#also wanted to write something about stones having different ways of feeling pleasure
Text
Tell Me More
Stone butch submissive top/ Dom butch bottom
Mathilda and Annie have been seeing each other for a while, but Annie has yet to make Mathilda cum. Since she’s never been with a stone before, Annie decides wants to learn about stone pleasure, specifically HER stone’s pleasure, and discover the kind of touch that does the trick.
Cw: penetration with fingers, oral stimulation, degradation, dominance, use of titles (sir/puppy), sexual language, overstimulation
“What are you thinking about?” I ask. Annie looks distant, staring out the second story window at the intersection below. This late at night, I know the streets get dead, so she must just be staring at empty asphalt. She’s been lost in thought the past few times I came over, and I’m starting to worry.
“Hm? Nothing.” She comes to sit next to me on my bed. I’m lying down, relaxing in between rounds. We’ve been at it like rabbits since that campfire, and I always end up taking a breather. I card a hand through her hair.
“Don’t ‘nothing’ me, I wanna know! what have you been thinking about?”
She scoots in beside me, curling herself against my chest. She slipped back into her clothes for a smoke a few minutes ago, and, of course, I never got out of mine. Our hoodie strings tangle together. She smells like Mavericks.
“Just-“ she chews her bottom lip. “Worrying.”
“Why?” I draw her head in closer to my chest, stroking her hair. She has such soft hair, and it calms the both of us.
“I feel like you don’t… like this. As much as me, anyway.”
My brow furrows. “Why would you think that?”
She shrugs. “I dunno, you just don’t… I don’t know.” She rubs her forehead. “Maybe I just don’t understand how you… work?”
“I’m not following.”
“I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever made you cum.” She looks to the side, a little ashamed.
It’s a fair assessment, I haven’t cum during our hookups yet. But that means something totally different to me than it would to someone else.
“Oh, that’s not a big deal! I don’t cum with partners very often. It’s sort of part of the whole stone thing, y’know? It doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying it.”
“I guess, I only have my own frame of reference. If I had been dating someone as long as we-“
My eyes go wide.
“I mean. Seeing. Seeing someone.”
“Right. Right.” I smirk.
Annie’s been insisting we aren’t dating, but she lets it slip every so often. I wonder what she tells our friends about this relationship. I wonder if she uses that word when I’m not there. She may act like she’s too cool for romance, but late at night when I get up to go to the bathroom, she grabs my hand half asleep and says, ‘baby love, please stay.’ It feels decidedly non-platonic. I guess butches have to protect our hearts, but I’m dedicated to finding my way in, however long that takes me.
She clears her throat. “If I’d been seeing someone as long as you have and they never made me cum, I’d probably… I dunno, think less of them.”
“Oh, so, you’re just worried it reflects on you?”
She shrugs.
“Well, that’s a relief. I was worried you were gonna say you found me less attractive because I’m stone.” I kiss the top of her head and sigh. It really is a huge relief.
“What, do people say that?”
I prop myself up on my elbow. “Oh, yes. Very often. I’ve been dumped for being stone more times than I can count.”
“That really sucks, baby. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t dump you like that.” She kisses me on the cheek.
“Well, you couldn’t.” I smirk.
She looks quizzically at me, then it hits her. “Right, because we’re not- right. Got it.”
“Keep forgetting, huh?”
She rolls her eyes and shoves me. “Fuck you, I’m trying to go slow!”
I squeeze her waist tight to me. “Oh, but you just can’t HELP wanting to U-haul with me, you silly lesbo lover boy, you!” I ruffle her hair and she sighs contentedly. “Look at it this way- you’re absolutely my dream butch. I enjoy sex with you more than I’ve ever enjoyed sex with anyone else in my life. I just don’t cum easily. Not your fault. Nobody’s fault, really. And it doesn’t mean I don’t love having sex with you.”
She thinks for a minute. “But… do you want to?”
“What?”
“You said it’s hard to cum, not that you don’t want to. Do you want to, and I’m just not good at making you feel good enough to?”
“I-“ I stutter. I don’t really think of it that way. “I dunno. I guess I’ve never… I mean, I barely ever came even with other people. I got good at faking it though, once I knew they’d break up with me otherwise.”
She holds my face in her palms. “I don’t want you to fake it. I want you to feel good. If that doesn’t include cumming, that’s fine. If it does, though, I want to know how to do it. And just in general, I want to do things that bring you pleasure at whatever level you’re able to feel it.”
I pause. “I don’t know. You make me cum when I’m by myself pretty often.”
“By yourself?”
I look to the side, embarrassed. “When I’m touching myself, I cum from thinking about you.”
Her breath hitches and she tugs me in closer. “What have you been thinking about, puppy?” The change of name strikes me in my gut. We’re revving up, now.
I squirm. “You.”
“What about me?”
She sits up into my lap and I lean towards her, posture just like the night we first kissed. The memory of it tugs at my heartstrings and makes me throb in the same breath. She weaves the bridges of our noses together, gazing down at my lips. I know she’s thinking about kissing me, but I don’t have permission to lean in on her behalf. I can feel her breath on the nerves of my lower lip. I steel myself.
“How my fingers would feel inside you.”
“Oh?” She leans back, tugging my right arm into her hands. “How would it feel?”
“Um.” I stammer. “Really good.” I’m not as natural at this kind of talk as Annie, but I have my ideas.
“Yeah? You sensitive in your hands?”
I nod. “Very.“
She exhales her question, one eyebrow quirked. I can tell she’s thought of something. “Are you-“ she draws my right hand up parallel to her eyes, holding on by my wrist. “-Ok with this kind of touching?”
My heart hammers in my chest. I nod.
The corners of her mouth twitch up subtly, not giving me the satisfaction of a smile. Annie keeps holding my wrist still with her right hand, but traces with her left pointer from my elbow to my palm. She presses and splays my fingers apart with her own.
“Do you ever cum from the stuff you do? Like, from stuff that isn’t direct?”
I swallow. “You mean my strap?”
Annie lowers my wrist to lean into me closer. She drags her nose up the crook of my neck, chuckling.
“I mean your hands. Can you cum from your hands?”
I shiver. “I- I dunno. I haven’t tried.”
“Tried?”
I stammer. “Yeah, um. Cumming from stone stuff is different. It doesn’t just happen on accident. You have to be immersed, I guess.”
“Immersed.” She hums. Her lips graze the shell of my ear. “What does it feel like? Being immersed?”
I feel myself throb. Like that, I wish I could say.
“I have to go slower, but it feels really good. I focus on the touch and somehow I can move the place I feel it. Then it’s like my hand is - mmh-“ Annie is dragging her bottom teeth against my earlobe, firmness making me squirm.
She pauses when I stop speaking.
“Go on, puppy.”
“S-sorry. It makes it feel like my hand is my strap. Or, my dick. It’s all one feeling. And that can make me cum.”
She pulls away. “So, if I touch you like this-“ she drags a finger against my heart line, tracing the deep creases of my palm. My breath hitches, just enough to be noticed, but subtle enough that it’s clear I’m not faking.
“Wow.” Annie’s tonguing her molars, eyes alive with thrill. “That’s what you like, huh puppy?”
My eyes fall to the side. “Yeah.”
“Oh, baby, I don’t mean to embarrass you.” She pauses. “Well, that’s not entirely true. But I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m just…” Annie touches between the pads of my pointer finger, featherlight and ticklish. I startle in my seat and suppress a moan. “Fascinated. I’ve never been with a stone before. Your body works in such interesting ways.”
I try to laugh. “I don’t know if I’m a good barometer for the standard stone experience.”
“Mmm, I don’t imagine you are. Not that that’s bad.” She traces the pad of her middle finger up my forearm.
“Palms up.” My hands tremble as I right them. Annie sighs. “Oh, very good, puppy.”
I bite back a whine. Annie traces the lengths of my forearms, stopping before the sensitive tendons on my wrist. My thighs tense and relax in a way that makes her bounce on my packer. Every feeling she gives me is a good one. She taps gently and works up and down, making the hairs there stand on end. “How is that?”
I squeeze my eyes shut and chuckle. “Hah. That’s- it’s stupidly good.”
She hums. “You’re so easy to work up.” Annie leans in and kisses my neck softly. My knees part on their own, letting her hips sink down further into my bulge. “Do you like being easy? Does it turn you on to be such a whore?”
“Annie, please.”
“Tell me more about how I’d make your fingers feel. When you’re inside.” As she speaks she brushes up the length of my pointer and ring fingers. Her touch travels up the nerves, along the veins. Proximal, middle, distal. One and then the next. With my eyes closed, I feel it in my cock.
“I don’t know how to describe it, it’s um. It’s soft. You-“ I pant. “You like to talk a lot. And make me talk.”
Annie hums, patting smooth my lapels. “Keeps us where were supposed to be. Do you not like it?”
“I don’t mind it, I just sound stupid when I try to talk dirty.”
Annie smiles into my skin. “Yeah, kinda. You ever consider that’s what I like about it? Hearing you mindlessly stumble over your words, trying to explain how good it feels to be fucking me?”
She rocks herself down into my hips. I want my hands inside her so badly.
“It’s soft.” I offer my best.
She draws my wrists towards her mouth, leaning in close. I can feel the heat of her cheek in my skin, and she parts her lips to whisper into the flat of my palm.
“Soft?” Her sibilance resonates across the nerves of my hand. I can feel the warmth of her breath. I gasp and pant.
“And warm.”
“Mmm.” She drags her lower lip up my heart line, breathing into me. Her teeth don’t touch my skin, but I’m orbited by my awareness of them, and of the soft wet fullness of her lips dragging up my splayed palm- fuck, she is so hot. “How warm?”
“Like, I can feel the blood rushing to it. And I can feel your pulse getting faster in it, too.”
“Faster where?” I can see the fingers of Annie’s free hand stroking over the fly if her jeans. “Here?”
I bite my lip. Her ring finger makes slow circles.
“Do those words embarrass you, puppy? I want to hear you say them.” I can feel the tip of her nose drag down my open palm as she speaks, hot breath continuously alarming the sensitive nerves in my hands.
I stumble in my confidence. Part of it is that there are a lot of words to use, and butches are always particular. I don’t want to say the wrong thing and upset Annie. And also, maybe she’s right, I’m a little embarrassed to say this out loud. But it is an exercise in her control- she puts fingers and objects and gags in my mouth as she sees fit, so why not a word too? She returns my attention to her movement, pressing a breath into the crease of my ring and pointer fingers.
“Which words would you like me to use?”
She traces the horseshoe of my jawline back and forth, scratching the patchy hairs on my chin. “Funny boy. I know you like the taste of cunt in your mouth. Say it. Where do you feel my pulse?”
I swallow. “I- like feeling your pulse in your cunt, sir.”
She tuts and shakes her head. “I don’t know here you keep getting this ‘Sir’ thing from, but it’s growing on me. I don’t know if I’d have more fun letting you say it or trying to break your habit.”
I whine and tilt back my head. Motherfuck.
She takes my diverted attention as a chance to drag her tongue up my forearm. Neither of us expects my reaction to be so intense. I nearly buck her off my lap. The shock of it overwhelms me, and I feel all the muscles in my body contract and glitter with tactile aftershocks. I moan so hard it comes out as almost a scream. She shushes me reassuringly and I try to pant my way back down to even breath. My hips buck into her in arhythmatic pathetic thrusts.
“Aww, puppy, too much? Is it too sensitive?”
It kind of is, but I don’t want her to stop. I wrap my free arm feebly around her waist.
“Jesus Christ.” I sob, pressing my forehead into hers.
“Did I hurt you? It kinda of sounded like it hurt.” She wipes tears from my cheek that I hadn’t noticed falling.
I shake my head, sweat plastering us together. My breathing has returned enough to string together a semblance of a sentence.
“Just- feels so. Fucking. Much.” I heave. “ ‘needa minute.”
“Aww.” She scratches my shaved sides affectionately. “You’re so sensitive, it’s adorable, puppy.” She caresses my face in her hands.
I lean the two of us back on the bed, my ab strength stuttering as we lower. I can feel the corners of the room tilting us in all directions. Sometimes, when it’s really good, I get this kind of vertigo, but it’s never happened from just touch like this. She lies down on my chest, stroking my hair.
We take a little break, and Annie does her best only to touch me where I have clothes on. Just my skin on hers feels a little too electric, and every time she brushes up against my arms by mistake my whole body contracts and I bury my face into her collarbone.
“Hah. Sorry.” I chuckle embarrassedly when my thoughts start to return.
“No, baby, I just wanna make sure you feel good. You don’t have to be sorry.” She kisses me on the cheek, just under my eye, and wraps her arms around me.
I sigh, still a little floaty, but not so overwhelmed.
“Can I- um. Have some more?” I feel my face go flush, and I extend my hand towards her mouth. She eyes me up and down and grins deviously.
“Say ‘please, sir.’”
I clear my throat. “Please, sir. Can I h-“
Annie cackles. “Oh my god. You actually said it. You little homosexual Oliver Twist.” She punctuates each sentence with a deep tongue kiss.
I get even redder, somehow. I wrap an arm under Annie’s waist and flip her under me, kissing back even harder and laughing. “Oh, fuck you. You made me so horny I forgot about Oliver Twist.”
“Who could forget! Who could forget that tragic little orphan twink?”
I swallow her laughter with our tongues and mouths pressed close together, and feel it kindling the fire between us. She crosses her ankles over my back and tugs me in, switching off between giggles and moans. I feel so soft and silly and sweet with Annie- vulnerable in a way I’ve never been able to be before. Being butch is sometimes a matter of projecting a persona. Only she has ever made me feel safe to drop that persona, and put the trust of my life and my body in her hands. For some reason, the fact that she doesn’t take that deathly seriously makes me feel at ease. We can be lighthearted and funny. We can take breaks when it’s too much. I love being here with her and letting her take the reins, knowing full well she’ll only ever lead me where we both can feel free and fulfilled. She pulls away, hips still gyrating into me as she speaks.
“I can’t lie, puppy, it really turns me on that I can fuck you so hard you cry.” She smiles darkly.
I bite my lip. “Mmh. Me too.”
“And I think I like this, if this is how I make you cum. We can definitely do this more often.”
I throb. “I’d like that, sir.”
Annie doesn’t correct me. She takes my hand in hers, gently, looking to me for approval. I nod, and she returns to her work, exhaling hot breath up and down my forearm where her wet tongue left a mark.
“Mm- I want you inside, puppy. I wanna make you cum while you’re inside.” She whispers in a sultry voice as her mouth travels up my forearm.
“Fuck. Fuck, I wanna cum inside you, too. Please.”
She presses the flat of her tongue at my wrist, just to feel my body bear down into hers. As my muscles tense and thighs clench, I feel her hips rutting into me.
“You get so- so worked up when I touch you.” She’s stammering her way through moans, speaking into the skin of my hand as she licks and sucks it. “Do you even realize you’re grinding your cock against me?”
“Annie.” I grip her waist hard into mine, rocking my hips back and forth. “Let me. Please.”
“I bet you don’t. I bet you’re too empty and horny from being touched, and you can’t even tell how good you’re fucking me.” She’s right. I’m so fucking empty and I don’t care how my body moves or voice trembles, I want my fingers inside of her. I wanna cum. I wanna make her mine.
She keeps on task, half-praising-half-mocking me even as my hips grind into hers faster and faster. I start to find a rhythm with my thrusts, imagining I was lining up my oversensitive fingers with her dripping cunt, breaching her one at a time and feeling that hot tightness surrounding each nerve. I could feel her pulse, her wetness, her softness, everything I love. The way her body contracts around mine. She’d murmur instructions in my ear, telling me I’m a good worthless little puppy boy. How I’m hers. How my hips would press my own wrist further and further in, back of my hand and front of my packer between us for me to helplessly rut against. God, I would cum in her so deep.
She coils a hand through my hair, tugging my head up to inspect it. I let her observe her full of me, sweating, stammering, and moaning. Brows knit as I concentrate on holding back my orgasm. I have to wait. I need to feel her inside. I have to feel it.
“Please.” I barely make a sound, shaking from exertion.
She roughly grabs my wrist, ignoring the hypersensitivity and licks up my palm with the broad end of her tongue.
My body reacts explosively. I sob and moan, legs clenching together and trembling fiercely. She was smart to grab my wrist so roughly, because my body tries to retract it away on its own, trying desperately to restrain myself from cumming. She keeps going, as my fingers seize and curl, sucking and flicking her tongue over my pointer and ring fingers. In this backwards stone way that only we understand, she’s go giving me head. And I can barely hold on as she edges me.
“Oh, god- oh, god, Annie- Fuck-“ I stammer. My abdominal muscles are contracting so tightly it feels like they’re going to pop. I can feel my boxers getting soaked through, my soft packer sliding up and down the length of me with each stuttering thrust.
She pauses, voice breathy and deep. “Getting your cock nice and wet for me. You ready?”
I can’t even answer with words, and I don’t try. I just moan for her.
“Go ahead, then.” She yanks me by the hair close to her, face to face. She revels in the tears and the flush and the panting. “Fuck me.”
I throw myself from her grasp and yank her by the belt loops ferociously to meet our waists. I cant wait any more, I have to fuck her. And I have my instructions now. I waste no time taking her jeans and boxers off and sliding my fingers in.
I growl when I’m all the way in. It feels like I’ve been imagining, like I’ve begged to get the chance to feel. God. Annie is so good. I press my hand further with my waist, the way I learned to fuck with my hips before I got a strap. It feels basic, primal- the kind of fucking you do when you weren’t planning and packing. The kind of fucking you do when harness be damned, you need to be inside her. Her cunt makes a squelching noise as her back arches completely off the bed. Sometimes it’s nice to see your sexy dom top butch at a loss for words, overwhelmed by the sensation you give. Pride in that look overwhelms me. I know I’m fucking her good, so I fuck harder.
“O-oh my god-“ she grabs my belt loops, pulling me as deep as my hands can possibly go. I curl my fingers gently against her g spot and her mouth flies open. She gasps so beautifully. For as much as she likes to whisper dirty talk into my ear, when I’m fucking her she just wants to moan.
I plant myself face first into her dripping needy cunt, because it’s not enough to just touch her. I need to taste and feel and hear her too. I need to be overwhelmed by the sensation of her.
“Fuck- Mattie-“
She never uses my name. I kind of love it. I pull her down further on my fingers by her shoulder. I may be a bottom, but I spent enough years stone topping to be incredibly gifted in this arena.
She whines and moans. “God, you’re fucking me so good, yes- yes-“ she wraps an arm around the base of my wrist and pumps it up and down, stroking my sensitive forearm in a way that makes my brain short circuit. With focus I can change where I feel sensation in my body, but I have no focus right now. I feel it fucking everywhere. Every nerve in my body is a s tender and electric as my cock right now, and the way she grabs me, pulls me, coats my tongue, clenches down on me- it all feels like I’m being fucked.
I flutter my two fingers, the tip of my ring finger grazing the back of her cervix. God, I’m in so fucking deep. She pulls my hair and whines.
“God, yes- fuck-“
I suck on her clit hard, tasting that tart and almost metallic wetness dripping from her. It tastes different from the rest of her cunt, tastes like getting closer and closer. Fuck, I get lost in the feeling of her on my mouth, now, too. A little stiff and so velvety and soft, she wants it so bad. Her thighs clamp against the sides of my head, smooth soft hairs brushing my neck and shoulders. Every nerve in my body is alive. I can feel it all. The room spins faster ever second.
“Fuck- baby- Ah-“ She pants, voice high and breathy in that way she only is when she’s at her limit. God she sounds so fucking hot.
I press my forehead into her soft belly, feeling the thump of my fingers inside her and the wetness drip from my mouth. “I’m gonna cum inside you baby.”
She goes rhapsodic, screaming please-please-please as she throws back her head and thrashes her spent body around me. I brace down against her hard, feeling her walls contract and throb as her orgasm overtakes her. Fuck. Fuck-
I wrap my arm around her back and pull her even further into me. I need to cum inside her so fucking deep. Oh my god. My body trembles. I’m full of electricity. My body is glittering at every touch and noise and- fuck. My hips and my packer and my fingers and my mouth, all of it cums at once.
The room is all the way upside down when I hear her voice again, gently cooing “Breathe, puppy.”
I try, unaware I had stopped. I’m gulping down shallow breaths of cool air. When did the room get so cold? Why is it spinning around the axis of the beautiful, wonderful butch who just made cum so hard I cried?
Annie is stroking my hair. I had finished with my face down at her hips, so I look up at her from where I’m lying.
“Hi.” She smiles. “You okay?”
I give a limp thumbs up. I’m still passed out on her bare skin, but way too out of it to move on my own. She drips off my chin.
She scratches my cropped hair just behind my ear. “You’re so cute. You get so stupid when you cum.”
“Uh-uh” I shake my head, bonking her bare thigh. “M’ stupid before I cum, too.”
Annie laughs, dragging my towards her for lots of little kisses. I flip myself over onto my back. I prefer my partner to be lying on me, the pressure of their body just feels nice that way. She snakes our legs together.
“You’re so haaandsome. You got cum all over you but you’re still so haaaaansome.” She nuzzles her forehead into my shoulder. Such a sap, this guy. Would never have guessed from all the academic posturing and tough butch persona.
I roll my eyes. I’ve never been good at taking compliments. “You too.”
“Hey, um. Matt.” She hides the bottom of her face in our mess of arms and hair and body.
“Hmm?”
“Can we be dating now?” She looks away, embarrassed.
“Aw, we’re you waiting to make me cum to ask me?” I kiss the bridge of her nose. “We have been. I was waiting for you to notice.”
She buries her face completely in my chest. “So are you my boyfriend, then?”
“Woah! Whatever happened to taking it slow? That skips like, two steps in one!” I kiss her forehead, grinning.
“I meant what word do you prefer.”
“Still, though. That’s a bigger commitment than dating.”
“Well maybe I’m tired of not being committed to you. Maybe I just like you a whole stupid lot. And I want you to be my girlfriend. Or boyfriend. Or partner I guess. As long as you’re not anybody else’s.”
“Boyfriend.” I smile. “Boyfriend works for me.”
We fall asleep there, and when I get up later in the night she doesn’t have to pretend to be asleep when’s he says ‘baby love, please stay.’ And so I stay.
#stone butch#stone lesbian#butch4butch#lesbian nsft#butch nsft#nonbinary lesbian#transmasc lesbian#my text#butch lesbian#spent smoke…. 2!#seriously I love these chars and their whole dynamic#also wanted to write something about stones having different ways of feeling pleasure#I feel like we forget that there’s other parts of the body that can be stimulated besides genitals#and for some stones it feels way better than genital stimulation ever could#anyway. hope u enjoyed. I’ll be back with more soon so give me recs pls
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Hi! I've seen a lot of conversations going on about the Milo x Mal poly route and heard you mention self-insert a few times. I'm not sure about others, but I feel like what is off putting is more so the elimination of choice since it's not common amongst IF's as far as I've seen, but I'm not trying to rag on you for making that decision! I just think we're used to making up our own MC's and having freedom to control a lot of aspects of the story, especially when it comes to romance. That being said, look at Soul Stone Wars and Their Majesties Pleasures. EXCELLENT poly routes and I can't imagine playing through them any other way. I think people just need to be more patient and see how it plays out. We haven't interacted at all with the 2 of them together. Books, specifically IF, is actually what opened up my mind to polyamory and I'm excited to see what you do with it. I won't lie, I'm still hesitant but I think the super emotional ending and cliffhanger of book 1 just has people having really strong feelings about it. Feel free to ignore this rant lol I don't mean to give unsolicited opinions and hope this didn't come off as me trying to get you to change your mind. I think you're doing something right if you have us going through so much emotional turmoil over your story 😂
So self insert is kind of the way I use to describe the two very broad types of IF's out there. Of course there is more going into it but I do need to make it clear that while most IF's do not consider MC as a character, I do. It's a different kind of writing than some of the other more popular games out there and I like to remind people of that just in case they are expecting the same from me.
Personally, yes I am eliminating a choice that some readers want but it is not a choice that I want to write. It doesn't feel right to my characters. And I know that is going to irritate some people but I think it is important for readers to remember (this is not directed at you anon) that authors are trying to write the stories they are passionate about. If authors just catered to what the popular vote was for what people wanted out there, we would have a very narrow field of fiction to consume.
Now, I understand that might seem a bit more of a shaky argument when it comes to a game that has choices for you to make. But if an author does not feel strongly about a choice, they shouldn't have to write it. And if I get bad reviews on my game and writing for that? I feel that is far more a reflection on others than me. It also kind of reaffirms that I'm doing what is right for my game. Because sometimes, when shaking up the status quo, people get a little up in arms about it.
I am glad you are excited to see what is to come. I am hopeful this weird poly hate will die down. I am not forcing anyone to romance Milo and have wonderful other options in the game. At this point, it just kind of feels like an attack on the community than anything else.
#the night market#answering your asks#poly#here we go again#i'll wait while I get more hate mail for this answer lol
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Asking for a second round for the kinks
What about Lactophilia, Negotation and Pegging with croco, doffy and corazon
That list Is so usefull >3
I almost answered this as soon as I saw it and I was like - no, no Quin you gotta do some writing ( and I did! and today has been a pita, so I'm going to answer this and unwind).
I almost wanted to lump "Negotiation" and say "all OP characters negotiate properly because it's a foundational rule of BDSM and kinks" - but! I realized two things: 1 - not all OP characters are non-toxic, and 2 - there's a lot of variance in how negotiations can be handled, so we can do that \o/
I'd do this by Character, but I kind of want to do it by Kink - I think it'll be better for the subtle differences between Sir Crocodile and Doflamingo (who are very similar), and also help highlight the dichotomy between Doflamingo and Rosinante.
*puts on glasses* Lacto-philia - well, I don't need to look this one up (go-go root word language course from college) - this is the enjoyment of breast milk. Kin-kay <3
Lactophilia -
Sir Crocodile: I dunno - Croco just doesn't strike as a "drink from the source" kind of guy, and while I could see him utilizing any lactation on his partner's part in some kind of kink session I feel like it would be tied to humiliation more than lactation. But it would also depends on his partners reaction to their own lactation.
If any part of it makes them uncomfortable in that "we're not talking about neutral or sexy embarrassment kind of way" then he's not going to force things.
Doflamingo: Sure - A "try something one, more and more if he likes it" kind of guy, I think Doffy would be open to experimenting when the opportunity arose. He would, at the bare minimum, enjoy groping and teasing your breasts until he figured out how everything worked. Whether it was caused by birth control or pregnancy he would have a justification for it - something to either quiet your false protests, or something to quiet your legitimate ones.
Doffy wants to see you squirm - canon universe or not, it's not like you can run from him if he makes you uncomfortable. (Doflamingo is such a yandere, and I think he'd openly admit to it too.)
Rosinante: Yes to FUCK Yes - Corazon certainly wants a family, whether he thinks he deserves on or not, or whether he could ever have one, is a completely different discussion, but things surrounding the building of a family certain get his motor running. There's reasons more than just pregnancy that can cause lactation, but whatever the cause it'll be the connection the younger Donquixote can't help but make.
He may sate his kink privately if you're not comfortable with it, but it's more likely that he'll be showering you with praise and assurances and compliments, trying his best to validate your feelings toward it while trying to help you become more comfortable with it. He is a drink from the source kind of guy if you'll let him, and honestly he just wants to lavish you with pleasure. (Rosi is 100% here for the whole Worship your body vibe).
Negotiation -
Sir Crocodile: This is hard to assign a rank to, but we'll go with a Yes for Crocodile. He's here for communication, and he'll respect your boundaries (much as he can), and he's certainly not against writing up a contract. There's no need to be so formal between lovers, but he also understands the comfort that can come from such a document. Mind yourself if you agree to one, this is a business man, you're only a tick or two away from making a deal with the devil if you put things into writing. Verbal arrangements are far more flexible, and Crocodile takes contracts seriously.
The are amendable, though, you're not etching things into stone. People and circumstances change, after all.
Doflamingo: Oh god you don't even know - you want to make a contract with Donquixote Doflamingo? I think I'd rather bury an offering at the crossroads and deal with an actual devil. Every word of the contract will be abided by, you can be assured. That means you better know every word in that contract too, and not just definition 1 of those words, but definition 2 and the biblical interpretations while you're at it.
Doffy's hot button is manipulation, and if you're going to sign your life away to his whims he won't pass it up. But, he's not entirely unreasonable - he won't force you to sign a contract. He's fine with verbal agreements, and he's even likely to abide your cute little safe words too, so long as you don't displease him. You're his favorite little distraction (or his sweet true love), he wants you to be happy.
Rosinante: Sure? - Rosi will sit down and work out all the kinky details of your relationship on paper if you want. He'll also be amenable to having conversation before and after each session, putting safe words into play, and even some back up safe-sounds/actions in case words are failing you.
Pegging -
Sir Crocodile: No - Absolutely not. Exit only. Not his thing. Not even willing to try. You may, might, possibly be able to beg him to try it once, if it's something you're absolutely dying to try at least once. He *may* like it, his opinion may change, but he may also avoid you for a couple days while he tries to shake it off and reclaim his dignity.
Control is a big thing for him, and it's hard to be in control in that situation.
(I need to admit I am a big, horrible fan of Croco x Doffy, I love them, and I generally prefer Croc as the bottom, but! (heh, butt) in an x reader context my head canon is what it is XD ).
Doflamingo: Sure - You give what you get, or get what you give in this case. It better be something you're comfortable with cause he's not going to be the only one receiving. And it may only be once or twice. Doffy likes his control, and more than that he likes manipulating people. The likelihood that he's manipulated you into pegging him is low, but he's a kinky bastard, so he's certainly not averse to the idea.
Gods help you if you can't please him while doing it though.
Rosinante: Yes - I'm undecided if Rosi is switchy when it comes to dom/sub dynamics, but I do think he is very much a switch for top/bottom dynamics. He'll give and receive for just about any situation and kink, with very few exceptions. For him the point is pleasure, his and yours, maybe more yours than his, but not so much that you catch onto him pampering you. If you want to peg him, he's just going to make sure it's good for both of you, whatever accessories end up being needed.
Kinky One Piece Head Canon
#kinky one piece head canon#sir crocodile#donquixote doflamingo#donquixote rosinante#donquixote corazon#x reader#sir crocodile x reader#doflamingo x reader#rosinante x reader
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liner notes/unused joke summaries for kiss fics (part vii)
Despite what my general dislike of the shift key and my tendency to mock all that I love might imply, I actually overthink everything I write to a great extent. I make no claims to these explanations being in any way enjoyable, but if you wanted to know what I was thinking while writing KISS fic… now you do. Part one can be found here. Part two is here. Part three is here. Part four is here. Part five is here.
shock them, show them --Ace and Paul have smoking hot lesbian sex just like in a drive-in movie theater porno. Well. Except for the part where Ace makes Paul sing "Shock Me" acapella, post-coital.
>>Ace/Paul is one of my not-so-guilty pleasures and they just have a fun dynamic. It had been a long time since I'd written the pairing, and I really enjoyed Ace's lack of pretense and impatience with Paul's stress and tendency to overanalyze. I also enjoyed small bits, like the fact that even though Paul tells him they'll go again if he (Paul) gets eaten out first, Ace doesn't ever eat him out, and that Paul initially refuses the thought of scissoring only to get really into it not too long after.
Other things I liked: Paul feeling more masculine/more himself around Ace (after all that time with Gene), and managing to seduce him a bit. Title is, of course, another lyric from the Stones' "Little T&A."
little rock 'n' roll --Paul spends five days doing almost nothing in the wake of getting turned into a girl by a vengeful groupie by way of a demon. Besides try to masturbate.
>>I had written this out in part a long, long time ago mostly as a writing exercise for myself while writing "little t&a," but as it kept expanding, I decided someone might find it interesting enough to actually post. I wanted the freedom to explore some really weird things-- I don't think Marbas had anything to do with the dreams Paul was having, but that's up to interpretation. I wanted to work with Paul's poorly-established sense of self and his own issues with sexuality/gender, which was mostly accomplished through the dream sequences where he was, in effect, reinterpreting parts of his life with a female lens, and (poorly) addressing things he had latent issues with (his own bisexuality and femininity). Also, I just found the body horror aspect interesting to explore and the difference Paul experienced in how other people were treating him, especially when he was alone.
catch my drift --Gene manages to bed one of the hottest women of the eighties after nerding out about Lon Chaney movies.
>>I really wrote this in an attempt to fully get at what it's like to be around Gene Simmons as a woman and get a sense of his presence/confidence as he's really... the guy is something else, all the rumors are true, etc. etc. etc. He has ridiculous eye contact, he pays ridiculous amounts of attention to everything you say, and he acts extremely invested in what you have to say. Yes, it's because he wants money/sex/etc. out of you, but boy, the times I have seen and the time I have met him, I have fully understood exactly how he got so many women. I don't think I fully encapsulated it in the story, but I tried!
I hesitated to finish and post it, too, because Vanity in real life was extremely troubled and, in the early nineties, changed her life very dramatically and became a preacher, so I worried that writing about her during this point in her life would come off as if I was disrespecting her and ignoring her later choices to focus on a period she wasn't proud of. I thought about it and then decided that if her story was one she was willing to share in her autobiography and in public (in some amount of detail), then, well, I was probably okay to go ahead with it. Vanity's eighties lifestyle was not sustainable on any front and she battled addiction, eventually getting clean in the nineties after some serious health consequences. I'm proud of her for that.
c'mon, get your feet wet --Ace lets Peter hit it from the back, until he decides he'd rather him hit it from the front. Then he meets Marbas, who doesn't bother trying to convince him he'd be better off with tiny boobs.
>>I find Ace really funny even in the face of situations that are terrible. You get the impression in interviews and even in behind the scenes stuff that a part of him is always dryly laughing at how everything has turned out and that he's basically along for the ride even in his own life, for better or for worse. Ace's rockstar insulation isn't that thick, really, and he's at least somewhat self-aware.
That being said, his dynamic with Peter meant that he couldn't manage to goof around and act like things weren't bothering him, which meant he kept trying to turn to drugs and alcohol instead. He's only aware he has a problem that can't be laughed off in the context of where he would be without the creature comforts of being a rock star. An alcoholic drug addict twenty-something girl with no money or family will end up in an objectively worse position financially and physically than an alcoholic drug addict twenty-something multimillionaire (or at least millionaire at that point) rockstar guy. Marbas points out he's set to lose everything anyway, but of course once he's gone, Ace can push all that aside again.
Ace isn't focused on trying to be a girl (for whatever that means) or what that means or anything along those lines. He doesn't have Paul's relatively weak sense of self and nothing about staying like he is is enticing for him. Ace doesn't care about that and all he cares about are the limitations of his current position and the ramifications.
I had a hard time with this piece for a very long time because I didn't feel like I was making it hot enough at all, and when I just gave up on that aspect, the fic managed to come together in an evening (after being on the backburner for months and months). The shower scene was hard up until that point-- once I embraced that Ace would never not be falling over in the shower, it was fine. Peter doesn't really have a whole lot to do beyond treat Ace right, but I wanted him to still feel like Peter.
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blood4blood was a little under two weeks of work; i really want to try and push myself to make shorter text games with strict deadlines, as opposed to my longer, more elaborate games. i was inspired to make this mainly when i saw strawberry jam, and i decided to make something that i could also submit to queer vampire jam. i set out to showcase two polar opposites of the lesbian sex experience, with a stone main character, and the added complexity of vampirism. not all-encompassing by any means, but i enjoy writing the kind of sex that i personally feel doesn't get represented properly (if at all) in more mainstream media.
i'm going to talk a bit about both blood4blood and bleeding heart under the cut
if you've read any of my other more recent work then at this point it's very obvious i love lesbian vampires. "reclaiming" feels too strong of a word, but i do like using this typically negative archetype of the lesbian vampire and giving a more nuanced depiction of it; the exploration of what society has deemed "monstrous." the fear of being predatory, the fear of hunger, desire, and sex, the potential for harm that every person carries. vampirism is very versatile as a metaphor.
i think of one of the scenes in stone butch blues, when Jess is first learning about butch/femme dynamics and sex, and Jacqueline tells her that she has the potential to make a woman feel both pleasure and pain, and knowing that, and knowing the difference, is what would make her a good lover.
i like depicting vampirism in this way. and i've ranted previously about why i dislike "ethical vampires" and this is why: because it's a metaphor!
in Bleeding Heart, Cecilia grievously harms her brother, potentially killing him, and can also kill Sawhill or Emina. yes, in the narrative she kills them, but it's not meant to be read so cut and dry.
i didn't want Sawhill (or even her brother) to be these Evil figures oppressing Cecilia, i wanted her killing Sawhill to feel kind of bad; he was misguided, but he was doing what he thought was right, and he did really love Cecilia. but it doesn't matter, because Cecilia can't love him in the way that he wants, and her telling him that, and being true to her nature, is what kills him. as someone who is still one foot in the closet myself, there's this looming threat over coming out. it can destroy relationships: with family, friends, coworkers. people will look at you differently, people may hate you, cut you off, disown you. while we live in a more accepting society now, this potential backlash and violence is still very real for a lot of people, and that's what i wanted to allude to. Sawhill is dead to Cecilia, both literally and metaphorically, because he cannot accept her.
and killing Sawhill causes a domino effect: Emina steps in to protect Cecilia, triggering the realization in her that she really is just like Cecilia. if Cecilia does not kill Sawhill, this doesn't happen, and Emina runs off, because she's not ready to face who she is in the way that Cecilia has done - Emina is trapped by Sawhill's expectations of her as his servant. Cecilia can even go so far as to kill Emina in her anger, by essentially trying to force her "out of the closet." all the while Darcy is there watching, ever present, this aspect of Cecilia that she can no longer repress.
in blood4blood, when writing Noor's route, i wanted both the player character and Noor to hold some kind of power. both can make the other feel good - both can make the other hurt. but in the end, they both lay everything out on the table, and choose to trust each other.
with Ramone, her and the pc are both butch, they are both vampires, they both feel like they have this inherent predatoriness to their desires and attraction. they've isolated themselves. but together they talk openly about what they like and don't like, and find pleasure in a way they both enjoy.
of course i could write these stories without including vampires, but i like the severity that it brings to the narrative. maybe it's dramatic, but i think it really emphasizes how dark and difficult these feelings can be for some people; it's not so easy to shrug off and ignore, it really does feel like you're cursed, that there's something wrong with you. and i like taking that and saying yes, there is something wrong with me; it will always be this way so long as society remains rigid and oppressive as it is. you know?
anyways. i love lesbian vampires 🖤
#i've been wanting to talk abt bleeding heart for a while hehe#i have so many thots abt lesbianism and vampirism and just monsters and queer identity in general#i hope my work acheives even a little of what im aiming for#my writing
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Faerûnian February Writing Challenge: Day 7
A little late, but I've had this scene bouncing around in my head for a while, so I wanted to write it!
SFW / Gale x Female OC / angsty fluff
(Also I have not even proofread this so lol sorry)
Feb 7. A heated argument
Gale crouched down next to her. “My love… are you alright?”
Elspeth held the last of the Netherstones in her hand, Orin’s body now a mere pile of viscera at her feet. The stone, the blood on her skin, the pools of it all around this wretched place… the red was overwhelming, sickening. She felt disconnected from her body–an empty husk for whom murder had become second nature. She wondered what life was like for a Bhaalspawn, for Orin and many others throughout history. To be born and bred to kill with pleasure. Did they ever feel this numbness? Was it beaten out of them? Did they ever feel remorse?
She nodded blankly and rose to her feet. “Let’s get out of here.”
The sun was setting, its bright orange light blinding as they crawled out of the sewers. They made their way back to the Elfsong in near-silence, all of them knowing that the final fight was inevitable now. That the next day may very well be their last. Gale held Elspeth’s hand the entire walk, a gesture which brought her a sad sense of comfort. She held back the warm tears threatening to burst forth, at least until they weren’t in public.
After bathing and eating dinner, all of the companions gathered in the sitting area of their suite, desks and small tables dragged into the center as they went over their final strategy for defeating the brain. There were still so many variables, so many unknowns that couldn’t be determined until they were there, face-to-face with the elder brain.
“We position ourselves like we always do,” Wyll said. “Swords in front, spellcasters in back.”
“No,” Lae’zel argued. “Too predictable.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
Everyone began chiming in, speaking over each other, throwing out ideas and what-ifs, until the room settled back into quiet. The truth of the matter was that there was no way to sufficiently plan for something they couldn’t assess beforehand. It’s how much of their journey had been so far, but this felt different. More terrifying.
“There is a simpler option,” Gale said from Elspeth’s side.
“No.”
“El, we have to consider it. If anything as a last resort.”
“No,” she said again. “Absolutely not.”
“I agree with El,” Karlach added from across the table. “You’re not blowing yourself up, Mystra be damned.”
“It wouldn’t be for Mystra,” he said. “It would be for all of you. For the greater good of Faerûn.”
“It’s not an option, Gale.” Elspeth looked down at the wood of the table in front of her, the flicker of the fireplace reflecting on its polished surface.
“I don’t want to die, El,” he argued. “But we’d be foolish not to at least consider it.”
She raised her head to look at him, a lump forming in her throat when she saw the desperate look in his eyes.
“If you use the orb, then I’m coming with you.”
“I won’t let you do that, El.”
“Fine. Then it’s not an option.” She rose from her chair. “This discussion is over. We don’t have a plan, and we won’t have a plan. We never have.”
Elspeth walked behind Gale’s chair to leave, but he got up quickly and followed her as she stormed away.
“Elspeth, please. I don’t want to upset you.”
She spun around to face him, tears flowing freely now, her chest feeling like she had a Netherese orb of her own. She had never been angry with Gale, not once in all these months. But now her hands trembled, her skin heated, and she could hear her own pulse in her ears.
“We’ve been through this, Gale,” she choked out. “You told me that you’d choose to be here with me over everything.”
“And I do, El,” he pleaded. “I don’t want to do it, but it may be the only way–”
“Then what about me? You blow yourself up, you save the city, and then what? I’m alone. The love of my life is dead, and I have nothing to live for. I know that’s selfish, but I can’t live my life without you.” Her last words came out as a mere whisper. All of the emotions she’d been holding back were tumbling out of her, and she couldn’t stop the sobs from overtaking her body. She felt weak, could feel herself struggling to stay upright, but Gale caught her before she had a chance to fall. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed her head to his chest.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I can’t bear to see you so distraught, especially when I’m the cause.” He picked her up, hoisting her legs on either side of his torso as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He sat her down gently on their shared bed.
“Please,” she said, almost inaudibly.
Gale lifted her chin and she met his teary eyes with her own.
“I love you,” he said. “I will choose you now and forever. Forget the orb. We’ll do this the old fashioned way: with spells and swords. And when it’s over, and we’re alive, we can begin our own story. One of simple pleasures and true love to rival all the fairytales combined.”
She leaned forward and kissed him softly, the salt from their mingled tears on her lips.
“Besides,” he said. “I promised you a home-cooked dinner. And I plan on living up to that promise.”
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🏴☠️...overall ship...🏴☠️
@quruxbadan
okay you took overall and made it overall, i actually feel so emotional rn you are the perfect request holy shit!
it was the least i could do to make this the most perfect overall ship request in overall history!
and thank you so so much for the sky pics! you know the way to my heart for real
wren xx
~ateez~ hongjoong🏴☠️
I need to shout it from the rooftops, HEY EVERYONE I JUST FOUND HONGJOONG’S WIFEY!!!! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Okay seriously, I read this absolute gem of a description and I got so happy because I knew I would be shipping one of the coolest people I have ever had the pleasure of shipping with the coolest idol ever. I will try my best to express the admiration I have for both of you, it’s almost as if the gods carved you from the same stone, I truly haven’t seen anybody who would suit this man as much as you. There would such a strong connection, Hongjoong needs someone like you, someone who would be able to put up with him, but not in the way that you are very passive and go along with everything he says. You give him the spice in his life that he used to write Bouncy, even though you are fairly shy there is something so distinct about you and it makes Hongjoong swoon each time. Even though you really don’t need anyone’s validation since you are already so cool, Hongjoong swears you tick off all the things he wants in a relationship, and he knows it will be one that lasts.
I will get into the personality section soon, but appearance wise I am biased and just think both of you are so attractive and as a couple you would look so attractive. I think it’s your smile but you seriously look like Nayeon from Twice and that visual composition would be so beautiful, I imagine you standing next to him and I cry. You both have the nicest cheekbones I have ever seen and just looking at you side by side I feel like you were both made with time and precision. Your visuals are quite different but you both have such intriguing eyes and it’s impossible to look away, your faces are so beautiful like how many different ways can I say that. I just can’t get over the fact that your visuals are contrasting but you both have the same type of beauty.
If anyone isn’t convinced by how good a visual match you are let them read what I have to say next. Both of you have this really cool personality, you’re both very charismatic and happy go-lucky but there is a very deep side to you that is very apparent, it’s most visible in your eyes. There is something that tells me that you are both wise beyond your years and that both of you are made to do something great in this world. This habit of having such deep and to-yourself moments is actually a factor that the two of you would connect over. Hongjoong is all too familiar with the moments where emotions slip and you want to be alone, he has his moments too but his love for you is so damn powerful, he wouldn’t let you be alone, he wouldn’t pester you but he would just sit there and hold you close.
I could write a whole essay but I’ll try fit it into the 600-word limit. Hongjoong is a very persistent person, he is also very observant. So, the majority of his love language would be him admiring how much you shine when you’re happy so he could later remind you of each thing that he loves about you. There is this very special dynamic where he will let you be a strong, independent woman but he will also protect you and dote over you. He is a short king but he has some dominance in the way he truly wants you to feel protected within the relationship. And the last thing I will mention is that he loves anything you do but he is a fool for how talented and creative you are. He would cherish the parfums you make for him, he’d wear them like a badge of honour, just like the earrings he would ask you to make him. And he would totally brag about how his earrings are one of a kind and not for sale anywhere.
I went over the word limit for sure but there is such a beautiful sense of companionship that the two of you have. It is cheesy as all hell but Hongjoong would embrace the fact that the strong, lonely captain found the right-hand woman of his dreams.
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Sorry, sorry if this question is poorly worded, but english is not my first language, but I love everything you write, you're great. I also have an idea in my head, but I can't write anything. Could you write me something where Bruce is Tim's biological father, is very possessive of him, and have a relationship.
thank you so much!!! I'm so happy you enjoy my work!! 🥰 and anon you might have the best timing I've ever seen!! I just finished a thread just like this based on a sinailr concept of bio dad bruce having a relationship ship with tim from these few tweets from this Twitter user!!!
❤️❤️❤️ talk about knocking out two birds with one stone ❤️❤️❤️
----
bruce has never felt for someone the way he has for tim. with dick, with jason: being their father had been different. it had felt different. there was something about tim that just filled bruce with some kind of satisfaction.
maybe it was because they were fucking. it hadn't been on purpose, bruce wasn't some depraved monster that was just waiting on the opportunity to prey on an unsupervised child.
but bruce he...after jason... he hadn't been in a good place. the world had been dark and he'd felt so hopeless. tim had squirmed in and in the beginning bruce had resented him. he'd hated him. wanted him gone. bruce didn't remember their first time. the alcohol had hazed his mind, blurred his memory.
when he woke up with tim on his lap, his softened cock nestled into a little wet pussy and soft snoring pressed to his chest. bruce should've been horrified. he should've been disgusted. but instead he'd stared. stared at where they were joined and at the dried spurts of cum coloring his cock and tim's cunt.
tim woke up slowly, lips smacking with drool and lifting his head up to stare at bruce who was silently watching him.
bruce should've taken that serious, grave and asked tim if he was alright. if he could tell him what happened.
instead all he could pay attention to was the shift of warm walls wrapped around his cock. tim was so stretched and sloppy around him and he was already wet with bruce's cum so he'd just...
tim had looked so good getting fucked on bruce's office floor. his head had been thrown back, mouth open and gasping on his moans as bruce brutally fucked him. every bit of hurt, rage and anguish was pumped into tim's needy little pussy until bruce was cumming so hard he could barely feel the hole in his chest.
and afterwards...when the clarity returned to him. when he looked down and saw what he’d done. tim reddened and split open pussy drolling white, hot cum down his thighs, all he could feel was a sense of fulfillment. of accomplishment and lax pleasure.
maybe using sex to heal from trauma wasn't the best thing to do. maybe using the kid that he took under his wing made him a monster. but after a few weeks, he and tim developed into something...something more.
they worked together better, understood each other on a deeper level. they had things in common, interests and hobbies. they liked the same foods, disliked the same people. maybe it wouldve been easier to keep his distance like he’d been planning if he and tim didn't...get along so well.
bruce likes seeing tim, likes talking and interacting with him. the sex only gets better the closer they grow. it numbs bruce from the moments where he's reminded of jason but it also fills him with so much...arousal.
seeing as tim bends over for him, gets on his knees for him, spread his legs. bruce injects tim every other month with enough hormones to ensure he won't get pregnant. it's the easiest method they can get away with because alfred checks the medical supplies.
he'd see the birth control pills or the condoms but also....
bruce likes how it feels. he likes the hot grip of tim's unprotected pussy. he likes soaking his walls with enough cum to have it leaking out of the side of his cock that he plugs in him.
and tim doesn't mind. he hums in pleasure, makes soft noises as bruce presses down on his lower gut, right over his womb so he watch cum drip out of him in an obscene way. in reward for letting him cum as deep and often as he wants, bruce massages tim's little pink clit.
he fondles it until tim’s hips are squirming, trying to escape his hands, white pearly tears dripping down his cheeks as he whines "bruce! bruce! bruce!". bruce couldn't help the odd feeling that flooded him at the sound of his name coming from tim's pretty mouth. it's not that he didn't like it. but something about it felt...off.
he and tim have been sharing a bed for months when bruce is doing a routine health check on tim's. it's performed once a year and is similar to a physical. it's the first one tim's had since becoming robin.
bruce isn't even paying attention, he's working on something else while waiting for results from tim's blood test to come up. he's testing for hCG while he's at it too not that bruce thinks something mightve gotten messed up.
but it's better to be on top of that sort of thing. he and tim have been having sex A LOT. almost a few times every other day and bruce doesn't exactly hold back from cumming inside him. in fact bruce is waiting for tim to come back from school. he's been nursing a half hard cock most of the day since he woke up.
normally he'd press tim's sleeping thighs open and fuck him awake, cumming deep enough into him he'd be leaking all day. but it had been a long night.
tim's parents had returned for a week so tim spent time over there instead of the manor.
so bruce got used to sleeping in a bit later and ended up waking up after tim had already left. bruce was lost in thought when the results chimed in with results.
a gray box stating tim's blood had (2) matches on record appeared on the screen, which had bruce frowning because his data bank only had a specific brand of people loaded up on it. people he'd personally input himself.
bruce opens it and immediatly recalls a habit he'd gotten into when he 'fucked up'. that being having unprotected sex. bruce couldn't have his DNA on record because the risk of someone picking up a sample of his as batman after a rough fight and getting a match. it was too high.
so when bruce was younger and messed up with his various hookups he'd steal a swap or two and take a little blood to test for diseases in the cave. it was good practice for the newly put in forensic system and it saved him a trip to leslie.
bruce never worried about pregnancy because it was high society and wealthy, cultured women he fucked. women with careers and ambitions and babies just didn't fit into those plans. most used birth control. janet drake, it seemed, hadn't.
bruce remembered her. well actually he remembered the sweet cocktails on her tongue as they'd drunkenly hooked up in the hall outside a party. a drunken fuck. bruce too blitzed to remember it. it's ironic almost. like mother like son.
bruce stares at the match for "maternal line" and then let his eyes drift to the "paternal line" match. he should be sickened. he should be putting his hands on his knees and heaving with vomit burning at the back of his throat.
but all he can feel is a vague feeling of victory.
bruce hadn’t been happy when tim's parents returned. he especially hadn't been happy listening as tim babbled on about his dad and all the things he promised to do with tim now that he was back in town.
bruce had dismissed the strange feeling in his gut as discomfort from the fresh memory of his and jason's relationship but now he could identify that bitter tang in the back of his throat. jealousy. anger. frustration. it was why he'd kept tim on his cock the entire day leading up to his return to his home next door.
something about jack had tickled something in bruce. alerted a feeling of possessiveness in him because try as he might, tim belonged to jack first. he came from jack's seed, was raised by his hand, he was the one tim tripped over himself to follow and greet with a wide smile.
but that wasn't true was it?
bruce was deleting the results, removing the parameter to find matches automatically from the system. he didn't think of what tim would think, didn't want to risk the chance that he'd want to stop what they were doing.
not when bruce...not when he finally found what he needed. he'd lost his child and maybe through some screwed up twist of fate a son was being returned to him.
something in his had 'clicked' when he saw those results.
his and tim's overwhelming similarities. that odd connection he'd felt for tim that he hadn't for dick or jason. the way his hands gripped and held tim when they fucked. making him take all of him, trying to stake a claim even when he knew he had a father.
well. not really. jack was more of a...fill in. he didn't have more of a right to tim than anyone else, certainly not more than bruce who knew tim. in the biblical sense.
bruce never mentions it. if anything he hides it. tim never seems to view bruce as anything other than a mentor but...eventually...after jack and janet pass and tim is as lost as bruce was after jason died. then. THEN he sees bruce as the father he always was.
and bruce cannot express the joy and satisfaction that overflows in him when tim first claws at him, scrambling for purchase and crying out "daddy! daddy!" with tears streaming down as bruce fucks into his little cunt.
tim had shivered and gasped, clenching around him so tightly when bruce first groaned in his ear, asking him to "tell daddy how good it feels". tim's cunt had gotten so sloppy and wet when bruce started stroking tim, calling him his sweet baby boy. cupping his tits and kissing them. asking if he liked when daddy kissed his little tits.
pressing fingers into him and asking him if he liked when daddy touched him 'down there'. bruce could see the desperation grow on tim's face. with every hitch of his breath and arch into bruce's body. every strained nod and broken moan.
until finally. finally. bruce's efforts were rewarded.
tim was sobbing, cheeks red and legs spread open obscenely, his pussy was sucking bruce in and coating it in clear slick from his gushing pretty cunt.
"oh my baby, you take me so good," bruce praised in his ear. he was pressing tim into the mattress, rocking their bodies together and holding back the heat bubbling in him as gripped tims hips to fuck him deeper.
"oh you're being so good for daddy, taking his cock, you want my cum baby? you want daddy to cum in you?"
tim's eyes were rolled to the back of his skull. his mouth was open only capable of letting out choked whines. bruce's cock was snug inside tim, stretching him out.
bruce could feel his cock was right at the base of tim's womb, head right against the cervix as he idly thrusted in. one of bruce's hands was tightly gripping tim's tit, squeezing it and digging hard fingers in until tim weakly moaned.
bruce couldn't get off until he heard tim beg him to cum inside, until he begged his daddy to fuck him hard, to finish in him. bruce had thoughts of one of the times taking. of him knocking tim up with both his grandchild and child. tim being pregnant with both his sibling and baby.
bruce fucked in a little deeper at the thought and tim jolted, his little pussy clenched and contracted around bruce. he opened up so easy as bruce fed more cock into him.
bruce had gotten tim's cunt used to the stretch of him. before it used to be a struggle to fuck in and bottom out but now bruce could slide in and tim fit like a glove. all snug and hot and wet.
"you don't let anyone but daddy fuck you do you?" bruce let out a breathless sigh at the tight grip tim had on his cock. fuck he was getting so close. "only daddy can put anything inside you-"
fingers, a tongue, cock, a fucking baby.
tim was his. all his. whether he knew the extent of which that was true or not. no one could ever have tim like bruce did, not when he was made from bruce’s very DNA.
constructed in his image and perfect. meant for this. meant for bruce. tim has been squirming more at his words, gasping and letting out choked groans as he tried to fuck down on the cock lodged inside him.
"b-bruce!! nnnmmm please! bru-"
"that's not my name," bruce replied even as he felt his balls clench tight. " you know what to say to get what you want baby."
bruce followed with a tender stroke of tim's cheek and tim broke.
"daddy!" tim was on the verge of wailing, his eyes scrunched and forehead creased in pleasure as he felt bruce rear back. "daddy please mmmnn please! PLEASE!"
there's something sick in bruce. broken even. bruce lost something when jason died, something that turned him into a man that would do this. that would gleefully swallow his child whole.
bruce covers tim's body with his as they cum together because they only ever cum together. he buries his moans in tim's tender throat as he bursts pure white into his young womb.
tim arches his hips off the bed, legs wrapped tightly around bruce's waist to keep him inside, so addicted to the pleasure of orgasms ripping through him with bruce tucked inside and warming him from within.
tim sobs, little sounds interspersed with pleading whines of 'daddy' as bruce grunts. fireworks flying behind his eyelids as he releases into tim, filling him to the brim with the same hot cum that made him.
"baby," bruce moans, repeating it like a broken record. cradling tim closer as he thrust in at another burst of cum. "my baby, fuck nnnmm yes, yes nnngh take me, take all of me-"
tim exists because of him, for him.
he's bruce's. only bruce's.
bruce lets out a drawn out moan, swallowing his son's sobbing cries with his mouth and swirling his tongue in that hot, sweet mouth.
all of of tim was HIS. and bruce would make sure to enjoy every bit.
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Books I Read in 2023
#10 - Beyond This Dark House, by Guy Gavriel Kay
Rating: 4/5 stars
I've always struggled to write reviews of poetry collections, much the same way I do about short story volumes. Inevitably, I like some poems/stories and don't like others, and sometimes the difference between quality and likeability from best to worst (or favorite to least favorite) is so vast that rating the work as a whole seems meaningless.
When I was a teenager, my mother was going through some of her old notebooks and found one where she had copied out her favorite poems from a wide variety of poets, back in college. Before that I knew my mom was a voracious reader (I got that from her) but I hadn't known she had ever been interested in poetry, so that's when I got into it, too. I read it, I wrote it (usually poorly), I bought a blank book from a bookstore and copied out my own favorites, and ended up taking a few college courses on it despite my science-based major.
I tell this story to say, I'm not sure if I still had that book that any of these poems would get copied. (I don't have it, and I think it was full anyway.) But I did enjoy many of them, and as a collection divided into parts with clear thematic links, this might be the most successful grouping of poetry I've had the pleasure of reading.
Some of the themes didn't speak to me: there's a vibrant sense of place, as many of the poems noted the location where they were written, and while I have traveled a fair bit in my life, it's not a strong drive I have. (I generally travel to visit people, and incidentally get to a be a tourist where they live.) There's also a great deal about broken passion and what sound like long-distance relationships, which might lead me to assume some things about Kay's life that I haven't made and wouldn't make any attempt to verify; the tone of many poems is clearly autobiographical and I'll leave it at that, but little of it reflects anything in my life.
But what I did find here was something I'd been missing from modern free-verse poetry: a sense of the poet caring how the words sounded together, rather than just spilling feelings onto a page without meter or form to contain them. I didn't read any of these out loud, but I spoke them in my head, because that's how I've always read poetry, and they generally sounded good, while still having the clarity and sincerity of the feelings-spilling poets. A handful of poems were less clear, more deliberately obscure in their meanings, and those tended to be the ones I liked less, but even those didn't feel like I'd peeked into some angsty teen's diary (like my own, before anyone thinks I'm throwing stones, I wrote very bad poetry in those years.)
What I also found was inspiration. In the last week, I've roughed out two poems about aspects of myself in a similar style to Kay's, which are the first two poems I've written in probably fifteen years. I thought about my poetry professor from college and wondered if she'd be pleased or horrified to find out I've written romance novels in the years since her classes. I dredged up memories I hadn't visited in quite some time to see how I feel about them as an adult looking back. I thought a lot about what an autobiography in poetry form would say about me, and how that might differ from the person I want to be going forward. And I still want to write more poetry about that, though as I continue I hope to develop my own style again, possibly even ditching free-verse for structured forms as I revise. I did use to love the challenge of fitting meaning into those forms with careful word choice, it was like a puzzle I created for myself, and I love puzzles.
I can't give this work five stars because I don't love it the way that rating implies, but any poetry that served me as both entertainment and an invitation to reflect on myself is good poetry.
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"The Sword and the Stone"
BARK!BARK! Human!Jake is sorely underrated no I'm not accepting opinions respect babygirl
I feel like all I write is a bunch of sad and angry shit with WoS so here's a drabble thing from another fic based on when I read some excerpt on na'vi biology that I thought was fucking hilarious.
I also headcannon Norm to be swangin' and everyone's a little pissed about it
“I’m going to say something controversial.”
I could hear Jake turning around in his wheelchair, expectant look on his face.
“Are you asking permission?” I couldn’t help but scoff, as if. “Because I genuinely cannot wait to hear what you’re about to say.” I was already up to throw out the discarded wrapper of a microwave burrito, rolling my eyes at his obvious humor.
“It’s nothing bad, just, I wouldn’t say it to like Augustine or something.” I turned back to see him in his chair, expectant eyebrow raised. “I’d say it to Norm though, just to piss him off.” Jake snorted and gestured for me to continue.
“Am I crazy or are we, as avatars, way more attractive than the average joe?” A disbelieving laugh coursed through him, and I met his incredulous stare. “No, no! Do not laugh at me I’m serious!” I let my body drag down into the closest stool as he wheeled closer, putting us at eye level. “They put some shit in that amniotic fluid because as a human I’m like a reluctant seven. Maybe,” That incredulous look didn’t leave his face, but his laugh became more pronounced as I continued. “As an avatar? Ten. Easy.”
“Maybe you just have a thing for big, blue people.” I gave him a half-hearted shrug because this is also a possibility. “Also don’t know what you mean by we.” I flipped him off with an eye roll.
“I think I’m just a narcissist who like to see myself in different fonts. I mean, you have eyes.” He rolled his eyes.
“Never said you were wrong. You’re not bad.” I threw a wadded up napkin straight at his chest but he must have seen it coming and batted it away before contact. “That also means you think I’m hot.” I couldn’t help but laugh, a squawky chuckle.
“Everyone thinks you're hot Jake, blue or otherwise.” He gave a disbelieving scoff, but soon a smirk joined in.
“Yeah?” I narrowed my eyes at the change of attitude.
“We just think you’re stupid too.” He snorted.
“You got a little crush on me?” This mother-
“Whoa there, I am not a coward.” He still had that smug look, now crossing his arms expectantly. “As a grown woman I admire, respectfully.”
“Huh.”
“Me and Trudy talk about it all the time.” Throwing Trudy under the bus would probably come to bite me in the ass, but I needed allies and she’d get over it.
“No shit?”
“I mean, we’re stuck in a glorified trailer with you guys—we’re bound to wander into that territory sooner or later.” I laughed remembering a specific tidbit of information. “Though, maybe I should take the Norm thing back. Trudy seems to like him enough.” At this, Jake laughed out loud.
“I figured when I walked in on them.”
“Walked?” I couldn’t help it; he makes it so easy. He scoffed and flipped me off with both hands. “And yeah, I know. She told me he has a huge dick too.” Jake groaned disbelievingly, one of our guilty pleasures was making fun of Norm together and this went against every side comment we ever made.
“Not a chance in hell.” I shrugged emphatically, I couldn’t believe it either but Trudy was an experienced woman and she wasn’t going to go around fluffing Norm’s ego for his own benefit.
“Yes bro. I don’t even want to tell you in inches.” He groaned, pulling a squeamish face. “His avatar must go crazy.” We both scoffed at the immediate mental image. “Thank god he doesn’t have to go around in a loin cloth.” I shot a pointed look and Jake groaned.
“S’not like you’d see it anyway.” I felt my eyebrows scrunch because I think I would see a fucking eleve—
It’s like he could read my confusion and a somewhat bashful look appeared, which was very off character for someone like Jake.
“You better tell me what I don’t know right now.” He groaned and my curiosity became insatiable. Jake Sully? Embarrassed?
“Aren’t you a biologist or something?” This time I gave him an appraising look because that’s a pretty valid inquiry.
“Yeah, for wildlife. I started on the anthropology side of things when it comes to the Na’vi—because that’s how Grace structures her courses, and I’m still making my way through the culture. I just assumed they were pretty biologically similar to humans. I also have a vagina, so I didn’t get to explore having a blue dick.” I paused. “Obviously it’s blue, right?”
“Jesus,”
“Sully, the curiosity is literally going to make me drop dead. Please. For science.” He huffed, disgruntled but with a layer of amusement. He rubbed at his eyes with his hand.
“It’s not always just out, ya’ know? It has like a, like a sheath?” There was no fucking way. “It only comes out when, uh, needed.” Silence.
“Jake. That is the craziest fucking thing you’ve ever said to me.” He groaned miserably and tried to wheel away but I put my hands up to stop him.
“Wait! I’m just trying to wrap my head around it, because I have some pretty standard equipment—so I just think it’s wild that yours is so different. Genuine science inquiry.” He cooled down from the embarrassment, not for long though. “Not so science inquiry, how big is it?” This time he did wheel away, with me chasing him through the hallway.
“You don’t have to give me a number just use your hands—”
“Siobhan!”
“Jake!”
*I have a work called "Sunday Afternoon is for Prayer and Possibility" set during the first movie and centers around my babygirl Siobhan, an upstart that really should not be on Pandora and her search for allies as she inadvertently and ironically participates in the colonization of the only place that feels like home, Pandora. I think after 'WoS" I'll start letting it out idk maybe. As a treat.
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Chapter 358 Thoughts
Shamefully little to say this week, I'm very sorry to say. More AFO villain monologuing, more heroes preaching a moral about how they've come to understand the darkness and human frailty in the world while still doing exactly nothing that indicates a willingness to truly reach out a saving hand to villains. Better luck next chapter, but in the meantime, here's what I got:
Shigaraki and Jeanist surfing around on things is fun. In the same way that a truly untethered aerial battle was fun, the high wire acts are also a visual treat.
I remain ever eager to watch someone, anyone, hand Edgeshot a defeat. Cripes, I'm so tired of that guy.
I feel like you can see the hints of Shigaraki's nihilism underscoring Vestige!AFO's words here. The idea that the world of quirks is one doomed to schism and discord echoes Destro's ideology, save that Destro saw it as something that was only set in stone if discrimination and oppressive laws were allowed to rule over the populace, whereas AFO-filtered-via-Shigaraki thinks it's just inevitable no matter what you do.
Original Flavor AFO once talked about bringing "order" to the world; he certainly wanted to be in charge, but he saw it as a way to stabilize a world gone mad, not something he was doing solely for the pleasure of using and exploiting others. Which is not to say that he ever felt particularly altruistic, but at least it was a small motivation beyond, "Because I just so love hurting people lol."
While I suppose the "true" explanation is that this is just how Hori writes AFO these days, I think we could also say that, in V!AFO's honesty here, we also see hints of Shigaraki. Shigaraki, after all, never prevaricated about his goals or motivations, and disliked people who did. So while there's still a measure of AFO's needling sophistry in proclaiming that all will be equally exploited, it's got Shigaraki's bald-faced candor, too.
Bakugou's making a very game attempt this week, but I remain largely unmoved by it until anyone tries to fold people who have actually been pushed out of society back into it, rather than healing a rift between heroes and civilians who were doing just fine and dandy before Jakku. As it is, civilians welcoming back heroes while acknowledging their frailties is nominally an improvement from the old status quo, but it's not a real change because it doesn't address the villains those heroes are fighting against. Until Hero Society finds a way to substantively address why people turn to Villainy, that battle remains unresolved, unending.
Also, it remains somewhat difficult for me to see bringing Deku back to a place he himself willingly chose to leave as some remarkable step forward.
And this is frustrating! Because I feel like the first part of Bakugou's response to AFO here is right on the money. Like, he's so very close to getting it. Lack of understanding leading to dread and rejection: yes, that's exactly it! That's what led to Spinner's problems, to Twice's, to Toga's. The League's "lineage trio" (Mr. Compress, Shigaraki and Dabi) are in a slightly different boat, but you can still find those elements--lack of understanding, fear, rejection--in their stories, as well as those of most of the other villains, at least the ones who are allowed any modicum of interiority.
At least judging by what we're seeing in the flashbacks, though, Bakugou fails to apply his insight to the villains. He reserves his understanding of the places a person can be pushed by fear and rejection only for his own development and the ways in which he's seen his issues replicated in other people who are on his side, chiefly those heavy-handed plot device civilians. The villains, as always, don't get the benefit of that empathy, despite being far more drastically impacted by the lack of it.
If this is going to be a step towards pushing forward and confronting the lack of understanding as it impacts villains, that's great! But I find it difficult to see that in the manga past a hail of gunfire, a floating coffin, and the ongoing presence of professional heroes who have never given a single sign that they're on-board the Understanding Villains train.
#bnha#bnha 358#bakugou katsuki#bnha afo#i rather enjoy bakugou and jeanist's relationship but have very little substantive to say about it in this context#lord what i would not have given for more downtime before this arc kicked off#chapter thoughts#stillness has salt#but stillness is mostly tired
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1, 19, 27
1. a book that is close to your heart
The Curse of Chalion by Lois McMaster Bujold. I mean, I love almost everything this author writes but I'd only read her space opera series before this, and space opera was (at least back then) not as much my genre as Fantasy is.
It was also a very different type of fantasy from what I'd experienced. I'd mostly read grand sweeping fantasy epics before CoC, with a dash of Tamora Pierce to even things out. But I think this was the first time I'd seen adult fantasy which was less about world domination and more about people just trying to get by in the face of curses and life in general etc. Caz is a wonderful protagonist because he's so tired and so traumatized and he juxtaposes beautifully with Iselle (who is the /thematic/ protagonist) who's vibrant and a beacon of hope. The divinity-based magic system is wonderful. The way of breaking the curse is wonderfully clever. This book made me actually weep more than once. I just- //flails
It also made me be more active about searching for adult fantasy I was actually interested in, because till that point I really thought all we could have were chosen one quest narratives.
Quote:
“Any man can be kind when he is comfortable. I'd always thought kindness a trivial virtue, therefore. But when we were hungry, thirsty, sick, frightened, with our deaths shouting at us, in the heart of horror, you were still as unfailingly courteous as a gentleman at ease before his own hearth.”
19. a book that put you in a reading slump
Books put me in a reading slump when I don't actually want to read them but feel like I have an obligation to read them and then something that should be a pleasure (reading) becomes a chore. This doesn't really happen all that much, because I have a tendency to drop stories as soon as I decide they aren't doing it for me.
The Lost Hero by Rick Riordan is one of those books which I really wanted to read but had absolutely no interest in. And since I was really deep into the PJO fandom at the time, I kept trying again and again to read it, with very limited success. I sometimes got so irritated I couldn't even read other books. Terrible.
Quote: No, fuck that. I have spent enough time on this book as it is.
27. a book with a purple cover
The Grief of Stones by Katherine Addison is the sequel to the spinoff to The Goblin Emperor. It's set in this world of elves and goblins (who are really more like dark-skinned elves) and the main character is a person who can question recently dead bodies. Thara Celehar has had some bad experiences in life, despite and because of his unwavering sense of justice. He's so sad and so stubborn and so kind, and he's a large part of what makes this fantasy forensic procedural a delight to curl up with.
Quote:
“Merrem Mulinaran died three days ago. She had no children and no family in Amalo, and we are distant cousins, for our mothers were both Dechaladeise. She appointed us her executrix.”
She stopped; this time it did not appear that she was going to be able to start again. I said, “If you have come to us, you must have a question you need to ask her.”
“Yes!” she said. “Who is the dead body in her attic?”
After a moment, I said cautiously, “That seems like a very reasonable question.”
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Karl Heisenberg X male reader
A/n: i couldn’t find any gifs of my daddy so I made one 😂 also sorry for not updating for a while, schools been tough but I’m in self isolation so I have plenty of time to write 😂 also light smut towards the end.
I stood at the back of my house, chopping wood for the burner. The snow fell heavy, making the wood crunch as it hit the cold ground.
I could see my breath as I breathed out in exhaustion. This winter was gonna be tough for me and my family. As the only man in my household and newly turned 21, I was just waiting for my sisters to play match makers and find me a young lady... hopefully that would be a while. In my village, being attracted to the same gender isn’t really a thing. So I’ll just have to suck it up, marry and have kids... you know, conform to society.
I walked inside with the lumber, shaking to get the snow off me like a wet dog. I placed it by the fireplace and threw a few blocks on the fire.
I hung my jacket on the coat rack and walked to the living room where my sister was sitting, chatting with a friend and drinking tea.
“Where’ve you been, (Y/N)? Fooling around with a lady?” My sister asked sarcastically, making fun of my lack of luck with women.
“Very funny, Paula” I rolled my eyes and walked into my moms bedroom, knocking softly on the door before entering.
Mother was laying in bed, looking at the ceiling. I knelt by her side, taking her hand. Ever since father passed away she hasn’t been the same, she lays in bed all day, not talking nor eating much.
“How are you feeling, mother?”
“....”
“I haven’t found a job yet.. but I promise I’ll find the money for your medicine, mother.... I promise”
She didn’t answer, she just kept on staring. I sighed and walked out the room, closing the door softly behind me.
“(Y/N), one of the neighbours came with this letter for you when you were out”
My sister handed me a letter, my name on the front in a crude handwriting. I opened the letter, it had a beautiful wax seal, decorated with a horse. The letter read:
Dear (Y/N)
Congratulations on your 21th birthday. You’ve been selected to come work for Karl Heisenberg at the factory on the outskirts of town. You’ve been selected because of your high grades and physical attributes. Please report to the factory as quickly as possible.
Kind regards, Karl Heisenberg.
My heart skipped a beat, Karl Heisenberg was asking me to come work for him. I couldn’t believe it, I rushed to me and my sisters room, quickly putting on some clean clothes and my prayer shoes. I ran into my mothers room, kneeling besides her once again.
“Mother, great news! I’m gonna go work for Lord Heisenberg...”
“.....”
“I love you mother, I’ll be back soon”
I rushed out, giving my sister a peak on the forehead and storming out the front door and into the freezing weather.
I walked up the hill to the metal doors, the factory was up and running, making a hell of a lot of noise. I banged on the heavy doors before it slowly opened on its own, revealing a room filled with scrap metal.
I heard the cracking sound of an intercom before hearing a low voice speaking.
“Ah! (Y/N) great you’re here so quickly. Please make your way to my office, all you have to do is make a left where you are and walk straight. It’s as easy as that, I’ll be waiting”
That must be lord Heisenberg speaking. I straighten up and walked as I had been instructed to. The condors were cramped and dimly lit by red lamps. I felt like the further into the factory I got, the more a putrid smell started to emerge. I finally reached the door, knocking two times.
“Yeah come on in!”
I slowly pushed open the metal door and was pleased that the wretched smell was now being overpowered by the scent of cigar smoke. There he sat, his back turned to me as I slowly shut the door. His hair was long and rugged, and he was toying with a small knife between his fingers.
“It’s great to finally meet you, (Y/N) (L/N). My men has had their eyes on you for a while, but you’re more impressive in person” the man stood up, he was taller then me to start with, but also physically more pumped. I was kinda scrawny, but the winter without my farther had put some meat on my bones.
“It’s an honor to be able to work for you, lord” I bowed my head slightly before looking up and finding him much closer then before. He put a finger under my chin, inspecting my face from different angels.
“My men were right, you surely are a very beautiful man”
My breath hitched in my throat.
“I beg you pardon?”
“Oh don’t play dumb with me, boy... we both know what you are”
“So that’s why you brought me here... not for work”
“Well a special kind of work, if you catch my drift”
“....”
He let go of my chin, moving a step back. I couldn’t deny it, he was extremely hot, but the thought of not being able to sustain my family drove me mad.
“Don’t worry, you’re getting a job at the factory too, and I’ll pay you handsomely for your services.. I know how much your family needs the money”
A stone lifted from my heart. What had I done for mother Miranda to gift me with such fortune? A well paying job and a handsome boss, who could ask for more?
“When do I start?”
“Well, immediately. But first, I have a question” he asked walking closer to me, slowly pushing me against the wall behind us. One hand on the wall besides my head and the other on my waist.
“Do you find me attractive?” His head was inching closer to my neck. His smell was intoxicating, a mix of sweat, cologne and rusty metal. I couldn’t get enough of him.
“Yes, very much”
“Good, because I need you to fix something for me” he grabbed my wrist with the hand from my waist and guided it to his crotch. I cupped his growing bugle as he made a low growling noise, almost like a dog. I started to softly stroke it as he removed his head from my neck, setting his hat on a nearby table before going back to my neck, kissing and biting along the side. I softly grabbed his dick, sending a shockwave through his body. He pulled back, looking at me through his sunglasses, I could slightly see his eyes which were full of lust. He put both his hands on my waist before moving me to the table, turning me around and bending me over it.
“You like that? You dirty man” he huffed, grinding against my ass, a hand on the back of my neck and another under my shirt on the small of my back.
“I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you hear me?” He gave my ass a hard slap, I cried out in pleasure and surprise, gripping the edge of the table.
I could hear his belt buckle being undone as I waited. Suddenly a voice over the loud speakers outside.
“All four lords, report to the castle immediately. Glory be to mother Miranda”
“You have to be fucking kidding me, what does that super sized bitch want now?” He huffed in annoyance buckling his belt again. I stood up, sitting on the table which I had just been bent over.
“I’ll be back very soon” he placed himself between my legs and gave me a passionate kiss, I of course, kissed back.
He put on his hat before storming out the door. I sighed and hung my head. Fuck...
Bonus:
“You’re late, Heisenberg” Alcina snapped as Karl stomped inside.
“I was in the middle of something”
“In the middle of what? You’re such a-“ she stopped dead in her tracks as Karl sat down, completely forgetting about his huge bulge.
“Oh.. I see, you’ve gotten a bit too happy for one of your experiments again”
Karls eyes widened as he swung his jacket over his lap, covering his crotch.
“Shut up bitch, and stop looking at my dick”
“ watch your mouth, child. Moreau, wanna bet on how long this one is gonna last until he kills him?”
Moreau giggled before getting hit in the back with a sheet of metal.
“Not this one, freak!.... this one is different”
“Mhmm, let’s see about that”
“I’ll rip your fucking over sized head off, you stupid bitch!” The hammer flew into Karls hand before Miranda interrupted.
“I’ll fucking show you... he’s the one”
#gay fanfic#gay fanfiction#male reader#x male reader#resident evil#resident evil x reader#resident evil 8#resident evil 8 x reader#resident evil 8 x male reader#resident evil x male reader#karl heisenberg#karl heisenburg x reader#karl heisenberg x you#Karl heisenberg x male reader#Karl Heisenberg gay
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I saw this post and I was wondering if you write Malleus' too, is okay for you to make that?
How to win a heart of Malleus Draconia?
a/n: I started posting my writings here because I want to improve my English — so I technically wouldn't make this request. But! Someone on Wattpad (where I take requests) asked for the same thing, so I rolled up my sleeves and wrote this guide today in both languages. Enjoy~
1. Don't be afraid of him.
It is said that the first impression is the most important.
So when you first saw this guy walking through the corridor of Diasomnia, it was hard for you to get rid of that view from your head.
Illuminated both by the green magic flames set in the lobby, as well as by the moon, which eventually managed to break through the dark clouds and with a bright glow appear in the windows of the dormitory, he seemed... lonely and beautiful.
You shuddered as you took a step down the hallway and the dark-haired man turned to you. He measured you with his emerald eyes. And then you recognized him; all the conversations about the mysterious and fearsome Malleus Draconia flew through your head.
Everything told you to rush towards the hallway and run as far as possible, but a piece of you found it inappropriate. Or rather, no one would want to chase everyone away from themself... right?
When you realized you were looking at him for a while, you took a deep breath and nod slightly.
"Good evening, Draconia-san," you said quickly. After a while you added, "The moon is beautiful today, don't you think?”
2. Smile a lot.
Today was a really wonderful day: the test was postponed, your favorite dish was given in the canteen, and for some reason, the last two lessons were canceled – your class had to make just a quick note about a topic and it took less than fifteen minutes.
"Something happened?" Malleus asked, seeing how almost in the jumps you walk past him. When you looked at him, he added, "You smile a lot.”
"I can stop smiling if you want," you made a sad face, but after a while, the corners of your mouth began to tremble uncontrollably and twisted up again. "Oops, I can’t. Today... it was such a good day... that I think I'm slowly using my life's happiness.”
"I didn't say that smiling is bad," he said. "You look so much better when you smile.”
"Oh," you sighed with apparent surprise. "Is it a compliment?"
"It’s rather a fact..?"
3. From time to time visit him during club activities.
"Is this a class of the ‘Gargoyle research society club’?” with a deaf knock you opened the door. Malleus turned to you, making a break from browsing through the materials gathered in the library about the history of each of the gargoyles on the school grounds. And there were a lot of them.
"Yes," he replied briefly, getting up. "Do you need something, [Name]?"
"Not at all, my club don’t have a meeting today," you said, closing the door behind you.
You looked around: the room was as clean as ever, except for one desk, where were laid several huge volumes about statues in NRC.
“Are you here alone?” You said before you thought. You lowered your eyes to see Malleus nodding unconcerned slightly. You blinked several times trying to think of what else you could say. "This room... could be a secret base," that was the first thing that came to your mind. Malleus turned his head to one side, uncertain of your response.
“A secret base..? Why?”
"I have no idea," you admitted quickly. "But the very existence of a mysterious point is interesting, isn't it? Doing normal things, such as watching movies or just talking, seems more interesting in places like this,” After a moment of silence, you sighed. "You know what, this idea with the base is stupid”
"We can try," he replied with serious tone. You raised your eyes to see how he looked around the room. "But you'll just have to explain this idea to me in more detail. We can also tell Lilia, Silver and Sebek about it...” he smiled as if seeing your five together in his thoughts was a pleasure. "It will be surely... fun.”
4. Get yourself a Tamagotchi.
"Look!" you spin a new key chain on your finger. You finally stopped and showed it to Malleus. "Now they are matching!”
A small electronic toy, in a dark green screen that, when it flashed, showed a virtual, pixelated animal. You were impressed with how good quality it was made, especially since you only gave the Shroud brothers a sketch of a toy that Malleus owned.
Your keychain was exactly the same, just a different color and with another pet.
Malleus pulled out his own device and put it on the table. He pressed one of the buttons and a small pet appeared on the keychain – a dragon.
"They can now be friends," you brought your toy closer to so-called Gao-Gao Dragon-kun.
"Do you think so?" He asked in a very surprised tone, but it sounded as if in a moment he were about to burst out with an inexplicably joyful and surprised laugh.
"Of course. Everyone needs a decent friend, no?”
5. Gain the trust of Lilia, Silver and Sebek.
Lilia, one of Malleus' closest people. It is much more likely that you will meet him before Malleus. He will be very proud when he learns that Malleus has found a friend. If you become a taster of Lilia, in terms of his pastries, he will 100% like you, and at 20% you will leave the kitchen alive and well.
Silver, who has mastered the art of sleeping in any conditions. It's easy to get him into your plans, although with the craziest ones he will hesitate. Rather well-disposed towards everyone, he can cover for you when you are not in class— but he usually inadvertently falls asleep and both of you often have penal assignments after school.
Sebek, faithful to Malleus, if he doesn't like you, you won't have too many opportunities to stay by Malleus's side without a thunderous glances at you. He will recognize you if you will listen carefully to his monologues about his master and as a sign of your friendship, he will teach you by heart of all the titles and achievements of Malleus so far.
With this trio by your side, you can get a lot further than you might have imagined...
6. Be a master in hide and seek.
You’d give your right arm that your breath was too loud.
You pressed your hands to your mouth as you crouched in the corner of the room.
From whose voices you already heard, you knew that Lilia had already found Sebek. This meant that you or Silver would still be helping cook dinner since Malleus didn’t come at the start of the game.
This may seem silly, but the ability to play classic games was one of the elements of the art of survival in Diasomnia.
It was thanks to games like ‘stone-paper-scissors’, hide and seek or tag that household chores fell on the shoulders of the losers. Lilia loved the idea, and there was always a proud smile on his lips when he saw his beloved children play together.
You heard the steps behind you and shivered.
Very slowly you turned around and looked up to see Malleus standing over you and wondering what you were doing, crouching in the darkest corner of the room.
Puns were also included in the survival pack.
Fearing that Lilia would hear your whisper, you put your finger on your mouth, asking him not to say a word. You put a begging eye into it – all but not cooking with Lilia. Not again.
Malleus nodded, recognizing the gravity of the situation, although he smiled.
Really, no one would want Malleus to be an enemy.
Or at least in such a situation.
7. Do not hesitate to ask him for help with learning.
"In theory, you should focus on the space around you," Malleus pulled a wand in front of him. It flashed, and almost at the same time, a thin but incredibly strong protective barrier was created around him. “Weaker spells can be reflected. In turn, the stronger ones are better to block”
You nodded understandingly.
Defensive magic was not something easy to understand. Most depended on the person against whom the counter spell was being prepared. And there are countless people who walk on this Earth and want to start fights.
"Unique spells block or avoid physically," he continued. You nodded at every subsequent sentence, slowly feeling like all the lessons are eventually gaining transparency. “Using unique magic against unique magic, the stronger will win, both will lead to explosions or completely reduce.
He looked at you when you wrote down the last sentence in your notebook.
"I sincerely hope that you will only need this information in class," he said with a sigh. "If you need help, call me. I will come. I promise.”
8. Sometimes be persuaded to wear extravagant clothes.
"Do you really think it suits me?" you turned around, looking at yourself from every possible angle in the mirror.
You were going to the theater in a few classes to see some era-related play that you've been discussing now in history lessons. Everyone, respecting the reputation, actions and achievements of theatre, dressed in their best clothes.
Malleus stood next to you.
He was already wearing a black and white outfit with green accessories. They all worked so well together and fitted him like a glove that you were sure that the whole outfit was made especially for him.
"Yes," he replied. "Everything you put on today suited you very well.”
Once again, with critical eyesight, you looked at the outfit, face and hair, before you quickly turned off the lights in the room and closed the door behind you.
Then you smiled at Malleus.
"We can go now," you said. You made your way through the portal to the main NRC building. "And... thank you for your help.
"My pleasure," he said. Under no circumstances was it just a polite formula. He really loved looking at you.
9. Invite him to your birthday/party.
"Another break from school soon, huh?" — you muttered, leaning against the railing.
You took a deep breath and let the fresh, pleasant air refresh you.
"Are you going to home, [Name]?" Malleus asked. Green lights were still flying around him, so you guessed he’d just appeared here.
"I haven't decided yet," you sighed. "It would be nice to go home, but the break won't be very long... Ah, that's right!” you straightened up and turned to him. "How about spending another break together? As soon as I can, I will contact my family... although I cannot promise anything.”
Though he did not show it, Malleus' heart beat a little faster.
Spend free time? With someone? With someone he likes?
"Of course," he sounded less calm than he thought. He wasn’t often invited anywhere, even for the things he should have been on, so there was a lot of excitement growing in his body. "I don't see anything against it.”
10. From "The Great Malleus Draconia-sama" to "Love".
"Ah, The Great Malleus-sama!" you sighed theatrically, taking from him a box of chocolates with a joyful smile. You could promise that because of this dark-haired boy here, you slowly become pampered. "Thank you for your generosity!”
Malleus frowned.
"The Great Malleus-sama"..?” he pondered, putting his fingers to his chin. "Did Sebek told you again to call me with this title?"
"No," you laughed softly at his reaction. "I did it out of curiosity. Maybe I could call you some cute nickname, hmm?" you smiled mischievously.
"For example?"
"By adding ‘-chan’ to your name?” you turned on your phone and typed something related to the nicknames. You started reading suggestions and struggled to hold back from laughing. ” ’Sunshine’, ‘star’, ‘flower’, ‘sweetheart’, ‘love’...
"I like the last one," he said, and the invisible force stung you to the ground.
"Would you like me to call you like that? Out of curiosity or out of love?" You laughed, but your cheeks were all red with blushes.
He smiled sincerely at your reaction.
"Hmm, I wonder..?"
#i wonder too#malleus draconia#twst malleus draconia#twst malleus#twst x reader#twst imagines#twst malleus x reader#malleus x reader#malleus draconia x reader#diasomnia x reader#twst malleus draconia x reader#twisted wonderland x reader#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland imagines#anonymous
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Diplomacy
Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader
Genre: Enemies to Lovers Royal AU
Word count: 12K (I may have gotten carried away)
Warnings: Parental Death, an American writing about monarchies she doesn’t understand
A/N: Hi everyone! I have been working on this one for a while and it’s by far the longest thing I’ve ever written and I am so proud of it (please be nice)!! I also made a Pinterest board with all the outfits from this if you want to check it out here!! SO SO SO much love to @meetmymouth @bfharry and @hardcandy-harry for helping me out when I needed it and being the most wonderful people in general :) As always, thank you so so much for reading!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist and feedback/reblogs mean the world!!!
****
Y/N knew from the day she could understand the concept of marriage that she would one day be married to the little prince with wild brown curls her mother always forced her to play with. She still vividly remembered the first time he told her that she was ugly and that he hated her. She was only five years old at the time.
Fortunately, she hated him just as much as he hated her. He was rude, somehow always sticky, and seemed to have no filter or manners, letting every nasty thing he could think of fall past his lips in daggers aimed at his future wife.
As they grew older, their animosity only grew, from petty to school yard quarrels to attacks on their personalities and who they were as people. Despite her pleas to her mother to be sent to a different boarding school than the one he was already attending, she was shipped off.
She studied judiciously, what was expected of every future queen, while she watched Harry meander through his schooling. He never seemed to listen in class, never studied, and seemed to only care about football and girls. She watched with jealousy and contempt as he flirted with every girl at their school, every girl except the one he knew he was to marry; while every boy in the school knew Y/N was off limits, direct orders from the crown.
It made her uncomfortable how much she disliked him. She was not a hateful person, having been trained well to treat everyone with dignity and respect, she was a princess after all. But something about Harry just got under her skin. She barely was able to control the instinctive eye roll whenever his name was mentioned and she often pretended to gag when discussing him with her friends, especially when one of them would inevitably call him ‘dreamy.’
The happiest day of her life was the day she watched him graduate, knowing she had been awarded years of peace without having to listen to his taunts or watch him flirt with everything that breathed. During those years, she flourished. She grew from a timid girl in line for power to a confident young woman preparing for the crown. She knew her country through and through, her constitution front to back, and had even begun studying Harry’s country as well. Whether she liked it or not, she knew she would have to pick up his slack in governing his kingdom eventually, she might as well be good at it.
Four more years of education at Cambridge, brought four more years of growth and being free from Harry, but the deal she had made with her mother was quickly coming to a close. As soon as she finished her education, their engagement would be made official and wedding planning would commence. While she was tempted to beg for some sort of delay or escape, she understood this was her duty. She owed this to her people, and soon to Harry’s as well; her mother was counting on her.
For the first time in too many years, she stood inside her former and future home. She remembered running through the halls of the massive palace under the ornate ceilings that now hung above her again; reality was sinking in. Through the massive wooden doors that sat in front of her, she knew her fate awaited; a fate named Harry. With a deep breath she steeled herself and smoothed the blush pink lace skirt of her dress, preparing to see the face that had haunted her for so long.
The first thing she noticed was the playful smirk that she associated so closely with his taunts from when they were children. It was the smirk that made her stomach drop; she could only imagine the nasty things that could come past those lips now. He had years to practice.
He stood confidently next to her mother, who had a bright and triumphant grin on her face. He was dressed in an impeccably tailored forest green suit, decorated with his coat of arms pin on the lapel. She wished for the vibrance of his green eyes to lessen but the tone of his suit only made them more intense than she had remembered.
“Harry,” she breathed, as diplomatically and with as much confidence as she could muster. “It’s good to see you,” she lied, reaching her hand out for him to kiss in the antiquated custom that always made her deeply uncomfortable. He delicately grasped her hand and slowly brought it to his blushed lips, the kiss lingering longer than what could have been considered friendly. His snake-like eyes locked with hers, still containing the mischievous glint she had nightmares about. She couldn’t help but notice the hysterically hopeful smile on her mother’s face as she watched them interact.
“It’s always a pleasure, your highness,” he hummed. He must have remembered how uncomfortable that title made her. She was honestly impressed at how he managed to lie and antagonize her in the first sentence he had said to her in over six years.
“Please call me Y/N,” she instructed as politely as possible.
“As you wish,” he said with a conniving smirk on his face. She had been with him no more than two minutes and she already wanted to run for her life. But this wasn’t about her, her country would need a leader soon, and unfortunately, that had to be her.
Her mother rushed over excitedly between the two, breaking the contemptuous silence that had built between them. “Oh children, it’s so nice to see you two back together again. I remember when you used to play when you were little. Always teasing, like you had the biggest crushes on each other.” ‘Teasing’ is a nice way to refer to torture, Y/N thought to herself, never daring to verbalize a thought like that.
“We did always have fun didn’t we, Y/N?” Harry asked her, a thin glaze of politeness coating his malice.
“Oh yes, we did. I still have a scar on my thigh from when you pushed me off the monkey bars.” Her tone was tight lipped and curt, her politeness beginning to give way to the verbal lashing she was dreaming of giving him.
“You’ll have to show me sometime.”
Y/N’s jaw nearly hit the ground. She knew he was a dirty good for nothing flirt, but in front of her mother? If her mother hadn't gently grasped both of their hands, she would have stomped out of the room. Her mother’s gentle touch brought her mind back to what this was all about once again.
“Harry is going to be staying with us from now on,” her mother interjected, clearly sensing the animosity between them. “Oh, and I nearly forgot! Harry, I believe you have something for Y/N, correct?”
“Of course.” He flashed his charming smiles at her poor mother, “How could I have forgotten about that?”
She watched him intently as he reached for the pocket inside his suit jacket, pulling out a small indigo colored velvet box. He opened the box with delicate hands to reveal one of the most gorgeous engagement rings Y/N had ever seen. A deep green emerald sat inside a ring of crystal clear diamond florets, all placed meticulously with care into a gold setting, the color of the velvet intensifying the emerald stone. “It was my grandmother’s,” he spoke softly, the first time she had ever heard him speak with any emotion or genuine feeling. “Before she died, she said she wanted you to have it. She was the mastermind of this arrangement afterall,” he said with a slight chuckle. “For formality’s sake,” he began with a sigh, “will you marry me?”
No, passed through Y/N’s head, but “Yes” fell from her lips. While her heart broke for herself and any chance she had of finding true love, the smile and happy tears in her mother’s eyes reminded her why she was doing all of this. She needs me to do this, Y/N thought to herself, my country is going to need a leader.
Their engagement was announced later that day by royal decree and their wedding was scheduled for the next month. There was no going back now.
The palace was in a flurry of planning and plotting for the big day. Y/N was rushed from meeting to meeting, instructed to make decisions about everything and anything she wanted for the wedding. She stared at floral arrangements until her eyes hurt and flipped through magazines looking at bridesmaid and flower girl dresses until her fingers felt like they were about to fall off. Unsurprisingly to Y/N, Harry was there for almost none of it. Although, she wasn’t exactly complaining about his absence.
He only surfaced when food or his suit was involved. In one vile incident, he arrived at the cake tasting with a wad of gum in his mouth, which was not only strictly prohibited for royals because it could be perceived as being too casual, but Y/N almost called off the entire wedding when she watched him stick chewed bubble gum to the bottom of a 200 year old handcrafted dining table.
“Were you raised by wolves?” she asked through gritted teeth while scolding him and desperately trying to remove the mess.
“Nannies, actually.” She knew by the smirk on his face that he wasn’t done with whatever antagonistic taunts that were planned to fall from his lips. “I’m pretty wild in the bedroom too, wifey.”
His crude comments were meant to hurt her and make her uncomfortable. He knew from their time in school together that she was constantly watched and kept far away from the gaze of any peaking boys, shining a spotlight on the massive double standard between the pair of future rulers. She wore a cloak of inexperience and innocence given to her against her will that embarrassed her to no end, and he knew that the easiest way to pinken her cheeks was to mention sex in any way. He aimed to fluster the poor girl and he got away with it anytime he flashed his dimples in a devilish smirk.
Y/N’s cheeks flushed red in embarrassment and furry before she got up from the table and stormed out of the room, muttering “pick whatever fucking cake you want,” before flying down the hallway to her bedroom and slamming the door behind her.
She felt frustrated tears pricking at her eyes as she slid down the back of the heavy wooden door to the floor below her. She let the fabric of her once perfectly steamed dress crumple beneath her and before she let the floodgates of tears open, she looked down at the dainty silver watch that sat on her wrist. You have five minutes until your appointment with the dressmaker, she thought to herself. Three minutes to cry, two minutes to change into a new dress and fix your makeup.
For three minutes, she let all her anger, frustration, and heartbreak fall out of her in loud sobs that anyone on the other side of the door was sure to hear. For three minutes, she let herself feel every angry emotion she had ever felt towards Harry. For three minutes, she didn’t care about her country or her mother needing this wedding. For three minutes, she didn’t care about anything other than her hurt. But only for three minutes.
Then she wiped the tears away, picked herself up off the floor, dressed herself in her favorite navy blue dress, fixed her mascara, and pressed a cool cloth on her cheeks to quell their angry heat. And then she went to see the dressmaker.
The only joy Y/N got out of this whole ordeal was getting to see her dressmaker, Agnes. Agnes was a kind and quiet old woman who was one of the most talented people she had ever met. The pair would sit together for hours discussing styles, the only time her schedule allowed her to relax, and the woman was in the middle of crafting the gown of Y/N’s dreams. It was a lace long sleeved gown with a cathedral length train. The top portion of the lace was sheer, making a strapless neckline visible, before the delicately crafted lace moved crawled up Y/N’s neck into a high collar neckline. It was reserved, but elegant and unique; “just like you,” Agnes once said.
The first time Y/N was able to try the dress on was bittersweet. The dress was stunning and it made her feel like the princess she was, but she did shed a tear thinking about how this moment was tainted with Harry. She wouldn’t be wearing this dress while walking down the aisle to marry the love of her life, she was marrying someone she would consider an enemy.
She bowed down reverently when her mother placed a veil and tiara on her head. The tiara was encrusted with diamonds and speckled with emeralds that happened to match her engagement ring. The tiara was an heirloom and every woman in her family had worn it while getting married for the last two hundred years.
Her mother wept softly before her, a proud smile on her lips. “I’m so happy I get to see you in the wedding tiara before I go, sweetheart,” she said leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “I know you and Harry aren’t always a perfect pair and neither were your father and I, but we made you.” The queen’s eyes flashed over her face trying to take her in, “And you turned out to be my proudest achievement and the savior of a nation.”
“Thank you, Mama.” She hadn’t called her mother by that name since she was a young girl but it just felt right at that moment. She felt like a child, needing someone to take care of her while she waited for a country to fall on her shoulders.
“I will always guide you through whatever I can,” she said tenderly. “Even when I’m not here, I will always be with you.” Y/N watched as her mother’s eyes welled with more tears, excusing herself quickly before they grew more intense.
Not more than five minutes later, she heard the obnoxious whistling that she had begun to hear in her nightmares from down the hall. What she didn’t expect was for Harry to burst through the door, not only interrupting her fitting, but seeing the dress before the wedding day.
Like all members of traditional royal families, Y/N was extremely superstitious. Her heart immediately broke as she watched his eyes look her up and down, like there was a little piece of her that thought if they did everything right and didn’t break any traditional rules, maybe they would work out. What hurt her even more was that he didn’t even try to leave. He just sat down on a chair, smacking his gum, and stared at her like he was doing nothing wrong. Her eyes were still filled with tears from the emotional moment with her mother and they continued to flow, no longer out of love, but out of anger and frustration.
“Agnes,” Y/N finally spoke, voice cracking as she tried to hold back her tears, “will you excuse us for a moment?”
“Yes, your highness,” Agnes took delicate steps backwards like she was expecting a bomb to go off, before turning around and scurrying out of the room. Her instincts were correct, because at that moment, Y/N exploded.
“What did I ever do to you Harry?” she questioned angrily. “Why are you so determined to absolutely ruin my life? It’s bad enough that I am having an arranged marriage, not even one that I have the tiniest bit of say in.” She watched Harry’s eyes grow wide, like he had never expected her to stand up to him. “I have spent my entire life being watched and guarded, and avoided by every man I’ve ever gotten close to because I was already claimed by someone who wanted nothing to do with me.” She couldn’t remember the last time she had raised her voice like this at someone; she wasn’t sure if she ever had before. “You can’t even pretend that you like me or that we won't be miserable for our entire lives.”
“Y/N, I don’t want this either,” he spoke after a moment of silence, the quiet only broken by Y/N’s heaving breath. “Why can’t you just calm down?”
“Why can’t I calm down?” she repeated. “Maybe because my country is looking to me to become it’s queen. I can’t give myself to my people when I am worrying about you and your incompetence. You may not become king in your country for another 30 years; you have time to learn and grow into a ruler because you’re in my monarchy and you get to learn here first. You’re playing king with my people. Millions of people rely on us the second I am crowned and you act like your irresponsibility doesn’t have far reaching consequences.”
“I’ll be perfectly fine,” he spat back at her, rolling his eyes with his arms crossed in front of himself as he sat back in the chair. “I can’t believe I have to marry you and into this family.”
Y/N felt like she had been punched in the gut. She was stuck with this man for the rest of her life and here he was, disrespecting her, her people, and her family. “Get out,” she said under her breath. When he didn’t move from his seat, she began to yell once again, “Get out! I mean it!” She dropped her voice once again, and spoke more seriously than she ever had before. “I have never hated anymore more than I hate you, Harry. I am doing all of this because I love my country and my people, but I want you to know, I will never be happy because of you.”
For a moment, through her tears, it looked like he had been hurt because of her words, but he was gone from the room before she could confirm it.
She fell to her knees on the dress platform, surrounded by the piles of pure white fabric. She was a perfectly dressed ball of furry and sobs, angry at the world and her predicament. Leaning over and putting her head in her hands, she felt the tiara as it began to slip off her head, falling into her lap.
Y/N picked up the tiara, using gentle reverent hands, examining it closely. The tiara represented the monarchy and every female ruler in her family that had come before her. It shined and dazzled in the bright lights of the room, its crystal clear and emerald stones reflecting multi colored light onto the crisp white of the dress below her. “I’m doing this for you,” she whispered quietly to the tiara like it could answer, tears still silently rolling down her face.
***
They didn’t speak again for almost a week. They communicated solely through their royal secretaries, sending the poor men back and forth with angry messages, almost gossiping about what was happening with each member of the pair when they returned to the sender. Y/N hated Harry, Harry hated Y/N; the same sentiment sent back and forth over and over. The two were driving fast towards a brick wall, and the brick wall was their wedding.
When she woke up one morning about a week before their nuptials, there was a small envelope sitting on the ground like it had been slid underneath her bedroom door. We have to talk, was all it read. It was not lost on her that the stationary had a small olive branch illustrated onto the page.
Later that afternoon, they met in the garden. It felt like a neutral place to talk, the palace obviously being her territory. She had worn a casual flowing white dress, like she was raising a white flag; and she carefully walked with a mug of black coffee, a peace offering of sorts, careful not to get any of the dark liquid on the fabric of her dress.
She found him along a bed of purple Hyacinths, their sweet perfume enveloping them both, sitting on the soft ground dressed in the most casual clothes she had ever seen him in. He was wearing a simple lilac button up and a pair of jeans. He seemed more approachable this way, without the tailoring and the coat of arms that always sat on his lapel. The golden highlights in his curls came out in the sun and his tanned skin seemed to glow. He held a rose colored leather bound notebook in his hands.
“Hi,” she said softly, a sharp contrast to her screaming the last time they spoke. “I brought you a coffee. The nice ladies in the kitchen say you take it black.” The corners of his mouth turned up slightly and he gave her a friendly but unenthusiastic smile.
“Thank you,” he breathed, as she handed him the hot mug.
“Can I sit?”
“I’m not in charge of you,” he mumbled into the cup taking a sip. It wasn’t until she noticed how his eyebrow shot up and how his eyes had a playful gleam in them, that her offence washed away. “Of course, you can sit down.”
“What’s the book for?” she asked gently once she settled on the ground a safe distance away from him. She decided a few grass stains were worth being on speaking terms with the man she was supposed to marry.
“Um, it’s actually for you.” He reached over and placed the book in her hands. She ran her hands over her initials that had been embossed onto the leather cover. “I’ve been meaning to give it to you for a while,” he said quietly, “I remember you used to write a lot when we were in school together. I thought you would like it.” She felt a confusing mixture of thankfulness for the book, guilt for her outburst, and all the frustration that she still held towards him.
“Thank you, Harry. That was really thoughtful of you.”
A silence hung among them, neither of them sure of the next steps this conversation had to take.
“Can we talk?” Harry asked, finally breaking the tension between the pair.
“Yes, please,” she answered just as quickly as he had asked.
“I wanted to apologize for interrupting your fitting like that. I didn’t know all the traditions meant so much to you and I never meant to make you so upset.” She had never heard Harry apologize before, to anyone else, and definitely not to her.
Before that moment, she had always thought of him as an impenetrable force, wondering if there even was a soul or a conscience in his body. But here he was, vulnerability and all, offering an olive branch and an apology.
“Thank you,” she said cautiously, wading into the almost friendly waters she had never been in with him. “I’m sorry for screaming at you like that. I said some very hurtful things to you.”
“So have I.”
“I want you to know that I don’t hate you and I shouldn’t have said I did. But, I don’t necessarily like you either, Harry,” she said, deciding now was the time they needed to open the line of communication. One of them would eventually combust if they continued on with their hatred like this. “You have tortured me since we were little kids and it’s going to take me some time for me to get over that.” She watched as he nodded his head along with her words, seeming to listen intently.
“I feel like that is also something I should apologize for. No offence, but I didn’t want to get married to you either- still don’t, but I was much more of a dick about it then,” he let out a light laugh, flashing one of his famous dimples before releasing a sigh. “I took out not having control of my life out on you and I’m sorry.” She never thought she would receive validation for all the hurt he put her through for so long.
“Listen, we are getting married as part of a diplomatic partnership,” she began, “I feel like we should at least act diplomatic towards each other.”
“Does that mean that we have to be friends?”
“Definitely not. Just not enemies.”
“I think I can do that, wifey.”
***
The next week passed in a surprisingly civil blur for them both. Y/N was still in the throws of getting ready for a wedding and Harry was off doing whatever Harry usually did. She didn’t expect him to be doing much but she was just glad he was out of her hair. But when they did run into each other, usually at some sort of meeting surrounding the menu, they had a new found respect for the other.
The pair hadn’t been fighting which was nice for a change, even though it did raise some eyebrows in both of their staff. At her final dress fitting two days before the wedding Agnes had asked her if she was ready to be a married woman. “Absolutely not,” Y/N had laughed, “but it’s my responsibility to my people and my country. I have lived the most privileged life imaginable up until this point, it’s time for me to begin my duties.”
“You’re a good girl, your highness. You’re going to make a great queen when the time comes. Even with a husband you may have to wrangle sometimes.” She ended her compliments with a giggle as she zipped Y/N into the dress, and she felt her heart warm. Agnes placed the final touches of the veil and tiara on top of her head, giving her a nod of permission to finally look at herself in the mirror.
The dress fit her like a glove. The delicate lace ran the expanse of the dress, starting at the very back of her immensely long train and crawling its way all the way to Y/N’s throat, and the fitted top half gave way to a full ball gown skirt. Y/N’s eyes followed the intricate lace patterns down her arm, eyes eventually landing on her hand and the ring that sat upon it. For the first time since it had begun to sit on her ring finger, she didn’t want to throw it across the room in frustration. It really was gorgeous and the tiny inkling of respect she had for Harry now made it much less painful to look at.
Staring at the mirror, she noticed the blurring of her vision and the wetness on her cheeks.
“I really am getting married, aren’t I?” she asked with a disbelieving laugh.
“Yes you are, your highness.” Agnes looked up at her through her thick lensed glasses with a proud smile on her face. “Now, let’s get you out of this contraption so you can go rest up for the big day.” Anges’ skilled hands freed Y/N from the beautiful layers of fabric and tulle and sent her on her way back to her bedroom.
Y/N was finally almost asleep in the early hours of the morning when she heard a gentle and almost timid knock on her door. She could have ignored it, rolled back over and let her dreams take her, but for some reason it felt important for her to get out of bed and answer the door. Her bare feet hit the cold wood floors and she tip-toed her way to the door.
When she grabbed the knob to open it, she heard a familiar voice say “don’t open the door! I don’t think I’m supposed to see you,” in a hurried and hushed tone.
“Harry?”
“Yeah, it’s me.” His voice was gravelly with exhaustion and had an apprehensive, almost nervous quality she had never heard from him before.
“Why are you here?”
“I just wanted to talk to you.” He said it so softly she wouldn’t have been able to hear him if her ear wasn’t pressed up against the doorway. The sentiment brought a smile to her lips and she wasn’t completely sure why. She was quiet for a moment, deciding if she wanted to turn him away or not when she heard him sarcastically ask, “What? I’m not allowed to talk to my wife?”
“I’m not your wife yet,” she reminded him with a tired chuckle. “But we can talk,” she assured him. “I’m going to sit down, okay? My legs are tired from my heels all day.” She kneeled down and leaned herself up against the hard wooden door.
She had been in this same position only a few weeks before, angry at the world and wanting to kill the man on the other side of it; but here she was, speaking to him willingly, even joking with him. She listened close as his own body rested against the floor and leaned on the opposite side, mirroring her own position.
“Those heels really hurt, don’t they?” he asked, voice still hushed. If she wasn’t so tired, she might have even said she heard a smile in his voice.
“Yeah, they are like little death traps for your feet and legs.” He let out a small laugh on the other side and her lips pulled into a smile that she hadn’t given them permission for.
“How many pairs do you have? You always match your dress to your shoes so you must have a ton.”
She was gradually learning that he was much more observant than she had originally thought. He apparently wasn’t the dumb boy that she remembered from school anymore.
“Too many,” she said with a soft laugh and a shake of her head. “I’m wearing my favorites tomorrow.”
“And which ones are those?”
“They’re white, obviously; they have to match,” she smiled. “They have a green gem at the toes. They match the tiara I’ll be wearing.” She stopped for a moment before continuing on. “And your grandmother’s ring.” She played with the gold band that sat on her ring finger, still somehow dazzling in the very limited light of her dark room. “Thank you, by the way. It’s gorgeous.”
“You’re welcome. She wanted you to have it.”
“Did she really?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said confidently on the other side of the door. She imagined him nodding along with his words to emphasize his point, as he often did while speaking. “She kept tabs on you while we were growing up. She was always talking about how smart you seemed and that you would be a good queen one day. If I didn’t know better, I would say she liked you more than me growing up.” Y/N felt her cheeks heat up with the information. She was flattered by his grandmother’s opinion of her, but her heart also ached for Harry.
“I’m sure that's not true.”
“I think it was. I was always screwing up in one way or another; always creating messes that her and my parents had to clean up.” He paused for a moment and she heard him let out a long sigh. “Always running around with other girls and making the one I was supposed to marry feel like shit.”
She wished she could see his face. She wished that she could get a read on his emotions. But there was, literally and figuratively, a wall between them.
“Y/N,” she heard his voice squeak out through a voice crack, “I really am sorry for everything I’ve done to you.”
“I know. I forgive you, Harry.”
Saying those four words, lifted a weight she didn’t know she had been carrying off her shoulders. This moment felt like an absolution, a time to wipe their long and complicated slate clean. There was no better time for them to start anew than the night before they began the next chapter of their lives. But this chapter would be together, as a pair and a team.
“Thank you.”
“I’m sorry too, Harry. I know this all had to happen so fast so I could take the throne, but I know you thought you had more time. I thought I did too.”
“What do you mean? Why did it have to happen so fast?” he asked.
First, Y/N was confused. There was a very obvious answer. Then her heart began to break for him. He wasn’t ready at all for what was coming. No one must have told him.
“Harry,” she said softly, “Do you know about my mother?”
“What do you mean?” From the tone in his voice, she knew he genuinely didn’t know.
“My mom-” she began gently, swallowing the lump in her throat that always appeared when she began to talk about this, “My mom is dying, Harry.” She heard a soft gasp through the door before she went on. “She’s been sick for a while, but things are getting really bad. Her doctors think she only has a couple weeks left.”
She listened to his breathing stop, like his mouth was hung open searching for something to say. He was quiet for a few moments before he landed on what seemed like the only thing he had said over and over these last few weeks, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I’m here for you if you need to talk about all of this.”
His offer was not lost on her. The idea of Harry being someone she could confide in was a new one, but one that she would consider.
“It’s okay.” She choked out, wiping a few stray tears that had found their way out, off her cheeks. “I have had enough time to come to terms with it. But in our archaic constitution,” she said with a biting distaste in her voice, “a woman cannot become the sovereign of the country if she isn't married. That’s why this all had to happen so fast.”
“I see.”
The pair were quiet, both curled up on opposite sides of the wall; simultaneously experiencing a unique type of loneliness that only the other could understand. In less than 12 hours, they would be married, linked by an oath that neither of them had signed up for, in circumstances with responsibilities that neither of them were ready to handle.
“Harry,” she peeped, breaking a silence that hung heavy over them both, “you should go to sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.”
She listened through the door to the rustling of him getting up off the floor beside her. “You should get some sleep too.”
“I’ll try my best.”
“So will I. I’ll see you at the altar, wifey.”
She let out a strangled laugh at the nickname he had adopted for her, her throat still tight from crying. She listened to his foot falls until they disappeared down the hallway before she mustered the strength to drag herself back to bed. Her staff was on strict orders from the wedding planner to have her woken up at 8 to begin getting ready and she wanted to get some rest before the sun came up.
And like clockwork, her curtains were thrown wide open at 8 am, sunlight blinding her as she woke up. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to her rude awakening, but soon she could make out the bustling room around her. Hair stylists, makeup artists, bridesmaids, flower girls, her mother, and some lady with an ear piece and a clip board fluttered about her bedroom with an excited chatter. Taking in the chaotic scene, it really hit her. Holy shit, I’m getting married today, she thought.
Her stomach twisted and turned in knots as the gaggle of women fawned over her, instructing her to stay still and “stop shaking” as they applied layers of makeup and fussed with her hair. Her hair was pulled into a delicately crafted low bun and her eyes were painted with neutral tones and a little bit of shimmer. Diamond and emerald earrings were threaded through her ear lobes and her fingernails were inspected to see if they needed any touch ups. Her shaky body was zipped into her dress and her feet slipped into her heels while her cathedral length veil was pinned meticulously into her hair. She was only missing one last thing.
“Your tiara, your highness,” her mother joked through the happy and proud tears welling up in her eyes. The tiara was the one last thing she needed before she was sent on her way to the cathedral. She bent down slightly, her mother delicately crowing her; when she rose, she couldn't help but grab onto her mother and hold her tight. It was hard for her not to think about the next time she would be crowned, a time when her mother wouldn’t be there to offer the guidance or support Y/N needed.
“I love you, Mama,” was all she said. It was the only reason all of this was happening. She loved her mother too much to let her down.
“I love you more, my princess,” her mother said gently, before turning away and scurrying off to do something else. Y/N tried to ignore the wince on her face when she moved too fast and the slight wheeze she made when she was speaking.
Surveying the scene around her, Y/N felt like she was about to die. Her heart was pounding hard in her ears, her palms were slick with sweat, her breathing was labored, and her chest felt tight. She had never been so overwhelmed with anxiety before. She had known today was coming her entire life, but the fact that it really was here was too much for her brain to wrap itself around.
It was like she had blacked out from fear, an hour of her life completely unaccounted for. She didn’t remember the last minute checks and touches to her hair and makeup. She didn’t remember her mother delicately resting her veil over her face. She didn’t remember getting in the car bringing her to the cathedral. She didn’t remember someone shoving a bouquet of flowers in her hands. She didn’t remember the music starting up or walking down the aisle of the giant imposing and ornate cathedral.
She was only brought back to reality when she reached the imposing altar and Harry delicately took her hand into his. His green eyes were painted with concern when he saw the worried crease between her eyebrows and the way she was chewing on her bottom lip under her sheer veil, swiping his thumb up and down her skin in an attempt to soothe her. It was the first time he had ever touched her voluntarily; it was a gentle and tender touch, full of care. She gripped back tight onto his hand, holding on for dear life as she thought over everything that was about to happen.
They were instructed to stand forward, watching the officiant as he droned on about love and duty to one’s country and spouse, but their hands stayed clasped tight onto each other, like they were being thrown into a stormy and unpredictable sea and the other’s hand was their only life line. And in a way, they were.
When they were told to turn towards each other to begin their vows, their eyes locked and she began to really look at him for the first time. She watched his plush lips closely as he recited the words fed to him from the officiant, although she didn’t hear a single word of them. Her eyes traced his strong cheekbones and landed on his adorable button nose before returning back to his eyes. She noticed the slight blue bags that sat under them, signaling he had just as much trouble sleeping as she did.
His eyes brought her a calm that she hadn’t felt in years, silently telling her that she wasn’t alone in all of this, his warm hands still holding on to hers punctuating that sentiment. There wasn’t anyone else in the massive cathedral but the pair of them anymore, just two scared kids trying to make it through the demands weighing on their shoulders together.
Shaky hands exchanged rings, her heart stopping for a moment when the ring caught and didn’t slide onto his finger gracefully. But her heart regained it’s rhythm when she heard a light chuckle coming from the man across from her, a gentle smile that was just big enough to flash a dimple at her, signaling that it would be okay.
She recited her vows without much thought, letting ‘I do,’ slip past her lips while still entranced by Harry’s intense yet comforting gaze. She watched his strong hands disconnect from hers as he lifted the lace trimming on the veil covering her face, dark lashes flickering down to her glossed lips. She let her eyes fall closed as he leaned in towards her and rested a hand on her cheek, prompted by the officiant and clapping coming from the pews, bracing herself for a feeling of disgust she hoped wouldn’t come.
He carefully connected their lips softly with a sweetness that felt gentle, tender, and caring. But there was more to the kiss than a softness, there was a respect there as well. His hand felt secure and protective on her cheek, and he pulled away with a smile after a short time, sure not to overwhelm her. The feeling of disgust in her belly that she was waiting for never came; if she didn’t know better she would say she felt an excited flutter.
They stood on the altar for a moment and just stared at each other, excited and relief filled smiles creeping into their lips, his dimples prominent. “Shall we, wifey?” Harry beamed with a sigh, extending a hand to lead her back down the aisle, now as a married woman.
“We shall, husband,” she giggled back, cheeks still a fiery red from their contact. Calling him her husband felt foreign, but not unwelcome.
Harry held her hand tight, keeping her in the moment by the warm contact. He held her hand down the aisle and all the way back to the palace, all throughout the signing of their marriage license, and all throughout the many, many photos taken of the two and their wedding party. She found comfort in his warm touch, continuing to ground her through the chaos that unfolded around them. Even when they had briefly disconnected from each other, he was always close by, only a call of his name away.
She was shocked by how careful he was around her giant dress, taking calculated steps to avoid dirtying the crisp white fabric. He was playing the role of a dutiful husband, and was seeming to enjoy it.
They spent the next hours just following orders from wedding planners, shuffled around from place to place, constantly surrounded by people. All she wanted was a moment to speak to him alone, but it seemed far out of reach.
That moment finally came in the middle of a dance floor, with hundreds of eyes staring at them as they danced. They swayed together slowly, a gentle rock to the delicate sound of strings. “Thank you for staying by me all day, Harry,” she said quietly, hoping that no one could hear them over the music.
“No need to thank me, wifey,” he said with a chuckle, his lips grazing against her ear as he spoke. She chuckled like always at the name and shook her head.
“I mean it. I don’t think I would have been able to get through all of this,” she said looking out at the crowd watching them and the giant ornately decorated ballroom they were in the center of, “if you hadn’t been by my side.”
“I quite like it, actually. I could get used to standing with you.” He said nonchalantly, like it was no big deal, while her heart just about stopped.
She wasn’t able to answer before the music slowed to a stop and they were pulled apart by their mothers and dragged off to speak to “very important” people. He seemed just as disappointed as she was when they were separated.
When they finally found each other again, Y/N had changed. She had abandoned her massive conservative skirt of tulle and lace for a creamy silk gown that she could actually move in. It was a simple a-line v-neck dress with cap sleeves, but the back held a deep V that ended at the small of her back coupled with a loosely tied bow.
The cool breeze on her back made her feel sexy. She knew she was pushing the boundaries on what was appropriate for a princess and she loved it.
“My darling, you look gorgeous,” he said, taking her hand and spinning her so he could fully take in the new dress, mindful of her tiara and trying his best not to knock it off. Her cheeks burned at his flattery, something he could surely feel when he pulled her close and pressed a delicate kiss on her cheek.
“You’re just saying that,” she said bashfully staring down at the floor, deflecting the compliment easily.
“Wifey,” he singsonged the teasing nickname that had evolved into a term of endearment. He lifted her chin to look up at him and he looked down at her with the most honest expression she had ever seen him wear. “You look beautiful. You have all day.”
“Thank you, Harry.” She spoke quietly, barely audible, unsure what to make of her husband’s compliments. He leaned in to her, layed a tender kiss on her forehead, and dragged her across the room to the dance floor.
They stayed on the dancefloor most of the night, almost always touching in some sort of way, while dancing and celebrating with their friends and family.
And Y/N was happy; a genuine type of happiness that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Obviously, this wasn’t ideal. She was now married to a man she knew virtually nothing about, who had been a sworn enemy of hers only a few days ago, and had only begun enjoying his company last night. But happiness isn’t linear, she thought to herself.
Their night had passed in a joyous and opulent blur that went late into the night; full of food, dancing, and a swimming pool's worth of champagne.
Eventually both of them were led, by dutiful staff as they were both quite drunk and couldn’t exactly be trusted to make it on their own, to their new bedroom, or bedrooms depending on who you asked. They were led into the massive room consisting of two separate suites connected by a dressing room of sorts in a cloud of giggles, finding themselves in a fit of laughter after passing a portrait in the hall of some distant ancestor who had an amusing mustache.
“Thank you for leading us back,” she said, trying to gain a sober composure to the men who had flanked them on their way back, “you can go now.” The men shared a look between themselves that seemed to say ‘someone should be watching them,’ but followed the princess’ orders anyway.
“I just can’t understand how he got it to curl like that,” Harry cackled, beginning to wheeze from his hysterics and slightly stumbling as he was doubled over.
“Maybe it was natural like your curls,” she suggested, through her giggling hiccups that she let return when their staff left the room. “I quite like your curls, ya know? I like it when you let them grow a bit.”
They were still holding hands, despite being alone in their new found privacy, no longer needing the support from the other to shield them from the pressure of looking eyes.
“Then I’ll have to grow them out a bit,” he said, a smile still beaming at her with droopy drunk eyes. He tugged on her hand softly, bringing her body into his and setting his hand on the exposed skin of the small of her back. His hands were warm and soft and in the moment, she never wanted his hand to move from that spot again. “I can’t refuse the princess’ orders.” His voice had dropped low, not to a whisper but to a soft and lazy volume that made her feel safe.
Their faces were close and she could smell his strong vanilla and sandalwood cologne coming off him that she wanted to envelop herself in. He looked back down at her with a face that was loving, but she attributed it to the alcohol in his system. For a moment, she was overwhelmed with adoration for this man who she had spent so much of her life violently hating. Admiring and adoring him was much easier on her soul than harboring the hatred that had eaten at her for so long.
“I have another order,” she spoke quietly, letting the words tumble from her lips without her usually logical brain’s permission, “I want you to kiss me. For real this time.”
His lips were on hers as soon as the words left her own. It was sloppy and sweet, but with a passion behind it that Y/N felt in her bones. Their lips moved in a drunken rhythm, with Harry’s aimless wandering hands sliding up and down the silk of her dress before resting on her waist and pulling her impossibly closer to him. Her hands found and twirled the few of Harry’s curls that remained after they had cut his hair shorter than usual for the ceremony at the base of his neck and sunk her fingers into it, pulling him further into the kiss by his hair.
It was not long before their tongues found each other and the kiss deepened into a desperate dance of gasping for breath and soft moans into each other’s mouths. Harry’s mouth left hers and began to press sloppy open mouthed kisses down her neck while fiddling with the bow at the back of her gown that would release it from her frame.
Feeling him fuss with the bow made her pounding heart shift from one of excitement, to one of panic. This was too soon, she didn’t know him well enough. She didn’t know his favorite color or any of his hobbies. She didn’t know how he liked his tea, or if he drank it at all. She didn’t even know his middle name.
Her fuzzy mind couldn’t deny how much she didn’t know about him or the anxiety that made her want to pull away from the man and run.
“Harry,” she breathed, voicing the apprehension and anxiety that had begun to rise in her chest, “please stop.” She had squeaked out the words, a mix of embarrassment and panic taking over her slightly slurred words.
His hands froze, pulling himself back quickly from her, a mix of worry and guilt on his face. “Did I do something wrong? I just thought…” he let his words drop off, his own fuzzy mind not sure of what to say either.
“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry, I just can’t.” Her cheeks grew hot and her eyes became glassy.
She was embarrassed to admit it, but the kiss on the altar that morning was the first time she had ever had another pair of lips on her own. Her entire life she had been shielded from men with any interest in her, her affection already spoken for and claimed. No man had ever held her hand romantically, or danced with her, or kissed her with the passion Harry just had.
Harry had lived a life with freedom that she had never been granted. She remembered all the times she had watched him interact with various girlfriends at school, and remembered the shame she had felt when he had ended up on the cover of tabloids after he was photographed naked and kissing a random woman on a yacht. Every article had ended with the same line that she still knew by heart.
“The prince is arranged to marry Princess Y/N when she comes of age in an effort to unify their countries.”
They had lived very different lives, with very different freedoms up until this point. It was sexist and archaic and unfair, but she couldn’t deny the impacts it had on her while she was around Harry. Even though she couldn’t deny that she was beginning to feel something real for him and she believed that he felt the same; she didn’t fully trust him like that yet. She couldn’t.
“I’ve never done any of this before, Harry. This morning was my first kiss.” Her cheeks burned in a mixture of embarrassment and shame as she spoke the words. “I like you a lot, but today has been nerve wracking and scary enough. I just can’t add another new thing into the mix, especially that. It’s just all too much. I’m sorry.”
Her sheltered and delicate heart couldn’t even bring herself to say the word ‘sex’.
As he listened to her explanation, his features softened. They were no longer fearful that he made a mistake or crossed a boundary, but they moved into a soft and caring smile.
“Y/N, my darling,” he began in a soft and sweet voice, “come here.” He beckoned her with open arms to rest up against his chest again. She had curled her arms in front of herself, holding them close to her body, as she walked into his arms and let herself be enveloped by them while resting her head on his chest. “You are my wife now, but I think we both understand that we are not exactly in this position by choice. I would never ask you to do something you are uncomfortable with and I am sorry that I crossed a boundary.”
“Thank you,” she peeped before he continued on.
“Also, I heard that part when you said you liked me a lot,” she could hear the smirk in his voice, making her cheeks inexplicably hotter. “And I like you a lot too.”
The pair stood in that hold long enough for them to lose track of time, just resting against each other in silence, listening to the other’s breathing. The silence that enveloped them was comforting, but Harry eventually spoke again, inexplicably soft and gentle in tone.
“Y/N, I really want to try to make us work.”
“So do I, Harry.”
The pair stood together in their stillness and peaceful quiet, until she let out a small yawn.
Harry released her from his grasp and began walking around the room, opening wardrobes and dressers searching for something. He breathed a small triumphant noise when he opened a drawer, spinning around with a light pink and baby blue nightgown in his hands.
“Do you need any help getting out of your dress? Would I be allowed to help?” His face was so thoughtful, carefully navigating the boundaries she had made him aware of but not set in stone yet.
She took the nightgown from his hands and slipped it over her head, the silk dress beneath it. “I just need help untying the bow.” Her voice was still low, a quiet and delicate murmur.
His hands carefully untied the bow, turning around for modesty’s sake, only turning back around when he heard the silk hit the floor.
She had begun carefully removing the bobby pins that still held her bun together, causing them both to giggle when her hair was finally released into a giant poof of curls and hair spray.
She looked so sweet to him. This was the first time he had seen her relaxed like this, no longer in a fancy dress, heels, and her hair and makeup done to perfection. She looked like a real person to him, not a princess who would soon become queen.
He moved gingerly towards the door of her room, but not before pressing one more soft kiss to her lips.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, wifey.”
“Can’t wait, my husband,” she called from under the covers, watching him close the door behind him.
***
The two were sitting on a hot beach, baking in the sun when the call came.
It was day four of their honeymoon and a week after their wedding, spending their time alone together on a small island in the sun neither of them could remember the name to. It was a paradise straight out of a movie, and she swore nothing could ruin it.
They spent their days learning each other well, often joking that they should make up trivia quizzes for each other to see who knew the other best. She had learned that Harry’s eyes lit up like a child when he saw any type of animal, especially the small lizards that would run across the deck hanging off the back of their small beach house. It was also a surprise when she found out he loved to cook, whipping up a meal that could rival some of the chefs at the palace for dinner one night.
But her favorite thing she had learned about him by far, was how he sang in the shower. He had a low and melodic voice that he didn’t know traveled into the house from the outdoor shower. She would sit by the window closest to him, often pretending to write in the pink notebook he had given her in the garden, close her eyes and appreciate the man’s voice. She swore if he wasn’t a prince, he would be a singer.
In the time since their nuptials, the pair had become lovers. Always attached at the hip and sneaking kisses; they were blissfully and unstoppably becoming increasingly obsessed with the other. The word ‘love’ often played at Y/N’s lips, seeming to always be only a drink away from letting it slip out towards him.
Every day, they would walk down a short path from their house to a pristine white sand beach, picnic basket in hand, and sit. Sometimes they would sit in silence, just staring at the clear blue ocean, and other times they would talk about everything and anything that came to mind, or they would read silently next to each other. But they were always holding onto each other; sometimes it was a hand placed gently on the other’s thigh, or fingers intertwined between them.
The shrill ring of Y/N’s phone broke their fantasy while sitting on the beach on the fourth afternoon. Her heart dropped as soon as she heard it, knowing that the palace had agreed not to bother them unless the worst case scenario was happening.
She closed her eyes and braced herself, tears already threatening to breach her eyes, as she answered the phone with shaky hands. “Hello?” she choked out.
“Your highness, you need to come home.” She immediately recognized the panicked voice of her mother’s secretary on the other end. “It’s happening.”
“Okay,” she said, trying to remain as composed as possible. “We’re leaving now.”
Harry’s face held a furrowed brow and concerned eyes as she spoke. He immediately began rubbing his thumb back and forth over the back of her palm like he had done on their wedding day, but today, it did nothing to soothe her pain and anxiety.
She hung up the phone before letting out a heart wrenching cry. “We have to go home,” she sobbed. “She is dying.”
The entire journey home was silent after Y/N had composed herself on the beach.
She sat emotionless, staring straight ahead, flinching away every time Harry moved to touch her. She spoke only when absolutely necessary, but her voice brought no tone with it. She had become a shell of herself, losing the warmth behind her eyes that had begun to appear after the wedding.
She felt empty, like she had lost the ability to think, while simultaneously feeling so overwhelmed, by thoughts of her future as queen and the loss of her mother. She had become blank, inside and outside, the happiness she had begun to build for herself with Harry, melting away and leaving the hollowness of grief and dread.
It took them about twelve hours to reach the palace from the time she hung up the phone, but it wasn’t fast enough. The second she stepped out of the car, she saw the guards outside the palace dressed in their black uniforms that were reserved only for the passing of the sovereign. She closed her eyes silently, as if when she opened them up again their uniforms would turn back to their usual blue and maroon; but they didn’t, their clothing still black as night.
Her heels clicked the pavement, maintaining her immaculate posture and steely blank expression as she entered the palace, the loving man she had been excited to have a life with trailing mournfully behind her. She watched as if she was out of her body when she passed people, all now dressed in black, in the hall. They all acted the same.
First, they would give her the saddest look, silently extending their sympathies to the daughter who just lost her mother, and then bowing their heads in respect to the now reigning queen.
“I need to see my mother,” was all she said, before being led into her bedroom.
She hadn’t remembered when her father had died, too young to understand. All she could wrap her head around was that her Daddy had an accident and wasn’t coming home. But she remembered her mother’s cries, loud and earth shattering sobs that traveled up and down the hallways of the palace for all to hear.
She looked like she was just sleeping; arms peacefully crossed over her chest and eyes shut gently. But she was cold when Y/N reached for her hand. She tenderly brought her mothers hand to her lips, and pressed a final kiss to her hand, before walking blankly out of the room.
Her mother was gone. And the country fell onto her shoulders.
She heard Harry saying something as he followed close behind her. While she heard him, she didn’t process a thing he said. She stalked towards their bedroom which was unfortunately on the other side of the palace, locked in her daze. He trailed close behind her the entire way, trying to say anything that could break through to her, and stood dutifully outside the door of her side of the bedroom for an unknown amount of time after she had shut it in his face.
***
She didn’t speak, or show emotion, or allow anyone at all to touch her for three days. Only nodding or shaking her head in response to the rapid firing of questions she was asked about planning her mother’s funeral. Harry only saw glimpses of his wife, or the shell of Y/N that she had become, usually while she shut the door to her bedroom between them.
He left his door open all day everyday.
When he awoke the morning of the funeral and found her bedroom door open, his heart jumped. He slowly walked inside to find her in a room full of black dresses. Dresses had been laid carefully over every surface for her to choose from; the dress she would wear to her mother’s funeral and her first public appearance as queen.
“Good morning,” was all he said, quiet and careful.
The person that looked back at him was someone he didn’t recognize. The light was gone from her eyes, and she wasn’t the woman he was head over heels in love with anymore. She looked like her, but emanated sadness and anxiety like nothing he had ever seen before. Dark blue bags held under her eyes from not sleeping, her hair was tied behind her head in a messy unkempt ponytail, and she was dressed in a giant and ill fitting nightgown, shoulders bent down in a fashion that made her look small. The only feature of the put together, confident, and commanding woman he was married to that remained was the bright emerald ring that sat on her ring finger.
“I can’t decide what to wear,” she said without expression, but the tears started to fall down her face before she could finish the sentence. Harry moved quickly across the room to her when he saw her knees began to shake, catching her just in time as they gave out and she fell into his arms, settling them both onto the soft carpeted ground. That was when her heaving sobs began. It was a bone rattling cry that consumed her wholly and her exhausted and hurting brain could only put together two thoughts: she missed her mom, and she didn’t want to take on all this responsibility alone.
She sobbed into his shirt, holding onto the soft and worn fabric of his t-shirt for dear life, and he held her close to his body, slowly rubbing her back and letting all of the emotion fall out of her. She cried for a long time, giving herself a pounding headache, and when the tears finally began to slow she connected her tearful ones with Harry’s ever vibrant green eyes and mumbled, “I just thought I had more time with her. And I thought we had more time to just be us.”
“I know you did, darling.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and reveled in being able to touch her again, as his heart broke a little every time she would pull away from his touch.
“I’m not ready, Harry. I can’t do this all alone. It’s too much.” She spoke softly, shaking her head from side to side, still choking back sobs as she tried to regain her composure.
“You’re not doing anything on your own. The second we were married, your problems and responsibilities became mine too,” he assured her. He moved to grab her left hand in his own and showed her the rings that sat on their hands. “Remember these?” he breathed with a light chuckle. “You’re stuck with me for life, whether you like it or not.”
He watched as she processed the realization that he was there to lighten the load. It was like a lightbulb had gone off for her, slowly nodding along with what he said. She let her eyes fall to the dresses that surrounded her, but he gently took her chin and directed her eyes back to his. “Y/N, we are a team. I am always here for you and I always will be.”
He took a deep long breath before continuing on, “I love you.”
She didn’t think when she pressed her lips to him, she just did, desperate to be close to him again. A coldness had swallowed her for days, and his words brought back the smallest feeling of warmth, a glimpse of hope she had been desperate to find.
She had known the passing of her mother was coming for years, her illness getting progressively worse over time. She had always believed it would bring more pressure, weighing down on her heavier than ever before. But looking at their rings and the man before her, she was hit by the fact that she never had to carry the weight of the country all by herself. She had Harry the whole time. He was her partner; in life and in power.
“I love you, too,” she said after breaking the kiss, salty from all her tears. She was quiet and her voice was still shaking and unsteady from her sobs, but he was there, holding her and keeping her safe.
He held her hand, slotting their fingers together as he picked them both up off the ground and helped her pick a dress. It was a black blazer dress that fell below her knees with three crystal buttons going down the left side. Harry carefully helped her into the dress, his warm and respectful hands sliding up her bare skin as he pulled it up over her shoulders. He then sat her on her bed, and began to carefully brush out her hair, doing his best to work through knots without hurting the girl who was already hurting enough. And he held one of her hands gently while she sat at her vanity and did her makeup with her free one. He refused to leave her side.
Harry stayed firmly planted by her side throughout the entire day, not daring to leave her while she needed him. He knew that photos of him holding her hand tight during the funeral would make the press, and the photos of him wiping away her tears as they left would make the front page, but he didn’t care. She might be the queen, but she was also his Y/N.
***
Their fingers were always locked together, Harry’s thumb passing back and forth over the back of her hand in the steady rhythm he always used when she was stressed. He was there whenever she needed him, gently taking hold, to remind her that he was there and they were a team.
He cradled her hand as she crushed his, gritting through the most excruciating pain she had ever experienced. It felt like her entire body was being ripped apart from the inside out, but Harry’s hand was the light at the end of the tunnel. She was screaming and crying in the small crowded room, feeling like a science experiment as all the doctors looked on at her pain.
But it all stopped when she heard the smallest little cry.
Then shouts of “It’s a girl!”
Exhausted and elated tears flowed freely from her eyes that were locked on the slimy little baby a nurse was burredly placing on her chest. She was so small, delicate and breakable, with strong lungs that screamed out to announce her entrance into the world. And when her eyes opened for the first time, they revealed the same bright sea glass green tone that matched her father, the green she had been falling in love with and swimming around in for years.
This baby was so much more than just a little girl, not only to them, but to their countries. She would forge a kingdom united in the future, a product of peace and partnership. She was a symbol of unity and a future of kindness between their countries. She was the future.
But for right now, the tiny baby was just theirs.
She felt him press a proud kiss to her head before she connected their lips together in a tear filled kiss before they both looked back to their new pride and joy who was still screaming for all the attention.
“She’s beautiful, darling,” he whispered quietly though tears next to her, hand still grasped tightly onto hers. “You did such a good job.”
“Literally couldn’t have done it without you,” she chuckled, still staring down, entranced by the little girl who looked like her daddy.
The pair stayed with their baby, quiet and just being, long after the doctors and nurses left the room. They learned she liked to scream and sleep, about as much as you could learn about someone only hours old. But she didn’t have a name. They had been debating for the last nine months over what the little princess would be called.
“I think she should be named after your mother,” Harry would say.
“But I think she should be named after your grandmother,” She would reply.
Their roundabout banter never left the pair, only changed; from malicious and teasing, to one of loving partnership.
“So neither?” he quipped with a small smirk while holding the little girl tight to his chest.
“I guess we have to compromise; diplomatically,” she said with a giggle, alluding to how they got to this position in the first place.
“I feel like a loving marriage and a new baby is pretty good for diplomatic relations.”
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! Please send feedback and reblog if you enjoyed it!
#harry styles angst#harry styles fluff#harry styles imagine#harry styles one shot#harry styles x you#harry styles x reader#harry styles x y/n#harry styles#prince harry styles#Royal AU#Harry styles enemies to lovers#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fanfiction#one direction#one direction fanfiction
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I want to say that your posts are so wholesome 😊 and can you do a courting headcannon please. Thank you in advance.
I fell asleep and woke up thinking about this, so as I leave some tabs open for reference, I shall grab an energy drink and get right onto this~♡
You didn't specify what characters you wanted so I will do just for the brothers.
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How The Brothers Court You
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Lucifer
Gloves Off!
You got cold hands? Well, not anymore. Lucifer will often just take them off and give them to you as soon as he feels your hands are slightly chilly. They may be too big to fit on your hands but believe me when I say he is melting at the sight.
He Totally Doesn't Know How to Choose Gifts.
You know that one thing you really liked while you were window shopping but didn't have the money to buy it and Lucifer saw you? Congrats, it's yours now. He thinks he's smooth but the truth is that if it was up for him to choose, it would lead to disaster.
Your Obedient Servant, Lucifer.
This man is BIG on acts of service. You need a coffee in the morning? He is already carrying both yours and his on each hand. Need some help carrying something heavy? He was already sticking his hands and carrying it for you before you even had the chance to find it too heavy. He's a mess.
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Mammon
Love Letters.
A callback to his birthday, Mammon has promised to write letters to you, and he is so adorable at them. Some are small with him giving you compliments, others are big as he writes his heart out to you.
Sing Us a Song You're The Broke Man.
And a callback to the wedding event, you can bet that was not the first time he has sang a song for you. Expect many to be directed to your humble self at every karaoke you take part on with Mammon. Sometimes he is drunk and it's hilarious.
Humble Gifts
Who needs expensive things when you have a blushy Mammon giving you small, yet meaningfull, things? A change of pens, a little candy you wanted to taste, an origami you taught him how to make, and even shiny stones he finds around the devildom, he gives them all to you.
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Leviathan
Love of Love by Love For Love.
Sitting down for hours listening to you ramble attently? Being angry with you, happy with you, sad with you, he will do it with pleasure. To him, if he loves you, therefore he loves what you love too, because he loves the way you love.
Your Personal Benefactor
You need that copy of your favorite book? He totally didn't already plan to go with you. You need a place to concentrate in your studies? Blue actually helps you remember things so he totally didn't think being in his room would help, pff no. He totally isn't always there to give you a hand because he cares what are you on-
What Is Yours is Yours and What is Mine is Also Yours
Callback to a chat with him where he asked to put some of his posters in your bedroom because he ran out of space in his. Don't be fooled, if there is one thing I know from personal experience, letting him put his stuff on your walls makes him go over the moon.
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Satan
The Art of Seduction
The friendly approaches, the teasing, the weekly dates, although he already did it all before catching feelings for you, he totally doesn't know any better. The only difference is how he becomes much less formal, and a lot more smiley.
The One Thing You Can't Replace.
Making your own stuff means there will be nothing else like it in the world, so expect him to get out of his way often to make you handmade gifts. A plushie, a bracelet, a spoon, a book, you name it.
Are You a Turtle-
I headcanon Satan as a biter. He is the person who will playfully try to bite your fingers when it's too close to his mouth, he will nibble on your neck and your earlobe. He won't hurt you, he just likes biting, and he likes you so-
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Asmodeus
Another Benefactor
A callback to season 1's ball on Diavolo's birthday where Asmo gave you your clothes as a gift, so just like with clothes, expect him to buy creams and oils, give you massages and invite you to a spa. He will treat you and himself to all the nice things he can afford.
Show Off.
Oh how he will show off how close you two are. There are selfies on Devilgram with heart emojis, mentions of you in his social circles, everyone knows how Asmo is already fell deeper than the lowest layer of Hell.
Boyfriend Material
Call back to two chats where Asmo has proven to be good at handcrafts by fixing a doll and making his own shopping bag. Expect him to not only buy you things, but to also make some things on his own! Need a new bag? No problem! A purse? Coming right up! A pencil case? He will make it amazing! A coin pouch? Just leave it to him!
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Beelzebub
Hold Me Tight Like Hamburger
Social distancing? Scratch that, he is going to give you a bear hug for every time you guys greet each other, he even lifts you up a bit. He is just really happy.
Eat This
"Bell doesn't share food" yeah right, say that to all the food he has personally held out for your to eat with his own bare hands. And it's not just any food either, the more you like the food he is eating, the more he shares. Oh, it's your favorite? I see, you can have it all, he will get another.
There For You on Thick And Thin
He will be there with a supportive hand when you need encouragement, he will be there by your side when you're sad and suffering, he will be there by your side when you are so excited and happy you can't stay still, he will drop everything, anything, just to be there for you.
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Belphegor
He's a Brat Because He's in Love
Yes he will mess your hair, put things out of your reach, draw on your face while you're asleep and drop pillows and blankets right on your face with love. He can't be honest with his feelings and this is the result.
Romeo
This boy will be you personal sneak buddy. Need alone time in a big party? He does too so c'mon. Can't sleep? He just woke up so c'mon. You just want to run away for a while? He knows a good place, c'mon!
Personal Pillow
Belphie basically ditches his cow print pillow for you. Be it your lap, your shoulders, your belly, he will sleep on you. And the best thing? He loves to let you sleep on him too. Everytime you do it, he curls up around you.
#holy shit I love energy drinks so much#also let's play a game: spot the references#and hes Beel would catch you even if he was holding food if you ran and jumped onto him#obey me#obey me!#obey me! shall we date?#obey me lucifer#obey me mammon#obey me leviathan#obey me satan#obey me asmodeus#obey me beelzebub#obey me belphegor#obey me headcanons
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