#oh yes the opulence I wanted to see

[queenhelaenathedreamer]

Poking around in Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen's jewellery box...

[edenesth]

The Way to His Heart [16]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

Part 15 | Fic Masterlist | Part 17

What's the meaning of this, Your Highness?

As you entered the grand hall, discomfort painted across your features, Jongho and Eunsook trailed closely behind, exchanging concerned glances. The announcement made by the palace staff had only made the prince's intentions abundantly clear to them.

The head maid, not wanting you to feel alone, stepped up beside you to check on you, "Are you feeling alright, mistress?" She inquired. Jongho nodded in agreement from your other side, suggesting, "Yes, perhaps we can leave early if you are not feeling well."

"Miss Jang! Are you not feeling well, my lady?" Yeosang's deep voice interrupted, your eyes widening at his appearance. As you began to perform the formal bow, he quickly halted you by gently grasping your arms, "No need to be so formal with me," He said softly, "If you're feeling unwell, you can come and rest in my chambers."

Jongho and Eunsook froze at the fourth prince's suggestion, dread washing over them. They could only hope you would decline the invitation, but they knew it wasn't their place to intervene. The idea was simply inappropriate; as a married woman, retiring to another man's private chambers was scandalous. If news of this spread, it would undoubtedly tarnish your reputation and bring dishonour to the general's name.

To their relief, you didn't hesitate to shake your head, "Oh dear, no, Your Highness. Thank you for the offer, but I was simply taken aback by the grandeur of everything. It's my first time attending such a prestigious event, and perhaps I just need a moment to take it all in."

That wasn't entirely untrue, as you finally seized the opportunity to marvel at your surroundings. While your husband's estate was luxurious, it paled in comparison to the opulence of the royal palace. Palace servants bustled about, ensuring everything was flawless. However, you couldn't help but notice the absence of banquet guests, which surprised and unsettled you.

Yeosang fought hard to conceal any disappointment, maintaining a composed smile at your response, "Ah, yes, indeed. How inconsiderate of me not to offer you a tour of the palace first, especially after the delightful tour you provided me at General Park's estate. I believe it's only right for me to return the favour now."

You blinked, "B-but the banquet—"

The prince grinned, cutting you off, "As you can see, you've arrived quite early, my lady. The other guests are not here yet, so I might as well keep you entertained until the event officially begins."

The assistant and head maid were deeply uneasy about the situation unfolding before them as they watched you, left with not much of a choice, agreed unsurely to the so-called tour. It was evident to them that this must be part of Yeosang's scheme. Jongho had ensured your departure from the estate was precisely timed; you couldn't have arrived too early.

"Fantastic! Now, if you'll just come with me," His Highness beckoned as the three of you began to follow him. Just as you started to move, he turned around smugly with an additional suggestion, "Oh, actually, your staff can stay behind if they'd like. That way, we can converse more freely, just the two of us, as we did back at the general's estate. What do you say, Miss Jang?"

It took everything in Eunsook to resist the urge to firmly remind the prince that you already belonged to another.

Similarly agitated by Yeosang's persistence, Jongho silently prayed that Seonghwa had received his letter. Despite being well aware of the impropriety of distracting the general during wartime, after much consideration and discussion with the other guys, they concluded that your husband deserved to be informed of the situation.

Fortunately, you offered a reassuring smile to your two chaperones before turning to address the fourth prince, "I'm sure that would not be necessary, Your Highness. I prefer having them close just in case I require any assistance."

As they witnessed your resolute refusal of the offer, Jongho and Eunsook felt a surge of pride. Truthfully, they had been anxious since Hongjoong had confided in them about the doubts you were harbouring regarding Seonghwa. But they dared not bring it up, wary of your potential reaction. Though a part of them had worried you might be swayed by Yeosang's charms, your firm stance reassured them of your unwavering loyalty to the general.

However, they couldn't shake off the sly glint still evident in the prince's eyes. He seemed oddly pleased despite your rejection to spend time alone with him. That troubled them deeply, and the two exchanged worried glances, silently contemplating what else he could possibly have in store.

With a light chuckle, His Highness replied, "Very well then, I suppose they could come along. This way, my lady. I know a few places you'll find intriguing."

Unlike your husband's staff, you were entirely unaware of Yeosang's intentions. Even then, there was just an inexplicably ominous aura to his demeanour that unsettled you, further intensifying your longing for Seonghwa. The banquet had barely even begun, but you already felt mentally exhausted, wanting nothing more than to rely on the general as you always had.

I miss you, Park Seonghwa.

Before you could dwell on thoughts of your beloved and his well-being, you suddenly recognised the surroundings. The enchanting cherry blossom garden, where you had first met the prince, spread out before you, "Do you remember this place, my lady?" He asked, his tone soft with nostalgia, "It has become my favourite spot in all of the palace since meeting you."

"How could I ever forget, Your Highness?" You replied, momentarily causing Jongho and Eunsook's hearts to sink until you continued with a genuinely innocent smile, "This garden is the only place I've had the pleasure of visiting so far."

Although your response should have let him down, Yeosang found his heart melting at your sincerity. It only served to deepen his admiration for you, knowing that you weren't one to offer insincere compliments or put on a fake smile just because of his status. You were simply yourself, and he found that utterly captivating.

As the four of you neared one of the garden's tallest and most exquisite cherry blossom trees, you found yourself gazing upward in awe at the falling petals, taking in the breathtaking sight. The beauty of the place was undeniable, and you couldn't help but imagine spending hours strolling around and admiring the flowers if this were your home.

His Highness watched you beneath the gently falling pink blossoms, feeling his heart swell with warmth. The scene before him was like a painting, and he longed to preserve it in his memory forever. Just standing there with you, experiencing this moment, filled him with an overwhelming desire to give you everything he had. It was a new and unfamiliar feeling for him, this deep sense of affection for another person. For the first time, he found himself completely enamoured by someone's presence.

"It truly is a sight to behold, isn't it?" You nodded wordlessly in response to the prince's question, reaching out to catch some of the delicate flowers before he continued, "You know, perhaps it's not too late to change your favourite flower from lotus to cherry blossoms."

Though his words seemed simple and harmless, they carried a subtle yet unmistakable implication. This was apparent to the assistant, the head maid, and, for once, to you as well. Deep in thought, you pondered the best way to respond to his suggestion. Somehow, you sensed a deeper meaning in his words from the determined look in his eyes that were almost silently urging you to choose him.

With a soft smile, you caught a falling flower, "Thank you, Your Highness. Cherry blossoms are indeed beautiful, but I still prefer lotus flowers. You see, cherry blossoms may be stunning when they bloom, but they also fall quite fast. To me, the lotus represents endurance and resilience, as it thrives in adverse conditions and blooms beautifully despite its surroundings."

This time, you hoped the prince understood the subtle implication behind your words. The short lifespan of cherry blossoms symbolised fleeting happiness, whereas the lotus embodied strength and perseverance through difficulties—a sentiment you hoped would mirror the love shared between you and Seonghwa.

Jongho and Eunsook exchanged a subtle glance, their smiles growing wider as they registered the meaning of your response.

Meanwhile, Yeosang's composure faltered ever so slightly at your polite rejection. The light in his eyes dimmed momentarily, but he quickly regained his composure, masking any hint of disappointment, "Understood, my lady," He replied with a gracious nod, "You do make a good point. Since we've already been here before, let us move on to the next location then."

As he guided you through various parts of the palace, you found yourself fascinated by the history and beauty of each location. The royal library, with its towering shelves of ancient texts, stirred a sense of awe in you as the prince shared stories of his lessons there. The astronomy tower offered a breathtaking view, and you marvelled at the cityscape from above.

In the kitchen, where the aroma of freshly prepared dishes filled the air, His Highness confessed with a mischievous grin that he often snuck in for a late-night snack. You couldn't help but chuckle at his antics, finding his playful side endearing.

However, as Yeosang led you past the main hall where morning assemblies with His Majesty were held, Jongho's earlier worries resurfaced. Despite the seemingly innocent nature of the tour, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease gnawing at him. Each step further into the heart of the palace felt like a step into unknown territory, and he feared what might happen next.

The assistant's breath caught in his throat as he realised the path the fourth prince was leading you down, the daunting sight of the palace torture chambers coming into view.

No, not this place. Anywhere but here.

In the warzone on the other side of the nation, General Officer Song grappled with his own internal conflicts as he tightly gripped the letters from Jongho and Prince Yeosang. He felt a strong reluctance to deliver them to his superior.

The truth was that General Park had sustained injuries in his recent and one of the more challenging battles. While the situation had calmed down and most of the enemy troops were either strewn lifelessly across the battlefield or had retreated to their camps, Seonghwa's injury had been kept secret to prevent causing panic within their army, following the general's direct orders.

Mingi stood in the makeshift office tent, the letters weighing heavily in his hands. His mind raced with thoughts, torn between his duty as a military officer and his concern for General Park's well-being.

On one hand, keeping the letters hidden seemed like the logical course of action. They were in the midst of a war, and any distraction for their most crucial member could be detrimental to their efforts. Having Seonghwa away from camp for personal matters could compromise their military strategy and the safety of their troops.

Yet, on the other hand, he couldn't shake the feeling of responsibility towards the general and his relationship with Lady Park. If he withheld this crucial information and something were to happen between you and the prince, he would bear the blame. The thought of Seonghwa's potential anguish at being kept in the dark about his wife's situation weighed heavily on him.

With no time to spare for further contemplation, a soldier from the medical team entered the tent, "Officer Song, the general's condition has stabilised. You're permitted to see him in his private tent now."

Acknowledging the news with a nod, the military strategist expressed his gratitude, "Understood. Thank you, soldier. I'll head there immediately."

Not wasting another second, Mingi made his way over to General Park's tent, his concern for his friend overriding any other thought for now. As he pushed aside the tent flap and stepped inside, his heart lurched at the sight before him.

The usually formidable military commander lay in bed, his complexion pale and his once-strong demeanour replaced by one of weakness. Seonghwa's hand was clenched tightly around the bandages covering his abdomen, his expression a mixture of pain and discomfort.

"Hyung-nim," Officer Song's voice was filled with worry as he approached the bedside, "How are you feeling?"

Suppressing a wince, the general released a breathy chuckle, "I'm fine, Mingi," He reassured, though his tone lacked conviction, "I've never seen you look this bothered before. It's almost funny."

The taller man scoffed in response, "And I've never seen you in pain like this before. But this isn't funny."

Seonghwa waved off his friend's concern with a weak smile, "Don't worry, it's just a scratch," He insisted, though his tone contradicted his words, "One of those sneaky bastards on the battlefield played dead. I let my guard down for a moment, and he took advantage of it."

Mingi's eyes widened in alarm, "And he managed to graze you?"

Nodding grimly, the general replied, "Yes, it could have been worse if I hadn't reacted in time. But it's strange. The wound shouldn't hurt this much, considering it's just a graze. Perhaps it's my age catching up with me. After all, I'm not as young as I used to be," He admitted ruefully, "But it's nothing serious. Just a minor setback."

Relieved that his superior seemed to be in stable condition, the strategist decided it was best to allow his friend some much-needed rest. With a reassuring pat on the shoulder, he advised, "You should probably rest up. We can't have you bedridden for long. I'll keep watch for now."

As he moved to leave the tent, the general posed a question, stopping him abruptly in his tracks, "Wait, Mingi, did anything happen while I was being treated earlier?" The taller man froze, his hand pressing on the papers he had kept in his pocket anxiously. He debated whether to reveal the contents of the letters now or wait until Seonghwa was in a better state.

He hesitated, grappling with the weight of his decision. After a moment's pause, he opted to keep the letters from your husband. Turning to offer a strained smile to the general, he denied any incident, "No, nothing happened. Don't worry, hyung-nim."

Seonghwa nodded slowly, his brows furrowing slightly, "I see."

A heavy silence hung between them until the strategist broke it with a forced cough, "I should probably head out now."

Before he could move, the general's voice cut through the air with accusation, "Do you honestly think me a fool, Officer Song? I offered you a chance for honesty, yet you persist in deceit. I may be injured, but I am not deaf. I heard the messenger loud and clear. Now, hand me my letters."

Mingi cursed inwardly, realising his mistake in attempting to deceive the great General Park. Sputtering, he reluctantly retrieved the crumpled letters from his pocket before handing them over, "I-I'm sorry, hyung-nim... I didn't mean to—"

Seonghwa shook his head in disbelief, snatching the papers from his friend's grasp, "I know you only did what you thought was right, just as you always do. But we both know you're a dumbass when it comes to anything outside of war strategising."

The taller man sighed as he observed the general's expression darkening further with each word he read from both letters. His fists clenched tightly as he digested the contents of the prince's letter, the paper tearing at the edges from his grip.

This son of a—

Jongho's prayers seemed to be answered as his master finally received his letter, but merely reading it wouldn't be enough to fix any of the damage the fourth prince was about to inflict.

As you gazed at the looming building ahead, an odd sense of dread filled your stomach, signalling that it probably wasn't a place any of you should be near. Yeosang's grin only heightened your apprehension, "Do you know what this place is, my lady?" His question struck fear into the assistant, who now realised the prince's strategy. Casting an anxious glance at Eunsook, his eyes conveyed the hopelessness of the situation. Previously confident in your faithfulness to your husband, they now harboured doubts.

Blinking rapidly, you croaked out, "I'm afraid I'm not too sure, Your Highness. But perhaps we should head back to the hall; we've been gone for a while now."

The prince shook his head dismissively, "You're always so thoughtful, my lady, but the banquet can wait. Come on, aren't you curious? This is a place General Park frequents. Surely, you'd be interested to learn what he does here." Your blood ran cold in an instant, sensing the conversation was taking a dangerous turn.

"I'm sure Assistant Choi has become quite familiar with this place by now, haven't you? You're always here to pick the general up after he finishes his sessions." Yeosang remarked, amused, as he observed the younger man struggling to respond.

Smirking, he went on, "Welcome, Miss Jang, to the palace torture chambers. I thought it'd be enlightening to show you where your... husband typically conducts important duties. You must have been curious about his activities during his working hours."

The revelation hit you like a tidal wave, freezing you in place. This was where your family had suffered, where Seonghwa had overseen their punishments, as San had explained. The weight of the truth settled heavily on your shoulders, sending a shiver down your spine as horror and disbelief mingled within you.

Jongho and Eunsook exchanged a look filled with desperation. They silently prayed for some miracle to whisk them away from this awful place. Oh, how they wished their master could appear now, but they knew it was nothing more than a wistful hope.

Your silence seemed to fuel Yeosang's discourse, "We should be thankful for General Park's services to the nation, of course," He continued, his tone dripping with faux gratitude, "Only the lord knows how many war criminals and spies he had tortured behind these walls to protect us."

Feigning contemplation, he added, "And if I remember correctly, he was also here when the Jang family underwent their physical punishments. Though I'm sure the general must have already informed you of that," He glanced at Eunsook, who lowered her head, her eyes shut tightly in fear of your reaction, "Especially how he made sure to spend extra hours with the former minister post-punishment."

Extra hours...?

Your heart plummeted to the lowest pit of your stomach as his words sank in. Did your husband do more than just supervise the punishments? The implications gnawed at your mind, and a thousand questions raced through your head. What else could Seonghwa have possibly done to your father? Dread washed over you in waves as you struggled to comprehend the truth behind the prince's insinuations.

« Preview of Part 17 »

"General Park! Where is he?!" The military doctor rushed into the main tent in a panic after realising Seonghwa was nowhere to be found in his private tent.

Mingi looked up from his documents, "My apologies, I should have informed you earlier to prevent any unnecessary alarm. The general mentioned feeling slightly better and had left camp to return home briefly for a family emergency."

"He left?! Is he making the journey back to the city alone?" The physician squeaked, eyes widening in alarm.

Officer Song nodded, his brows furrowed, "Yes, doc. What's wrong? You're scaring me."

Gulping nervously, the doctor retrieved the dagger used by the enemy earlier, "We found it unusual for such a small wound to affect the general so severely. We ran some tests on the weapon and..."

Mingi began to rise from his seat immediately, anxiety was evident in his expression, "Tell me, what did you find?"

"This dagger was laced with poisonous viper venom. It's potent enough to cause damage to his internal organs. He's lucky it was just a graze, but even so, we can't be sure how much venom has entered his system. He requires thorough treatment to prevent the poison from spreading."

Shit, shit, SHIT.

I AM SO SORRY! Okay, I know I said there would be drama in this part, and believe me when I say this, I fully intended to include it in this part in the beginning... but I am planning to end the story in part 20. So, after careful calculations, seems like it's only right to put the climax in part 17.

Also, it's official! There will be spinoff stories for the other members, I'm so excited! I hope you are too! As always, thank you for reading and please let me know your thoughts! <3

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[harmshake]

I am usually shy and don't like requsting stuff but.....

Imma just leave this here....

Oh, angel. For you, it's a done deal. 😘💗

Gear

Cody Rhodes x Fem Reader | 18+ ONLY, NSFW, fluff, and smut | 2,099 words

Happy reading! Read my other Cody stories here, if you'd like. ✨

The excitement buzzing through the bedroom could likely be felt down the hallways of the hotel, each corner, wall, and floorboard reverberating with that palpable joy for what was to come once you and Cody left it.

Only four hours to go. Four hours to get ready and head out to the Lincoln Financial Field. Fours until WrestleMania began where your husband, Cody, would grace the squared circle and become the new Undisputed WWE Universal Champion. 

You could see his excitement marking his adorable cheeks a light pink as they balled up from a dazzling smile. He stood in the bathroom, half-hiding behind the door he held onto as he was getting dressed, his bare, muscular shoulders and pecs peeking at you as did he with that smile.

"You ready to see the gear of a champion?" Cody called out to you as you sat on the bed, already dressed in your turtleneck dress as you pulled on your knee-high boots to kick away the Philly chill.

"Hell yes. You've kept it a secret long enough, babe," you remarked, thinking of how he usually showed you his new gear even in its design stages on the pages of a notebook. That let you know this outfit was one he knew would surprise you with its grandeur. Cody nodded once with a cute smirk before he closed the door for a few seconds, opening it and strolling out in his jacket, tights, and boots, deep hues of red, white, and blue with luminous gold accents such as the American eagle adorning the broad shoulders. His pretty, cobalt eyes wrinkled with that handsome smile of his again as he strutted towards you with his hands out and did a quick spin that made his jacket tail flit through the air. He made you smile, too, with pride before you felt tears sting your eyes to see him so regal and opulent—and you couldn't wait to see the big gold around his waist to match.

"Let me guess. You hate it?" Cody teased before he noticed you wipe at your eyes with your sleeve. He came closer to you and slid his big hands onto your cheeks to tilt your face up at him as he gazed down at you with concern turning down his pink lips. "What's wrong, baby?" 

"Nothing. These are happy tears, I swear," you piped up as his wide thumbs brushed your cheeks, his right one catching a tear as it slipped down your skin. You were telling the truth as you felt nothing but pure elation to see your husband who busted his ass for years week in and week out finally earn the opportunity to be the face of a company that he—and Roman Reigns, respectively—carried on his back already. You added with a sniffle, "Just can't wait to see you looking good like this out there tonight when you win."

"Don't think I've ever made you cry because I looked too good," Cody laughed quietly and made you giggle, too, before he bent over to plant a soft kiss on your forehead. "God, you're precious. You know that?"

"If you say so," you replied with your hands covering his still holding your face as you rested your head on his warm, slightly hairy abs exposed in his open jacket.

"I do," Cody reminded you with one more kiss atop your hair before he carefully pulled away to retreat backward to the bathroom with a sneaky grin. "Ah. I forgot...there's one more part of my gear I want to show you."

One of your arched eyebrows raised at him as he disappeared into the bathroom once more with the door closed, hearing him rustle with something before seeing him emerge in a mask—a skull mask with an almost silver sheen, golden wings, and a patriotic, thorned crown.

You couldn't help the gasp that slipped out of you as it startled you, you never saw him wear something like it. But at the same time, a smile crept onto your lips when he approached you with his hands out again as his muffled voice chirped behind the mask, "Badass, right?"

"Wow, baby. Yeah, actually. Wow," you marveled as he stood between your thighs to let you run your hands up his chest until they cradled the mask. It was denser than you expected, almost like real bone, and smooth. You could see glimpses of his skin through the jaw and eye sockets, but you nearly couldn't see his eyes in the contours of it. Yet you knew Cody was looking right at you as you admired the details of his mask, your fingertips tracing along the grooves of teeth where his warm breath escaped through it to graze your skin. You shivered a bit from the feel and from his fingertips tracing along your spine.

"Wait. Is it badass or is it scary? Because you're shaking a little, sweetheart," Cody asked softly and made another shiver roll through you as he continued caressing your back. 

"Um...both. In a good way..." Your voice was just as soft, threatening to taper off with a little moan when he let his other set of long fingers wrap around your nape as your head fell back to study him looming over you looking menacing, charming, and seductive all at once. If your thighs weren't spread open to let him stand before you, you would have squeezed them shut as that shiver trickled down between them and into your panties. 

Cody studied you back for a moment like he felt it, too, and you heard the smirk in his voice when he said, "Yeah? Or maybe it's a third thing...maybe it's sexy."

His fingers that stroked up and down your spine began to stroke only down as he slowly made a trail from your lower back, your left hip, and to your thigh where those fingers gathered the hem of your dress to tug up. Your eyes followed his movements, watching as his fingers then traced your bare thigh, close to where his touch made you shiver and drip and mumble to him, "Maybe..."

He let out a deep yet light chuckle before you heard a sigh follow it as his fingertips followed the deep shade of magenta where your pink panties formed a damp spot. You sighed, too, as he gently pressed the pads of his pointer and middle fingers to that spot, your clit behind it that he nudged with small circles just enough to turn your sigh into an airy moan.

"I didn't anticipate you'd like my mask this much, darling," Cody moaned back to you when you couldn't resist putting your hands on him, as well. Your head was still leaning back on the palm of his hand as you gazed at one another, yet you didn't need to see his thick bulge to know where it was and feel it twitch when you ran your fingers across it.

"Hmm...you must like it, too," you goaded him with a tiny grin and another tiny moan when he slid his fingers into your panties to bury in your warm slick. The delicious way he swirled them on you with his thumb nudged back to your clit made it a bit difficult to focus your fingers on the hem of his snug pants you wanted to pull down. He moaned with you when you carefully caught and caressed his length in your hand as it bounced free after you finally rolled his pants and red boxer briefs to his thighs. Now you had to look and soak in how his pretty, brown-pink dick throbbed in your grasp, all hard, thick, and long with his round tip trying to spill his pre-cum onto your thumb.

"I like feeling how wet you get for m—unghhh, shit. Mm...I like that, too, baby," Cody grunted with a heavy breath when your tongue swiped along his slit to taste him before you pushed his length into your mouth altogether to taste all of him. You knew he could feel the moan vibrating in your throat as you suckled him into it—a moan that grew deeper as his fingers thrust deeper into your pussy—when he trembled on your tongue and tried to balance himself with his fingers entwining with the hair at the back of your head. 

Cody's moans grew just as deep as you wove your tongue around his shaft that stretched your lips around it, your drool from his yummy, savory taste dribbling from the corners of your mouth and down your chin as your wet dribbled from his knuckles that tapped at your sticky pussy lips with each thrust. He was trying to make you cum, you could feel it with his thumb fondling your tender and tingling clit and his fingertips lingering with unhurried taps on your g-spot. 

He would be successful and soon as you felt yourself clench around his diligent touch, heard your husky moans fill your ears, and saw a flash of his angelic eyes on you in his devilish skull mask as he encouraged you with a husky growl of his own, "You must want me to cum the way you're swallowing me...fffuck. Unhhh, I want you to cum. Please, sweetheart...I need to feel you cum on my fingers."

His grip on your hair tightened just a little to make you keep your eyes on his that leered beyond his mask as he flexed his fingers in you with sweet, short taps on your spot that began to flutter as you whined for him, from that swift and overwhelming rush of warm tingles that flooded your body. It felt damn good, just as good as it felt to feel your husband pulse in your throat a few minutes later with his hips flinching forward until his cute tuft of brown hair brushed your nose. His warm, slippery cum as it started to pump down your throat felt good, too, and his moans sounded good with your name laced throughout them as his deep voice floated from behind his mask once more.

"God, baby...look at you. Beautiful," Cody murmured with another breathy moan obscured by his mask. You wished you could see his beautiful face as he cherished yours that he messied with your saliva and his cum on his tip that smudged your lips once he pulled out. Yet you enjoyed seeing your husband look like a sexy nightmare come to life as he revered you. He took his time drawing his fingers from your wet warmth that still throbbed on them, placing his fingers on your lips to join his mess and compelling you to lick it off. You whimpered as he let you suck on his thick fingers and pouted when he pulled them away, only to whimper again at the lovely sight of him pushing his mask off to reveal his handsome face again and taste you on his fingers, too.

"Thought you would try that with that mask on," you teased and bit your lip when his gorgeous, blue eyes held yours.

"I considered it for a half second," Cody chuckled before he took a step back from you and let his eyes fall on your bosom in your dress. "Uh oh. Looks like you might need to change. I'm sorry, baby."

You glanced down to see where your combined love juices had dripped to your chest and left a nice, big, wet stain that you wouldn't attempt to dry when you both had to head out the door soon. You nonchalantly waved your hand in the air as you replied, "It's alright. I knew I was going to need to fix my makeup again, anyway, too."

"Ah. Sorry again. I hope you don't blame me, but this." Cody jiggled his mask still in his fist and you both giggled to each other. "Don't know what came over me when I put it on..."

You then rose from your seat at the edge of the bed to soothe your hands to your husband's chest, but not before skimming your fingers on his mask first, as you said, "I didn't mind...you could, um, wear it again sometime. If you wanted."

"Is that so?" Cody tossed his mask onto the bed to free his hands to wrap around your waist as he eyed you with his stunning smile. It made you want to blush, especially as he added in a low purr, "Does tonight work for you, sweetheart? I'll wear it and my championship belt just for you...and I'll take it all off for you, too."

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.

Thanks for reading! 💙

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[holylulusworld]

Mr. Holmes Maid (3)

Summary: You’re his maid.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Maid!Reader

Warnings: angst, power imbalance, dub-con (just in case cuddling/sharing a bed), master-servant relationship, the reader was an orphan, inappropriate behavior

Mr. Holmes Maid (2)

Mr. Holmes’ maid masterlist

The red dress is even more opulent and expensive than the others. You feel like an imposter standing in front of your master in a dress that shouldn’t cover your body.

“Wonderful,” the needlewoman coos. She clasps her hands together and smiles at you. “She looks so beautiful, doesn’t she, Mr. Holmes.” She wants to hear a compliment for her handiwork, not how you look in the dress.

“Mr. Holmes,” you dare not complain, but you don’t feel comfortable wearing a dress made for a lady, not a peasant. “Isn’t that too much? I can’t clean in this kind of dress.”

“It’s for special occasions,” he hastily says while pushing a few looks out of his face. “If we receive guests and such.” The lie easily rolls off his tongue. He straightens his back and looks at the owner of the shop straight in the eyes. “Right, Mr. Stevenson.”

“Oh, of course, Mr. Holmes,” the man almost cowers in front of your master. If he’d lick Sherlock’s polished shoes, you wouldn’t be surprised. “She will look lovely while serving your guests.”

No one at the shop believes Sherlock wants you to wear this dress for his guests. He wants you to wear them only for you.

“Wonderful,” your master finally says. “We will take them all. Maid,” he sternly looks at you. “You can redress after I paid for everything. I’ll be waiting outside for you. Don’t waste time, we need shoes for you too.”

“Shoes,” you murmur while watching Sherlock with curiosity. He’s so different now. Moments ago, he was all soft on you and placed his hand on the small of your back. And now, he orders you around.

“Yes, shoes, maid,” he grumbles. “Let’s proceed then.”

You wrinkle your forehead. What else does he want to buy for you today?

Sherlock leaves you and the needlewoman alone to talk to the owner about payment, and another order.

“My dear,” the woman whispers so no one can hear her. “He’s charming, smart, and very handsome. But be careful. You’re only a maid. If anyone finds out about your affair,” she looks around the shop, “you will be the one to blame.”

“I—no,” you gasp at her bluntness. “I…we…no. We never... I wouldn’t dare…” You shake your head. “Mr. Holmes never did such a thing, madame.”

“I’m not a madame, my dear,” she chuckles lightly. “I was you not so long ago.” She dips her head to watch her husband and Sherlock talk. “My husband saved me from ending up on the street after my master promised me love and devotion.”

You don’t know what to say, so you remain silent.

“After he stole my innocence, he tossed me out on the street like a stray cat,” she whispers. “If you ever need help,” she grabs your hand, squeezing it, “come back here. We have a spare room.”

You nod and give her a quick smile. Your heart is racing, just like your mind.

Is that what Sherlock wants? Steal your innocence and kick you out. Is this his way to remind you of your place? Maybe he tries to fool you, believing you’re just a dull maid, unable to think for yourself.

“Thank you,” you utter and ask her to help you redress. You need to get the expensive dress off of your body, or you’ll faint imagining all the things Sherlock could do to you if you let him…

“Are you unwell,” Sherlock watches you fidget in your seat at the carriage. “What is it, Y/N?”

“The dresses and all that,” you dare not to meet his gaze, “I can’t wear them. It’s inappropriate. I got my clothes and…guests wouldn’t want to see me in such a dress. It’s too…pretty.”

“I bought them,” he sternly replies. “So, you will wear them.” Sherlock’s features soften when you choke out a sob. “Y/N, you helped me so often while I was lost in a case. You made sure that I ate properly and got dressed. You even brushed my locks. Consider the dresses and coat a gift to thank you for your assistance with my cases.”

“I did my duty, Master Holmes,” your voice trembles when he looks at you with soft blue eyes. “Helping you and taking care of you is my honor.”

He smiles at your words. “You’re so…” Sherlock swallows the sweet words he wanted to say. He cannot say them. This would confuse you even more. “Caring and selfless.” He says instead. “If I offer a gift to you, I expect you to take it.”

“Yes, master.”

Sherlock sighs deeply. His words came out wrong, and now you shy away, believing you did something wrong. He wants to take the words back, but that’s just not him.

“We will be home soon, maid,” he softly says. “We should rest soon. It was a rather long and exhausting day for you.”

“What about dinner? I can still prepare everything,” you try to make things up to Sherlock. He bought all these nice things for you, and you could only think of the things the needlewoman said to you.

Sherlock brushes his hand over yours, gently touching it for a moment. “We have leftovers from last night. You need to rest. Tomorrow, we need to talk about a few things.”

You nod and drop your gaze. “Will you send me away now? Did I anger you?”

“What?” He gasps at your words. “No…I…” Sherlock grabs your hand to hold it tightly. “I would never let you go. And you did not anger me, Y/N.” He murmurs. “It’s late and we should not think of anything but to rest.”

Your heart races feeling his large hand hold yours. He doesn’t let go and interlaces his fingers with yours. Sherlock breaks another rule, but there is no one but you and him in that carriage.

Who shall judge him for wanting to hold your hand?

You pace back and forth in your bedroom. Sherlock said goodnight and tried to read some papers while he sent you to bed.

Now the words of needlewoman echo in your mind. What if she’s right? Maybe he tries to charm his way into your bed. You heard stories from other maids. Their masters did the same.

Sherlock never made any promises. He just came to your bed and slept next to you, seeking your warmth and closeness.

It’s all so confusing and you don’t know if you can resist his advances. Your heart, and maybe your soul too belongs to Sherlock for the longest time.

The moment he took you to his maid, you were lost, and you don’t know if that’s a bad thing…

Tags in reblog.

[tflaw]

౨ৎ ⋆˚ pride and prejudice ft. neuvillette. f!reader. furina acting like emma! we luv to see it. not proofread! this was such on a whim that i just HAVE to get this outta my system! i hope jane austen will forgive me for thisb. but i tried my best agaksjwkw ! enjoy!

+ masterlist.

One day, in the land of Hydro, with the blissful Fontaine sun blasting its glory upon the whole land, Lady Furina has awoken from a nap with her mind fixed at a specific goal: to search for a noble lady who will become the bride of Chief Justice Neuvillette.

Neuvillette has it all, she thinks; graced with opulence that circles back from generation of wealth, a face almost treading the line of ethereal beauty, and height that towers proudly above most men. He is a gift wrapped in a bow, a cake with a cherry on top.

However, it’s no secret that his attitude could have some room for improvement; a smile would probably help. Of course, he is not awful. If not, his character is a rope pulled tightly on both ends. Neuvillette harbors a sense of incomparable rigidity.

But fear not! With the right weapon, even a stone can be broken into tiny little pieces. And Furina is hellbent on conquering this challenge. Despite the altering tides of Fontaine, she firmly believes that there’s still hope for the gentleman.

“Lady Furina, you have been sneering sinisterly for a good five minutes now. Is there any concern you’d like to share with us?”

Furina’s sapphire eyes find you standing closely to her desk. Albeit the genuine concern written all over your face, she persists in holding her toothed smile. “Nonsense! Nonsense! What concern are you blabbering about? This is a great day, indeed!”

“Oh, no, she’s planning something again, isn’t she?” one of Furina’s lady-in-waiting whispers behind you. “I’m getting shivers just thinking about it.”

“I do believe that this nation needs a little change once in a while,” Furina enunciates, pushing her chair with the back of her knees and circling around the desk to stand in front. “The lack of excitement has made the air insufferably dull! I can’t bear this ennui any longer. I’ll shrivel like a dead shell along the shore if we do not mend it this instant!”

You, Clorinde, and the other three ladies exchange knowing looks. All your eyes, different shapes and colors they might be, have carried the same apprehension. On your foreheads, a silent prayer evident in the form of tiny droplets dots your skins. ‘Don’t let it be me,’ are the words written across your faces.

“What do you have in mind, my lady?” Masking her expression with laudable effort has been Clorinde as she voices the question which the rest of you have been too scared to echo.

“I think it’s time that we witness a wedding ceremony. Who’s with me?” Furina beams.

A shared sigh of relief fills the air albeit inconspicuously, lest Lady Furina think all of you droll for not sharing her enthusiasm.

“A wedding? Why, Lady Furina, that’s actually a good idea,” you pitch in with a genuine smile. Anything but her usual over-the-top theatrics is a salve to everyone’s heart and well-being. “Who’s getting married, my lady?”

Furina raised a finger. “That’s the problem we have yet to overcome. I’m thinking that Monsieur Neuvillette needs to marry—”

“Monsieur Neuvillette?!” all of you screeches; same volume, same stupefied tone. “Chief Justice Neuvillette?!”

“Why, yes! So all you have better erase that annoying look on your faces! This is going to be interesting!” She jumps on her toes, obviously oblivious to the weight of the words she has uttered.

“I think it’s time to file our resignation,” the lady closest to you once again murmurs. “This is beyond our pay grade.”

You shush her quickly without effacing the presented notion from your mind. Even you have to admit that Lady Furina’s newfound theatric is one that will leave the whole nation’s jaw hanging.

Wait, that’s exactly what she wants.

“W… who do you have in mind to pair with Monsieur Neuvilette, my lady?” you ask through your strained smile.

Furina opens her mouth, undeniably overflowing with joy by the evident sparkle in her eyes, before a knock cuts her euphoria short.

“Lady Furina, this is Neuvillette,” says the voice from the other side of the door. “Can I come in?”

“Of course, Monsieur! Please, do come in!” Furina’s overjoyed invitation that everyone and their grandmother can absolutely hear the simmering mischief underneath.

You step aside from the platform, shrinking in yourself as the Chief Justice walks in with unbelievable grace and posture inside the room. Just like a snap of the fingers, he commands everything and everyone.

“Greetings, my lady and to the rest of your company.” He tips his head to everyone in the room. A pull— something undefined— manages to force his eyes to where you stand. “And to you.”

“Greetings, Monsieur Neuvillette,” you return with a gentle curtsy, shackling your heart to where it’s supposed to be by swallowing because the Archons know it’s climbing up your throat already.

“Monsieur Neuvillette? Monsieur Neuvillette?” Furina repeatedly inquires. “I’m right here.”

You peek at the man through your lashes at the same time his attention fixes on Lady Furina.

He clears his throat, but his mien remains unsoiled. “I have come to remind you of the hearing that we will hold tomorrow.”

“Is that it, Monsieur? Surely you can send someone to remind me— not that I’ve forgotten, of course!” Furina taunts.

She’s starting, you murmur to yourself. She’s really doing it!

“Well, I personally want to convey the reminder to you, my lady. We have to be there early as it is a matter of great importance.”

“Yes, yes! I know. But surely, Monsieur, that can wait until later? You have to visit me now?” Furina adds. “Am I to believe you miss my presence already?”

“Your presence always leaves a mark wherever and whenever,” is Neuvilette’s leveled answer. This is where it gets confusing; for his eyes, in between a heartbeat and a blink, flashes in your general direction. It’s far too quick for a mortal to catch, but not quick enough for an Archon. “However, it is not of longing that I have arrived. I shall be on my way.”

“Oh, why don’t you join us for tea, Monsieur? We are in dire need of new company!”

Neuvillette raises his hand gently. “I’m afraid I have to decline. Papers are piling up on my desk. It’s best that I attend to them now.”

“Isn’t that a shame?” Furina sticks out her bottom lip. “You’ll visit again, won’t you, Monsieur? There’s an splendid view in this room that you find endearing, I suppose.” She chases the Chief Justice, who already turned his back to depart the room, with the teasing words. He never looked back.

The tight air pinching your ribs seems to flow like an unstoppable current now. Finally, you can breathe without the feeling of suffocation chasing your lungs.

“The mystery is solved, my ladies!” Furina squeals as she turns to all of you with arms outstretched. “Monsieur Neuvillette will marry very soon!”

“Who is he going to marry, Lady Furina?” you have taken it upon yourself to ask.

Her smile is back, more sinister than before. “Oh! Isn’t it obvious? Didn’t you see it in his eyes?! Chief Justice Neuvillette is going to marry you.”

[lets-break-free-from-our-chains]

Ryan Gosling!Ken x Fashion Designer!Barbie!Reader—General HCs

(A/N): I’m obsessed with the Barbie movie. Margot is so stunning as always and she’s one of my favorite actresses. I absolutely adored Ken in the movie. He’s such an icon! Let me know if you guys want more! Sorry if this isn’t the best. This is my first head cannon and I’m using to writing stories and not this format. So beware with me and enjoy!

Ryan Gosling!Ken x Fashion Designer!Barbie!Reader

The ultimate Golden Retriever (Sunshine) x Black Cat (Grumpy) trope

Fashion Designer!Barbie!reader is honestly very similar to Cruella de Vil from the 2021 Film—minus being evil part. More so, your creativity and chaos vibes are on the same level as Cruella’s.

Ken thought he was in love with Stereotypical Barbie until he locked eyes on you.

You were absolutely perfect. Your style was one of a kind and the hottest in-style in Barbieland—everyone wanted to commission outfits from you— and you seemed so elegant and confident.

Non Evil!Cruella de Vil vibes 1,000,000,000%

He literally tripped right in front of you in his haste to make it over to you, but he pulled himself up and gave you a killer golden smile.

You wanted to say you weren’t amused in the slightest, but even you couldn’t help but give a slight smirk at his goofball antics.

You’d never given him much thought beyond the facts that he was super loud, always freakishly happy, acted like a shaken up soda bottle you accidentally opened up.

You thought you might be able to scared him away with your sharp wit, sarcastic and mocking smart remarks. You were sure that your over all jaded and blunt personality would do the trick.

NOPE!

He falls even harder for you. Finding your honestly, transparency, and overall confidence to be so endearing but so unbelievably HOT. Not even Stereotypical Barbie could touch your level.

Imagine his surprise when he finds out you and stereotypical Barbie are very close friends who go way back. TOTAL Pikachu face!

He loves watching you work. You’re so in your element and hyper focused on what your doing. He’s left in awe while watching you tear apart and shred different fabrics. It’s total chaos but he’d never question you. He trusts your masterpiece process almost religiously.

He asks you a zillion and one questions about what you’re doing but lowkey you kind of love it. Someone taking a genuine interest in your art? Everyone else is either too afraid of the consequences of interrupting you or is uninterested in gerenal.

This is one of the many small things that soften your resolve towards him. 

He insisted totally begged you to let him help you carry your bolts of fabrics, material for accessories, and supplies as you went from shop to shop. He refused to let you carry anything.

He talks the whole time and doesn’t really think you’re listening, until you ask him a question about whatever it is he’s babbling about at that point in time.

He could feel the tears of joy welling up in his eyes at the notion that you were actually listening. That could only mean one thing—you respected him.

Don’t even get me started on how Ken acts when you ask for his opinion on a decision or if he likes what you’ve made! He LOVES everything you make btw.

This only sets Ken’s love for you in stone.

Totally asks to be your date to the Barbies parties.

If you thought he was nervous asking out Stereotypical Barbie then oh boy! Fingers crossed, eyes squeezed shut, lip biting—the whole nine yards!

High-key wants to cry when you say yes.

Everyone is always so excited to see the new unveiling of your outfits at any and all parties.

Barbies and Kens never really know what to expect but they all know they’ll be guaranteed the best appearance from you.

Ken is totally smug af that he holds your affections and so he completely and unapologetically rubs it in the other Kens’ faces. 

The first time you genuinely smile at him, he really thought he might die! Your smile is so stunning, perfect, opulent, gorgeous, goddess like, and—

He could go on forever. The point is, you smiled at him! HIM. You never smile at anyone! You smirk plenty, but never smile.

Even on the rare occasion that you do, it’s very small—almost none existent.

You always thought he was very funny. He never had to try hard seeing as he was just a naturally silly fella, but the first time you couldn’t hold back and you laughed loudly at something he said, he was in absolute awestruck.

What he said wasn’t even that funny, it was the way he said it.

All the Barbies and Kens ship the two of you. The definition of opposites attract.

Stereotypical Barbie is totally the official president of the OTP ship fan club for you two.

1000% you look at Ken like this 🥺🥹 and you look at everyone else like this 😒🖕 pretty much!

The patience and softness you exercise with Ken makes others feel like they’ve fallen through the looking glass.

You go from being a ferocious she-lion like this to a total mushy docile kitten with him Like this

Seriously, it so easy for you to snap on someone’s case and put them in their places, but with Ken you have a seemingly bottomless pool of patience.

Legit tho. This was you and him at the beginning of your budding relationship in general…you were over it at first. You really weren’t tho

Someone or something please help the person that hurts Ken—accident or not—whether it be emotionally, physically, or mentally. It’s gonna be a dark day in Barbieland.

It warms Ken all over to have a girlfriend who cares about him and his wellbeing so much. He feels so important, loved, and cherished.

And that’s all baby boy really wants!!!

He loves holding hands and linking arms together.

He’d say it’s his favorite but let’s face it, cuddles are his kryptonite.

Your embrace is so warm and soothing, and surprisingly to him, you secretly adore cuddling.

Though you did tell him if he ever told anyone else that tidbit of information you would never cuddle him again! 

Honey…He sticks to those words like the gospel!

He cannot and will not lose cuddling privileges💯

Now listen. If Ken’s going to date you then his outfits got to be on point, and you make sure of it. You know what he loves outfit-wise and set to work for making him a one of a kind wardrobe.

He actually does cry when he sees the final product of all your hard work for him.

You hate seeing him cry in anyway, it hurts you to see him cry, but at least these are tears of happiness.

You suppose you can live with happy tears…

You guys become the IT couple in Barbieland. You’re the highest standard for couple goals.

Speaking of boyfriend/girlfriend goals.

He has so many adorable nicknames for you but he will never grow tired of hearing you call him by the term of endearment you chose for him.

You call him Baby Darling…

He. Is. OBSESSED!!!

He just about melts into a puddle whenever you call him Baby Darling.

He’s never heard any other Barbie call their Ken that and it makes him feel so special.

Who else loves and ships Ryan Gosling!Ken x Fashion Designer!Barbie!reader?

[verstappensrealwife]

Breaking the contract - Lewis Hamilton x Driver!Reader

fluff, smut.

approx. 1800 words.

warnings: sex, swearing, me not following any sort of time line.

a/n: I tried a new format with more "speech" but i low-key went back to my descriptive ways towards the end... whoops! ----- also i haven't proof read yet :P

lewis hamilton masterlist - here. f1 masterlist - here.

When you signed the contract to join MercedesAMG in 2019, you had also signed that you “would not partake in romantic relations within the team”. That was easy. All because they didn’t say you couldn’t have sexual relations people within the team.

It started in August of 2019, just after the hungarian grand prix there were, of course, big celebratory events to kick off summer break. 

You had held one yourself at your home in Monaco, inviting all the drivers, as well as some other people of course. 

The house, nestled on the cliffs of Monaco overlooking the azure Mediterranean, exuded an air of opulence and sophistication. Its sleek, modern design boasted floor-to-ceiling windows that offered panoramic views of the glittering coastline below. Inside, the décor was a blend of contemporary elegance and minimalist chic, with plush furnishings and tasteful artwork adorning the walls.

 As guests arrived, the sound of laughter and lively chatter filled the air, mingling with the gentle hum of music playing in the background. The atmosphere was electric, charged with the excitement of the recent race and anticipation for the upcoming summer break. Amidst the throng of glamorous guests, you moved with ease, playing the gracious host and ensuring everyone felt welcome in your luxurious abode.

“You know i deserved to win…” Lewis said behind you, you rolled your eyes and spun around. “… It’s true! I mean 0.012 seconds faster is stupid- I should have won.

“Are you not bored of your own voice sometimes?” You asked with a laugh. “Because I am.”

“I’m sure you could get used to it,” He smirked rather flirtily, “In a different context of course…” You looked around to see the rest of the grid, and anyone else who had showed up, to be having a good time, lots of laughs and well… free booze meant lots of chatter to cover up what lewis was whispering in your ear. “Look, love, I know you want something and it’s not gonna be the championship,”

“Oh Lewis, how you underestimate me!” You smile, “I know how to easily distract you from winning,” - he looked at you to carry on - “Well how about… every race you don’t win, you get to make me do anything you want! Tweet something, post something, anything.”

“Anythi-“

“That’s what I said…” You replied, cutting him off before smiling innocently and walking away. He followed eagerly.

“Well- Well- since i’ve not won 5 of the races this year so far do i get those prizes?” he asked, you shrugged and nodded. “And you truly mean ANYTHING I want from you…” - You nod once again- “Meet me upstairs?” 

You smirked and walked away… towards the stairs.

-

And it carried on to 2021 before stopping for a while since Lewis had found- in his words- “The one.”

“The one” also cheated on him in 2023 and left him for you to fix.

Yes despite fucking, you were good friends with him before that and continued to be outside of your agreement.

He came to you first, immediately after she had left. He banged on your wooden doors and as soon as you opened it, he was on you. Kissing you. Holding you. Grabbing you.

“This is to make up for the last 2 years we’ve missed.” He mumbled against your neck as he pushed you towards the nearest surface, kitchen counter. “God how I've missed you— th-this.”

Your top was somewhere near the door, your shorts not far behind, and now you stood legs apart, chest against the cold of the countertops as he fucked you to no end.

The intensity of the moment was overwhelming, fueled by months, years, of unspoken desires and suppressed emotions. As Lewis's hands roamed hungrily over your skin, every touch ignited a fiery passion that threatened to consume both of you. With each kiss and caress, the weight of the past two years melted away, replaced by a raw and primal need that pulsed between you. Lost in the whirlwind of sensation, you surrendered to the ecstasy of the moment, giving in to the magnetic pull of his touch. The kitchen counter provided a makeshift altar for your reunion, bearing witness to the fervent connection that transcended words. In that fleeting instant, nothing else mattered except the intoxicating dance of bodies and souls intertwined in a desperate embrace. As the echoes of pleasure reverberated through the room, it was clear that this was more than just a physical reunion—it was a soul-deep communion of two hearts seeking solace in each other's arms.

In the hazy aftermath of passion, as the echoes of your shared ecstasy lingered in the air, you found yourselves entwined in a tangle of limbs and whispered promises. With each ragged breath, the boundaries between past and present blurred, and for a fleeting moment, you existed in a timeless realm where only the intensity of your connection mattered. 

Lewis's gaze, dark and intense, bore into yours with a raw vulnerability that mirrored your own, laying bare the depths of longing and desire that had simmered beneath the surface for so long. 

“Well…” You say, “What happened at home?” You giggle at the obscurity of this situation. Now lay on the bed- no you don't remember when you moved from the kitchen to here.

He huffed a laugh back, “She was… not the one.”

-

Sitting in the sweltering Bahrain heat, beads of sweat glistening on your brow, you impatiently awaited the arrival of your helmet, a symbol of the impending battle on the track. The air crackled with anticipation, the thrum of engines and the bustle of the paddock serving as a backdrop to the fevered excitement building within you. Around you, your mechanics moved with precision and purpose, their expert hands ensuring every nut and bolt of your car was meticulously inspected and fine-tuned to perfection. With each passing moment, the tension mounted, a palpable energy that pulsed through the air like an electric current.

And then, as the sun beat down relentlessly, the moment arrived. With a flourish, your helmet was placed in your hands, a potent talisman imbued with the promise of victory. With a steady hand, you secured it in place, the familiar weight settling comfortably on your shoulders like a suit of armour. In that instant, you were no longer just a driver, but a warrior poised for battle, ready to conquer the asphalt and seize glory on the track.

And conquer you did. As the lights went out and the roar of engines filled the air, you surged forward with a fierce determination, every fibre of your being focused on one singular goal: victory. With each corner conquered and each straight conquered, your lead grew, stretching wider and wider with each passing lap. The competition faded into insignificance as you carved through the desert heat like a blazing comet, leaving your rivals in the dust and crossing the finish line with a commanding lead of almost twelve seconds.

As the chequered flag waved in triumph, a surge of adrenaline flooded your veins, mingling with the heady rush of victory and the anticipation of what awaited you beyond the confines of the track. Tonight, amidst the backdrop of celebration and jubilation, you knew that the real race would begin—a battle of passion and desire that would leave you breathless and exhilarated, lost in the fiery embrace of the one who fueled your most primal instincts. With a wolfish grin, you licked your lips in anticipation, the promise of the night ahead igniting a fire within you that burned hotter than the desert sun.

-

As the haze of sleep began to dissipate, Lewis's urgent voice pierced through the fog, pulling you from the depths of slumber into the harsh reality of the moment. With a groan, you rolled over, finding yourself nestled against his side, his presence a comforting anchor amidst the confusion of waking. His words tumbled out in a rush, laden with anxiety and apprehension, as he relayed the unsettling news that threatened to disrupt the fragile equilibrium of your clandestine affair.

Beneath the dim glow of the bedside lamp, you sat up, the cool air of the hotel room sending a shiver down your spine as you focused on the screen of Lewis's phone. The harsh light illuminated the evidence of your indiscretion, casting a harsh spotlight on the secret world you had carefully constructed away from prying eyes. Yet, despite the gravity of the situation, a sense of defiance stirred within you, a stubborn refusal to let fear dictate the course of your actions.

Lewis's words were rushed as he spoke of potential repercussions, his voice tinged with a vulnerability that belied his outward confidence. In that moment, your lips sought his in a tender kiss, a silent reassurance that spoke volumes of unspoken longing and shared intimacy. “Calm down, okay, we will be fine.” You said, trying to reassure the both of you

“But they’ll think we’re a couple and–”

“And that's so bad?” You asked, offended.

“What- wha no no no! God, no. You are… great. More than that you’re perfect and I’d be very willing to break my contract if it means to be with you…” He stopped talking, realising he had said all too much. The weight of Lewis's confession hung heavy in the air, his words a potent blend of vulnerability and longing that stirred something deep within you. In the stark silence that followed, the enormity of his revelation washed over you like a tidal wave, leaving you reeling in its wake.

For so long, you had danced on the razor's edge of desire, navigating the treacherous waters of secrecy and deceit with practised ease. Yet, in that moment of unguarded honesty, the facade crumbled, leaving you exposed and vulnerable to the tumultuous emotions swirling within.

With a trembling hand, you reached out to brush away the strands of hair that clung to Lewis's forehead, the touch of your fingertips a tentative gesture of reassurance amidst the uncertainty that threatened to consume you both. In his eyes, you saw a reflection of your own turmoil, a silent plea for understanding and acceptance that resonated deep within your soul.

"Let's keep this to ourselves," you whispered, the words a sacred vow of secrecy and devotion that echoed in the quiet space between you. Lewis nodded in fervent agreement.

In that moment, amidst the chaos of conflicting emotions and uncertain futures, you found solace in the knowledge that you were not alone—that together, you would face whatever trials lay ahead, hand in hand, bound by the unbreakable bond of love and shared understanding. And as you leaned into his embrace, the world faded away, leaving only the two of you entwined in a silent vow of devotion that transcended the boundaries of time and space.

--

GOD I AM BAD AT ENDINGS FUCK

anyways <3

[starogeorgina]

𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞

Paring: Aegon II Targaryen × Targaryen OC, Jacaerys Velaryon x Targaryen OC

Warnings: Swearing, smut, slight body shaming, mentions of SA

1.02

It felt sinful to do anything sexual in the bedchamber that previously belonged to your father, but you were in no position to refuse when the king summoned you during the night.

Aegon keeps his eyes closed, getting lost in the warm sensation of you taking his dick into your mouth as deeply as possible. You bob your head back and forth, tears stream down your face, and at the same time, soft sounds of pleasure slip past his lips. Nearing his orgasm, Aegon fists your hair in his hands to keep a better grip on you while he fucks your mouth roughly. Just as he’s about to reach the peak of his pleasure, he pushes you back, and your hands sting, slapping against the ground to keep you from falling completely back.

“Not yet,” he grunts. “Pull your top down, now!”

Doing as he says, you pull the thin material of the nightgown straps down so your breasts are bare for him. Aegon strokes his cock a couple of times before coating your breasts in his cum. After he strokes your hair as if he were petting a cat or dog. “Good girl, good girl.”

You gulp down, “May I return to my chambers? It’s late, and I’d like to rest before leaving for Winterfell.”

“Ah, yes, you’re going to meet, um,” in his post-orgasm state, Aegon struggles to remember what house stayed in the North. He clicks his fingers and says, “House, uh, Lann—um, nope, it’s, oh fuck.”

“House Stark.”

You go to pull your nightgown up again, and he lets out a dark chuckle. He pinches your nipple roughly and says, “Perhaps once I put a babe in you, these will become bigger.”

“Perhaps your grace.”

—

“Princess.”

“Morning, Ser Arryk.”

It wasn’t unusual for the knight to be near since he was your sworn protector, but you hadn’t expected him to escort you to the dragonpit at such an ungodly hour.

Your bedchamber is dimly lit by a few flickering candles, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Your bed is draped in a soft green fabric with golden flames decorating the edges, which match the walls that are adorned with intricate gold filigree. The room is spacious and opulent, with plush velvet curtains, fine dragon-themed tapestries, and a grand fireplace that crackles with warmth.

You continue brushing your long hair that smells of different rich oils from your bath the night before. “Sit, please. I’m still awaiting Bethan.”

“Unfortunately, that won’t be possible; Bethan no longer works in the castle, princess.”

Bethan was your most loyal and favorite lady in waiting; it didn’t make sense for her to suddenly leave without telling you. “I don’t understand. Is she hurt?”

“There was a delicate incident during the late hours of the night, Princess, but it has been dealt with. “I can send for another lady of your choosing.”

"No, it’s fine; I don’t want to bother them.” You were only waiting for Bethan to help braid your hair merely because you enjoyed her company.

“Ser Arryk? What do you mean by a delicate incident?”

As his helmet was off, you could see the knight's jaw twitch slightly. “Princess?”

“Bethan is an only child and looks after her sick mother. I’m worried she won’t be able to do so if she’s unable to work.”

“The queen dowager gave the lady a handsome amount of money, princess. Probably more than she gave Dyana.”

You place the brush on top of your vanity and begin to separate your hair into smaller sections to braid. While thinking over his words. You had just assumed Helaena’s lady in waiting had been relocated to another part of the city to work.

“Why would my mother pay them?” You mumbled to yourself more than the knight. Your mouth suddenly goes dry; you would only pay to cover up something that would taint your family’s reputation if it were terrible. “Did Aemond do something to Bethan and Dyana?”

“No princess, Prince Aemond has never done anything to harm any of his servants of which I’m aware.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as tears fall from them; you knew deep down it wasn’t Aemond. “So Aegon did; he abused his power and hurt them. Did he force himself on them?”

Ser Arryk nods.

“Oh gods,” you bury your face into your hands. “Aegon treats me like a whore, and I am his kin, his future bride, so I dread to think about how he treats them.”

The knight crosses the room and wipes away a fallen tear with the pad of his thumb. “I’m glad you’re going to Winterfell, Princess. As a king's guard, we are prevented from intervening in the king’s doings, even when we know it’s wrong.”

Through teary eyes, you look up at him and say, “I’m ready to go to the dragon pit; if you’d please accompany me, Ser Arryk.”

“You haven’t finished braiding your hair, princess.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

—

You are struck by the sight of the snow-covered landscape the deeper into the North you go. The sky is a deep shade of blue, and the trees are decorated with icy crystals. Your feet sink into the snow, and the distant howls of wolves in the distance capture your attention. Seasmoke spins and faces the tree line and lets out a loud screech. With the snowfall becoming heavier, it takes you a moment to realize what he’s looking at.

A slightly smaller dragon emerges from the snow; its mouth opens wide, and you stare at the flames in the back of its throat, yet it does not burn you.

You don't move when you hear a voice order you to. You’re pushed behind a figure. “Daor vermax, daor!”

The dragon hisses before disappearing behind the vale of snow.

Seasmoke roars as he abruptly takes to the sky, lighting the sky with his flames. It was no doubt a signal to the younger dragon to stay away.

“Prince Jacaerys?”

“Princess Lynesse,” he says, trying to keep all emotion from his voice, but the glare in his eyes and the clench of his jaw muscles give him away. “You should go inside; you will just be freezing after your long journey.”

You gripped Jacaerys arm, preventing him from walking away. You thought the gods were cruel for letting this happen. “If it’s possible, can we talk in private? We are one house, once betrothed. And long before that, we were friends.”

“No.”

—

The last two days had been nothing short of humiliating; you felt nothing more than an outsider, an intruder lurking in the shadows of the castle. Your nephew ignored your presence unless absolutely necessary. Lord Stark did allow you to speak with him privately, giving you the chance to advocate for Aegon, but you simply stated you admired House Stark for not breaking their oath, thanked him for his hospitality, and announced you’d be leaving in the morrow.

It was clear there was a strong brotherly bond between the Lord and Jacaerys, so there was no point in trying to change his loyalties.

Laying out clothes for the morrow, you sniffle as your eyes tear up, thinking of how lonely you will be without your trusted lady and only true friend when you return to the red keep. The only people who would truly care for you upon your return are Helaena and Aemond.

Your heart pounds in your chest when you turn and see a figure standing by the doorway with a scowl on their face. Hand clasping against your chest, you gasp, “Oh, seven hells.”

Jacaerys stares directly at you, and you can feel his disapproval radiating from him. He closes the door before storming towards you. “What is it you are trying to achieve? Not once have you tried to convince the Stark’s to fight for Aegon. If anything, you have pushed them to fight for my mother’s claim.”

“Have you been spying on me, nephew?”

He grates his teeth and says, “Do not jest.”

“The Stark’s are a proud house; I will not sully myself by pretending they are anything but. If I had arrived to before you, then things would have been different,” you brush out the ruffles of your skirts that are sprawled across a chair with your hand.

“I presume your siblings are doing the same, flying to different houses as envoys?”

You scoff at the question; Aegon would not do such a thing. Without looking back at him, you say, “Just myself and Aemond; Helaena has no part in this.”

“But you choose to?” His voice is laced with pain. “You choose to advocate for a usurper.”

“What was I supposed to do?” You snap, finally turning to face him. “My mother used to say everyone in the realm knows in their blood and in their bones that one day, Aegon would be our king. And if not, my brother's lives would be forfeited.”

His cheeks flush red with rage. “As for my half-brothers and my sweet sisters, they have been led astray by the counsel of evil men. Let them come to Dragonstone, bend the knee, and ask my forgiveness, and I shall gladly spare their lives and take them back into my heart, for they are of my own blood.”

You stare at the prince blankly.

Sensing your confusion, Jace sighs, “Those are the exact words my mother said to Maester Orwyle and Otto Hightower when they came to Dragonstone.”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “It is not true; they said Daemon threatened to burn us all.”

Jace looks over at you, a sob threatening to spill from his lips. “Do you really believe my mother to be so cruel?”

“She has just lost her father, her baby, and her throne, which has been taken from her. Rhaenyra has every right to want us to burn for all that was taken from her.”

“Is that what your king would do? Have us all killed.”

Hearing the mocking tone in his voice, you shove his chest, although the prince barely flinches. “Yes! My grandsire tried to send the former Lord Commander to Dragonstone to kill all of you, but thankfully they refused.”

“The greens are a trait—”

You don’t allow Jacaerys to finish his sentence, and you cut him off while shoving him again. “You can hate me and judge me all you like, but don’t you dare call me a fucking traitor! You’ve no idea the things I have done to try and keep you safe!”

He closes the space between you, his breath hot on your face, and he tilts his head to peer down at you. Jacaerys' tone is much softer: “What—what are you talking about?”

As the Jacaerys continue to stare at you, you start to feel overwhelmed with emotion. Tears stream down your face as you realize the gravity of the situation. You have never before felt so scared to speak the truth. Your heart pounds in your chest as you take a deep breath and try to calm yourself down. “I cannot say; you’ll think a lot less of me than you already do.”

Gently, he attempts to calm you by brushing fallen strands of hair out of your eyes with his thumb. “Swear to me now, princess, that you’ll bend the knee to my mother, and I’ll promise to do everything I can to protect you.”

“I cannot,” a pathetic chuckle passes your lips. “What I want does not matter—to abandon Helaena and her children in the red keep knowing what I know is worse than doing nothing while a brother usurpers his sister's throne.”

Jace cups your face and says, “Come back to Dragonstone with me.”

You step back and turn to face the other way, placing your hand in your bodice, and retrieve a small chain with a seahorse on the end. Clutching it tightly, you look back at him and say, “I kept it close to my heart for all these years.”

“I gave it to you the day King Viserys announced our betrothal.”

You hand the necklace back to him and say, “Aegon will take me as a second wife when I return.”

He struggles to hold back unshed tears. “Do you love him?”

“He is my brother, and despite everything, I want to keep him safe. Him, Helaena, Aemond, and Daeron are all that I hold dear. I can’t let anything happen to him.”

“Princess Helaena would be spared, as would your brothers.”

“I wish things had been different,” you sob, your breathing becoming more erratic. “You wouldn’t speak to me when I first got here. Why are you now?”

“Because I didn’t want to witness someone I loved speaking ill of my mother, but you never did.”

Your heart ached. “I am no longer a maiden.”

“Did Aegon…”

“He laughed;” tears fell from your eyes, but you felt nothing but anger. “Aegon laughed as he left my bedchamber, gloating about how he had bloodied his cock with the strong bastard's future bride maidenhead.”

Jacaerys kisses your forehead.

“All this time, I’ve tried to convince myself that Aegon loves me, even if it’s just as his sister, but I’ve been fooling myself. In truth, I don’t think he knows how to care for another.”

“Look at me.”

You met his gaze, and looking into Jacaerys bloodshot eyes made your heart begin to water again.

“If you come to Dragonstone with me, I promise I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.”

Daor — No

[queenshelby]

An Illicit Affair

Part Three: The Hotel Room

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (46) x Reader (23)

Warning: Age-Gap, Taboo Relationship, Infidelity

In the elevator, you and Cillian stood shoulder to shoulder, the confined space amplifying the charged atmosphere between you. Neither of you spoke; the silence felt heavy, laden with unspoken desires and expectations. You knew you were crossing a line, but the lure of Cillian's charm and maturity was irresistible.

As the elevator doors slid open, you stepped out onto the plush carpet, feeling dizzy with anticipation. Cillian led you down the hallway to his luxurious suite, unlocking the door with a keycard.

You couldn't help but notice the extravagance of the room - king-sized bed, leather armchairs, a plush sofa, and multiple windows overlooking the city skyline. Despite the opulence, the vibe remained relaxed and inviting.

"Make yourself comfortable," Cillian invited as he poured himself a glass of water before placing a call to room service. "I think I'll order a bottle of Bordeaux," he informed you. "Does that sound alright?" he asked, and you nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes, please, that sounds wonderful," you replied, allowing your voice to carry an undertone of excitement.

As you sat down on the plush couch, Cillian placed the call to room service and requested a bottle of Bordeaux. You listened intently to his soothing Irish accent, entranced by the warmth of his voice.

"So, how long are you planning to stay in London?" you asked curiously, breaking the silence.

"I am heading back home tomorrow," Cillian replied, his eyes meeting yours.

"That's a shame," you murmured, your voice trembling.

"How so?" Cillian asked, glancing at you from across the room.

"Oh, no reason. I suppose, you know, London is fun and all. There is lots to see...," you stammered, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "But then again, I suppose it would be boring for someone like you, who travels all the time. I bet you get tired of seeing the same sights over and over again," you trailed off, wishing the awkwardness would evaporate.

Cillian became to notice your sudden nervousness and took a few steps toward you, sitting down beside you on the couch. With a playful grin, he teased, "So you think I get bored easily?"

You shook your head, biting your lower lip. "No, I didn't mean it like that," you stumbled over your words. "I just meant that traveling must get a little tiresome," you explained, averting your gaze.

"It can get tiresome, yes," Cillian conceded, "but, I wouldn't trade this life for a mundane life." He paused briefly, observing you carefully. "What about you?" he asked gently. "Will you be sticking around London long term?" he wanted to know.

"Yes, I plan to," you answered promptly, smiling sheepishly. "There's still a lot of studying to do before I finish med school," you went on to explain, hoping that he would understand the depth of your dedication.

In that moment, room service arrived and the waiter placed the bottle of red wine on the side table before pouring glasses for you and Cillian.

"Thanks," Cillian acknowledged politely, tipping the waiter generously. Once the room service attendant was gone, Cillian raised his glass in your direction. You reciprocated the gesture, both of you clinking glasses before taking a generous sip.

The velvety texture of the wine coated your tongue, releasing complex layers of flavor. It was delicious, reminiscent of blackberries and dark chocolate - a perfect match for the lingering tension between you and Cillian.

"This is really good. It aged well," you said, enjoying the smoothness of the wine, which was far better than the cheap plonk you usually drank.

"It sure did," Cillian chimed in, his appreciation evident in his voice before he continued with a cheeky grin, "I am glad you enjoy it. I wasn't sure if you would have preferred something else since most people your age do not usually appreciate wine," he said teasingly, taking another sip from his glass.

"People my age, huh?" you laughed, shaking your head. "I wonder why everyone thinks that," you mused, taking another sip of the wine. "I love drinking red wine but, maybe, it's my dad's influence," you confessed, grinning broadly. "He has shares in a winery in the South of France and it's a spectacular place to visit," you explained as you shifted slightly in your seat, moving closer towards Cillian slowly.

"Whatever it is, you seem incredibly mature for your age," Cillian remarked, his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours. "Your taste in music and wine, your intellect, your level of empathy, it's all rather remarkable," he went on to add, clearly impressed by your presence.

You blushed, feeling bashful under Cillian's steady gaze.

"Thanks, that means a lot coming from you," you said, taking another sip of your wine before saying "because you seem rather remarkable yourself," causing Cillian to smile warmly and his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"You're too kind," he responded, flashing a crooked grin. "But seriously, I'm impressed by your maturity and poise given your youth. It's rare to find such wisdom in someone of your generation," he said sincerely, sipping from his glass.

You blushed again, feeling a tad embarrassed under the weight of his compliments. "Well, I try to be sensible about things," you offered, scratching the back of your neck awkwardly. "Although coming up here with you wasn't exactly the most mature decision I made in recent weeks," you admitted, feeling your face redden while Cillian looked at you, tilting his head slightly.

"And why is that?" Cillian prodded, his curiosity piqued.

"Well, I suppose I am just not so sure where this would lead," you admitted, swallowing hard. "A drink could turn into another and then, I don't know, we might do something we both regret," you stammered nervously, feeling your cheeks flush hotly.

"I am married Y/N, and you used to date my son," Cillian replied quietly, his eyes never leaving yours.

"I know," you whispered, the reality of the situation crashing down upon you. "It would be wrong, wouldn't it?" you choked out, fear tightening your chest.

"It would be," Cillian agreed somberly, meeting your gaze directly. "And yet, for some reason, I can't help but entertain the idea of taking this further," he confessed, his voice dropping to a whisper. His confession stunned you, leaving you breathless with surprise.

"Entertain the idea?" you echoed, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. "You mean the idea of you sleeping with me?" you breathed, your heart hammering erratically in your chest.

Cillian nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously as, suddenly, your stomach knotted with desire, your palms dampening with sweat.

"I am sorry Cillian, I need to use the bathroom," you mumbled, abruptly standing up from the couch, the spell broken by your awkward departure.

"Sure, of course," Cillian uttered distractedly, his gaze wandering aimlessly around the room. "Let me know if you need anything," he called out as you scurried away, feeling guilty and excited all at once.

As you entered the bathroom, you splashed cold water on your face, gasping with relief as the shock jolted you back to reality.

You leaned against the sink, staring blankly at your reflection in the mirror. "What am I doing?" you murmured, gripping the edge of the countertop tightly.

You dabbed the towel against your forehead, feeling the perspiration trickle down your temples. "This is crazy," you groaned, resting your elbows on the counter. "I'm acting like a teenager," you berated yourself, a knot forming in your gut.

You needed to gather your wits and leave. This was madness. But as you turned off the tap, the image of Cillian's sensual eyes lingered in your mind. You could feel his intense gaze on you, even now.

"Hey," Cillian knocked on the door, startling you. "Are you okay in there?" he asked, his voice thick with concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you muttered, composing yourself. "I got a bit tipsy," you admitted behind closed doors while weighing up your options.

"Listen Y/N, I am sorry. I crossed a line that should not have been crossed," Cillian apologised from outside the bathroom door and it was at this point that you made a decision which you knew you would regret.

To be continued...

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[trashogram]

A Drabble for Octavia in the He Chose You universe (if you don’t know what that is, it’s just a Lucifer/Reader I’ve made — you’re the Queen of Hell) who deserves none of the BS she’s had to deal with in Helluva Boss.

Octavia knelt to sit on the playmat, long legs awkwardly splaying outward as she tried to get comfortable. Even if she managed to make her lower half unwind, the Goetian heiress couldn’t imagine her shoulders loosening in this expansive, unbelievable castle. It was even more opulent than her own home. Princess Charlotte watched her make the attempt with a wide, gummy smile from where she’d been trying to roll onto her tummy. Her mother, the Queen, had gotten up only a moment ago and was speaking in hushed tones with the person Via wished the least to see much less hear since she’d taken shelter in Lucifer’s palace.

Pudgy hands on chubby baby arms reached out and Octavia couldn’t help smirking. She reached back and allowed Charlotte to grab onto one of her talons, sharp point curled inward to prevent any injury to the fragile baby.

The baby yanked at her owl counterpart and babbled, until Octavia’s smile softened into something more genuine. It was as if Charlotte knew that Via needed distraction.

“Your majesty, I understand what you’re saying, but I must insist that I at least see my daughter.”

Octavia sunk down further onto the plush pink carpet at the sound of her father’s voice.

“It’s been days!” Stolas said, loud enough to be heard from behind royal walls.

“And as I said before, Octavia shouldn’t be forced to do anything that she’s not comfortable with.” The Queen countered politely, yet firmly.

“Mah!” Octavia’s gaze switched from the ground to Charlotte once again.

The threat of tears in the bird’s glowing eyes were forgotten momentarily as she watched Hell’s princess struggle to flip from her back to her belly. Octavia couldn’t help her frame from shaking with quiet laughter at the sight.

Charlie waved a hand again and her playmate finally took the bait and gently pushed the baby to maneuver onto her side. Charlie’s hooves kicked in the air for purchase as she flopped the rest of the way. She huffed in satisfaction before looking back up at Via with her round, ruby eyes, arms held out to grip and kneed at the fibers beneath.

Charlotte babbled before scooting up toward Via, moving like an inchworm just to get to her.

“What are you doing?” Octavia snorted, instantly stopping the Devil baby in her tracks by leaning over and plucking the tiny thing from the floor.

It was so easy, like picking up taxidermic armadillo paperweight to admire. Just a tad more wriggly and loud.

Charlie smiled widely again and lightly petted Via’s beak. “Mah!”

“Yes, I heard you the first time.” Octavia held the Antichrist close, for lack of any alternative. “You’re nuts, you know?”

The familiar whoosh and accompanying sparkling light of a portal opening up a few feet away had Octavia pulling Charlie to her chest tightly. It earned her a high-pitched bit of nonsense, but Via waited in fear for the figure on the other side to step through.

The becoming-familiar figure of Lucifer hopped through. “Hello girls!”

It took Octavia a moment to get her bearings. Charlie fussed in the owl princess’s loosening arms as Lucifer focused on the two of them.

“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry sweetie. Didn’t mean to startle you!” The King hunched in on himself to appear smaller, voice going low. “Mom said she had to step out and I got here as fast as I could.”

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting.” He continued. “Here, want me to take her?”

Octavia slowly gave Charlotte to her father, watching numbly as he lit up for the baby.

“Dah!” Charlie squealed.

“That’s right! Daddy’s here!” Lucifer kissed her brow, and Charlie was already enthusiastically babbling once more.

He looked back to Octavia. “I hope you weren’t waiting too long…?”

“No, he… he got here a few minutes ago.” Octavia answered.

Lucifer’s expression turned remorseful and subdued, even while Charlie grabbed at lapels. This was the fourth-going-on-fifth time Prince Stolas had come requesting his daughter’s return home, and the situation was becoming as sad as it was frustrating.

It was difficult for Lucifer personally. On one hand, he was a father, and he knew that he’d tear apart Heaven and Hell to keep Charlotte safe with himself and his wife. On the other hand, Octavia’s parents were definitely not Lucifer and his wife. Being around Stella and Stolas Goetia, especially at the height of their marriage falling apart at the seems and one attempting to kill the other — as well as the other flaunting their extramarital affairs (in front of Octavia for fuck’s sake) sounded like the opposite of safe.

“Hey,” Lucifer offered the Owl princess a hand while moving Charlie to his hip. “Are ya hungry? We’ve got a kitchen all the way on the opposite side of the house with anything you could ever want. Or oh! Maybe we could go to that arcade Mammon commissioned up here — Dag and Belphagor’s? I bet they have food, and non-rigged games! Well for us, anyway.”

Lucifer chuckled. And Via looked up at him for a long moment, sizing up the rather diminutive ruler of all Hell as he waited for her with utmost patience. Charlie mimicked him once she’d assessed the situation (as much as a baby could) and held out her hand to Octavia as well, with an energetic ‘Gah!’.

Via smiled before she took the offer. “Sure.”

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Cinderella Doesn’t Believe in Fairytales (pt. 4)

((Part 1, Part 2, Part 3))

Helga lied when she said there’d be a dress set out on the bed for her.

 There are actually three.

The room is empty except for Cinderella’s soft footsteps. She clutches the robe around her throat as she approaches, eyes flicking from gown to gown in disbelief. Each is beyond what Cinderella has ever seen before in her life, the colors more vibrant that the most expensive fabrics in the seamstress’ shop, the lacing more delicate, the beading more opulent.

The first dress is a pale blue, the color like her mother’s eyes. Cinderella trails her fingers along the neckline. There are glittering clusters of jewels scattered along the skirt of the dress like flowers. It reminds her of the meadow she met the boy in on the clearest day.

The second dress is a rich red. Something in Cinderella shivers at the depth of the color, hungry and wanting. It’s a powerful dress with severe lines. The neckline is encrusted in rubies and the accents are so dark red that they appear black.

The third dress is the simplest of the three, though simple seems an ill-fitting word for it. It’s a comforting light green, like new growth and warm summers. There are no jewels on this one, but gold embroidery loops and curls near the hem and sleeves.  Cinderella traces her finger along one furl of embroidery, enjoying the tight knit stitch in comparison to the velvet of the fabric.

“He asked for me to pick something you’d like,” Helga says from the doorway.

Cinderella jumps. She didn’t hear her come in, so lost was she in the dresses. “They’re beautiful. You did a wonderful job.”

“He asked me to,” Helga says. She comes up beside Cinderella, running a critical eye over the three gowns. “But I didn’t know about you until two weeks ago, so how could I pick a dress? I gave him a style catalogue and told him to do it himself. In the end, he didn’t know what you wanted either. So he had three made. One for each night of the ball.”

Cinderella starts. “What?”

“Most women and men will wear the same clothes each night,” Helga says. She props her chin on her hand. “It’s very standard practice. They may change a layer or two, but gowns like this are works of art. Many take pride in wearing the same one.”

“That’s not what I’m surprised about,” Cinderella says, pressing a hand to her forehead. “The ball is three nights? Three?” Her stepmother and stepsisters never mentioned that.

“For some,” Helga says. She leads Cinderella to a small vanity and sits her in front of it. She pulls out a comb. “The purpose of this ball is for the Prince to find a bride, after all. A second invitation will be sent out after tonight for tomorrow’s ball. Then another on the second night for the third. After the third, the Prince will have made his choice.”

Cinderella doesn’t think she’ll get invited back for the second night, much less the third. “It’s a shame I’ll only be wearing one,” she says without thinking. She sighs. “That makes choosing even harder.”

Helga pauses combing out Cinderella’s hair. “Pardon?”

“Nothing,” Cinderella says. She hopes Helga can’t see the heat rising to her cheeks. “I’m just being selfish. All the dresses are so beautiful, I’m a little sorry I won’t be able to wear each one.”

“Oh, dear,” Helga says. She looks like she’s biting her cheek. “How you two remained friends all this time with his communication…”

Cinderella frowns. “Yes?”

“Never you mind,” Helga says. She sets Cinderella’s hair down with a pat. “Just take one day at a time, hm? Now, we’ve got three hours to get you dressed.”

“Three hours still?” Cinderella asks. She starts to rise. “If that’s the case, I can wait to--”

Helga gently pushes her back down into her seat. She meets Cinderella’s eyes in the mirror of the vanity. “Barely three hours,” Helga says. She whips out a thin, wooden stick. “It’s time for a little magic.”

 ---------------

Magic is real. By the end of the first hour, Cinderella has no way to deny it anymore. Somehow she’d been able to block the teleportation from her head very easily, but what Helga does-- well.

Magic is real.

With a wave of her stick - “It’s a wand, dear.” - Helga produces a gentle, warm wind to dry her hair. A bottle of lotion and hair oil floats out of the bathroom into Helga’s waiting hands. The entire time, Helga talks.

“Rose-scented, very popular in the Capital, but my lord hates it--” she throws the bottle over her shoulder “--he wasn’t allowed to make a request, so it’s really up to you. Perhaps orange blossom? Here, give it a smell--”

Cinderella obediently follows Helga’s directions, smelling this and that and rejecting the orange blossom in favor of vanilla, the mint in favor of lavender, the sugar over the spice. Her head is spinning faster than the collection of bottles rapidly growing above them. She can’t stop herself from grinning with each new feat of magic Helga absently performs. This is fun. This is interesting.

This is magic.

“Of course it is,” Helga says when Cinderella voices her thoughts. But she’s not calling Cinderella stupid. She sounds fond when she says it. Affectionate. “I’m very, very good at it. One day, I can teach-- well, that’s in the future, isn’t it? And we are focusing on one day at a time.”

“One day at a time,” Cinderella echoes obediently. It’s a strange mantra for Cinderella who has always looked so far ahead. One day, Father will come home. One day, they’ll love me. One day, I’ll be free. There is something liberating in only focusing on tonight. Something magical. “What’s next?”

“Next is makeup and jewelry,” Helga says. She straightens a curl in Cinderella’s hair and hums with satisfaction. “Which means it’s time for you, my dear, to choose a dress.”

“The green one,” Cinderella says immediately. She flushes when Helga raises her eyebrows. “It’s-- Have you ever seen an oak tree at the beginning of spring?”

“There are many oak trees in the Capital,” Helga says.

“New leaves are the same shade of green,” Cinderella says. She bites the inside of her cheek and looks at her hands twisting in her lap. Normally, she wouldn’t share so much but she likes Helga. She thinks it’s safe to say it here. “The first time he called me his friend, it was spring. That’s when it became my favorite season.” When she looks up, Helga has one hand pressed over her eyes. “Helga?”

“Spring is my lord’s favorite season as well,” Helga says. “I’m going to get cavities.” She fetches the dress from the bed, suspending it thoughtlessly in the air with magic, and continues before Cinderella can respond. “The gold goes well with your hair, so it must be gold jewelry. I’ll fetch some options.”

Helga bustles out of the room, sniffing loudly. Cinderella watches her go. She doesn’t understand what’s made Helga so emotional. She knows the boy’s favorite season is spring, but it’s not for any heartwarming reason. It’s because he’s no longer forced to keep the meadow from freezing over, freeing up more of his magic for the pranks he liked to pull.

But why did he need to keep the meadow from freezing over?

Cinderella reaches out and touches her dress. Almost like it has a mind of its own, it floats down to the exact height where she can examine the detail on the bodice more closely. She often thinks about questions like this and even asks them. She never receives an answer. Normally it would upset her, but her friend has always given her more than she can ever repay. The only way she can even attempt to is to not ask.

Maybe it’s time to ask. Not asking is kind. Not asking is easy. Not asking hurts--

Cinderella crushes the voice again. She’s focusing on tonight. She’s going to wear a beautiful gown in a beautiful room where nothing needs doing and nothing needs done. Hopefully her friend will be there so she can thank him properly - Is he human? Or is he in another tree? What is--? - and maybe she’ll even get the chance to dance.

As if in response to her thoughts, the dress swishes across the room, swaying and dipping in a phantom waltz. Cinderella watches it, entranced. The fabric catches on the candlelight, shimmering like the rainbows in the meadow. How would she look doing that? How would she feel?

“Oh,” Helga says as she closes the door behind her. The dress shudders to a halt and then rushes back to Cinderella’s side in approximately the same position it had been. “You really like this dress, my lady?”

My lady? “I’m excited to wear it,” Cinderella says instead, smiling with closed lips.

“Then we best get you ready,” Helga says. She’s still eyeing the dress from the corner of her eye, but she returns Cinderella’s smile. “There are some bigger necklaces to choose from but, after talking, I think you’d prefer something more delicate?”

“Something light,” Cinderella murmurs. Her heart is racing in her chest, the image of the dress dancing through the air bright in her mind. “Light enough to wear all night.”

“Very good.”

-------------------------.

Helga won’t let Cinderella look at herself until everything is done. She weaves pins with golden oak leaves into her hair and clasps a chain of gold so fine it feels like spiderwebs around her neck. The bracelet they decide on is a gold loop with strange symbols on it. Cinderella doesn’t know what they say, but the bracelet is warm in her hands, almost purring.

“My lord picked that one,” Helga says. She helps Cinderella slide it over her hand and adjusts the sleeve of her dress so that the bracelet falls atop it. “He’ll be thrilled you like it.”

When Helga finally allows Cinderella to look in the mirror, Cinderella doesn’t want to. She’s worried that her image will ruin the illusion. She feels cared for and pampered. She feels…warm and helpless with gratitude. Helga has made her feel so seen for the first time in a very long time.

Then she does see herself and the world drops away.

Cinderella is beautiful. So strange to call herself that! She is not in her body because this can’t be her. Her yellow hair is shining gold, coiled and looped around her head like a crown. The oak leaf pins catch the firelight and seem to glow. Her skin is not dry and unhealthy from waking too early and going to bed too late. There’s an inner glow she’s never seen before that makes her look radiant. The dress is beyond words. It sweeps along Cinderella’s body like art, the embroidery shining as brightly as the pins.

“Oh, my dear,” Helga says softly. She reaches out with a handkerchief and blots under Cinderella’s eyes. “Don’t cry! It’s alright.”

“I never wanted to be pretty,” Cinderella says, voice trembling. It comes out wrong, but how can she explain to Helga a lifetime of only wanting to be loved? Of never desiring fame or wealth or beauty? A lifetime of giving services and patience in hopes for affection? It feels shallow of her now to realize that she never needed to earn love. She deserved it, as any child did, and she has grown into such a beautiful adult without it entirely.

Cinderella looks at herself as if seeing a stranger and thinks, She deserved to be loved. Not because she is pretty, but because she is human.

Cinderella tests that thought like a child might test a flame. It stings when she touches it, but it’s a good pain. A healing pain. I deserved love. I deserved more. And then, It wasn’t my fault.

It wasn’t her fault. She is not the villain for running away. She is not bad for not being more patient, for not being more kind. She is alive and she has always been looking for more than what she was allowed. She needed more. She would have given any child more.

There is nothing evil in allowing herself this one night or, perhaps, even the next.

“Thank you, Helga,” Cinderella says, still staring at herself in the mirror. The older woman is concerned, worried eyes on Cinderella’s face, but Cinderella is smiling through her tears. She feels…good. Magical. There is a bubbling relief in her chest as warm as the bath she’d taken. “You’ve done more for me than you could ever know.”

“No thanks, my dear,” Helga says. She takes Cinderella’s hand. “Come now. Your carriage awaits.”

Cinderella follows her out of the bedroom and to the waiting world outside.

------

Next part we finally get Cinderella to the ball! Will she meet her friend? Her family? The Prince?

If you’d like to read the next part a week early, as well as a Patreon Exclusive I posted earlier this week, please consider supporting me on Patreon (X). 

Thanks for reading!

[traumxrei-archive]

【 v. plated perfection 】

summary: now that yuu was better, they still had nothing to do. that is, until they heard the cheerful tune of a certain white haired maid floating down the halls… maybe they should go see what kalim is up to.

word count: 1.3k

author’s note: kalim’s part !! i really wanted to do the whole shoujo manga cliche w/ this one so i hope you enjoy ^^

[ the perfect debutante series | or read on ao3 (coming soon) ]

There wasn't much left to do for Yuu when they finally got permission to start working again. (That was an arduous process on its own.) It appeared that Azul, Jade, Riddle, and even Jamil had pitched in to take care of any last-minute preparations.

Now that everything was decided, the previously fast-approaching ball seemed to approach at a snail's pace. On top of that, Yuu had even more free time than usual because the Duke had taken over their work to "give them more time to plan". They did come up with an idea for something special at the Debutante, but it was undergoing some final review from the head butler, so it was a waiting game.

That was why they were strolling the halls, looking for something that they could do. A cheerful tune floated down the halls catching Yuu's ear. They instantly recognized the singer's voice, approaching the open door carefully.

Inside the grand room was Kalim, silverware and dishes spread out in front of him. The silver haired maid looked more put together than usual, his short skirt fluttering over stockinged legs as he spun. A white and gold bandana laid over his silvery hair, ribbons trailing down his neck.

"A whole new– Master?!"

Yuu suppressed a laugh when Kalim finally noticed them, "Hello Kalim, that was a nice song you were singing."

"Oh, I think so too! It's a classical ballad from Scalding Sands. But, Master," The maid blinked, his earrings clinking when he tilted his head. "What brings you here?"

"I was bored." And wasn't that the truth? It was easy to be a little more unfiltered with Kalim. Red eyes sparkled knowingly at their words.

"Hmm, then Master," Kalim very gently grabbed a plate. "What do you think about this plate?"

The plate was...shiny. So shiny, in fact, that Yuu felt a bit dazed, "Er, why did you pick that one out?"

"Well," Kalim set the plate aside. "Jamil and Azul told me to pick something perfect. It's Master's debutante after all!

Kalim started listing on his fingers, "They said, 'pick something that shows off the dukedom's opulence, elegance,' and..."

"Humility?" If it was those two that gave Kalim advice, they would know a thing or two about not going overboard on the flair. 

"Yes! Something like that," Kalim pouted. "But it seems that this set isn't to Master's liking." They could see the metaphorical puppy ears droop as he picked up the plate, going back to the display cases.

"It's only a little bit too shiny," Yuu said quickly, trying to soothe Kalim's mood. "There are plenty of other options."

"Theb how about this one?" Kalim picked up a dish with flowery vines adorning its rim. The gold tipped edge made it look all that elegant. "I think it's very pretty."

"Hmm, but I don't think it would fit with the interior decor of the ball," Yuu offered. "It would be very nice to use for the gardens area, but the plates should be uniform."

A thoughtful look crossed Kalim's face, "How about using it as serving plates? It would also make it easier for the chefs if they knew which plates would go to the hall and which will go to the garden."

"That's very thoughtful of you," Yuu said, and Kalim all but beamed at the compliment.

"I heard Jamil complaining about it before," Kalim said, taking out some serving plates. "One of the times that he was helping out at a party my Baba held, the servants weren't given clear instructions on which food was for which hall and it was a mess."

"Okay, now we have some flowery serving plates and trays!" Kalim dusted off his skirts. "Do you have any suggestions, Master?"

"How about choosing something with Night Raven colors?" Yuu took a seat on the bench beside the tray of plates.

Kalim perked up at that, "That's a great idea! The grey plates are somewhere on this shelf..." The silver-haired maid crouched, reaching for another plate, "This one seems very Night Raven colors." The plates had a grey base, and symmetric white lines crisscrossing to create an intricate pattern.

It was certainly an elegant choice, "That's a bit..."

"...too serious," Kalim concluded, sliding the plate back to its spot. "I guess I'll look at the top shelves."

They watched as Kalim dragged a rolling wooden ladder toward the shelf, "Don't forget, to lock the wheels." Yuu stood up, approaching the shelf as Kalim started climbing the ladder. He made it to the platform, opening the doors to the cabinet.

"It's alright Master, I've been doing this all morning," Kalim called out, as Yuu braced an arm against the ladder. Suddenly, Kalim shouted, "Oh! I found the perfect one!"

Kalim spun in his excitement and that was when it happened. Yuu could do nothing but watch as Kalim's body tilted unnaturally to the right, and—

Yuu lunged forward.

It was instinct, and they could barely think before their back was hitting the ground. A burst of pain hit their shoulder as they rolled before finally coming to a stop.

Their chest rose and fell, the blood rushing in their ears. Kalim's weight was keenly on top of them. That much they could figure out. Yuu pried open their eyes, their chest feeling stifled when—

Oh. Kalim's eyes were such a startling shade of red. Yuu had never seen his eyes that close before. The maid's head jerked back, his earrings chimed at the action. His ribbon brushed against their neck. The sensation was strange. A little ticklish, making them huff out a short breath.

Kalim blinked, his mouth falling open. He reeled backward with a shout and they winced as they heard another thump. Yuu sat up, gingerly touching their shoulder. Kalim was still lying on the ground, his skirts in disarray, still seemingly shocked.

And then Kalim shot up, hands clasping their own, "Master! This– I'm so– this maid apologizes for such a blunder, the ladder was— I-I should've been more careful, but— Oh, the others will kill me if they—"

“The others won't find out," Yuu reassured, glancing at the spotless floor. "None of the plates are broken, and we are both fine, save for our clothes."

"But—" Kalim seemed to sputter, hands gesturing wildly. "But Master, you—"

"Instead of arguing, why don't you show me the plate you found?" Yuu stood, dragging Kalim with them.

Kalim looked conflicted, his stare swinging between the cabinet and them, "Still, you... Master shouldn't do anything dangerous like that again. Promise?”

“I promise,” Yuu nodded toward the shelf. “Let’s see the plate that made you so excited.”

Kalim climbed up the ladder— but not before double-checking all of the wheels to the ladder— before returning with a white plate, with grey flowers and gold patterns lining the border, “Isn’t it perfect?”

��It is,” Yuu agreed, taking the plate into their hands. “You found the perfect plate.” Kalim pumped his fists in the air, before going back to grab the rest of the set. They grinned at Kalim’s quite antics, nodding along to the happy tune he was humming as he placed the plates onto the cart. 

“Should we go have a treat to celebrate?” Yuu suggested, and Kalim’s eyes grew even more shinier than before, his previous mood forgotten.

“Oh! Jamil was cooking up some tester desserts last night!” Kalim gushed, grabbing their hand. “Let’s go and ask him for the rest!” Yuu laughed as they were hurriedly led down the hallway. They had all but abandoned the plates there, but oh well. Maybe having fun and letting loose with Kalim was exactly what they needed before the debutante. (And sweets. Sweets made everyone’s days feel better, right?)

thank you for reading ^^ if you’d like to read more, check out my masterlist ! like the art ? look at more of dumple's works on insta !

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[soulofapatrick]

Not What I Thought - Henry Fox x Male Reader

Summary: You meet Henry at Philip and Martha's wedding to find you're both as enthralled by the other as the other

Words: 2.1k 

Warnings: None really, almost smut but interrupted

Notes: Henry and Alex from RWRB have taken over my life 🤣🤣🤣

Y/N’s POV

To say that I wasn’t absolutely shitting myself would be a lie as I step out of the limo with Alex, my older brother, and Nora, the vice president’s daughter. Usually, Alex and Nora would take this job but mother wanted me to start getting out into the spotlight and making a name for myself as Alex is about to start running the campaign in Texas and June has officially become a speech writer for the Whitehouse while I’ve done nothing. I’m only just eighteen and I have the whole world knowing my name which is rather daunting, but, not as daunting as this…

Buckingham Palace is fucking huge, and gold and full of fancy shit that I don’t know the name of. I’m not even sure why I said yes to this. Alex is grumbling and rolling his eyes about how snobbish and pretentious Prince Henry is while Nora is basically bouncing as she walks, full to the brim with excitement, as she drags my stumbling self behind her to line up and greet the royal family as they enter the hall. Or ballroom. I’m not sure, all these rooms are too big to distinguish them. 

Prince Philip and his new wife, Martha, look to be the snobbish ones, noses upturned and voice articulate as they shake hands with every important member of governments and royal connections in this line. He looks at us three like we’re the dirt under his shoes and shakes Alex’s hand like he has the plague before skipping me entirely and greeting Nora with a little better attitude. Next is Bea, the middle child and the wild child from what I hear. She’s pleasant if somewhat reserved but she greets the three of us like we’re long lost childhood friends reuniting and it leaves a warm feeling in my chest even if I don’t actually swing that way. She’s waltzing Nora away before anyone can say anything and suddenly I’m face to face with beauty. 

Prince Henry. He stands tall - taller than Alex - and regal amidst the opulent surroundings of Buckingham Palace. His blond hair impeccably styles, the locks sweeping messily back from his forehead with natural elegance. The subtle curl at the ends softens his appearance, giving him an approachable air despite his royal stature. The rich hue of his hair contrasts perfectly with his fair, porcelain complexion. His eyes, a light shade of blue that seems to hold a depth of emotions, are set beneath finely arched eyebrows. They radiate a mixture of curiosity, kindred and a hint of despair - a combination that makes it hard to look away. 

His features are finely chiseled, with a strong jawline that adds a touch of masculinity to his ethereal beauty. His lips, full and oh so inviting, seem to hold a natural grace that could effortlessly break into a smile or a quick teasing grin. His tailored suit fits him like a second skin, emphasising his lean build and hinting at a strength beneath the refined exterior. The way he carries himself, with an air of confidence tempered by genuine interest in those around him, makes it easy to see why he captures the attention of all who meet him despite Alex’s stories of how entitled and narcissistic he is. 

As his voice reaches my ears, it’s warm and inviting, breaking through the nervousness that has settled within me, “Good evening,” He says, his tone polite but not distant, “I don’t believe we have had the pleasure of meeting before. May I have your name?” 

His hand, when he extends it for a handshake, is warm and firm, his grip confident yet not overpowering. There’s a sincerity in the ay he clasps my hand, a fleeting connection that carries a sense of genuine interest. As his blue eyes meet mine, I can’t help but feel that beneath all the rumours I’ve heard and the expectations, there’s a complexity to Prince Henry that is both intriguing and captivating. 

“Y-your majest- Oh no! Your royal highness-“ Alex facepalms from beside me, watching me fumble over my words as my brain displays images of Henry pressing me up against the nearest wall and having me any way he likes, “Y-Y/N. It’s Y/N Claremont-Diaz.” 

“Well,” His eyes seemed to have darkened as they sweep over me once, not in the same way Philip did, and oh fuck me. I am not going to make it through this evening if he keeps looking at me like that, especially when he leans in close, breath hot against my cheek, “I hope to see you later.”

As quickly as he appeared, Henry is gone, and Alex is at my side, steering me toward the bustling ballroom where the after party is in full swing. Amidst the crowd, Alex seems to vanish in search of alcohol, leaving me to navigate the sea of unfamiliar faces. My eyes find Nora, her laughter blending with Bea's in a way that suggests they've been friends for years. I decide to do what I do best, explore without getting seen, blend into the shadows and find a quiet spot where no-one will disturb me, except maybe Amy who is my PPO for the day. Deciding to retreat into my comfort zone, 

I slip away quietly, becoming a shadow in the corners of the palace. It doesn't take long before I stumble upon a room, a hidden oasis amidst the grandeur, filled with books. Floor-to-ceiling shelves line the walls, laden with leather-bound volumes and dusty tomes. The soft glow of sconces illuminates the space, casting an inviting warmth that contrasts with the glitz and glamour outside. I step further into the room, running my fingers over the spines of the books. It’s mesmerising, the sheer collection of knowledge and stories tucked away in here. For a moment, I forget about the grand event unfolding just beyond these walls. I lose myself in the comfort of solitude and the intoxicating scent of aged pages. 

Just as I’m lost in my thoughts, the door creaks open, and I spin around to face the intruder, expecting to be Amy or Alex, having found me finally. But the sight that greets me is anything but ordinary. Henry stands there, his presence no longer commanding but somehow ordinary, like another person in the streets. His blue eyes meet mine, and there’s a shared understanding that in this moment neither of us are from royalty or fame, we are just Y/N and Henry. 

“You are an enigma, nothing at all how I imagined.” He tells me, quietly closing the door and making his way over to me, gesturing to the sofa. I sink straight into the plush cushions, Henry sitting on my left, one leg tucked under himself and arm flung over the back of the sofa, expression open and I have to adjust my seat imagining pushing him back and kissing him breathless. 

We exchange banter, light teasing, and the kind of easy conversation that’s reserved for moments of genuine connection. Henry’s flirting is subtle, a glint in his eyes and a playful quirk to his lips. It’s a dance of words that feels both exhilarating and comfortable, as if we’ve known each other for far longer than just a few hours. 

But then there’s a pause, a fleeting moment where the air between us changes. It’s as if time is holding its breath, our eyes locked, and the room is charged with a palpable tension. And then, in an instant, the atmosphere shifts again. It’s a surge, a magnetic pull that neither of us can resist and as if guided by an unseen force, we’re both leaning forwards, closing the distance between us. Our lips meet in a kiss that’s hesitant, testing the waters to see if awe are both wanting the same thing. It’s a slow exploration, a gentle press of lips that converts a shared curiosity and a mutual yearning. There’s a softness to the touch, a tentative dance that feels both intimate and tender. 

The hesitation doesn’t last long. As if a dam has been breached, the atmosphere between us surges with an irresistible pull. Henry’s lips mould against mine with more urgency, his hand finding it’s way to the curve of my cheek as if he’s trying to memorise every contour and scar. I respond in kind, my fingers threading through the soft strands of his hair, a silent invitation for him to come closer. And he does. The kiss deepening, a dance of desire and longing, a magnetic force that draws us closer until there’s hardly any space between us. 

I feel the shift as Henry’s hand traces the line of my jaw, his touch igniting sparks along my skin. And then, suddenly, the world tilts as he pushes me back onto the sofa, not dissimilar to the way I was picturing doing it to Henry. There’s a controlled urgency in his movements as he claims over me, body hovering just out of touch and the sensation is electrifying. Our lips collide once more, a collision of passion and aching want. It's a fervent dance of tongues and shared breaths that leaves me dizzy and craving more. His hands, exploratory and confident, trace the contours of my chest and shoulders. The path they leave in their wake is seared with fire, a trail of sensations that has me arching into his touch. 

As the kiss deepens, I can’t help but let my own desires take over. My hands, emboldened by need, glide down his back until they reach his waist and I pull him down to close the achingly large gap between us, drawing a whimper from me as his hips brush against mine just right. 

“Jesus, you know exactly what you want, don’t you?” Henry pants, breaking the kiss to focus his gaze on my shirt with an annoyed expression. His lean fingers with the buttons on my shirt, his touch almost impatient in it’s eagerness to explore what lies beneath. He looks breathtaking, hovering above me, honey hair mused and blue eyes glazed with want and abandon. 

I can’t stop myself reaching up and tangling my hand in those locks, grumbling, “You talk to much.” Before yanking him down into a bruising kiss. My hips raising up to meet his, causing a delicious friction that has me swallowing the sounds Henry makes, his hips rocking to meet mine. 

“Y/N, I told you not to-oh my god.” Amy is turning around and walking back outside, closing the door with a meaningful clearing of her throat. Henry is scrambling off of me and to his feet, eyes wide as if he’s realising what we’ve done and there’s a sinking feeling in my gut. I sit up, adjusting myself, the suit pants doing not much to ease he uncomfortableness and trying to make myself a little more presentable, keeping my head bowed away from his royal highness. 

“Oh no, no, no,” Henry is appearing between my legs, doing nothing to help my problem, those fantasy inducing fingers gripping my thighs higher than they should be, “Y/N Claremont-Diaz, you are a pleasure and I do hope we can see each other again. I would…” He pauses, looking up at me through hooded lashes and his right hand shifting even higher and a strangled sound escapes my throat, “I would like to see more of you.” 

“Fuck.” I’m letting my head fall back, the dull pain from the couch frame helping ease my raging erection that is currently being groped by someone I never thought. I think I get whiplash when Henry pops the button on my suit pants, “Hen- fuck… Henry, Alex is looking for me…. We don’t… we don’t have-“

“There you are Y/N!” The door bursts open and Alex stops short, eyes wide and jaw almost hitting the floor before he screeches, “HENRY?!” 

“Alex-“ 

“OF ALL PEOPLE? YOU PICK HENRY?” He’s staring bug eyed while Henry is still kneeling there, worry on his soft features. 

“Get out.” I grumble at my older brother who just rolls his eyes and focuses his gaze on a very red in the face Prince. 

“You hurt him, I hurt you.” Then Alex is gone with a half hearted slam of the door. 

I’m gripping Henry’s chin between my thumb and forefinger, guiding his gaze to mine to see the same nervousness and intensity in them. He parts his lips when my thumb ghosts over his plump bottom one and I think I die and go to heaven right then and there. 

“Where were we?’ He murmurs, guiding my hand to his hair again and yeah, I’m dead. How the fuck did I get the Prince of England to want me back in the span of four maybe five hours? I’m not gonna question it, just gonna take it as it is. 

Fuck Me.

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

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TAGS: @clarks-letterman @spencer-reids-wife

[novelizt]

ENDEARMENTS ☁︎ ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

GENRE ➺ fluff, established relationship

WC ➺ 1.4k

SYNOPSIS ➺ lockwood doesn't understand why you bend when he uses terms of endearments on you.

DISCLAIMER ➺ implied non-brit! gender-neutral! reader. + usage of an assortment of pet names (they usually call each other 'bee')

NOTE ➺ to any brits out there—yes, us normies are heavily affected by 'darling' and 'love'. thank you for coming to my tedtalk.

He knew that he shouldn't abuse his power like this but he didn't have much of a choice. You had been ignoring him for the past five hours . . . over serving your morning coffee in the wrong mug.

Lockwood was a brave guy. You, alone, had the ability to make him scared of approaching you. He hoped for the best when he had strut up to you in your reading chair and wrapped his arms around you.

You stiffened in his arms but he persevered, placing his chin on your shoulder. He saw your lips turn taut, ready to frown and shoo him away, until...

"I'm sorry, my darling. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

He wasn't sure whether it was the apology or the overplayed endearment, but you had laxed in his hold. Allowing yourself to lean into his chest and kiss his cheek.

"It's okay, bee. I'm not mad anymore."

He had a hard time believing that, but when you put your book down to give him full body hug? He forgot all about his worries.

—

It wasn't everyday that Lockwood allowed himself a vacation. So, when you won a free trip to Rome, you had to bring him along.

What you didn't expect was for him to be so enthusiastic about living the tourist life. He had even bought a camera for the sole purpose of capturing your moments.

Travi Fountain was something you've been dying to see for ages but a run-in with a scammer had soured your mood. You were cross-armed and pouty-lipped for most of your walk-about.

"Come on, bee, just one picture. You've been telling me about this place for months now," Lockwood reasoned. He took your hand, stubbornly holding on.

"I'm not in the mood, bee," you grumble, shaking your linked hands. He wouldn't let go of you, even if you tried.

"We'll see about that."

"What was that?"

"Nothing," he said sweetly, then raised the camera to his eye; adjusting the focus to capture you, your linked hands, and the opulent fountain. "Smile for me, angel."

The frustration on your face melted, giving way to a timid smile that instantly brightened your face. He wasn't content yet. Lockwood was trying to coax his favorite smile out of you. "My love, I need you to show your pretty teeth, please. Oh— yes, smile just like that. That's exactly what I was looking for."

He mirrored your radiant smile. He couldn't help it. He took a few more shots and basked in your laugh for a few more glowing moments before lowering the camera.

"You got what you wanted now, Mr. Lockwood," you stepped closer, clearly in a higher spirits. You even pressed a chaste kiss on his chin as he viewed the photos.

"That, I did." He grinned, skin golden from the sinking sun. He placed a gratifying kiss on your temple then one on your knuckles. "You're perfect as always, my darling."

He should have taken a photo of you then, all red-cheeked and sun-kissed, but that would have to be a memory just for him. He had no qualms about that.

—

"You should be asleep," he tutted. His voice was low but his tone was reprimanding. Beneath that was a hint of petulance, like a child that didn't get his way.

You worked in the dining room under a lamp you had bought from a yard sale, like you routinely do. Not usually at ungodly hours like this. Judging by his pout, he wasn't pleased.

Lockwood had gone to bed hours ago, expecting you to follow soon after. Now, the hours were closer to the morning and your side of the bed was still cold.

You looked up, giving him a weak smile to try and placate his attitude. He looked so soft with bed-disheveled hair. You could see a sliver of pale skin as he lifted his shirt to scratch his belly. You absolutely melted while he softened at your sunken eyes. Only you could look so cute and sleep-deprived at the same time.

You lifted your notes to show him how much research you'd covered. "I can figure this out. I feel it. Just a bit more."

"Angel, baby," he started towards you. The terms had caught your attention. Your body faced his and your hands fell away from the case files you sprawled all over the place. "you need rest."

"I still have energy," you replied. You tried to resist his charms but you ended up giving in as he held his hands out.

He helped you to your feet, keeping one hand entangled with yours and the other drifting to your waist. With a sleepy smile, he requested: "Dance with me, my heart."

Lockwood claimed he didn't have much of a voice but, that night, he carried a tune like he was made to. The melody of 'Once Upon A Dream' drifts about you as he waltzed you across the kitchen, seducing you into a state of calm.

Your heart soared, you hummed along and you found yourself falling into the abyss that was Anthony Lockwood. As time danced on, you stepped closer and closer; your feet began to slow, and you finally set your head on his shoulder. Slowly but surely, he lulled you to sleep.

When your eyes fluttered shut and your weight shifted, he brought a careful hand under your knees and picked you up. With the litheness of a feather, Lockwood took you to bed and blessed your head with a kiss before he turned out the lights. He wished you a wonderful dream then drifted off himself. Content to be resting with you in close proximity; Your hands curled into his shirt to keep him close while his slipped under yours to feel the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips.

When the sun broke through the curtains, he made sure to cover you with his frame and uncharacteristically asked George and Lucy to take the morning off so you could catch a few extra hours of sleep.

In his groggy haze, his hands drifted higher beneath your shirt, resting on your upper back to pull you even closer. You tucked your head under his chin, and, in that moment, all was well in the world.

—

It became clear to him how weak you were to his endearments.

You nearly dropped your morning coffee when he called you 'my darling'. You tripped on air when he asked you to pass him a note after he called you 'my love'. Your face did an endearing sort of pout when he called you 'my heart'. But he found that you're weakest when he calls you, "dearest."

Your attention was snapped away from your favorite book. Your eyes swirled with question and also elation—like a child on Christmas day. A smile was on your lips for no apparent reason and he couldn't help but smile back.

"Yes, bee?" you inquired innocently, your rapt attention on him. You looked every bit like a fantasy come to life, and you hadn't even brushed your hair. It's was a blessing that he could capture your heart with a simple term.

"Nothing," he said, smile growing. "You just look beautiful, heart."

He took the space beside you. You leaned into his side like it was second nature. His arm draped over your waist and his chin propped on your shoulder, ready to read along with you.

"Thank you," you replied. After a moment of contemplation, you add, "dearest."

It felt like an arrow was shot through his heart. His vain attempt to back a kiddy giggle was the least of his worries. It striked him then, why smiling seemed to be your first reaction to an endearment. When they came from you, it made his heart do ludicrous things. He was weak for you, and by the looks of it, he was too far gone to turn back.

Not that he would turn back. He'd like you to call him 'dearest' again. Preferably, for the rest of his life.

NOTE ➺ He's been haunting me lately. I've already have another fic in the works—he won't leave my mind!!

Any who, feel free to leave feedback and don't feel shy to reblog!! Bless the world with more thoughts of Anthony Lockwood ✨

⌠ @novelizt 2023 ⌡

[rallentando1011]

Somnambulant Soulmates (rise Donnie x gn reader)

Prologue, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Word Count: 3204

Content warning - implied blunt force trauma (it’s brief and not in great detail - if you want to avoid it, stop reading after the line of ~~~~~~~~~)

Each step you took through the hotel lobby emitted a soft thud on the blood red, thinly carpeted floor.

No bellhop nor hotelier’s presence could stop you as you stormed past the front desk, up a small staircase, into the elevator. Not that they tried.

Coming to think of it as the elevator doors clicked shut, none of the freakishly homogeneous staff did anything but stare at you. That’s all they ever did at the Grand Nexus, apparently.

Shaking your head and yourself out of that tangent, you waved your hand in front of the array of buttons to the right of the door. After a moment, a flurry of what could best be described as bright, magical dust washed over the elevator, changing the gold and red room into jade and the typical letters on the buttons into indecipherable ones.

Jaw clenched tightly, you pressed your definitely not trembling index finger on the topmost button, the elevator whisking you up, up to the topmost level.

With a ding of the doors, you arrived at your destination and walked in a steady path forward.

Opulent portraits and vases lining your path all but screamed luxury, though that wasn’t remotely a surprise.

After a brief moment, you made it to the doorway of an office, the contents of it hardly visible in all the darkness flooding in from the large glass panes along its back wall.

“You wanted to see me?” you spoke, trying to exude confidence despite the hammering of your heart.

“Ah, yes. Do come in,” called back a voice, one that had been plaguing you for weeks. As you pressed further into the office, the figure came into view behind a desk. Towering, grinning a crooked grin, folding her gargantuan four arms in front of her chest, there stood the one who demanded your presence - the spider yōkai-organized crime boss herself - Big Mama.

“What do you want?” Your voice was firm, but not insolent.

“Straight to the marrow, no time to throw me a bone,” the arachnid said with an ingenuously hurt tone. You weren’t amused.

“Very well,” Big Mama conceded, continuing to grin at your chagrin, “back to business. I require an itsy-bitsy favor to close up our deal.”

Your breath stopped, the anxiety you felt outside whittling a pit in your stomach once again, your confident façade fading by the second.

Your dread felt well placed after you heard her words.

“Bring me the ingenious invention-a-gizmo you’ve been monitoring so thoroughly these recent weeks.”

It only took a moment to digest her words and formulate a definitive response.

“No.” You cut tersely through the tense atmosphere. “We have a deal, and I am, I have been upholding my end of it. It doesn’t count- It is not fair to change the conditions. Blueprints, pictures, reports - that’s all you’re allowed to ask of me. I never agreed to take anything, so no, I will not be doing that.”

“Oh, dearie me, I hadn’t the slightest idea that you could get so prickly-perturbed. That was cute. Back to business, though-”

“I’m serious. I’m done,” you interjected. “I already did my part, now you need to uphold yours.”

Big Mama lost the crooked grin, the amusement in her eyes morphing into a chilling cold.

“Your little display has lost its appeal, dearie. Your insolence is teetering on the tippity-top of ticking Big Mama off. Yes, we made a deal, and you certainly shall be compensated in full, but the pudding’s in the proof, the danger’s in the details, you signed a binding contract.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You never explicitly specified that your collecting fizz-a-ma-whizzle did not include bringing Big Mama one of those fantabulous contrapulations. Anything unlisted is grey area, and your contract is swarming in it.”

“This- You can’t-”

“Oh, but I can. And I have. And I will.” The spider regained her composure, her smug demeanor, her wicked grin. “I expect the device delivered pristinely at my doorstep by the end of the week, or I am due compensation of a similar value.”

           Big Mama paused, leaned in with a widening grin. “Maybe your indentured servitude, or perhaps the turtle himself will work? Choices, choices.”

You stilled, disconcerting pinpricks prickling up your spine. The implications of what she could and would do hung thickly in the air, and based on the predatory flash in her eyes, she noticed.

“Understand our deal?” the spider yōkai asked, voice sickeningly sweet, smug.

“Yes.”

A few days passed with no progress on your objective. That didn’t mean you stopped thinking about it, though. No, thoughts about your situation and how you’d gotten into played in the back of your mind the entire time.

You had been lying.

Blatantly.

Brazenly.

But not remorselessly.

No, certainly not. The guilt of the past few months of spitting fabrications of the truth had been eating at your insides, whittling a deep, guilty cavity in your gut every time you were confronted by your untruths.

Yes, guilt was definitely the only reason your stomach ached every time you saw Donnie. Nothing else.

It all started when you rented out a car a few years ago to deliver orders for your job for an alluring amount of additional pay.

Sure, you knew having a car in a highly concentrated city was a risky venture, but the payoff, after a year or so, would be worth it.

That is, it would have been worth it if the Krang hadn’t attacked and decimated the city, the economy and, most pertinently, the car.

You were sunk. But, with all the other chaos amidst the invasion, the car quickly fled from your memory. You figured either the city or someone’s insurance or something would cover it.

Until this year when you got a knock on your front door and saw a towering purple mantis man on your porch demanding compensation for the payments missing for the car. With interest, of course.

You went slack-jawed as the repo man-tis(?) revealed the price.

You hadn’t an object that amounted to that value. Heck, your entire net worth could hardly amount to that. Probably didn’t.

You asked for paper verification or the logic behind the price, though the only response you received was a flex of his muscles.

You were fairly certain that this was extortion.

You were also certain that this guy could and would absolutely demolish you.

After you insisted that paying or giving something of equal value was not possible, the mantis, displeased, begrudgingly sent you in the direction of someone he knew who could pay it off in exchange for some sort of deal.

Unfortunately, that help had been yet another violet-themed, insect-adjacent person, and that one was even worse.

You had gone to meet the spider, and as you were practically getting interrogated as she tried to find your worth, April oh so conveniently happened to call to invite you to her birthday.

One fumble of your phone and the call had been answered, leaving you scrambling to turn it off and Big Mama with her eyes wide in recognition.

And suddenly the arachnid had found use for you.

All you had to do was extract information - photos, reports, blueprints from just one project - from one of April’s friends who, as Big Mama explained, also adorned purple attire frequently, and you were free from all the debt from that blasted automobile.

One handshake and signature later, and you had yourself a deal.

Simple enough.

Little did you know that it would lead you to the devastating deadlock between your feelings and your funds. It was meant to be a no feelings involved sort of deal, but there had been some unfortunate complications, namely the bond you’d made with the turtle.

The impending deadline of the deal and the moral dilemma of literally stealing something someone was pouring their time and effort into 

End of the week… Did she mean the end of the business week or the calendar week? Either way, it wasn’t best to test the apparent mob boss’ patience.

Whatever you decided to do, you needed to do it quickly.

“Hex key.”

Donnie’s voice pulled you out of your trancelike series of thoughts and back to the present. Sitting in the lab, passing him utensils as needed, alternating listening to songs of his choice and those of yours, it was what had grown to be a typical night.

“Hex key,” you parroted, scanning his desk for the desired tool.

“Hex key - you know, the hexagonal wrench? Anytime now.” His tone bordered concerned and perturbed.

“Patience, ‘Tello. I don’t even know what that is,” you explained and tried to think of what a “hexagonal wrench” would look like.

He paused, thought of trying another name for it. “Allen wrench?” Bingo.

“Oh, yeah, Allen wrench,” you concluded, found it and handed it to him immediately.

“Sigh, common names and the imperial system, how they plague our society,” he tutted as he set to work on the invention with the wrench.

“Scientific names, my Roman Empire,” you agreed in wistful satire. But he agreed genuinely.

“Precisely. I could pull off Apalone spinifera, don’t you think?” He looked up from his tinkering, smirked, quirked a brow.

“I think I prefer Donnie.”

You grinned warmly. The inflection of his brow shifted, relaxed, softened his gaze. Before it turned devious once again. “Cringe.”

You gaped. “Oh, come on. I open up to you, and this is what I get?”

He shook his head.

You wanted to wipe that smirk from his face. “You know that you drop so many worse lines than that all the time.”

“Like what?” he questioned sardonically and turned back to tinkering.

“You know, something like I could whoop Galileo or swooning over Democritus or something.” 

“I have never ‘swooned’ over Democritus. This is slander.” 

“Oh atoms, my atoms,” you teased in a pedantic tone, making both you and the hypocrite grin.

You fell into a comfortable silence after that, Donnie working and you observing, until one of your song choices came on.

“Scoff, may we change the song? This one’s way too slow,” Donnie muttered, not ceasing his methodical cranking of the wrench.

“This is literally webcore. How could that be too slow?” You tilted your head at him.

“I don’t know, just can’t really groove with it, you know?”

It was your turn to scoff. “Oh come on, my music taste is totally danceable. If that’s a real word.”

“Anything can be a word nowadays.”

“Stop trying to change the subject,” you slapped a hand on the table, successfully drawing his, albeit judgmental, attention. “It is big talk to accuse my music, my livelihood, of being incapable of stimulating dancing without any evidence to support it.”

“Are you suggesting something?”

“No, I’m demanding something - prove it.”

Donnie blinked, incredulous. “Really?”

You smirked in reply. “Yep.”

“Right now?”

“Mmhm.”

“And how exactly do you propose I do that?” Donnie posed the question as he finally set down his work, propped his chin up with his elbow.

You shrugged nonchalantly. “You ask me to dance.”

“Haha, yeah, I do that all the time, the whole dancing with other people thing.” Donnie bluffed terribly, drawing yet another snort from you.

“There’ll be a learning curve for us both, that’s okay,” you conceded with a grin, stood, and offered your hand.

He took it.

The other hand tentatively, shakily placed itself on your hip. It took genuine effort not to laugh at how red he turned. To be fair, you probably did the same.

You felt a light squeeze on your hand, a small nudge at your side, and you were off.

Spinning through the lab, maneuvering around dazzling devices and metal, it was a whirlwind of upbeat melodies and mellow purple lights and him.

His initial shy demeanor quickly turned confident, guiding you through twists and spins, though he always kept a respectable distance between you two. You joined in, your spare hand taking residence on his shoulder as you two whipped around.

His smile, a genuine one, was positively contagious as he twirled you and pulled you back in, and you couldn’t help but reciprocate it.

The song ended with a bang, and you found yourself dipped back, a hand on your waist and one on your lower back holding you up. As you looked into each other’s eyes, neither one of you could resist bursting into a fit of giggles.

Your laughter faded slowly into huffs of air as you caught your breath, though neither of you moved an inch.

You couldn’t definitively say which one of you did it first, but someone’s glance subtly flickered down, uncertain of itself. The other’s did the same.

A lump in your throat suffocated any breath or thoughts before they could make it past your lips.

Well, that escalated quickly.

You closed your eyes, feeling his breath fan over your face.

No, this was wrong.

Not the situation itself, obviously. The moment itself was so fitting and dreamlike and right, but the pretenses it was under were so wrong.

Just shy of contact, what you knew would be incredibly, spuriously honeyed, you retracted.

The spontaneity of your doubt was only rivaled by how quick you both broke apart, the fluttery uncertainty in both of your chest cavities immediately replaced with an all-encompassing anxiety of having messed up exceptionally.

“My apologies. I hadn’t realized you-”

“No. You’re okay,” you cut him off. “I just, uh, can’t right now.”

Idiot. You felt, sounded, were acting like an idiot. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that-”

“No, please don’t apologize. You genuinely didn’t do anything wrong, I swear,” you reassured with a hand on your chest.

A beat.

Donnie twiddled his fingers and looked back at you. “...So, if I may ask, what’s the issue?”

Just as soon as you had all aspects of your situation under control, you had to act morally, as if telling the truth now fixed any of the wrongdoings nor the misdeeds nor the corrupt actions you’d already taken. Idiotic was what it was, but also necessary.

So you told him.

The truth poured from your mouth before you could stop it. Everything about your borderline espionage and Big Mama and the financial detriment failure posed - though you skidded around the threats - flowed breathlessly, frantically from you. Eyes firmly locked on the ground, you laid all of your cards down. In all honesty, you autopiloted for the majority of your confession, but jumped back in to conclude.

“I’ll be honest, I was half-convinced that all of the mutant-yōkai-whatever-the-heck situation I’d gotten myself into was fake, but it’s real. All of the debt and spying and- and you guys, everything is real and I didn’t- couldn’t even process it for a while but now I realize that you are also a person, with feelings and- and trust that I haven’t been treating correctly. I’m,” you sucked in a deep yet uncertain breath, “I’m so sorry.”

You finally worked up the nerve to look at him, but nothing could have prepared you for the sheer swarm of emotions that had taken over his face.

You had expected his incredulous, irate reactions, his mouth agape and brow furrowed.

But, greatly to your surprise, he was laughing, albeit ryely, but laughing nonetheless.

Donnie planted a hand on his forehead as his pitiful laughter slowed to a sigh. “Of course. I knew it wasn’t feasible to run into one person so many times. The probability, the statistics didn’t add up. But this explains it.”

You stared, trying to gauge his reaction. That part hadn’t been planned at all, but you weren’t looking to argue. “Okay..?”

“And that also explains why you kept hanging around, why you pretended to care about my stupid little project.”

“That’s not-”

“And why you pretended to care about me,” Donnie continued. Your chest ached at how his voice waived, almost broke.

“No matter what I had to- chose to do then, I promise that I never meant to hurt you. And I didn’t pretend to care for you,” you urged.

He sighed. Not his normal way where he actually said the word, just a genuine sigh. “If only I could trust that.” His voice lowered to nothing above a whisper, almost to himself. “Would you have shown any interest in me and my inventions at April’s party - at the library - if you hadn’t been paid to?”

You hesitated, thinking of the honest answer, that yes, even though it started out as an obligation you would have chosen to spend time with him a thousand times over.

But your hesitation was answer enough.

Donnie turned, pinched the bridge of his snout and huffed.

“Wait,” you protested, “that’s not what I meant. Of course I would have-”

“Leave.” He cut you off quietly but sternly. “I can’t talk with you right now.”

You understood, swallowed the rest of your sentence. Without another word, without another glance, you bit your cheek and backed your way out of the lab.

A silent moment passed.

Donnie lifted his head from his hand and blinked away the stinging tears threatening to form in his eyes. His throat burned with so many feelings he hadn’t the words to express, though the main culprits were rage and an inconsolable devastation.

He’d let you get close, something he rarely allowed, and this happened?

He thought that someone finally had interest in his knowledge, in his inventions, in him.

He’d let himself drift into a dream, one packed with genuine enjoyment and whimsy and you.

But that’s the thing about dreams, about painfully dulcet reverie endeavors.

Eventually, you have to wake up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The now familiar path through the sewers to the surface whipped by in a blur. You barely processed emerging from the sewers, eyes glossy and mind in a deep debate with itself.

The wind bit harshly against your nose, ears, arms - you’d abandoned your jacket on the back of your chair in his lab and definitely wouldn’t be getting it back for a while - as you all but sprinted home.

The situation could have been worse, but you still felt terrible. You knew that the lie couldn’t exist in perpetuity, that the truth would eventually reveal itself, but that didn’t mend the relationship you’d built, the trust you’d earned.

You took a sharp turn in the direction of your home.

Oh, he probably hated you. He’d probably tell everyone and they all would despise you. Not that you deserved anything but that.

You turned swiftly into the alleyway leading to your place and a loud whack cut through the air.

You didn’t have time to process the sound nor the weblike substance that vigorously pierced your back before you were eating concrete, head aching and vision failing.

Persnickety whispers of keeping “tibbiting-tabs” on current deals and the deep waters that your insolence had gotten you into pounded faintly against your head, almost drowned out by the dull throb at the base of your skull, the scrape of rough pavement against your face, the pit of dread forming in your stomach.

The pain and panic faded quickly, though, alongside your awareness as you easily slipped into an induced state of unconsciousness.

…………..…………..…………..…………..…………..…………….

(yeah uh this one’s kind of a doozy - at least you finally get the reveal of how I named this fic?)

Taglist ~ @rottmntsimp

@envyjmoney

[eternalsa2z]

Alphabet Piercings

"Ambrose! What is that in your nose?!?!?"

*CONFUSED* "Uh, like, a super cute nose ring?"

"Well duh! Did you take it from my special jewelry drawer?"

*EXCITED* "Yeah! I, like, looooved the cute little L-shaped earrings so, like, I decided to find something to, like, compliment it!"

*SIGH* "Goddess this is what I get for sharing the 'Ladylike' piercing cuz I wanted a more feminine boyfriend to shop with. Ambrose, do you remember which Alphabet Piercing you took?"

"Ummmm...I think it was D?" *GIGGLE* "Yeah cuz I like D!"

"Great, definitely a 'Ditz' piercing then based on your bubbliness. But that doesn't explain the extra horniness and the over-the-top glam look..."

"Hey baby if you like my nose ring, like, do you wanna see my other pretty piercings? I got these totes hawt little Os in my nipples that made me all, like, hawt and stylish."

*GASP* "Oh shit those could be Orange or Opulent piercings for this tanned fashionista look! Ambrose...please tell me you're not covering up more?"

*WRINKLES NOSE* "Please, like, Ambrose is so uuuugh. Call me Amber!"

"Okay, fine, Amber...did you do anything else?"

"Welllll I kinda got scared cuz, like, my little sexy bits were shrinking. So I acted fast and, like, put another L right into my clitty to, like, stop in from shrinking! It's, like, suuuuuuper small now and it makes me feel all hot and mushy, but it's still there! Yay!"

*GROAN* "Great. You put the 'Lust' piercing straight into your groin. That's gonna exacerbate the effects to an 11. But at least that explains everything. With those Alphabet Piercings all in, they combine and amplify to make you what they spell out. In this case, a bimbo DOLL"

*SQUEAL* "Oh yes! That's the word I was, like, looking for! Amber is, like, totes a doll! You, like, wanna go shopping with your dressup doll?"