back, looking you up and down appreciatingly before clapping his hands. This was madness, the insanity dripping off him. Making an elated bow to you, he called you, “Your Highness,” and you cringed while also wondering what kind of drugs he must be on.

But just as you blinked once, his hands slammed into the wall behind you again, and his face leaned in close, sniffing.

“You smell like shit, little mouse.”

“You don’t say,” you blurted out without thinking, immediately regretting your sharp tongue. However, the king laughed out loudly, roaring with laughter even.

“Quick and feisty, that’s how I like my challenges! Say, wouldn’t you like to go to war with me? We could defeat our enemies with your feistiness.”

Or his madness.

“I’d rather not,” you gritted out through your teeth, hand finding the handle of the door again, frantically rattling on it.

“Well, that’s too bad, Mousey.”

Gripping you by the throat again, the king easily lifted you up into the air. Even though you cut into his clothes with your nails, he threw you around like a puppet. Leaving you gasping and sputtering, you tried to recover from the blow at your back, grinding your teeth as your head hit some treasure chest across the room, your ears ringing.

“You are coming, I decided. It’s either my tent on the battlefield or the gallows, Mousey. I think a collar looks better than a rope, personally.”

Still groaning, you were grabbed by your hair, wincing and struggling as the king pulled you after him, banging on the door until it was finally unlocked. Shamefully, you were dragged through the lavish corridors under the eyes of the guards you deceived; guards you weren’t sure would survive this night either.

“I always wanted a pet,” the king revealed, unbothered by your pain and struggles. Your fear and panic. “But my mom hated mice with a passion. Good thing that hag is gone, don’t you agree, Mousey?”

You had been so careful! Only tried to do something for everyone, not thinking you would doom yourself even if the danger had always been there!

You’d never be royalty, you thought. But it would have been okay if you managed to feed the people you loved and disappeared with them far, far away from the mad king that ruled these lands.

But maybe there was a worse fate than you could have ever imagined in your most brutal nightmares. Because a royal pet was just below even the scum like you in the social standing.

And his grip on you was firm enough to never let go.

#Yandere #yandere king #yandere!king #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere stories #yandere oneshots #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere x darling #Yandere TW

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holybibly · 7 months

Text

Divine Rosa ❢ot8xreader❣

❣ Pairing: yandere!otx8 x reader

❣ Genre: Dark Romance, vampire au, angst, horror, yandere au, smut

❣ Word Count: 10.1k

❣ Summary: The moth always pours itself into the flame; what a pity that in the end it burns out. After the tragic death of her sister, MС tries to find answers to the questions she left behind. This leads her to a gated cottage town known for its luxurious rose gardens. In addition, there are also these mysterious men who manage all the affairs in the city. Too sweet, too helpful, too intrusive, and too in love.

❣ WARNING: only!18+ Themes of death, suicide, severe depression, stalking, blood, yandere behavior.

❣ Disclaimer: I don't support yandere behavior, stalking, or religious imposition. Themes include violence, obsession, possessiveness, and emotional or psychological manipulation. This book is intended solely for entertainment purposes.

❣ Chapter 1: Memento Mori ❣

Have you ever thought about death?

How many times have you asked yourself, “What will happen to us next?” “Is there something on the other side?” “Will we see the shining light at the end of the tunnel and the white-winged angels, or is it just darkness waiting for us?”

We constantly reflect on this, sitting in the noisy company of friends, frozen for a moment in cold numbness; late at night, when there is no sleep and gloomy thoughts creep into your head; on the subway, bus, or taxi returning home from work or school, desperately understanding the desperation of their situation; recurring days in endless solitude.

We should stop doing that. When the time comes, we will ask ourselves other, more important questions.

Nevertheless, we tirelessly continue to be interested in it. Again and again, until our clock stops.

Sometimes I think all we have after we die are flowers and regrets. In our soul, heart, and mind, every second, there are many events that do not obey any rules of formal logic. All that we lose at death. There is no longer the privilege of choice that we had in life; now we have to settle for small, choking on despair and memories, staring into our own reflection on a silver epitaph.

“Our love will stay with her forever.” It would sound like a dream if it weren’t such a dirty lie.

I don’t think love exists. It’s like a sweetener: we feel sweetness, but the brain realizes it's fake, sending out red signals warning of deception. But we still desperately crave this feeling, however painful it may be.

And yet, after death, our lives go on, and in some special cases, we find ourselves more alive than ever before.

It's our time to watch as the new story unfolds, and the usual roles are played by other actors. New names appear on the waiting list, and celebratory ribbons are given to the new queens. See how fake diamonds sparkle in their luxurious crowns. Despite that, you’re the star of this show. Your name is in the news, in the bold headlines on the front pages of newspapers, and every casual passer-by claims to have known you personally while you still existed in a small, closed time period called life.

So what does it feel like to be the only spectator in the front row? The main subject of general regret.

In our cooled consciousness, a sharp conviction of our own uselessness is born and settles. Friends we used to call the best put your stuff in boxes with ribbons of tape. A family that tears the remnants of your life apart, erasing your name from the family register with a sickeningly straight line of black ink. Acquaintances and colleagues, always smiling with an astringent sweetness that glues their teeth, easily remove your number from the contact list and open their palms in a welcoming gesture to those who came to take your place.

All of them, all these people close to us, express their false regrets about your untimely departure, putting a tick in front of the memorized phrase: “Ah, we are so sorry. She was young and beautiful.” Is that what they usually say?

That’s all; our race for popularity is over. The rules of good manners and standards of appearance no longer matter. Your thoughts, actions, and preferences belong only to you, and at this very moment, we feel freedom. Short time, but still freedom.

It is only a short moment until the lid of the coffin closes completely over us. And here we are, face to face with our past, alone.

As hard as it may be for us to admit it, it's true. All that remains for us after death is regret.

Each of us has our own. Someone feels regret for the love that he could not protect and the loved ones that he has lost forever. We regret the things we’ve done and the words we haven’t said, but most of all, we regret the time we’ll never get back.

The dead mourn more than the living.

Besides regrets, we’re taking flowers with us. Yes, these beautiful creatures are leaving with us to one day wrap around our bones, sever the grayish subtlety of our skin, and grow again above the ground, eating us like a parasite.

The flowers also symbolize the grand finale of our celebration. When the music dies down and the curtain falls, they will be the only ones who will stay side by side while the guests leave the lavishly decorated hall one by one.

Have you noticed how many bouquets are brought to cemeteries?

I like to think of it as a peculiar payment for our rest. Maybe death is as in love with these deliciously fragile things as we are, and that’s why they’re leaving with us. Silent companions who hold our hand as we go into the darkness.

The path to the origins of the great Sanzu River is paved with bloody lycoris and mournful lilies. Truly a magnificent sight. Ugly and beautiful are two sides of the same coin.

When I was little, Mina told me many different stories. Some warmed my cheeks and stretched my lips in a happy smile; others were gray, like days with incessant downpours. I wrapped myself in blankets and warmed my palms with warm cups of herbal tea, but there were other stories that I didn't want to remember until now.

They were sinister, like a spider hovering on a web waiting to be sacrificed. The words were sharp; they pierced the skin, leaving long, stinging wounds. Meaning has always been terrible; like a blade in the tongue, it could not be swallowed and understood. I was afraid. I was scared to death. I could not sleep in the light of a bright day or in the mist of a starry night; in the coziness of the blankets, there was no warmth or protection, and the mocking laughter of Mina made it worse.

My grandmother scolded her and assured me that all this was nonsense, empty words, and legends formed from idleness, but I knew better. There was truth in Mina's stories, and the realization of this only made them scarier.

The most terrible of them was the story of a young man in black silk robes. Beneath the black veil was a sensual smile, and the fox's heterochromic eyes were alluring and sparkling like stars.

Was he a nine-tailed kumiho? A black reaper holding death itself on a leash? He may have been a vampire, desperate and thirsty, but personally, I was sure he was a ghost. A past woven into a single canvas, thread by thread, stitch by stitch. I think I saw him once, during the Lunar Festival. He was the center of my little universe, the otherworldly and inexplicable, his long black clothes flowing to the ground like a waterfall, and the diffused light of the treacherous moon embraced his silhouette like a caring mother’s embrace.

I thought the world was dancing around him. The children were running around laughing and circling like butterflies in the round dance; the couple were whispering nicely, their palms intertwined tightly, as if it would save them from the inevitable parting; and the others were simply enjoying the festival time, waiting for the sheaves of colorful fireworks to explode in the sky.

His eyes pierced my figure so greedily and sharply. I saw hunger in them. A thirst. A goal.

And then I screamed. So loud and disgusting in a childish way. With a shrill screech, I rushed into the crowd, hoping to find Mina. The colorful ribbons in my hair rushed into the air, and the wind bore me the echoes of his sweet laughter.

He was mocking me. I could have run, but he could have caught me in a second if he wanted to. For a moment, I looked back to make sure that he was still standing there, covered with moonlight and a myriad of stars, but the long, flowing silk of his black robes melted like a mist in the night without leaving a trace.

Mina laughed mockingly as I clung to the lush skirts of her violaceous hanbok, sobbing, choking with tears, and pointing my finger in the direction where I saw the young man with the fox’s eyes.

After that incident, I didn’t sleep for days, couldn’t eat, and was afraid of every noise.

From that night on, I began to believe in ghosts. They are among us. We can see them, reach them, and hear their whispering voices. Science cannot explain them; they are not subject to it. They are mistakenly called fictions, twisted forms of memories that acquire real outlines and are indistinguishable from the real world.

Science calls it imagination; I call it another form of life. Ghosts exist. They’re always there.

The line between the dead and the living is thin and fragile. If you push it a little harder, it’ll shatter.

It’s true—life after death exists.

I was told once that death is like being submerged in water. First, the lungs start to burn from a lack of oxygen; the body gets heavier; the eyes are baking, but we’re still conscious; and the brain continues to function. Then comes the next step. Our body desperately clings to life, continuing to contract the heart muscle. Bam, bam, bam. Deaf blows on the rib. If you start acting now, there is little hope of salvation. No more than a minute. And then, after that, there’s the final stage. Clinical death. Smooth stripe on the monitor.

Our sinking is over. We have reached the bottom. We have met eternity in the muddy depths, blended with the muddy sand and pearls.

That may be true, but for me, death is no more than a moment—until the last flowers on the grave fade.

I never thought about dying. Until it happens to Mina.

The first time I met death, it was with my first breath. I was born with silence—too small, too fragile, and painfully quiet.

Then there were the piercing sounds of medical devices and the screams of doctors and assistants. I was taken away instantly and carried far into the sterile, transparent box. Death retreated, but it didn’t go away.

I was only three when my parents died. Mina was squeezing my hands and talking about a long journey. Grandma took us to her old country house, where secrets were hidden and hyacinths blossomed. At the time, the very concept of grief was not clear and tangible to me; rather, the feeling was like frostbite, when the skin was already dead, but the pain was absent.

So I knew death before I even knew it.

My grandmother died suddenly. Her life was cut short in an instant, like a thread brought to the flame. I knew it; it seemed long before it happened. That summer, I was going to be at a ballet camp, and Mina was the star of the school, and she was planning on spending time with her cheerleading friends. Just one call changed all our plans. Short skirts and ballet points replaced chrysanthemums and black ribbons. Mina was grieving, taking condolences, while I watched from the sidelines. Grandma's leaving seemed like a dull pain from an old injury rather than a sharp cut, and it was easier to deal with than I thought.

This was the third time I'd known death.

And then Mina happened.

The passionate, bloody, grandiose Mina's death. By closing my eyes, I could see her face again. White, sun-drenched, and blood roses, her long fluttering eyelashes, and scattered carmine strands of hair.

She was not at all afraid to die, as if this scenario had been memorized by her. Isn't it an innate instinct, a fear of the unknown, of death? We are frightened by monsters under the bed and horrors lurking in dark corners. We must be afraid of death. We are obliged to do this from the very moment we are born.

Mina was not afraid. She was never afraid of anything, unlike me.

Spiders, darkness, roses…

The list goes on.

When she died, I realized two things: one, nothing lasts forever, and two, I wanted to know what happened to my sister and what became her trigger. Big red button. At my request, an autopsy was conducted to rule out a drug-induced hypothesis that could have caused mental and emotional distress. Forensics found nothing in her lungs except rose petals. Mina literally breathed flowers. It sounded almost fantastical to me. Even her death was beautiful. Forever the first violin in the orchestra.

The case of her mysterious disappearance was closed. There was no point in looking for someone who was already dead. I asked the detectives to continue the investigation, but despite my desperate pleas, the police were adamant. My sister’s once-radiant life was packaged in a pair of cardboard boxes with a large-scale signature in black marker. “An Mina, case 117”. With each passing day, everything about Mina sank into darkness, but the mysteries and secrets around her only grew larger.

Once upon a time, I could call Mina an open book. It was easy to read—all the emotions, character traits, and habits—everything in it was exaggerated; there was no middle. Her love was never a simple hobby; it was always sharp, risky, and passionate.

Perhaps that is why she so easily fell into an obsession with roses; her feelings took a dangerous path.

I wanted to know who gave her these fabulous roses, who sent her candy and little sweet notes. There was something wrong with all of this, and not just the fact that the lush pink buds didn’t fade. No. It was a feeling, something very ominous, like a calm before a hurricane. A frightening, unnatural silence when all is silent and the air is gathering in front of the thunder's stunning storms.

There’s a long, unrequited tranquility on the other side of the phone line.

In the Japanese language, there is the expression “koi no yokan,” which literally means the feeling of inevitable love for the person you first met. This is not love at first sight, but a premonition of future love. So it was with these roses; they were not evil as such, but they were the inevitable omen of his coming.

True evil does not come in the form of a little red man with sharp horns and a long tail. Evil is beautiful—almost religiously magnificent. His appearance is divine and seductive, attracting the sweetness of the forbidden. Of course, the Devil himself was once an angel. And not just anyone; he was God’s favorite.

So are these flowers. I’ve never heard of people falling in love with soft petals and spiny stems. No one ever sings strange prayers for roses and dedicates his life to them without a trace. Those roses were bigger than they looked.

I think that Mina’s death was not accidental; it wasn’t suicide. Something broke her, violated her mind, and eventually destroyed her. Whether they were roses or people who gave them, that was my question. It was a secret hidden in the white folds of her lace dress, the dreamy smiles, and the names she spoke with such awe.

During Mina's funeral, I was approached by one of the lawyers who handled her legal affairs. I had to sort out the property rights and the lots of pages with numbers, dates, and places. Mina left me not only secrets but also a great legacy. As it turned out, in addition to our common apartment, she had several other assets in her possession, including her grandmother's mansion, which at one time she received as a sole inheritance, shares in various companies, and investments abroad.

I am now the sole owner of all this.

I had no idea where to start looking for answers or where to find the keys to the secret locks. Maybe I can find something in her files between the lines and the capital letters, or maybe it’s all dry formalities. So, going to the lawyer sounded like a good start to me.

How many can hide from those who command our last will?

Even so, I didn't want to be alone with Mina's secrets if I could find something in her belongings. I decided to call Soomin, who was once Mina’s best friend, the closest, to be exact. She was always there, having fun and crying with Mina, supporting and comforting when needed. Soomin was an integral part of her life. My life.

After the incident with the roses, they split up, not on the best of terms. Their conversation completely ended, but I still continued to spend time with her, and we often went to brunch at various gourmet cafés that Soomin loved so much. She was an elite restaurateur and had great taste, not only in the interior but also in food.

In a way, she completely replaced my sister. Soomin always told me, “No orgasm can ever match a stunningly cooked fondant au chocolat”. Yeah, I could totally agree with her on that.

After dialing her number, I waited for an answer. The wait was not too long, and after the second tone, I heard the melodic voice of Soomin on the other side. “Hello” “Soomin, I'm sorry to distract you from work; can you give me a few minutes?

“Sarang? I can’t believe you finally called me. How are you feeling, honey? I’ve been really worried about you, you haven’t spoken to any of us all this time.” In her voice, there was a sincere concern that resembled a mother's.

Soo has always been so caring and gentle. In her was the same fascinating brightness that Mina possessed, which brought them very close and became the strong foundation of their friendship, but unlike Mina, who resembled a raging forest fire, Soomin was a comforting flame of home. One was ready to destroy everything around her; the other collected ashes in beautiful vases and kept them as precious memories.

After Mina died, she was there for me when I especially needed support.

“Sorry, Soomin, I’m still trying to get over it." I sounded exhausted, even to myself. The days spent in voluntary isolation completely drained me emotionally and physically. I was the alarm of danger light for my friends. “You know, when she went missing, it was hard for me, but I was still hoping she’d come back. I convinced myself that Mina was fine and that she was enjoying life surrounded by her favorite roses.” It was the first time I had spoken openly about my feelings since Mina’s death. “I never imagined that my sister would slit her throat in front of me. I still have nightmares, Soomin, but I’m calling you for another reason, I have a little favor to ask you.”

“Sarang, you should feel like this; it’s okay. What happened to Mina traumatized you; damn it, it would have traumatized anyone if they were you. We agreed to give you time to get over it at your own pace, but when you didn’t answer our messages and calls, we started to worry. Eun Jung even offered to come to you several times; you know how she is.” She was anxious, and I understood why. “I’ll help with everything I need; just tell me how I can do it.”

“You agree too quickly, Soo.”

“Sarang, please stop. The only thing I can offer you now is my help. I can’t imagine how you’re handling all this, and if you need my help, I’ll be there for you. So stop denying me and tell me what you wanted to ask.”

“Do you remember Mina’s lawyer who approached me at the funeral? I think it’s time I met him. It’s all about inheritance and property, but there’s something else.” I started off insecure. “I want to find out who sent her those stupid roses.”

“Why?” in her voice sounded like sincere surprise. “If you were me, would you want to know how it all started?”

“Probably, but aren't you afraid? Judging by how it turned out for Mina,” she stammered for a second. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.”

“No, you’re right. Absolutely. I’m scared, and if things weren’t so messed up, maybe I would have done something different, but listen, Soomin, I have a strong feeling that I’m always missing something, and it’s bothering me.” “People don't change so dramatically, and certainly not because of the roses. You've been friends with her for so long, so you know her as well as I do, and we both understand that it's crazy to give up everything in your life for roses like that. Especially for Mina.” When I spoke my thoughts out loud, I was even more convinced that I needed answers. It really was crazy. “ She left so many secrets that I want to find a clue. I haven't told anyone, but the roses are still being sent. I received a call from the cemetery administration saying that her grave was littered with flowers, and they needed to figure out what to do with them. Not only that, but I also received several bouquets.” There was no point in hiding it anymore. If I want Soomin to help me, she needs to know about those roses that were sent to me.

“My God, Sarang, you should have told me right away. Did you talk to JiHo? This is an abnormal situation. What if you’re being chased, Sarang? I don’t know, it’s all so scary.”

“You have no idea, but I don’t think we should talk about stalking.”

“Why? Maybe it’s a stalker or serial killer; you should be careful. Please tell me JiHo is living with you now.” “First, I don’t think anyone in their right mind is going to come after me, and second, JiHo and I took a pause.”

“Did you break up?” she asked with an incredulous echo.

“I'm not sure if you can call it a breakup.”

“God, the bastard left you. I always told you he was a rare asshole and would run away at the first opportunity.”

“Soomin, let’s not talk about it, but if you want to hear it, yeah, you were right about him.” The memories of our conversation with my ex were still fresh and festering in my mind like a ball of worms.

It’s very convenient to hide behind phrases like “let’s take a break,” “you need time to figure things out,” “emotional vacation,” etcetera. No one wants to be a part of your grief. At this party, the cake belongs entirely to you.

“Okay, let’s close the JiHo thing. Tell me, do you know anything about who sent the roses? Any ideas?”

“Absolutely nothing; I’m stuck. There’s nothing that can help. No address, no sender’s name, Maybe we can find something in her files or stuff; I don’t know.”

“Yes, it’s possible. When do you want to go to a lawyer?”

“This Friday, if you’re free?”

“Give me a minute,” the papers rustled on the other side, Soomin clearly trying to find the day she needed in her diary. Knowing the nature of Soo, it was difficult to make out anything there; her records were always chaotic, and careful planning was not her forte. In this, too, she was similar to Mina.

“I’m totally free. How about going to brunch first and then to the lawyer?

You could use some fun, and I’ve always wanted to go to this new trending place. I hear they serve incredible fondant au chocolate, and the owner looks like God cut him out. How does that sound? “First, tell me, are we going there for the fondant or the owner?”

“You can’t judge me; everyone’s talking about how attractive this man is; I just want to see.” Soo softly dissipated.

“Have you betrayed your love of chocolate for a man? Kim Soomin is something new. Anyway, everything sounds great. Let’s go and see if those rumors are true, but if I were going there solely for the chocolate,” I smiled at that thought. I’ve really been lacking in communication lately. We should start coming back to the real world. “Do you know the address?” “Sure, I’ll pick you up at 11:00. Please wear something prettier than a black dress.” “It’s a classic, and thank you again, Soo.”

“You have nothing to thank me for, Sarang. Finally, I can call you like that, you know, Rosa, it doesn’t suit you. I’ll see you Friday, baby.”

“I think so, too. Until Friday.” I put the phone aside, taking a deep breath. The long stems of white roses had folded in half in the cramped bin. A luxurious wrapping in a rare shade of Solferino and embroidered topaz ribbons lay next to the bulky pile, and a small note was shrunk into a perfect ball that was also lying in the trash.

Whoever sent those flowers should have stopped doing that. I’m not Mina. I don’t like roses.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

How quickly does the waiting time pass? We count the days, the hours, and the minutes until the exciting event we’re expecting, circled by a thick red line in the calendar, but is it really worth our time, which life has measured for us?

It's so strange; the days are like bottles of sand thrown by a restless ocean onto a flickering glass bank. I remember this one, crystal blue—it smells like strawberry cheesecake and summer heat. And this one, made of gloss and pearls, is full to the brim with grave earth and chrysanthemum petals. I like the one that sparkles with diamonds from the royal frosted glass; it smells like a lover’s pillow, and there are memories of the first love. There is another, very ordinary, and therefore the most precious—empty and at the same time full. If you open it, you can hear the gentle wind whispering your name.

My life is all about memories now. I’m just trying to keep what’s left.

The rest of the week passed unnoticed by me. Time, like the rapid trains at the station, rushed by, and I kept waiting to see the stop I needed in this incessant turmoil.

Existing in space is very simple when it belongs only to you. I did actions that were memorized to the finest detail, simple mechanisms that gradually brought me back to my normal state. Feed the neighbor’s cat. Do the cleaning. Go for a walk. Check the mail. Cook dinner. Ordinary things to take your mind off the colorful bottles on the shelves of consciousness and the endless cycle of nightmares.

And I also noticed that at night, time flows more slowly. Second by second, replace the glowing dial until dawn. And so on until the ruthless rays of the sun insidiously penetrate between the tightly woven threads of heavy boudoir curtains, and the golden shadow spills over the pampered skin like boiling water.

I think I'm allergic to the sun and, therefore, to the stars.

Maybe the whole world.

Today I woke up earlier than usual. Somewhere below the horizon, the sun splashed in the golden ichor of the predawn twilight. Yoru stretched out at the foot of the bed, warmed by tiny drops of warm light that seeped into the room through the window. Last night, she refused to leave, stubbornly ignoring my presence and my tender pleas to return home to her mistress.

Yoru was my neighbor’s cat, perfectly embodying all its best features: a slightly aggressive, capricious, and having a little bit of arrogance. Despite this, she had a strange affection for me and often stayed at my house if she was in the mood.

Other tenants avoided Yoru, considering her a bad omen, and it was not only the polished glossiness of her black fur; she always appeared where death later came. I didn't care; I've always loved cats, and having one of them in my house was a bit of comfort. I wasn't alone.

Sensing my awakening, her almond-shaped eyes flashed with the sharp color of precious stones in the slits of the eyelids—a thick amber glow, not yet warmed by curiosity or playfulness. Yoru tossed and turned, clearly unhappy that someone had disturbed her sleep, arched her back and closed her eyes again.

We could lie like this all day long, in silence and some strange harmonization. I’m sure she’ll get close to me a little bit later, calculating her every move, until he presses on his heart with a peaceful, relaxed purr. Unfortunately, today was not the day I could afford it. Soomin will soon be here, and I need to get a little tidy.

Shower. Food. Simple things. Jars of creams and neatly arranged lipsticks Are there certain rules of appearance when you go to a lawyer? What dress should I wear—a deep neckline or open legs? How decent?

Should I still look mournful? Should I wear a veil? Two months have passed; are other colors acceptable? What will he think of me?

So many questions were spinning in my head while I was going, and it seems to me that whatever I choose, it will still be inappropriate. The story of Mina was not a passing affair; probably everyone in the city had fleetingly heard about her death. One of my friends told me she was called “Queen of Roses” because of the flowers in her hair, and I saw the headlines of the “exquisite death” articles.

The black color dripped venomously to the floor with the long hems of the dresses in my wardrobe; the gray, like a mist, settled in the loops of cardigans and oversized sweaters; and the ghostly white terrified me with thin transparent lace and ruffles, just like on Mina's dress. The choice was not too large.

A jacket dress on a naked body made of thick matte silk, a little pearl, and a high choker collar with long falling threads, It was one of the old jewels I bought in a small antique shop. Vintage trinket in the style of Queen Marie-Antoinette. I had a whole collection of such chokers—some studded with precious stones made of expensive jewelry metals, others woven with the finest threads, like a skillfully woven web. Hard made of steel and leather, and soft, like angelic kisses, made of organza and velour. JiHo once said I had a choke kink if I liked things like that; maybe I did, but my ex was too “vanilla” to close his hands around my neck.

After getting dressed and styling my hair, I sat down on the couch and waited for Soomin to arrive. What should I do now? I was lost. Turn on the TV or read a book? Look at the news feed on Instagram; be sure to look at JiHo's profile to see his new photo. Does he miss me or not? Is someone else warming up his bed now that I'm not around? Is JiHo still wearing the same perfume as before, or has he found something different?

Anyway, I never liked his perfume; it was salty like tears and distant ocean breezes and rancid like decaying wood in the dense Amazon. He called them gourmet; I could only agree if they were worn by someone else, say someone more dominant and powerful. Maybe I would even find this strange, gloomy mixture of aromas attractive, inhaling it from someone else's hot skin and feeling with the touch of my lips a steadily beating pulse in the swollen veins on a strong neck.

How long does love last? Three years or more? For me, it's a moment; for others, it's an eternity. I loved him. It's true. Very strong and very long ago. My love did not resemble the indomitable elements or the explosions of colored fireworks; rather, it was the fragrant bloom of wildflowers and the scattering of stars in the sky. She was comforting, not passionate, and I wanted to see someone like me, someone who could comfort my heart and give me tenderness.

Tenderness and comfort alone were enough for me, but deep inside, I wanted something dangerous, something forbidden. I was devout, one of those people who are called “good girls,” but was it really me or the role that Mina gave me?

Maybe in the far corners of my mind, my thoughts weren’t as good and right as they should be. I didn’t even want to admit it to myself, but sometimes when I woke up from another nightmare, I was glad she was dead. Dark, reckless emotions made their way through my cracks; they were moments of despair as my anger lifted its ugly head and oozed poison and blood. My cruelty and hatred had the color of roses and smelled like chocolate. She had fox eyes and a seductive smile; desire flowed in her veins, and strangled thirst was heard in her voice.

In my nightmares, I saw not only Mina and bloody roses; sometimes there was a young man in long silk robes and a veil hiding his face. He's just a ghost; I met mine years ago, but somehow he seems more real to me night by night when he comes into my dreams without permission. He crept into them like a serpent-tempter into the Garden of Eden, slipping away at dawn like the shadow of two moons, hiding behind a door I could never open.

Unreal in my reality.

I felt the arrival of Soomin even before her long nails methodically began to knock on my door. It was as if the spell had been removed and all the sounds of the world had rained down on me in an instant. Yoru shook off her sleep and whirled around at the front door, waiting for an unknown guest. The clatter of high heels echoed in my apartment, slipping through the cracks of the door locks, and the thick smell of ambergris and blooming jasmine at night walked ahead of her, warning every one of her approaches. If I didn’t know better, I could easily have mistaken her for Mina. That was my sister once.

The whole world was just a part of her life; she was not part of the world. To be ordinary—what a bad form!

“Sarang! Sarang, open up. I’m here.” and in fact, her long nails caught on the dark wood of my front door, causing Yoru to bristle and hiss.

I was absolutely sure they wouldn’t get along.

“Are you awfully loud? Someone told you this, Soo?” I opened the front door wide, smiling softly. “I missed you, Soomin.”

“Don’t tell me about it; I missed that pretty face.” She hugged me, which made Yoru hiss again, attracting Soo’s attention. “When did you get a cat?”

“That’s not my, Yoru cat, my neighbor from apartment 1366, that door.” I waved my hand to the far end of the corridor, where Mrs. Lee’s apartment was located. “I like her; I don’t mind having the baby stay with me sometimes.”

“I see.” There was an awkward pause between us until Soo broke it. “You want to talk about… you know what.” She was worried about this topic; I could see it from the way she shifted from foot to foot, or was it from high heels? In the light of the electric lamps, the steel studs glittered like sharpened spindles from the tale of The Sleeping Beauty.

“Not now. Better tell me about this restaurant we’re going to.” Soomin was easily distracted if you changed the topic of conversation in the direction of a subject of interest to her.

I walked out of the house, taking one last look at Yoru. The cat didn't even think about leaving my space; he was already ensconced in a pile of pillows on the sofa in the living room. If she wasn't going to leave, I wouldn't force her.

“Don’t you need to return the cat to the mistress? She looks expensive.” asked Soo

“She’s a purebred Persian cat, and no, Mrs. Lee won’t worry about it; Yoru can stay with me for weeks before she comes home. This has happened before.”

“All right, if you say so.”

I shut the front door and turned the key, permanently cutting off my escape routes. Today. I have to do this today or my resolve will wear thin, and I will once again voluntarily isolate myself in the comfort of blankets and tightly closed curtains.

"And so, the restaurant..." This was the beginning of a long story that interested no more than random passersby in a faceless crowd.

“You’re going to love this place, I promise. Everything I’ve seen on their Instagram profile is so fascinating, but you know what makes this place really attractive? It’s the owner. Eun Jung was there last week, and she couldn’t shut up about…”

For the next 30 minutes, I heard about this trending establishment. “ Angels' Share” is the most requested boutique café in the last 3 months on all search engines. A luxurious café with exquisite dishes and a magnificent concept.

But most importantly, it is, of course, divine, and Soomin, the owner, was absolutely sure of this. Hundreds of girls lined up in endless lines from dawn to dusk, hoping to see him, at least for a moment.

On your first visit, the owner of “Angels' Share” personally serves you throughout your interruption there. Your name is inscribed in the book of exclusive customers in gold ink. Their main specialty is gourmet desserts, and if you are not seduced by the angelic face of the magnificent man who runs this place, then the sweets melting on your lips will do it instantly.

Full berries of scarlet strawberries in white Belgian chocolate. Mille-feuille with fresh wild berries. The devil's food is the most chocolate of all chocolate cakes, and, of course, the angel cake has the most delicate silk cream of exotic fruits.

As Soomin told me about it, she was clearly having an emotional orgasm. Her arousal was obvious, but I could not understand what she craved more: exquisite desserts or the sweet kiss of the owner.

“I think he's a real angel,” Soo finished her rant after giving a fiery speech about the unique beauty of a man she had never met in her life.

“I'm not sure if it's all true, Soomin, but you'll be able to see for yourself when we get there. You should not trust everything they say. You're too impressionable and trusting.”

We spent the rest of the journey in peaceful silence. This is the type of silence when there are a lot of questions in the air, but each side is not sure when to start asking them. I know she wanted to ask me a lot of things, and in response, I wanted to finally share my experiences and feelings that I had been desperately hiding for the past two months. Nevertheless, each of us remained silent, as if afraid to destroy fragile comfort with uncomfortable words.

When the car stopped, Soomin smiled approvingly at me, as if to say, “Go ahead, my girl!” She was good at it because she was also a cheerleader like Mina.

“Angels' Share” was impressive at first sight, and not only because of the long line of girls lined up in a perfect line and dressed in intricate clothes like collectible dolls on the shelf.

A myriad of flowers, lace, and feathers, pastel shades, and delicate ruffles—all of them looked like animated sugar fantasies. Their cheeks were dusted with pink blush, and their inflated lips were accentuated by a thick layer of transparent sticky gloss with a fine sprinkle of glitter.

Perfectly well-groomed hair is arranged in children’s cute curls or intricate hairstyles with hundreds of sparkling hairpins and velvet bows. The variety of their images was amazing, as was the height of their heels. This place was definitely something special if the girls were willing to sacrifice their comfort for a couple of desserts.

Or it wasn’t about desserts.

At such moments, I especially understood how much we needed someone else's approval. The list of items seems endless: he likes cute girls, girls with an athletic figure, pale skin, and big eyes; she should not be boring; my friends like her; she has long legs and a thin waist; and she is a certain height. I wonder if he'll use a ruler to measure me. Big boobs or a nice ass—which turns him on more? What will our first date be like? That's right; should I call him Oppa or not? Tell me what you want, and I will fulfill whatever you want. I will fulfill every one of your fantasies. Tell me about your desires.

Seduce me. Surprise me. Love me!

I don’t want to live like this. I want to be who I really am, with all my flaws and imperfections. I want to be sharp and rude; I want to be cruel and honest; I want to look as I want, without colorful tinsel and layers of makeup, with cellulite, stretch marks, and a little overweight. That may be so, but it will be me. Just me.

The voice of Soomin ripped me out of my mind.

“I told you so,” said Soo smugly, purposefully heading for the entrance, circumventing a string of discharged girls. She was a lioness on a hunt, while they were stranded in colorful piles like scared rabbits.

If you do not pay attention to the girls, the exterior is fascinating. Gold, flowers, and crystal resembled the frame of a precious box. “Angels' Share” was positioned in such a way that the sun flooded it from all sides, creating around it a mysterious golden haze of sunlight and a dazzling iridescent play of crystals.

Everything was so beautiful, I won't deny it, but didn't the gingerbread house beckon the children deep into the dark forest where the wicked witch lived? Everything beautiful always has a downside, and someone knows how to mask it better than others.

While I was looking at the details, Soomin dragged me inside and was already talking to the host girl, who was checking the records for a long list of names. She also, like the girls on the street, looked like a doll. Her hair was long and shiny, tucked away from her face with an embroidered rim with Swarovski crystals, and her eyelashes were so lush that they touched her cheeks when she blinked. I would call her beautiful; she licked to perfection, which made it almost unnatural. She had a sweet, high-pitched voice and an overly friendly smile. Annoyingly friendly.

“Please follow me; I'll show you your table. Since you have visited us for the first time, Mr. Yoon will personally take care of you today. Please enjoy your stay at “Angels' Share.”

YooA—that was the name of this girl—led us up the spiral staircase to the second floor. It seemed that everything around was carved from pale golden marble, with the addition of luxurious interior items and thousands of flowers—or, to be more precise, thousands of roses. Snow-white, cream, pastel pink, and soft peach—the whole space breathed rose buds that stood in tall transparent vases.

The sight took my breath away, and I was inwardly tense. It's okay; it's just a café, not Mina's apartment. You need to relax and not start panicking; it will not benefit anyone.

As if sensing my growing panic, Soomin squeezed my palm.

“Are you all right? You look pale.”

“Yes, it’s all right; there are too many roses for my taste; you know, it brings back memories.” I smiled tortuously in response to her words. I didn’t want to ruin her day; she was so excited and happy when we came here.

“We can leave if you are not comfortable, Sarang.” Soo still held my hand, gently walking her thumb over my palm in a comforting circular motion. “If you want to go somewhere else, this is fine. I can always come back here later.”

“No!” came out too loud. “No, I’m fine. I can’t wait to try their chocolate fondant. You know I’m here only for chocolate.” She said the last part with me in one voice.

YooA showed us our table, although it was more like a small loggia separated by airy chiffon tulle and pearl threads from the common room. I could easily fall in love with this place if not for the languid, enveloping smell of roses and the beauty of their lush, perfect buds.

“Do you think the rumors are true, and we'll see an angel appearance today?” Soomin leaned across the table to talk about the owner, not so obviously?

“I think you'll find out about it now, anyway.” I couldn't finish my thoughts, interrupted by Soo's enthusiastic sigh. It was a sound of undisguised admiration that she couldn't hold back, even if she tried.

The reason for her excitement was right behind me, and I had to look back a little to see what it could have been.

Of course, all the sounds of delight belonged to none other than Mr. Yoon. In part, I could understand why he was called angel-like. His beauty was painfully perfect, to the point where it became almost terrible. His face was beautiful—almost obsessively beautiful, like the face of a stone goddess on a grave. Surreal. The skin seemed to glow from the inside, like molten silver flowing through the veins. He had long hair—ashes, platinum, mother-of-pearl—everything mixed on a diamond cloth. One silvery strand fell delicately over his face.

Are the melodies of an angelic choir in the air, or does it just seem that way to me?

The more I looked at him, the more his appearance disgusted me.

I felt flawed and unsuitable, like a puzzle that did not fit the picture; my heart did not beat faster with excitement or sweet agony; I did not burn and did not desire it as it should. Between us, it was possible to draw thousands of parallels in a myriad of universes, and none of them ever intersected. Beauty is deceptive, like a serpent promising forgiveness. It’s the pain of a bittersweet injection entering our nervous tissue.

What do we know about them—angels? White-winged light bearers, without flaws and ignorant of evil and vicious desires, are submissive and faithful to their ideals and purposes. Silent watchers who look after our virtue. But there are those who are chained and silken, whose wings are torn out with bloody flesh, for they are sinners.

Their name is the fallen. Unforgiven.

He was not an angel. He was one of them who traded the vaults of heaven for the flames and steel of the nine circles.

His presence was heavy, stifling, and sharp. Goosebumps ran through my skin as an omen of the imminent end.

I could have sworn that the second our eyes met in his eyes, the color of dark bitter chocolate, anger, and disgust thickened. So everything that is perfect collapses, falls, beats, and crumbles like the great walls of Babylon, kissing the transcendental peak of heaven. Like a Venus flytrap, his appearance was a clever disguise of vice and rot in a velvet cage of flesh, and this place is the very gingerbread house that beckons to certain death.

“Welcome to “Angels' Share”. My name is Yoon Sung Hoon; I own this place, and today I will make sure your stay here is unforgettable.” The voice flowed like honey smoothly and gently, I could melt at this tone.

“I am Soomin, and this is Sarang; we have heard a lot about this place.” Soo’s cheeks were pink from a shy blush, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say she was embarrassed. This man was clearly something special, if he could make Soomin behave like a schoolgirl in love with just his presence.

His eyes rested on my figure for a second, and I wanted to shrink into a ball under this appraising gaze, as if he was trying to probe me and understand how dangerous I could be. It was only a moment, and then a smile shone again on his angelic face.

“I hope you’ve only heard nice things about us. What do you want today?” I wonder what he is used to hearing in response. I want you and your love, and I will accept everything you would not give me. Will you be my boyfriend? My husband? Will you give me eternal love? Judging by the expression on Soomin's face, this is exactly what she wanted to ask him, but she pulled herself up in time.

“I want to taste your best dessert.” As they say, kill them with your sweetness. Where has my self-sufficiency and t.” As they say, “kill them with your sweetness.” Where has my self-sufficient and confident self gone? Soo, this blushing mess was nothing like hers.

“Of course, only the best is for you. And what do you want?” All his attention was now drawn to me, and I had no pleasure. Yoon Sung Hoon is clearly not used to girls not falling at his feet like moths hitting the glass. Our dislike was mutual. Our dislike was mutual. “What do you want, Sarang? I would recommend one of our most special desserts: a white chocolate soufflé with candied scarlet roses.” Sung Hoon was smiling, but not at all benevolent; there was something mocking in the exquisite curve of his lips, as if he were challenging me: “Come on, try me.”

Roses. Those damn roses again. It always came down to these flowers. Were they my path leading away from the dark forest, or would they lead me straight to the crystal coffin in the tallest tower of the castle?

Instead of politely refusing, as a true lady should, I have given a crude, hoarse, and utterly evil speech:

“I hate roses.”

For me, flowers are as beautiful as the pain of a broken heart. You can call me a heartbreaker. What will your heart taste like? I'm so eager to try it.

“My apologies.” Sung Hoon bowed his head, hiding his gaze in the lace of fluttering eyelashes and platinum bangs. With this simple action, Soomin once again made a barely audible, enthusiastic sound. “In this case, I offer you our signature chocolate fondant with raspberry jam and glass caramel glaze. Our clients say that he has a heavenly taste, so celestial that he can be sinful.”

Sung Hoon—there was something about him that disgusted me. His way of speaking, his appearance, his behavior—in general, every detail of it The most beautiful apple on the branch will always be wormy. I couldn't understand how he could charm girls in a split second, without any effort, as if it were in his blood—to cause desire and awe.

During our short conversation, Soo did not look at me once, inseparably studying every detail of the angelic man. If I make an incision in his skin, will the gold pour as befits angels, or will it be the viscous and black acid that Pandora once shed from her eyes?

I didn’t like it here. I didn’t like Yoon Sung Hoon, and he probably didn’t like me. How was I in his eyes—insignificant, puny, ordinary? Our dislike was mutual but totally unfounded; I just knew I didn’t want to be in the same space with him. I can’t breathe.

Guests always leave after dessert. I didn't want to linger, so I agreed to fondant. “Okay, I'll take fondant and cappuccino.” I looked at Soomin again; her thoughts were clearly elsewhere, judging by the bitten lower lip and flushed cheeks. “And matcha latte, please.”

“Of course, ladies…” With this phrase, he finally left us, and I sighed deeply.

“I think I'm in love, Sarang.” Apparently, with his passing, Soo’s brain has resumed active activity. “He absolutely justifies all the rumors about him.”

“Yeah, I can agree with that; he’s definitely something very special.”

After Sung Hoon served desserts and another 10 minutes of heated discussion of his appearance, our conversation took its normal course. It’s like ping-pong; the rules are very simple: move from one question to another, follow the theme, and don’t miss your turn. “How's the work?” “Everything is fine.” “How’s your boyfriend?” “You remember I told you we broke up?” “What have you been doing lately?” “Too much to do; I can’t remember, but recently I came back from Japan”, “Did you like it there?” “Great seats and great cuisine.” “How do you feel, Sarang?” Say it again; I didn’t hear you.

“How do you feel, Sarang?” Once again, you speak unclearly.

“How do you feel, Sarang?” It's so loud here, I can't hear you.

“Sarang?!” Can I skip my turn? I’m tired of this game.

I took a deep, slow breath.

“What do you want me to say, Soo? Something that will calm you down or something that should comfort me? ”

“Truth, Sarang. I want to hear the truth from you.” Soomin looked at me so carefully that it seemed as though she was looking straight into my soul.

My mind moved from one thought to another, not knowing what it would focus on. Truth. What is it like, this truth? She is like a beautiful, spiritually disheveled monster with a lesbian couple of black widows in an aquarium; she exists in an endless eternity of joyful decadence and an ecstatic nightmare.

It’s no big deal to tell someone the truth, but are you ready to see your own reflection in someone else’s eyes? They say alcohol is a liquid truth, but I think it's nothing more than a road strewn with bread crumbs, straight into a dense, dark forest. The more you drink, the deeper you go. Sometimes, through the intricately woven stems of condemnation and bitterness, subtle rays of understanding break through, like the light shed by the dual face of the moon. But this happens so rarely that the eyes themselves become accustomed to the surrounding darkness.

I’m still afraid of the dark and, therefore, of the truth. Now I’m sure I’m allergic to the world.

When I looked at the café, I noticed that there were many more people. Bunny girls with colorful barrettes occupied small transparent tables filled with all sorts of desserts; others, similar to porcelain dolls, put their palms to their cheeks, flushed with embarrassment, and laughed loudly, sitting in the same loggias as ours. The sounds of clicks from selfies and aesthetic Instagram photos did not subside for a second, as did the high play of voices merging with soft background music.

This probably wasn’t the best place for such a serious conversation, but was it ever the perfect place to have a heart-to-heart?

“Honestly, I don't know. Really?” I began, stirring the thick, fragrant foam from the cappuccino. It tasted like a first kiss—a little bitter, a little sweet—something that I would like to repeat again and again. “Secrets, secrets, and more secrets—everywhere I look, no matter what I ask, they only get bigger. Everything is as usual: Mina died, and the world is still spinning around her. Remember, I told you that they still send roses? I can say that soon the cemetery will start selling bouquets because there is simply nowhere to put them. Every day there are fresh flowers on the grave.” Maybe I sounded a little petty and annoyed, but I didn't care. “I may not seem like the best person on this planet, but sometimes I feel absolutely happy that I finally managed to bury her in the ground.” Yes, this is exactly the right moment; you are not mistaken. That was my truth, like salt and pepper, like ashes, like burned dreams.

Soomin shook her head negatively.

“You shouldn't talk about yourself like that, Sarang; you're not a bad person, and we both know it; everyone around you knows it; and even that bastard JiHo knows it. You have gone through a lot, and if I were you, I would have gone crazy long ago, but look at yourself: you are here with me, in the noise of the metropolis, and you have your whole life ahead of you.” She put her hand on top of mine, and the warmth of her body penetrated mine. “Mina was who she was, and neither you nor me nor anyone else could change her. So don't let her ghost poison your life. I'm not a fan of this entire Nancy Drew thing, but I won't dissuade you. If you want my help, I'm on board.”

I laughed bitterly, taking a sip of the coffee that had already cooled. There was something special about it—sweet, ice-cold coffee, like long-cooled love.

“Yeah, you’re right; she was who she was, but I guess we were wrong about that because those flowers broke her in half. In fact, that’s the whole point of the question: where did the roses come from? She was interested in nothing but flowers and some strange prayers. She frightened me. You know, at first it looked like another love of hers; everything was as usual—she talked incessantly about flowers and admired them, but the more roses they sent us, the less she was interested in the rest of the world. Mina withered and languished while the roses bloomed. I've never seen anyone come to our house or meet someone. Nothing, just roses—hundreds of roses. You just can't imagine how many there were.”

“You know, I don’t really want to imagine it. Okay, let’s say you find something in her files. What’s next? You really need this? Maybe we should just let go, you know, scatter the ashes to the wind.” Breaking off a slice of angel cake, Soo mooed in satisfaction as the dessert was in her mouth. “Mmm, I love sweets. Who handled her legal affairs? If this is one of the free lawyers, we should hurry; the queues in these cantors are worse than here.”

“No, no, we're not going to a free advocacy team. Wait a minute.” I pulled out of my purse a small card from a thick black cardboard and handed it to Soomin. Transparent gloss on a soft matt surface looked refined and very expensive, just like the business card itself. “Silver & Black LTD” was the name of the law firm that handled Mina’s affairs.

“You’re kidding me!” She exclaimed, almost burying her face in her business card. “That’s “Silver and Black.” How did she manage to work with them? They’re one of the most elite law practitioners in all of Seoul, and I’d say across Asia. Their lawyers are real sharks in their cases; for the existence of their practice, they have not lost a single case, and the bills for their services are simply cosmic. How does she have so much money? Sarang, did you inherit her sugar daddy too? If that's the case, ask for more; you're much more expensive than a cheerleader, and nerds are always sexier and more desirable.”

“Stop saying that like I’m a whore. I don’t know where she got the money, but are their services so expensive?” My surprise was obvious. Our family was not poor, but we were not rich; we occupied that golden layer in the class hierarchy where we could just live without any worries about tomorrow. Mina and I were well provided for, but judging by Soomin’s reaction, “Silver and Black” could afford only filthy rich and influential people.

“If I were to be offered the opportunity to trade my virginity for cooperation with them, I would have done it without hesitation. Are you sure we have an appointment with them?”

“Soomin!” Frankness was always such a simple thing for her that I felt awkward at such moments. “Of course, I called them yesterday to confirm the details.”

“What? The cult of virginity is overrated anyway, but now I'm much more interested in it.”

“Let me think, more amazing men?” “How did you guess?” Soo smiled sweetly, shoving another piece of dessert into her mouth. I snorted; I couldn’t help it. "Hey, don’t laugh! You should also consider new options, since you and JiHo have broken up. Listen to me, little Sarang, nothing will warm your bed better than a hot big boy."

"Ew, Soomin." She just laughed back.

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