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nouearth · 9 months

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an internship at wayne interprises.

bruce wayne x m!reader headcanons.

part ii.

warnings: smut, perverted!bruce, short!male reader, shy!male reader, blowjob (reader giving), slight dubcon (?).

notes: i had bale!bruce in mind only because he looks so... good in a suit (and without one).

—to the surprise of his employees, bruce had become more present in his meetings since you started interning at wayne enterprises. previously, his inputs were typically made over phone calls, then finalized by lucius fox.

—but upon seeing you for the first time, he became smitten rather quickly.

—every day, you stood in the corner, clearly nervous and intimidated by the group of businessmen and women as they debated over decisions you couldn’t care less about. but you were always attentive, efficient in your answers on days where they happened to value your input.

—and on those days, bruce would watch the way you shift on your weight onto either sides of your feet, out of nervousness, but also because your feet ached. he would make a mental note to bring—no—demand a chair for you next time.

—then, he would find himself fixated on the most intricate details of you. the way you took in the lower lip with a small bite and licked them when you interacted with a businessman, a sign of intimidation bruce would decipher. it made his heart beat faster, watching you become so flushed at the simplest socialization.

—he wonders if he could have such of an effect on you. bruce never had a chance to introduce himself to you properly because lucius would always send you out to make some phone calls and arrange another meeting.

—it was extremely annoying, but at least he could admire the way your ass fit in those pants on your way out.

—bruce would shamefully touch himself to that brisk image under the conference table.

—you were like a piece of art under him. he would study you in silence, noting how you would look up at everyone because you were the shortest man in the room, even with insoles in your shoes. and those eyes—frightened and inexperienced—it became one of bruce’s favorite features about you.

—a sick part of him delighted in how timid you were, and he would imagine what it would be like if it was just you and him—alone.

—would you have bitten your lip like that? maybe even harder—until it drew blood—because he was the owner of wayne enterprises? how frightened would you be when bruce towered over you? even more so when he demanded for you to get on your knees and-

—it was inappropriate, bruce would guilt himself. an employee, let alone one that recently graduated university, it was unthinkable to even imagine himself with you.

—he tried to convince himself that he simply found you handsome, that was all to it. a fleeting crush.

—but overnight, you’ve become a perpetual thought.

—it became a routine for bruce to awaken in the middle of the night with an erection. and if he wasn’t stirred awake, he was kept up all night with—you guessed it—an erection.

—on the first night of many, bruce would visit your instagram, and he would then thank the lord for having your account public. you were never an outgoing person, so all you did was post your hobbies.

—and while he would love to learn more about your personality through your feed, what was more important was the situation in his briefs—tightening the more he thought about you, looked at you.

—luckily, your most recent post included a selfie, so he didn’t have to scroll very far one-handed.

—what bruce found endearing was that he could still pick apart your quiet personality from your smile—still timid and inexperienced, like how he met you—and he fondled himself to that.

—bruce would massage himself through his briefs, groping a handful of his bulge as he grew harder in his palm, gazing deep into those eyes he yearned to look into.

—your lips were parted in the photo, only by a bit, and he would imagine how they would look around his cock, specifically the head. upon examining the photo closer, a peek of your tongue could be seen, and bruce’s erection would throb.

—how would your tongue feel? would you be daring enough to even tease him with licks?

—and in that moment, he would wonder if you’ve ever done anything like that before.

—he remembered the way you interacted with people, especially with men. you would always avoid eye contact, stumble on your words when you were called upon—he concluded that you were completely inexperienced.

—and that drove him wilder.

—by then, bruce has completely stripped himself. no longer was he palming his thick cock, but stroking himself to your photo. it was shameful, bruce would admit—the lengths he would go through for arousal. but he couldn’t help it. the thought of you, completely innocent and bare before him, was a recurring image that would ink into his brain.

—he liked to imagine that you only touched your cock, because you were scared of touching yourself elsewhere. you had a dildo somewhere under your bed, but it was only used once because you were intimidated, just like how you were intimidated by the men in office earlier today—akin to a deer in headlights.

—not only that, you were intimidated by your greed. people have always said that bigger was better, right? though, you couldn’t have possibly agreed because a mere centimeter of the large phallic toy made you quit with a whimper.

—the stories in his head would run absolutely feral, and vulgar lust would quickly overcome the feeling of guilt.

—cock whore, bruce would go on to muttering himself, slapping his thick, sticky cock on the screen of his phone, specifically on your cheek and lips—a pathetic simulation of what it would look like to have his dick on you. his pre-cum would stain your cheeks, and the heavy weight of his cock and balls would part your mouth open wider than it was in the photo.

—bruce would want to make one out of you—a cock whore. though only his, because he never liked sharing. he would relish in the thought of you on your knees, looking up at him and batting your faint eyelashes as you were overwhelmed at the sheer size of his cock.

—you would be hesitant, doubtful that you could even take him in your mouth. but you would muster up the courage, comforted by bruce’s support, and do so anyways—clumsily and sloppily as his cock would push drool out of your untrained mouth.

—that’s it, fuck…

—in reality, bruce would start you off slow, gentle cascading strokes to your head as he would settle his palm to the back of it and guide you with gentle pushes and tugs.

—but in bruce’s fictional scenario, he would show no mercy.

—intimidation, the fear in your eyes made him high when he would pull his cock out, swinging heavily before it would be shoved into your innocent mouth without warning, cramping reluctancy down your throat until you would then cough out a choke.

—see? just gotta work your pretty mouth open. nothing to be scared of, hm?

—god, you’re such a good boy. bruce would add onto his mutters as he kneeled on his bed, phone laid flat between his thighs as he jerked himself over your photo. it was just like he wanted—you looking up at him with those eyes. for a brief moment, they looked pleading, desperate for him to come on your face.

—how would you want it? bruce would wonder out loud, a familiar pool of pleasure bubbling in the pit of his stomach as he worked himself harder.

—would you want your first experience with another man’s cock to be concluded by throating down a rush of thick cum? or would you prefer him to paint your handsome face white, shooting all over you until you were dripping wet in warm stick.

—you would be indecisive, bruce expected it.

—so, bruce would take it upon himself to make the decision.

—bruce would hunch forward over the phone when the meter of his rapture filled to the very brim. one arm would be used to support his position as he fucked into his tight fist, desperate and crazed at the thought of you taking him and his cum.

—it wouldn’t be long until bruce would finally come all over his phone with a guttural moan, shooting thick ropes of cum all over your face until the screen had become a sheer blanket of sticky glue.

—face, it is.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

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harbingersglory · 4 months

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{☆} characters arlecchino {☆} notes drabble, fem reader, sub reader, transfem arlecchino {☆} warnings 18+ content, breeding kink, degradation, stomach bulge, dacryphilia, restraints

"Arle, hah..please. I can't– I can't wait any longer."

The pleading, almost pouty, words had her letting out a deep, husky chuckle as she fiddled with the buckle of her belt, admiring your body as she stepped up to the bed. Her knee sank into the mattress as she knelt down, pressing a placating kiss to your brow and gesturing for you to turn over.

"Come on, dove. Be a good girl, or I'll treat you like the whore you are." Arlecchino clicked her tongue, firmly grabbing your hands and tightening her belt around your wrists, giving the leather a firm tug to test its strength– and to make sure it wasn't too tight. "I'm in a good mood. Don't spoil it by being a brat, little dove."

The pout it drew from you made her grin, canines flashing beneath her lips as she settled in behind you, cupping your ass in her calloused hands with an appreciative grumble. Your panties were already sticking to your cunt, the fabric soaked. She couldn't help but drag one of her digits across the fabric, teasing your folds beneath it.

"Lucky I adore that pretty mouth of yours or I'd have cut out your tongue," She gruffly spoke, her tone neither in jest or too serious– perhaps she would, maybe she wouldn't. She liked to keep you on your toes. "Hm. Maybe I'll use your throat after– shut you up properly. You look so pretty gagging on my cock, you know?"

Arlecchino slid her fingers beneath the waistband of your panties, tugging them down just enough to see your slick cunt, her fingers pulling the folds apart. Fuck, she could feel her cock throbbing against her boxers at the sight– she'd never get tired of it, just like she'd never get tired of using you like a toy.

"But in the meantime.." She finally pulled down her own boxers, her aching cock slipping free and slapping against your thigh– she slid right between your thighs, forcing you to squeeze them together around her. "Fuck, that's it." She growled, pumping her hips a few times before she was satisfied, lining up her cock with your entrance.

She had the decency, at least, to sink in slowly at first..let you adjust to her size for a brief moment before she snapped her hips forward and sank fully into your cunt with a sharp hiss.

Arlecchino typically enjoyed teasing you first, making you practically beg just for her to give you her cock at all, but she had other plans tonight– she wasn't going to waste time playing around this time. Her hand slipped down to your stomach pressed against the mattress, a low chuckle building in her chest at the distinct bulge her cock left. It was a wonder she fit at all– but she'd make it fit even if she hadn't.

"Be a good girl now and don't complain." She grumbled, leaning down to press you down into the mattress with her body, nipping at your ear before she pulled her hips back, hissing at the way you clenched around her in response. She took a moment to sit there, letting you ruminate and squirm at the lack of movement– only to grab a fistful of hair and start pounding you into the mattress before you can even think to whine about her lack of movement.

How quickly, how easily, you turn into a blubbering mess as she uses you like a toy for her own enjoyment. Not that you won't enjoy what she has in plan for you– just maybe not as much as she does. The mental image of filling you with her cum..it drives her thrusts harder, faster. She wants to fuck you stupid with her cock, fill you to the breaking point until her cum pools on the sheets, unable to be fully plugged up. Just the idea of watching her cum dripping down your thighs makes her control slip just the slightest bit.

She's already big enough to bulge your stomach with every thrust, but she wonders if she can push it further.

She certainly wants to, and she intends to.

The fat tears rolling down your cheeks only got her more excited, her hands gripping your hips so tight she can already imagine the bruises in the shape of her fingers against your skin.

"That's it, dove, give in," Arlecchino hissed, a low growl rumbling in her chest as she continued to pound into them relentlessly, her thighs already stinging from the sheer force of it. "Fucking take it, you whore."

Her muscles flexed in faint restraint, the shifting of your arms against her as you nearly screamed at the intense rush of pleasure making her sink her teeth into your shoulder in warning– a futile effort, really, as your body twitched when you came so hard she briefly considered if she had to stop..but you were still moaning even through the tears rolling down your cheeks, rocking back into her thrusts weakly, unable to keep up.

She wasn't too far behind, either. Her teeth dug deeper into your skin, muffling the growl as she plunged into your soaking wet cunt, bucking into you in much shorter thrusts until she finally felt her cum spilling into you. It was almost enough to send her over the edge again– fuck, you were practically sucking her in with how tight you were, squeezing around her cock.

Her head slumped against your shoulder as she pulled her teeth from your skin, taking a moment of respite to catch her breath and let the sting and ache settle in deep– she welcomed it, if anything. But she wasn't done.

She was going to fuck you till you were full– fill you up until she couldn't fit another drop.

For now..she pulled out, admiring the way her cum dribbled out of you. She didn't mind all that much..she was going to replace it tenfold, anyway.

She couldn't wait to plug you up and see you squirm during the meeting tomorrow, full of her cum and unable to find relief– maybe she'd make it a toy, see how long you last before someone realizes what's going on. She was going to enjoy it thoroughly.

#genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin x reader #minors dni #writing tag #arlecchino smut #arlecchino x reader #so. um. yeah. we r not gonna talk abt this one I was feeling indulgant and shdhdgsjsjsjsj #arlecchino awakens smth in me idk dont ask me #i considered making this tmasc arle for a hot minute but ill save that for another day #anyway manspreading arle agenda thsnks 4 coming 2 my tedtalk #anyway² slamming hands on table arle breeding kink arle breeding kink arle breeding kink #technically no actual direct mention of breeding but shes still trying anyway #sorry im in an arle phade i need her to do unspeakable things to me yknow. you get me.#PHASE not phade its 3 am and i csbt sleep twirls hair #accidentally posted this draft premature im AHHHHHHHH #okay im fine now

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kulapti · 8 months

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Aug 2023, bookbinding of The Silent Isle Imbowers by Tharkuun.

I’m sooo so so pleased to finally share this! I have been actively working on this for many months and waited until Tharkuun received her copy before posting so the final result would be a surprise.

-----------About this bookbinding under the cut

This binding has been one of the more elaborate pieces I have attempted so far. This has been my first binding where I (1) made three copies of a piece at once, (2) used a modified a historical illustration, (3) collaborated directly with another artist on the decorative elements, (4) finished matching art for the cover and title page, and (5) layered paint and heat-transfer vinyl for the covers. These are also (6) the first non-tiny books I have made with this style of hinge and cover attachment.

Pretty much immediately after I first read this story I felt I had to make myself a copy of this. I had a strong mental image of a vintage-looking cover for a fairy tale, with a deceptively simple design of flowers on the cover, probably with fancy metallic accents, the kind of thing you’d find in an interesting used bookstore with no summary, no text on the back, no dust jacket, just the flowers and maybe a title. I’m going to make a separate post about making this cover design a reality because oh man has it been a journey lol! I designed and drew the digital art for the cover (digital because of the cut and application method), as well as the corresponding title page illustration (pencil and dip pen, scanned, title added digitally).

When I asked Tharkuun about it she was excited to suggest I get in touch with quillingwords, who generously agreed to collaborate with me! Among her talents quilling writes calligraphy, and hand wrote both the book title and chapter headers for me to incorporate into my plans. Check OUT those chapter headers! So fancy! A font could never!! Quilling has also been very encouraging and let me yell about this project in dms for months so the final result could be a surprise for Tharkuun. Thank u so much quillingwords, your calligraphy adds invaluable amounts of swag to this project.

I was going to do some kinda neat font for the chapter headers, but quilling’s work is too cool for that and I decided to use a modified piece of a historical illustration instead. The illustration also happens to be cool as heck: I was browsing the Artstor database (an academic quality resource available for free via Jstor, my beloved) and found E. N. Neureuther's 1836 gorgeous etching for etching of the fairy tale Briar Rose, an illustration made for a printing of a Brothers Grimm recorded German fairy tale with Sleeping Beauty elements. Much to my delight this illustration not only matches the general look I wanted but is actually relevant to the story, itself a Sleeping Beauty spinoff.

Slightly less stylistically consistent are the endpapers, which are prints of two different paintings by Arnold Böcklin: Isle of the Dead (1883) in the front and Isle of Life (1888). The first painting had occurred to me as an excellent visual to go with the story, and Tharkuun and I discussed this and agreed that pairing it with the related later, more optimistic piece was too thematically appropriate to resist.

I had fun and learned a lot making these books and I am very pleased with the result!!

Materials: Archival bookboard, cardstock, cotton cheesecloth mull, archival PVA glue, linen thread coated in beeswax, paper cord, red cotton embroidery floss. Blue cotton backed with archival paper, acrylic paint, machine cut black and gold heat-transfer vinyl. Laser printed text and illustrations. Metallic scrapbooking paper.

#artists on tumblr #bookbinding #ficbinding #fanbinding #dreamling #my art #here there be fandom #the sandman #the silent isle imbowers #tharkuun #described #id in alt text #pls imagine me screaming continuously about this project for oh idk 4 or 5 months? oh I can make shiny books??#im not allowed to @ people in this post apparently #links and fic rec in reblog #laying on the floor I found a few missing words I must have deleted on accident while fixing formatting #poppies (Papaver somniferum) and mugwort (Artemisia vulgaris)#tailfeather binding

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serialunaliver · 3 months

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My response to this post about the possibility of Michigan school shooter Ethan Crumbley's mom being charged with involuntary manslaughter I was tagged in (putting it in a separate post because I don't feel like starting shit with anyone):

The case here being used is unique to other shootings. Typically mental illness is not actually the primary deciding factor for violence. Media coverage of school shootings has caused more school shootings than mental illness. A large amount of school shooters were inspired by the ideology of other school shooters. If Columbine wasn't treated the way it was I have no doubt there would've been less shootings.

When it comes to negligence involving mental health I don't actually see a big increase in surveillance or institutionalization as some are claiming though. The fact is parents can already use mental health as an excuse to force their kids into abusive 'treatment' with no consequence. It happens in every psych ward. It's also already used in legal cases as well, that happened to me and it did in fact lead to being forced into harmful treatment, so really the precedent and incentive is already there for those who choose it in my opinion. Meanwhile there's the opposite case where parents would rather their kid cause destruction than admit any mental health issue exists regardless of consequence. Logic is thrown out the window for the most part.

Now the defense of Ethan's mom is claiming he is a manipulator and not mentally ill. While anyone who follows me knows I despise the mental health argument about school shootings, it's quite clear this kid's actions prior to the shooting were at the very least a cry for help. He didn't try to make this secretive and even drew pictures of it. If his parents didn't care about this, it's possible he's neglected in some way at home, which can actually lead to antisocial behavior and acts of violence or threats of them, because, well, one would assume your parents would finally give a fuck about your well-being in that case. I'm diagnosed with a cluster B personality disorder partially due to "manipulative behavior" in the past which seemed horrible and illogical but was literally the only way I thought anyone would know I was hurting. Obviously I don't know if this is what's actually going on in Ethan's case, but what everyone can agree on is the parents' response to all this was not normal or acceptable and doesn't exactly paint an image of a well-adjusted family. And I do wonder if the "manipulator" argument comes from the (most common) perception that anyone with this behavior was just born evil.

ANYWAY, here are some articles/resources on common causes of school shootings and how media coverage and environment impact them, both to spread awareness and to point out that you should not in fact paint anyone as born evil or a future shooter just for certain issues.

• Bullies, black trench coats: Columbine’s most dangerous myths

• Violence has grown since California's incel shooting

• Who is most likely to get bullied at school?

• School shootings and student mental health (Includes more detailed statistics but some are misleading - the one on bullying is based on public perception of shootings, not actual cases, and the one on violent video games has no real correlation. Let this be a reminder to research your own sources!)

#school shooting #seriousposting

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ieatangstforbreakfast · 5 months

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Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝟒𝟐! 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ THIS CHAPTER SO LONG 😭

Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie @noetophat @proudgojofucker @adorefavv @depresssedcowboy

Chapter summary ೃ⁀➷ Aaron’s hesitation sparks suspicion in Miles as he begins to ponder about your real identity. You struggle with the new changes, and you finally meet the new being that’s become a tenant to your body.

FIC MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Aaron knew you.

Not as Antonne, even. But as [Y/n].

Little, nine-year-old [Y/n].

“You’re to watch over them,” He recalls Mr. Fisk’s words. “Especially the girl— how useful she might be, if she’s anything like her father, that is.“

Aaron grimaces behind his mask, quite on edge with the request to investigate a little girl. As his gauntlet unfolds, Aaron reached out a single hand for the manila folder laid before him, flipping a page. There, he spots the image of a little you, dressed in a mauve dress paired along with a bored expression atop your downcast eyes. You were sitting by yourself in your classroom, your chin resting atop your tiny hand.

That was the first time he caught a glimpse of your name.

[Y/n].

“What if she’s more like her mother, Sir?” He halfheartedly asks, unsure if Fisk would take it as a joke. Wilson drew a long breath from his half-burnt cigar, leaning back into his chair with a lopsided grin.

“Even better.”

And then, he remembers. Remembers the day you first entered his life.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Before you, there was your mother. The woman Rio praised, idolized, adored. He’s watched her gleam too many times at the sight of her simply gliding across the silver screen. Something about her tantalizing allure, or something like that. Aaron, being the guard he was, only witnessed this interaction from afar. He figured to get her autograph right after the mission when he’s maskless and unsuspicious.

Fisk’s wife, Vanessa, gestured the woman to sit next to her. Your mother gracefully accepts the invitation, and upon moving away, it was only then you popped out of nowhere— your mother’s skirt being the curtain that unveiled you.

“You must be [Y/n]!” Vanessa cooed. “My, aren’t you a pretty little girl? Aren’t I right, Richard?”

And there marked your first meeting with the boy. Wilson Fisk’s only son— Richard Fisk. A pale brunet with large black eyes that seemed to follow your every move. The boy inched a little too close when your mother commanded you to sit next to him.

“Your hair is so.. Weird.” Richard piqued as he reached out a clammy hand to pull at one of your strands. “Is it real?—“

One glare from you alone made him retract his approach.

Oh. You weren’t as frail as he first thought.

“Richard, don’t go touching people’s hair. I taught you better than that.” Vanessa scolded of the boy. He sheepishly nodded, easing away from your presence.

It was mostly Wilson’s idea to get Richard close to you under the guise of a playmate— in hopes the two of you would one day grow up to be romantically involved. Though your mother and Vanessa’s meeting initiated the beginning of a close friendship, it only began a bloody game of hot and cold between you and Richard.

But Aaron eventually came to the conclusion that the reason you never spoke to Richard wasn’t because of shyness, rather, like the kind of girl who rightfully prided herself in her surname, you felt superior over this little boy.

And the thing is about children— they weren’t born to hate. They were raised to specifically act that way, and he learned to understand your complexities after working for your father every now and then, and he came to an eventual realization that you weren’t anything all too heartless like your parents.

“Aren’t you thirsty?”

That was the first time you’d spoken to him. It was a hot summer July day, and Aaron had been momentarily left alone by the Fisks to fetch for something. In the midst of the garden, Aaron was stationed by the pavilion to look after you. He’d been a sweating mess in his mask and suit, and your eleven-year-old self seemed to notice it quickly.

“Here,” You handed him a glass of orange juice. “This can freshen you up.”

And even after your offer, he stares vacantly at the gleaming cup, somewhat lost in the heat to acknowledge it. Seeing his hesitation, you grumbled and held his hand up to stuff the glass between his fingers. “I’m not an otherworldly being. You can talk to me normally, you know.”

And in that tone was a desperation for casualty.

“Thank you.” Was his only reply.

And after then, little you started fostering this sort of strange fascination towards him.

“Mr. Prowler!”

Tiny little legs, swift steps. You often greeted him that way, along with a large wave your mother always scolded you for. You endowed a strange sort of liking towards him, even when he was only silent in your presence. It was safe to say you were probably only visiting the Fisks’ just to see him. Aaron never knew the reason why you’d grown to like him so much, but he always assumed it was because of curiosity.

You liked to endlessly babble beside him, talking about the randomest of things. Something about school, or a book you’ve read, or how you wanted to grow up and run the hotel. You were tiny, then. Like a little mouse running around, chasing after him. In a way, you reminded him of Miles. So talkative. So curious about many things.

Every after mission, Aaron accompanied you everywhere, even behind a mask. And strangely, you never really requested him to take it off despite your stubbornness. The more he got involved into your family’s household, the more he came to learn about your personality.

You were a lively kid— talkative, playful, and wild like hell. You were a walking disaster too. Montrell and Antonne often had to watch out for your shenanigans, as you were too unpredictable for anyone to handle.

You liked sneaking into the kitchen before midnight just to steal some sweets, tossing your siblings’ stuff into the private pool, and stealing your mother’s makeup while lying that you didn’t. You were a kid. A little girl, a giggly one at that.

Until you weren’t.

ＲＥＪＥＣＴＥＤ.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

ＲＥＪＥＣＴＥＤ.

"None of them want to accept the damn drive.” Miles mumbled, shoving himself away from the table out of frustration. “Why the hell are they so scared? This will rip apart the election once this gets out. The media would be a shitshow with these!” He places his hands over his face, his icy touch meeting the warmth of his freckled cheeks.

For the last few hours, Miles had taken the day off and had instead been deliberately emailing various networks regarding the obscenities and anti-human practices they’ve found in the warehouse— only to find that each and every network’s rejected the information. Miles had gone as far as to personally email bloggers, journalists, even conspiracy theorists just for the sake of publicizing their crimes, only to meet the same rejection from everyone else he’s ever reached out to.

Behind him was his ever-so-weary Uncle Aaron restlessly pacing back and forth about the room while cleaning the gauntlet with a damp rag. “So long as the oligarchs remain in charge, no one will be brave enough to publish those, Miles.” He mumbles, a sort of dread lingering inside him.

“Ion get it,” Miles sighs. “At least one outlet talking about the damn issue can literally change the world!”

“Fear is a catalyst for many of us.” Aaron sets the gauntlet aside. “The rich control the systems, and they can either starve us or feed us. Hell, they can even kill us. The media outlets are run by people— people with families to feed, to protect. Not many of us can afford to look out for others when we can’t even look out for ourselves.”

“But that’s exactly the reason why nobody ain’t gonna be free.” The boy contends. “All of us are scared— and the rich will continue to take advantage of that until we all learn to stand our ground. If we don’t, they’re going to continue playing God, deciding who lives and who won’t, and until then it’s only up to us.”

“We can’t be heroes to everyone, Miles.”

He nods. “I know,” With a hand over the mouse, he shifts. “We can only be heroes if it benefits the government, but the moment we recognize them as the villains, we’re vigilantes.. But then again, as they say.

No answer will be heard to the question no one asks.”

Aaron gained a sort of pride hearing those words from his nephew, but it didn’t change the fact that Miles was rapidly gaining a thorough understanding of things he shouldn’t actually be involved in at his delicate age of fifteen. He was a child, and no matter how great his mind was, he should’ve been using it on acing science fair projects or starting witty banter with his friends— not to gain justice for his father’s death.

Aaron initially never wanted Miles to enter the world he’s grown absolutely sick of. He wanted to let Miles live in a world away from the mercenary act he had to keep up for the sake of money, but even then, Miles was sucked into it like a black hole.

And he remembers you.

How everything ruined you.

‘Is your sister also a piece of shit like you?’

The way he spoke stemmed from a fit of anger.

What the hell were you doing with Miles? What exactly brought you to interact with his only nephew?

He wanted to know just how much of a monster you’ve become after he left. When Antonne spoke about you being more of a pacifist, he wanted to believe in those words. He wanted to believe you grew up to be a kinder, healthier version of yourself despite the conditions of your family— and when he saw you again in those photos with Miles, looking like every other teenager, he felt… Relieved.

Along with it came a sense of guilt, bearing a sort of news he couldn’t stomach. It sprouted like a vine in his throat, words crawling up his esophagus as he chokes out.

“Your girlfriend, Miles. How’s she been?”

And the tension eases. Miles is suddenly lighter at the mention of you. “It’s our first date tomorrow,” He pridefully bragged. “Trick or treating. She’s gonna be the bubonic plague.”

“.. What?”

“It’s an inside joke.” He grins, leaning back into the chair at the thought of you. “I’m gonna be a plague doctor, and she’s gonna a medieval patient dying of the bubonic plague.”

“What the hell..?” Aaron shook his head in confusion. “Kids these days got too much shit going on in y’all’s heads.”

Miles mulls the headset off his ears. “She’s never done trick-or-treating— I saw it in her eyes, her mama prolly kept talkin’ shit ‘bout the holiday like how my mama talks shit ‘bout Tiya Rosa’s tamales. Like, poison inside the damn food or sum.”

“Yeah, well, that woman’s always..” Always, restricted her daughter.

“Always what?”

“.. Your Tiya Rosa’s tamales got too much spice all the damn time.”

“.. Tiya Rosa, huh?”

And in the height of his emotions, Aaron’s words sparked suspicion in Miles.

The boy then fidgets with the hem of his sleeve, a habit he probably learnt from you. He takes the second to stand up, brushing his dampened hands down the polyester of his jogging pants. “Now, I didn’t skip school just to help you email the press or to hear you ask about [Y/n] like she’s some project I’m working on. I skipped school because you mentioned something about her, and I wanted to know what you meant by her being connected to the Primos.”

Aaron took a sharp, deep breath. “.. Right, that.”

“Do you know her?”

“Not anymore.”

“Wha— How does that even work?”

Aaron gestured Miles to sit next to him, straightening his back with his head held low. The anxiety that lingered in his throat had his foot tapping against the wooden planks. Had him biting the inner of his cheek.

“Before we get to it, can you first tell me how the first two of you met?” Aaron starts. “Full detail. Not a single thing missed. From there, go on about how the two of you happened.”

And it takes Miles back to that rainy night again.

“.. Three months ago, during the Aureum collapse anniversary, one of my friends sent me a link to a secret forum.”

Miles eased his shoulders, laying his head above the cushion as he stared at the ceiling. “There was this group of people, consisted of close relatives of the victims— sisters, wives, husbands— who were planning on vandalizing a mural at the hotel before the day of the annual mourning. I joined the plan, but when we got there, we barely began the work but we were already being apprehended.”

And in vivid remembrance, Miles pictures the entire memory recreating itself from dust right in front of him. He remembers the loud patters of the rain, the loud screams and curses of his fellow vandals. When another officer attempts to near him, he grabs the nearest paint bottle and sprays it directly into his eyes— running off into the distance with heavy steps.

“I got away. As much as I wanted to save everyone, I couldn’t fight all the security there, so I hid somewhere in the garden.”

Gripping the bottle, Miles headed straight into the pastures of the greeneries and flowers, losing himself in the tall maze. He could still hear the angered officers’ yells, warning him to return. With jagged breaths, he makes the choice to take every sharp turn in an attempt to thwart their chase— eventually running into a dead end.

“I really thought I was gonna get arrested that night.”

With a broken sigh, he crouches behind one of the hedges, placing a hand over his mouth to cover his loud heaving.

“.. They never came, though. And I got lost in the damn thing.”

With a blur over his vision, Miles pulls a hand over his brows, coughing at the icy ache that knocked up his lungs. For a while, he grips the red can harder just to prepare himself for any threat— when he suddenly hears the sound of heavy footsteps thundering across the maze. He whips his head, searching for where it all came from.

“But then she got to me.”

And the haze of his exhaustion, a swift figure dressed in black takes him by the hand, running off into the distance. Lost in confusion, Miles lifts the can to attack but his instinct tells him not to, simply running along with the figure. “Are you stupid?” They breathily asked. “You could’ve went anywhere else. You’re going to get yourself arrested!”

At that time, Miles couldn’t tell if you were a frequenter of the hotel or a person with just some really good sense of direction, but you did manage to easily take him out the maze after three wrong turns. With shifting looks, you checked everywhere except his disposition, dragging him like a toy to privacy— which was a smoking area with closed off windows.

“.. Who the fuck are you?” He managed to finally ask after catching up with his breath.

“That’s some language considering I saved your ass.”

“I didn’t need your help.”

“Alright,” You snicker. “Go out and face them yourself, then.” You pointed at the door. “Since you’re so brave and so smart.”

Miles was irked by your sarcastic, upbeat tone. But even then, when he saw your hand shivering, he couldn’t help but ease down his words. “… Don’t go too close to the door, they’ll see you.” As he brought up his hand to touch your shoulder, you turned around and looked at him with wide eyes.

“.. When I saw her, I thought to myself, oh fuck, I am so doomed.”

And how doomed he was. You thought Miles couldn’t see you crying then, but he was so lost with every detail of your face that it felt like he’d known you his whole life.

If only he knew the roles assigned to the both of you in this world.

Miles was no stranger to the world. He struggled to make do along with his mother, and he was a boy of no significant background. He was smart, for sure, and that aided him in his façade as the second Prowler.

He thought you’d be more similar, despite this sort of oddness you endowed. You seemed sheltered, but smart enough to question the cage that harbored you.

The two of you were faced with harsh realities stemming from two sides of a system that oppressed you both. Miles never knew about it: your wealth, but the outcomes of how the system ruined the both of you were so similar. It fooled him into thinking you were just like him.

“But Miles,” Aaron shifts closer. “Did she ask anything about our family?”

Miles stared in confusion. “For what?”

“Anything— about your father, your mother, me. Where you live, what we do. Miles, did you tell her that you’re the Prowler?”

“No! I wouldn’t tell her a damn thing, she could get hurt.” He lied, only thoroughly thinking about the idea as soon as Aaron mentioned it. “But why are you asking me this?”

“.. How far can an excuse go, Miles?.. Tell me, how far are you willing to defend your ideals? Would you pay the price to defend what you’re fighting for?”

“.. I’m willing to pay any price,” Just as Aaron’s about to concede, Miles adds. “For the sake of creating a world where she can paint skies and sunsets in cafes and not run businesses at the age of sixteen.”

“Alright,” Aaron huffs. “Let me tell you something about your girlfriend, Miles.”

Screech.

You grimaced at the sound of the fork scraping against your plate, taking a while to rest the side of your hand awkwardly beside the tableware. You take the moment to flit your eyes open, finally able to take your first look at your family meal— with Montrell and your father discussing heartily about his adventures in London, while you, Antonne, and Malachi were left to bask in the conversation in silence.

You felt heavy. Everywhere. Like there was this weight you were shouldering that you couldn’t fathom.

It had your finger wringing against the string of your pearl necklace, had your damp palm digging into the champagne silk of your dress. You didn’t want to be here— not after all that’s happened. Not after Montrell’s taken your job, and definitely not after you’ve disappointed your father.

You felt like choking on your steak, but gruesomely starving at the same time.

“Which brings me to the topic, [Y/n], how have you been?”

Oh, God, you fucking HATED that question.

For a moment, you finally look at Montrell, now you’re able to scrutinize how much he’s changed in the last few years you��ve spent apart. Broad-shouldered, charming— princely, as most would claim. A sort of doe-like endowment in his eyes, unlike yours and Antonne’s, which were unreasonably fiery in the way you’d both stare.

“I’ve been alright,” You began. “Haven’t been much busy these days, just working on school projects and all of those things.” You could sense your father’s growing indifference to your statement, bearing the knowledge that you’ve been running the hotel for almost half a decade. Montrell similarly notices the family’s shared looks of restlessness and tension, but is unable to understand why the air’s transitioned into something so dim.

“I heard you’re performing tango next week for the fundraiser.“ He tries to strike up a brighter topic, to which you blandly smile and nod. “Yes. I’ve been.. Practicing a lot. Since it’s to fund Senator Barlowe’s project, I can’t leave room for any mistakes.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Montrell smiled. “I bet you’ll do great. Good luck.”

Internally, you admitted that optimism only sounded believable if it came from Miles’ mouth.

“Thank you.” You take a sip off of your water. “I might as well have to say the same thing to you, with all your upcoming responsibilities.”

Your father angrily sets his utensils down with a small bam. “[Y/n].” He calls out like a warning. You lift the brim off your lips, marking the glass with your lipstick. “What? I’m being polite.” You watch as he scowled at your reply. “… Has no one told him yet?”

“Told me what?” Montrell piqued, bringing a spoon up to his mouth but never feeding on the meal.

Immediately, the bomb slips your tongue with a boom despite the way Antonne cleared his throat.

“You’re going to be running the hotel.”

“[Y/n]!”

“What?” You answered with a heightened voice, but it wasn’t loud enough to be considered a yell. “With how much you were rushing the process, I thought you’d have told him by now.”

“It’s an unofficial decision that we haven’t discussed with the staff yet. Since Antonne’s too busy with other matters in regards to college and other things, we were going to discuss if you could run the hotel in his place.”

Hearing this only urged the confusion to tangle even more.

“Why can’t [Y/n] run the hotel?”

You almost choke on your food.

“[Y/n]’s also considerably intelligent. It’d be nice for her to practice running a business even if it’s just upkeep. She should at least be familiar with the family businesses before she goes overseas to study.”

The idea seemed plausible— had it been an idea that hasn’t happened before.

“.. Are you unable to do it yourself, Mon?” You asked.

He shook his head. “No, it’s not that. I simply think that since my little sister’s also a smart girl, it’d be only fair for her to be given a chance.”

Oh. Montrell cared.

Even in the sort of way that was subtle. It wasn’t like Antonne’s— whose ‘care’ was a rarity to be paraded.

You hated that word. Smart. The term seemed so shallow, even if it was meant to be a compliment. You never saw yourself as smart, or naturally gifted. You studied, a lot, but you never took in the meaning of so many things. You liked to think you were talented in memorization, but even after any exam or challenge, you were often quick to drop the lessons that came along with it.

You were too burdened with academic validation that your grades mattered to you more than the meaning of any lesson.

Were you even learning anymore?

You didn’t know.

Your father placed a hand over his chin, fiddling with the hairs of his beard. “Your sister.. Is too young.”

“I’m sixteen.”

“As I said.”

“You made Antonne run the hotel when he was fifteen!”

“That’s because Antonne’s the heir.”

“Well, who else is going to run the hotel? Malachi?” Your sarcasm was slipping through your teeth so explicitly that you were unable to hide your bitterness. “I mean he is ten-years-old, and dad doesn’t seem all mindful about wagering minors.”

Your little brother shifts uncomfortably. He averts everyone else’s gaze, and you only then admit that you’ve crossed the line mentioning little Malachi.

“[Y/n], you’re being immature.” Antonne finally spoke, with a furrowed brow scribbled across his poor attempt of a calm expression.

Picking up a knife, you begin to saw through your steak. “To be fair, Antonne, there are many things sixteen-year-old me can’t do. Like being mature,” As you cut a piece, you snicker. “Or running a hotel.”

“Can you just— stop it?” Antonne huffs. “You’re being unreasonably upset. As father says, you’re too young. If you’ve already forgotten, my age was the reason why many lives were lost.”

“Sure, and your current age is the reason why you’ve accepted responsibility over those deaths.”

“STOP IT!”

The table shakes upon the bellow of your father’s voice. And in the fire of his anger, you stood without another word, and the scrape of your chair against the floor marked the beginning of your defiance. As you pulled the napkin off your lap, you folded the damn thing and placed it beside the plate.

With the click of your heels, you head for the exit when you suddenly hear your father mumble.

“Tsk. So emotional.”

And this struck something inside you. For a moment, you pause, and a bold voice echoed inside your mind.

And it only made you angrier. Shooting a glare at him, you announced.

“I’m your fucking daughter, not your wife, not your maid— your fucking daughter. and all I ever did my whole life was slave and respect you and submit to your every word. And all I get is you fucking glaring at me like that! Why are you fucking looking at me like that when I’ve done everything to appease you?

All I wanted was an ‘I’m proud of you, [Y/n]’ or a ‘You’re doing great, [Y/n]’, ‘You deserve a break because you’re overworking yourself, [Y/n]’— NO! I can’t rest, I can’t live like I’m sixteen because you put all of us up on a pedestal because you can’t be a father. And you,” You pointed at Antonne.

“You’re such a fucking waste, you’re such a fucking waste of talent, of heart, and mind. What could’ve been a lesson for you became a lesson for me. If you could’ve just said ‘I’m sorry’, if you could’ve just fucking accepted and– just take responsibility and just give respect to the lives that were— but you didn’t, BECAUSE NONE OF US CAN TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR ANYTHING!”

A still silence.

And you realized, that everything all happened in your mind.

With the last of your dignity, you choked back your words and left. In the back of your mind, something whispered.

「You got a message from Miles♡」

You nearly unhinge the door from a slam. You trudge over to the vanity, gripping over the corners of the table in anger.

It’s unfair.

It was so unfair for you to lose everything you’ve worked so hard for in a span of a week. All of what you prided yourself in: Being better than Antonne, having control over the hotel, being your father’s most trusted aide, and having a sense of control over your own future— it all vanished in a week.

You felt conned. Betrayed. Like you’ve wasted so much of your youth for an unattainable ideal.

You wanted to shatter everything within the room. Wreck all of what’s left of everything. Maybe even burn down the hotel.

ＷＨＹＮＯＴ？

The voice rang.

Your eyes flit open, looking into the mirror in disbelief, only to find a dark being stare right back at you. Grimy, slimy—

ＤＯＮ’ＴＢＥＲＵＤＥ.

A shrill scream exits your lips as you stumble back, falling on your behind as you struggled to get away. You looked at your hands, praying they’d remain as they were— clean, prim, and groomed. It felt like there were bugs crawling up your back. Suddenly, a dark matter carried you back to the vanity, forcing you to look at the creature that was supposed to be your reflection.

It smiled with its sharp teeth.

“Don’t be scared.”

“You’re as commanding as my father, fuck damn it.” You squirmed, quivering in a sort of unadulterated fear you couldn’t understand. “I’m not your father, [Y/n]. Though I don’t think that lowly creature that sat across you in that dining table’s anything deserving of that title.” It spoke in a low, gravel-like voice. “He’s hurt you, little girl. But you hurt yourself the most.”

You ease a little, the same sort of shamelessness you always endowed now kicking back into your senses.

“… You know nothing about me.”

“I know everything about you. I am within the confines of your mind.” A slimy tentacle of black tar creeps out from your back, pulling you closer to the mirror. It eventually creeps up on your face, squeezing your cheeks. “You’re a riot of a girl, but you have your weaknesses. You’re a great planner, but not a great executor. You tend to underestimate the capabilities of those around you because you look up to yourself too much— but at the same time, there is no one within this world who hates you more than you do.

I can fix those broken parts of you. I can help you in ways you’ll forever be grateful for.”

In the middle of his long speech, you frowned. “... Why is your way of talking so refined? I thought you were an alien being, how the hell do you speak English?”

“Would you rather I be sarcastic or truthful?”

“Anything.”

“I’m not Barbie, child.”

You grimaced at the horrible joke. “Truthful, of course.”

“I take hold of your subconscious, so we share the same memories, the same talents, the same thoughts. I know all about the first time you scraped your knee, how you like doing your hair, how you’ve lived, and the first time you met that boy,” It grinned. “Miles Morales.”

“… What of him?”

“It is of my knowledge that he’s your greatest weakness, yes?”

“Would you consider liking a boy a weakness?”

“For someone like you?” You hear it snicker. “Largely.”

It was like you were being tossed from one scrutinizing dinner to another. You pinched the bridge of your nose, turning your head to avoid staring at this questionable creature. Suddenly, one of the tentacles grab your phone, tossing it over to you.

“It doesn’t mean I’m not supportive of your little romance.”

You scrolled through the screen. “It doesn’t matter if you support my romance or not, I decide for myself.”

Miles♡ || Three minutes ago

Hey I’m at spirit halloween rn

do you wanna uh

buy halloween costumes for tomorrow?

“You’re deciding for two now, [Y/n].” The being growled. “Eating for two, acting for two.”

You clicked your tongue and hushed the damn thing. “If someone were to overhear us, they’re going to think I’m pregnant.” You stand up, heading over to unveil one of your windows. You look out into the scarlet afternoon, unlatching the locks as you slid the glass open. The cold wind blew at you like a harsh greeting, making you curse. “.. Fuck, can you morph into like a hoodie or something? I can’t go out dressed like this.”

“I’m an alien being, mademoiselle, not your personal tailor.”

“You presented yourself like you’re the best thing to ever happen in my life, but you can’t even morph into a goddamn jacket?”

“I am— how dare you!”

“.. Guess you got that narcissism from me too, huh?”

“[Y/n]?”

You slammed your window shut upon hearing the voice. A bated sigh ran past your parted lips, your nails marking a scratch over the sill as you took your hands away from the window.

“Montrell.” You greeted him. “… What brings you here?”

Your brother leaned against the door frame with his arms crossed before his chest, head nearly grazing the top rail. “.. Were you talking to someone?”

You take a few steps away from the window. “I was talking to myself. I’m quite imaginative, you see. Sometimes delusion is the solution.”

“I—“ He shook his head in confusion, stifling a short laugh before stepping right inside. “That’s.. Good for you, [Y/n]. But.. Were you just about to jump out the window?”

Your mouth hung open. “Me? Jump out the window? Psh,” You nervously giggled. “I-I was just checking how cold it was outside because I was contemplating on.. Going outside.” You looked at the window and shut the curtains. “Indeed, it’s very cold so I can’t do that.”

You’re a horrible liar.

Shut the fuck up.

The door clicks behind Montrell as he approaches you, gaze lingering on the interior of your room. The place was dim, yet organized in a way. You had kept a lot of your plushies despite the childlike air it kept— those were likely the last toys you’ve ever considered keeping.

“You still kept Miss Lisbon.” He plucked one of the plushies out from the pile, particularly a pink fluffy rabbit with a giant lace ribbon placed on one of its ears. He brings it closer to his nose, earning a whiff of its strawberry-scented perfume, a sign that you’ve been taking care of her rather well. “I got you this when you were eight.”

“Miss Lisbon’s my best friend.” You reach for the fluffy toy, easing it out of his grasps. “I can’t possibly let her go, not when she knows about every war crime I’ve committed.”

“Miss Lisbon’s a great listener, which was why I gave her to you.”

The silence that followed made you uneasy. You wanted to talk and fill in the room with nonsensical talk of whatever, but you could tell even Montrell’s struggling to speak. When you do managed to finally part your lips, the both of you coincidentally began at the same time, which led to him excusing himself so you can speak first— to which you ushered him to speak first, and so on and so forth.

But it was after that awkward moment that you’ve grown quite comfortable with his presence.

“… [Y/n], I’m not going to force you to open up about.. Whatever happened in the dining room.” Montrell starts. “I know I haven’t been here for a long, long time, and it’ll only make you uneasy if I forced details out of you. I came here to check on you, and solely for that reason alone. Since we’re family, I just wanted to let you know that if you need someone– anyone– to talk to, I’m right here.”

You stood there, grasping Miss Lisbon with a frown.

Family. Really, to say it’s because you’re family that he’s willing to do such things— it seemed a little too naïve. After all, you were disappointed by the very people who were supposed to love and care for you since the very beginning.

With a soft touch, Montrell takes the hands you were holding Miss Lisbon with, placing the plushie over his face.

“Just think of me as Miss Lisbon.”

You squeeze the toy a little.

“Let me listen to your every war crime.”

When you lower your hands, you see your older brother, smiling at you sweetly. He was like a softer version of your father. A little more smiley, with dimples marked into the corner of his every smile. When your phone buzzes again, a request slips out your mouth.

“Can you drive me somewhere?”

165 notes · View notes

cameronspecial · 6 months

Text

When Love Turns To Tolerance

Pairing: Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.0K

Summary: There used to be love between Y/N and Drew, but now, she only sees the ghost of their love when she is around him.

A/N: This is inspired by "Tolerate It" by Taylor Swift

Masterlist

Y/N has always seen Drew in colour. The vibrant blue hues of his iris, the slight tan of his skin from days in the sun when he is surfing and the golden glow of his hair from the light coming into the room. She would use her best watercolours for her mental portrait of him. And he used to do the same for her. She could see his love for her while the image of her was reflected in his eyes. Now, she can tell all he sees is black and white when he looks at her. It’s like all the cones in his eyes have transformed into rods, making him see her in a duller way. He thinks she doesn’t notice his small changes, but she does because he is her mural and she knows every detail of it.

Her eyes flutter open to see his eyes still closed. The soft rise and fall of his chest captivates her. She used to like watching him sleep. The serenity of knowing that the person she loves is peacefully asleep in his dream. Now, she loves it. It’s the only time when she can’t see the plain tolerance in his eyes and lets herself pretend that they are still what they used to be. Eventually, his eyes widen and he gets up out of bed. He doesn’t stay beside her in bed for just a few more minutes. He doesn’t kiss her good morning. He doesn’t chuckle when he notices her gaze already on him. He just rolls out of bed and heads to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

——

They finished eating breakfast together. He washes the dishes while she is polishing their plates until they sparkle with the towel. She hums the melody of “For The First Time” by Mac DeMarco, hoping he would sing along with her. Chores used to be filled with songs and laughter. They would make games out of who could match their pile of socks faster or who could slide across the freshly mopped floor the farthest. She looks at him and is met with a blank stare. His hands soaking in the water as he removes the sods from the plate. She hates the silence, but it seems every attempt she makes at breaking it, Drew isn’t interested in it.

——

She returns from the store and finds Drew on the couch, reading Dune. He doesn’t look up from his book. He hasn’t for about a month. Every time she walks into the room she hopes he will though. She wants him to look up at him with the gleam in his and the soft smile she loves so much. She misses it. But when he doesn’t do it this time, something in her just snaps. She doesn’t move from where she is standing, “When did your love turn to tolerance?” He looks up from his book. His eyebrows knit together in confusion but mostly annoyance at being interrupted. “Wh-what are you talking about?” he questions, putting his book down to give her his full attention for probably the first time in months. She feels herself start to cry, “When did you first look at me and saw just the woman you tolerated instead of the woman you love? Or please, tell me that I misunderstood. Tell me that it is all in my head.” Every single thing she has been keeping inside of her until now is finally coming out.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he tries to play dumb. Like her, he is in denial of the changes he felt. He knows he doesn’t feel the same way about her, but she is a routine to him. He is scared to lose something familiar. They are both too scared to admit the truth: he fell out of love with her a long time ago and she is sick of living in this limbo. She shakes her head, “Just be honest with me, please. Because I know something has changed.” “I honestly don’t know,” he explains. “I don’t think it just turned off like a light switch. I think I just slowly started to stop believing you were the one for me.” She knew it was coming, yet it still felt like a dagger to her back.

“Was it something I did?”

He shakes his head, not being able to find words to describe his feelings, “No, it wasn’t anything about you or what you did. It was more of a realization. I realized the stuff I thought I wanted in a relationship wasn’t what I wanted.” She takes a second to process his words and feels as though her heart is being squeezed. “Right and were you ever going to tell me? Because we both know it is obvious you don’t love me anymore,” she questions, running her fingers through her hair. He shrugs, “Y/N, I never really thought about it until this conversation. I felt the change but never took the time to examine it. I didn’t want to believe that something was different for me.” “Okay, well what are we going to do now that we are talking about it?” she provokes.

“I don’t know. Maybe nothing needs to change? Maybe this is just a passing feeling?”

“Drew, you may be able to live with your tolerance forever. But I can’t keep being a footnote in your thoughts when you are the content of my whole story.”

“You’re right. You deserve better than someone who can’t love you with the same ferocity.”

“So this is it? We aren’t going to fight any harder for us?”

“I guess we aren’t. For what it’s worth, Y/N, I really did love you. It just wasn’t the type of love that was permanent.”

And then he leaves in a heartbeat. She is left in tears, watching as the man who was her sky and heart leaves her behind. She knows she is the one to bring it upon them. They probably could’ve gone on for months maybe years in denial, but she knows that when love turns to tolerance, she can’t keep letting her love go uncelebrated. So she had to be the one who broke down the column and brought their temple down to ruins.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia

#drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x you #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey fic

153 notes · View notes

bwoahtastic · 3 months

Text

Do i know what story is behind this? No. But the mental image wouldnt leave me (tw: mentions of blood and violence ) (its some fantasy/pagan au lol)

Yes it's late and I'm losing it again

Oh its maxiel

Kinda

Max had always always hoped that if he were to die, it would not be at the hands of his father.

His father did not deserve the satisfaction of getting rid of his biggest disappointment once and for all, and Max did not want his father's to be the last face he would ever see.

Yet, as he laid on the grassy hill, gasping on chocked pained breaths as blood dripped down from his stomach rhrough his tunic, he did not feel angry like he had expected. He didn't try to curse his dad, didn't try to reach for the sword that laid at his side, covered in his own blood. He didn't go down fighting until the bitter end, make his dad bleed like he bled too.

Max was scared, eyes wide and filled with tears as he tried to look past his father, towards the sky. Anything better than to see the hate in his expression.

The sky was grey, bringing little comfort.

"Once you let out your final breath, I will make sure your name is burned from all books, have your legacy be forgotten by everyone who comes after. You won't even be a failure, you will have never existed." His father growled out, towering over Max. "There will be no grave for you, no place for you to be mourned. Not even your little god will remember your name."

Max's eyes darted to his left, where the temple stood untouched. He had devoted his life to worship, and still lost it to the one person had tried to escape

"A prince hiding as a god's low priest, where have I gone wrong raising you?" Father continued.

Max closed his eyes and thought of the sun, of golden rays on his face, of the heat making his skin turn pink. He thought of sun-kissed skin, of warm arms guiding him, of a smile so bright he had to avert his eyes.

Keep your eyes closed, sweet flower, you don't have to see this

The voice rang soft and warm in his mind, and Max did as it asked. He drew in a shaky breath at a wet, disgusting sound, at his father crying out in surprise and rage, and then, silence.

Warm hands grasped Max's quickly cooling skin, warming his cheeks as the same voice as before told him to open his eyes again.

Deep brown eyes watched him with worry, dark brown curls shone golden in the sun, which had broken through the clouds

"My lord-" Max rasped out, eyes tearing up. The Sun had heard him, the Sun had saved him...

"Hush now, save your strength." The god spoke kindly. "I fear you will need it still. I can save you, but it won't be painless." He explained, one hand moving down, pressing over the gaping wound to stop the bleeding.

"You don't have to save me." Max rasped. "It would be worth it, to die knowing my god did not dessert me for being a coward." The god had lifted him slightly, letting Max's side rest against hid warm chest.

"Oh my dear flower, you are one of the bravest people I have seen." The Sun whispered, before lifting a flask of golden substance to Max's lips. "Now drink. My brother would be kind to you, if you were to slip from this world and into his, but I am not ready to see you go there yet." He added, voice almost pleading.

Max looked up, dared to look into the god's eyes, dared to look at the deity he had devoted his life too after he had ran away from his family and his duties.

"I won't leave you." The god promised Max's unspoken worries. "My blood will heal you, and I will be bound to you." He added, tipping the flask forward until the golden liquid touched Max's lips.

Max drank.

#okay so idk #honestly #idk #jskdkek #just max beibg scared of his fsther who is king and running away #and then hiding in the temple of a god (“the Sun”)#ofc the sun is daniel who else #and devoting himself to the sun without seeing him #but ofc dan watches!!!

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americaswritings · 1 year

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Chocolates

Warnings: period talk

Summary: You're on your period and Neil offers you a little comfort when he sees you're having a bad day.

Words: 2.2k

Pairing: Neil Melendez x Doctor!reader

A/N: It's ridiculous how much time I wasted searching for a gif and still ending up unsatisfied. But for some reason when I search for gifs on tumblr for my writing I just get reaction memes these days. It's so annoying! Anyway, this was requested. I hope you like it and it's the way you imagined :) I really want to write more again, because it felt so good to just sit down and start typing, but life is so busy at the moment and both my physical and mental health aren't so great too! Hopefully it will all get better soon :)

You should have known it would be ‘one of those days’ when you walked into work with a belly ache, but you didn’t think much of it, hoping if you just ignored it the pain would eventually go away.

Only it didn’t. Instead it got worse, spreading into your lower back and making it hard to keep standing. All you wanted to do was sit or lie down and not move anymore, perhaps even curl over until the pain faded.

But you were on shift, the ER was buzzing and the hospital was understaffed. Sighing you grabbed the next patient’s file, scanning it quickly as you made your way over to where he was seated. Too late you realized someone was crossing your way and you bumped right into them, startling at the unexpected contact.

“Sorry!” You took a step back and glanced up at the man dressed in the blue scrubs, relieved but also a little nervous to find it was Neil Melendez. The two of you got along well, so well that it made you hope he would eventually ask you out.

But he hadn’t yet and you didn’t have the heart to do it yourself, fearing the humiliation of a rejection since you would have to keep working together.

Neil teased you and he flirted with you, but that didn’t have to mean anything. He was naturally charming. Still you hoped for the moment to come, your heart always losing its steady rhythm for a second when you laid eyes on him.

“It’s nothing.” He smiled at you and you tried to reciprocate it, but a sharp pain in your belly made your face twist in pain instead. “Well, I should get going”, you said once the pain had ebbed a little, but you didn’t make it far as Neil held you back by your elbow.

“You okay?” His brows were knitted and he watched you with a frown, his eyes darting over your face before he locked eyes with you again. You drew in a breath, tensing a little at the proximity and trying to ignore your galloping heart.

“Yeah, I’m fine”, you brushed it off, this time managing a smile. You saw Neil slightly narrow his eyes at you, but before he could say anything else you offered him a nod and hurried away.

You had never looked so much forward to your break, the imagination of finally sitting down and eating a meal keeping you going for the rest of the morning. But just as you handed over your last patient’s file, planning to head to the cafeteria, a voice called you back.

It was Dr. Lim. She was marching over to you and you could tell from her face she wanted something from you.

Not now.

“What is it?”, you asked, once she came to stand beside you, not hiding your frustration. The other doctor looked at you surprised, before holding an iPad out to you. “The imaging and report from Mr. Wellington’s CT just came in.”

You let your eyes flicker over it, not finding anything worth this fuss. “And?”, you asked, sounding as impatient as you felt to get held back. “That’s what I thought too”, Audrey continued unbothered, “but then I found this.” She used her fingers to zoom in on it.

“See this shadow?”

You squinted your eyes. “Could be anything.” “Right, but it looks like a small tumour. I already ran a biopsy. The results should be in soon.”

You glanced up at her, waiting for her to come to the point. When she didn’t say more you sighed. “So? Why are you showing me this?”

“Okay-“, Audrey snapped the iPad’ case shut, handing it over to the nurse’s desk, “Someone’s in a mood today!”

You winced under her glare, regretting how harsh you had sounded. It wasn’t her fault you were having a bad day and she didn’t deserve your attitude. “Sorry.”

You closed your eyes and took a deep inhale, trying to push away your annoyance. You really didn’t want to argue with Audrey today. Especially not over something stupid like this.

“It’s just-” You opened your eyes again, gesturing at the busy ER. “-My back is killing me and I have the worst cramps and I just want to lay down and suffer in silence.”

You let out a chuckle at your dramatic words and the way they came out as if they had been at the tip of your tongue only waiting to slip out, which probably wasn’t far from the truth, and Audrey offered you a sympathetic smile. “That time of the month?”

You nodded, surprised that you didn’t feel embarrassed to talk about it with her. Audrey always seemed so strong and unbothered and you couldn’t imagine her whining over a stupid period. But she seemed to know exactly what you were talking about.

“The mood swings are the worst for me. You might know I’m not the most patient person out there-”, you grinned, thinking of the many incidents she had proven what a short temper she coud have, “but during that time? You really don’t want to pick a fight with me then!”

You laughed. It was just too easy to imagine. “I bet Melendez and Andrews have made that mistake.” Audrey’s face lit up. “Oh, trust me they have!” She shook her head, smiling. “And they learn from it.”

“As they should”, you nodded, “at least they don’t have to attempt 12-hour shifts while it feels like their insides get twisted inside-out.”

Audrey laid her hand on your lower arm, squeezing lightly. “Ibuprofen’s your best friend. And if you ever need to take a break and lay down just tell me.”

You felt a lump forming in your throat and you had to will back your tears. Damn hormones! “Thank you.” You hoped she could hear how sincere you were, the thought of having an escape providing you with relief strong enough to give you a little energy back.

“We women have to stick together.” Audrey squeezed your arm again, before retreating and you looked after her for a moment, grateful to have a friend in her.

When you had finally made it to the cafeteria, your pager had gone off right as it had been your turn to order. “You can’t be serious”, you muttered as you pulled it out and read it. “Hey, are you going to order or what?”, you heard someone ask behind you, but without another word you took off, praying you would make it to your patient in time.

Luckily you had. But afterwards you had been pulled right into another case and before you knew it, it had grown dark outside and your stomach was growling at you.

The cafeteria was long closed and so you got a chocolate bar from the vending machine, promising yourself to get real food once you were off the clock.

The ER had quietened down as it often did at the end of your shift and since you had never taken your break you allowed yourself a moment to take a breath in the resident’s lounge.

Although you weren’t a resident anymore you still liked to come here. Perhaps it was the closeness to Neil’s office or the quiet it provided at the end of the day when the residents had all gone home. There was no one who could tell you off as you curled up on the sofa.

The chocolate tasted heavily in your mouth and you devoured it until the last crumb. “You look like you just fell in love.”

“Huh?” You glanced up, to find Neil at the door, casually entering the room and coming to stand in front of you.

He gestured towards the wrapper you had placed on the table. “The chocolate.”

Oh. You let out a chuckle as you realized you had stared at it longingly while you had contemplated whether it was reasonable to get up and get another one or if it wasn’t worth the effort it would take to search for a vending machine.

“That was probably the best chocolate I’ve ever had”, you declared and Neil chuckled. “Your standards are very low then.” You tried to look offended but failed. “Don’t speak ill of the vending machines. They are real life savers. And it’s been a tough day.”

You said it lightly, but you saw Neil’s jaw twitch at the last part. “What happened?”

He walked over to where you were sitting and you shuffled to the side to make space for him. He leaned against the armrest, his body angled towards yours. “Nothing I-”

But suddenly tears were clouding your eyes as all the emotions you had bottled up threatened to spill over. “Damn it!” You wiped at your eyes before the tears could spill, feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

You didn’t need to look at Neil’s face to see the worry on it.

“Sorry”, you let out an embarrassed chuckle and Neil smiled at you softly. “I’m usually not this emotional. It’s been a long day that’s all.”

“You have had longer ones and didn’t bat an eye.” It wasn’t an accusation, only genuine confusion on Neil’s part and your heart swelled at the hidden compliment and how much he cared to understand you.

“Yeah”, you muttered, closing your eyes as another cramp hit you. When you opened them again you hoped your face hadn’t betrayed you and given away your discomfort, but the disadvantage at working so closely together was that Neil could read you by now.

Before he could make any wild guesses, you decided to just tell him the truth.

You didn’t have to be embarrassed about it, shouldn’t feel that way, yet it was easier said than done. You didn’t want him to think you couldn’t take the hardships of the job, that you were weak or dramatic. But even as you thought it you knew Neil would never think that of you.

Or anyone.

He wasn’t like that, wasn’t intimidated by strong willed women or the reality of what it was like to be one.

Taking a long inhale and an even longer exhale you looked up at him. “I got my period this morning and I’ve been in pain all day.” Now that you had gotten the words out you suddenly had the urge to let it all out.

“And my back is like- so bad. But the cramps are the worst. And I snapped at Audrey. And then again at Glassman. And I almost bawled my eyes out when my patient made it out of surgery and his wife came to see him. And this-”, you gestured at yourself, “is the first break I have gotten all day and I don’t think I’m ever gonna stand up again.”

You stared at Neil in shock for a moment as you realized what had just happened, but then you let out a laugh. “Wow and that just came out like one long sentence!”

Neil chuckled in amusement. “That seems like a really crappy day”, he agreed and you nodded in relief that he seemed to take it serious. “Right? I mean, there are worse things, obviously, but still-” You clutched your belly again, letting out a hiss of pain.

When you looked back up Neil had shifted closer to you, his frown back in place. “Why didn’t you call in sick?”

“Really?” You shook your head, amused and a little frustrated. “I can’t just call in sick every month.”

“It’s this bad every month?”

You nodded. “Most of the time, yeah. Sometimes it’s better, other’s it’s worse. But that’s just how it is.”

Neil face twisted, clearly displeased with what you had said or the situation, perhaps both. “It shouldn’t be like that”, he said then and you looked at him for a moment, taking in his sincerity. “I mean, yeah”, you agreed after a moment. “What, you want to change the whole system now?”

Neil’s mouth curled up in the hint of a smile. “Not tonight, no. I have better plans.”

Your face fell a little as you felt a hint of disappointment at his words. Maybe he was just hanging out with friends or visiting his sister you tried to reason. But the thought of him having plans with another woman gnawed at you.

“Really? What could be better than that?”, you asked teasingly and he tipped his head towards you. “Someone needs to show you what real chocolate tastes like.”

Oh. Your hope arose so strongly you almost forgot to breathe for a moment. “And my sofa is even more comfortable than this one.” He patted the couch you were seated on, not breaking eye contact once.

You still looked at him in shock, unable to form words as you processed his. “You’re baiting me with chocolate?”, you asked once the shock had faded a little, cautious not to put too much weight into his words and Neil grinned. “I do give great massages too. I cook. And I have a big movie collection to distract you from, you know, the pain and all that.”

You smiled widely at him. “Now that wins me over”, you stated, although the thought of spending time alone with Neil was already enough. But it didn’t make his promises less appealing. And it made you feel warm inside to know how much he cared and that he had put so much thought into what he could do to make you feel better.

“Great.” He stood up. “So it’s a date?” For the first time he sounded nervous and it made your heart flutter to know it was because of you. That this, whatever it was between you, mattered to him too.

“It’s a date.”

Tags:

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mtkay13 · 1 year

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Qi Ye cast poster!!

This had started as a sketch, waaay back as I was still reading Qi Ye. The original is pretty different from this (I considered adding it in the post but I actually don't like it anymore haha), but the plan was already to make this big spread with most of the -more or less- important cast.

I will add here some thoughts about the whole piece, and I guess, Qi Ye itself. My main goal was probably to express my deep and intense feelings for Qi Ye, its grandness, and its awesome cast-- and along with that, flesh out my mental image of each of them, their personality, their style. Here is a table with the names, so we know who is whom, and so I can add some details about my perspective on them and their design.

Jing Beiyuan has always come quite naturally. I just go for the "prettiest face" I ever came with in terms of : my own taste, and the features I find the most delicate. I'd argue he's the easiest character to draw for me across both QY and TYK. On this image, he's probably around 16 or 17. I find his expressions to be very fun to work on in general.

Ping An is also quite an easy character to draw, just for how specific Priest is when describing him.

Wu Xi's design is mainly inspired by a discussion with my friend Hanya, who talked about how, in SHL, Wu Xi more resembled a northern shaman than a southern shaman. It made me want to explore the designs and characteristics a bit more, and come up with more colourful fabrics, patterns, and darker skin color. Same goes for Ashinlae and Nuahar, to have them matching Wu Xi's aesthetic.

Ming Hua was included in this just because of the mess the mention of his name caused in the story. The two jealousy tantrums are just so delightful!!

Su Qingluan was made to resemble Jing Beiyuan, of course. What I wanted to reflect in her face was her frustration, mainly.

Ji Xiang and Hua Yue... Well. Nothing particular about their design either, but they had to be there. Of course, of course they had to be there.

Finally, an opportunity to draw Zishu with his fan and henchmen! Not mad that he kinda looks like a villain, here.

Lu Yu!! I drew him with an Ashinlae mask, since he disguises himself as Ashinlae. I included him because he matters a lot in my headcanons about Siji Manor. (it isn't specified, in Qi Ye, whether or not he's actually part of the manor, but I like to consider that he is for various reason that I may detail if I ever make a Siji Manor post)

I'll skip Jiang Xue and Liang Jiuxiao because their designs are steady for me, now.

I hesitated a lot for Helian Pei's pose, but ended up going for this one (looking bored, out of his depth, lost in the distance with his birds around him). I considered showing him with a bird in his hands, but I guess that's not the main vibe I get from him. And then, well, golden, flashy clothing, suited for an emperor.

Helian Zhao had to be in a showy armor, and I hated making it because it's so much work, haha. I took inspiration from an armor in NiF. I'm quite happy with how he came out in terms of both vibe and showiness.

I tried going full out on Helian Qi. Making him the villain that Qi Ye deserved. Dark, showy, elegant and horrible.

Helian Yi is also pretty solid for me, by now.

About the illustration itself, the main challenge was definitely to make a nice colour palette while still differenciating all the characters. I wanted to go with something intense, eerie, that could also complement the main tones I would go for (= red, purple, blue and green). I'm quite happy with how the golden tones, along with the green and reddish lights, make the whole thing come together. I struggled a little bit with the composition at first, but once I got the flow and the main figures down, it just happened quite easily. Anyway, I'm quite proud of this, and hope it conveys the love and admiration I have for Qi Ye well.

#qi ye #lord seventh #cast #meta #talk about art #七爷

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notalotgoingonatthisinstant · 10 months

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May I offer you all some Wilmon in these AO3-is-down trying times? We'll get through this withdrawal 😭

Growing up, Simon didn’t stop to think much if he wanted kids or not. He loved his family, loved his sister, loved his mum, (loved his dad,) loved getting to see his little cousins grow over videocalls from South America – but he never stopped to think about himself.

He remembers a fleeting thought he had once, when he was very young, around twelve or thirteen, and figured out he was definitely gay, that it would take some extra steps to have children. He would never have them on accident. He couldn’t decide overnight, talk to his partner, and start trying the next day with a real possibility of making a baby on that very same day.

Then he put that thought inside a mental folder and left it there for the longest time.

He believes that it’s a natural progression to start thinking about it again once you’re in a committed relationship, even if it’s to decide it’s not for you. But he is aware that his thought process wasn’t the same as everyone else’s.

It started with random mental images, when he and Wille got out of school and into the world – well, the world and the military. Back when Simon was studying and working to afford his own flat in Stockholm and, some nights, he would have Wille there on his couch, in his small living room, laughing over a stupid series they’d put on, or pouring coffee for him the next morning.

He would watch Wille shrug on a suit jacket, looking very dapper for the morning meeting, and accept his goodbye kiss. Then Simon would finish gulping down breakfast, put on his flannel shirt, and leave his flat fifteen minutes later. He would lock the door behind him and wonder how earlier he would have to wake up if he had to drop kids with someone, or would they have a nanny? Or maybe Wille would take them?

The thoughts assaulted him without warning and were gone just as quickly. During Wille’s trips, how would Simon manage alone? What if they were both travelling? Could Wille’s children even travel with him? He remembered something about how two heirs straight in line for the throne couldn’t take the same mean of transportation, for safety reasons, which is why Wille didn’t travel with his mother, but did that apply to a toddler?

Simon didn’t ask for the longest time as well, because he didn’t want to open that discussion. He wanted to know if Erik had travelled with his mother when he was a baby; his fingers itched to google it, find pictures or articles, just so he could know.

But he didn’t ask, because back then he wasn’t even sure if he could take the pressure of marrying Wille, even though he was doing nothing to stop that natural progression.

The thoughts would come and go. Sometimes, they disappeared for months on end and Simon would just live his life and worry about more pressing matters, like his uni finals or Sara’s recent breakup. Other times, they would come in the form of his children having panic attacks over being in line for the throne.

Moving into the palace with Wille drew a line in his life, which is why he didn’t do it lightly. It definitely took longer than it would if Wille weren’t the fucking Crown Prince, because Simon felt ready to move in with him straight out of school. But he had spent his years weighting the pros and cons and decided Wille was worth everything and that they could figure it out together.

Living with him in one of the royal palaces, and therefore having more money to spare, brought a wave of baby thoughts to Simon’s mind. They had all this space, all this money, all this support. Surely it wouldn’t be too hard? He knew, rationally, that money would never be a problem, but Simon would have a hand in supporting his own children, and now he was feeling like he could reach that point.

He began to understand, then, how rich people’s minds work. Simon was working, but with a better job and a better salary, and he didn’t have to pay rent. He didn’t have to pay for cleaning supplies or spend one day a week scrubbing his flat. He spent a lot less on groceries, because food simply appeared in the kitchen cabinets and in the fridge. He didn’t have to pay water or electricity bills.

He had all this money monthly deposited into his account and he didn’t have to spend even half of it, which meant it only grew, even with taxes. It got to a point when Wille told him he should have a talk with the royal accountant, to learn how to put it in better funds and investments. To learn how much he had to spare for his own enjoyment.

It turned out to be a ridiculous amount. Nothing compared to the numbers he had pried from Wille about the royal accounts, but a ridiculous amount for a twenty-three-year-old working-class man from Bjärstad just beginning his career. Probably enough, if he braved into that line of thinking, to raise a kid.

One day, almost a year later, Queen Kristina nonchalantly talked about the Act of Succession over brunch, when they were discussing the christening of the daughter of one of Wille’s second cousins. Simon had never bothered to read the Act of Succession, because that had felt too big, so he learnt it for the first time in her voice while buttering a piece of toast.

She started by saying that the heirs have to belong to the Church of Sweden and profess “pure evangelical faith”, whatever that means. Wille doesn’t exactly do that apart from his cross necklace, but Simon didn’t point that out.

The heirs must be born in wedlock from a marriage approved by the monarch, and they must be brought up in Sweden. It’s an absolute primogeniture.

By then, Simon knew he was going to marry Wille. He had known from the moment he had moved into the palace, because why would he make that decision if he didn’t plan to marry him? And he knew Wille wanted to marry him, too. And he figured that Kristina approved, otherwise she wouldn’t even let Simon into her palace.

Simon also figured that she didn’t give that talk because she was afraid of illegitimate heirs – because, honestly, Wille wasn’t going to run around cheating on him and getting people pregnant. No, Simon was pretty sure that she was saying that to remind them that they needed to get engaged. Simon knew she was getting restless after seven years; Sweden was getting restless, if the tabloids and tweets were anything to go by.

So, when he was twenty-four and Wille had just turned twenty-five, Wille made a show of proposing and giving him his grandfather’s ring. Simon cried, even though he had been expecting it. From then on, his mind was pretty preoccupied with the wedding and everything it entailed.

A wedding and a marriage, in their situation, very much entailed future children, but neither of them focused on that.

They had one conversation the summer after they got engaged. Kristina had been particularly generous with the talk about grandchildren that day, like she couldn’t wait to have them, which was the same thing she spewed every time since her 60th birthday earlier that year.

“I don’t know why she’s so insistent now,” Wille said when they climbed into bed. “She had Erik at thirty-one. That’s enough time away for us.”

Simon didn’t answer immediately because, for one of the first and only times, he could see her point of view clearly and didn’t disagree with it.

She had to ensure heirs, sure, and turning sixty probably put life into perspective for her. But also, the monarchy had never done this, the whole gay Crown Prince couple. Were there any laws that needed changing? Would the kids need to be biologically Wille’s or would adoption be just as valid? And who knew how long that process would take. Maybe they did need to start thinking about it then so they could have a legitimate kid by thirty-one.

Simon was quiet for too long, lost in thought, and Wille pushed up against the pillows so he was more vertical. He spoke softly, “Hey, I know you’ve… mentioned it before, but… do you really want kids? I mean, I– I don’t really have much of a choice, but you do.”

Simon raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Who else would you have them with?”

“I don’t want them with anyone but you,” he shrugged. “But it’s too big of a thing to push on you on top of everything else.”

Sensing Wille’s anxiety spiking, Simon also rearranged his pillows to face him better in a more sat up position. “Wille. I knew I would have to have kids if I married you.”

“Still…”

“I was fully aware of it.”

“I don’t want to force you.”

“You’re not forcing me to do anything,” he scooted closer and took his hand. “Do you feel forced?”

Wille shrugged again, taking some time to choose his words. “In a way. Mamma always drilled it into our heads that we needed to produce heirs. After Erik died… the last remaining chance I had to refuse went with him. She doesn’t want to pass on the lineage to her sister’s side, so I guess I just grew up always knowing I was going to have children. I never stopped to think in any other way.”

“You should, though.”

“No,” Wille shook his head. “I promise it’s okay. I do want children, so it’s okay. Still don’t know how to go about it, but… I want them. Do you?” he finished, a hint of nerves in his voice.

“I do,” Simon answered honestly, “I’m not going to lie and say that the fact that I want a life with you, the fucking heir to a country, doesn’t come into play, because that’s too big to ignore. But I think it’d be cool to have a few babies with you,” he smiled. “Just a few, though. No more than three, for fuck’s sake.”

It got Wille laughing, which is Simon’s goal in conversations with him ninety-nine percent of the time, and the subject was mostly dropped.

It was dropped between the two of them for the time being, but their parents didn’t have the same idea. Cousins started having kids occasionally. Simon has a distant cousin on his dad’s side and news somehow travelled to his mum about his baby being born. Apart from Wille’s second cousin who had the christening, his first cousin Eleonora gave birth to a bubbly baby boy as well.

The comparison was even worse because they are mostly “older cousins” in their families, born from the eldest sibling. In their generation, Simon is only second to Sara on his mum’s side, and Sara had barely even started another relationship, nowhere near ready for children. Wille is also the second, since Erik died, behind only Eleonora in age. That, in their parents’ minds, automatically meant that they were supposed to start the new generation before everyone else, and they were already late.

And they were responsible for the country’s next leader, so no pressure.

Their initial deal, as a couple, was to revisit the conversation when they felt like it. Apart from outside pressure, the two of them didn’t have the urge, the need for children right away. It was always something for some day. Something for eventually. Something for when we’re not drowning in royal adulthood.

Simon doesn’t know what triggers it. Maybe he isn’t as immune to the passage of time as he thought, or maybe the comments start getting to him. Either way, those assaulting mental images have been building up in frequency and complexity, until one day Simon finds himself slowly pacing one of their spare bedrooms in Haga Palace, a week before his twenty-ninth birthday.

That is how Wille finds him near dinnertime, after calling out for him a couple of times. “Hey, what’re you doing hiding in here?”

Simon doesn’t answer immediately. Wille is still dressed in his daily formal clothes, having just come home, and Simon’s eyes automatically pan up and down his body, even with his head kilometres away. He sees Wille stepping closer to greet him, but lets his eyes lose focus. He interrupts Wille’s leaning in when he finally speaks. “Do you think this is too far away from our room?”

At Wille’s head tilt that he catches with the corner of his eyes, Simon meets his gaze. Wille asks, “What do you mean?”

Simon knows what he himself means, although he finds it hard to say out loud. Sure, they don’t have a solid plan laid out, but he recalls Wille talking about how his mum had Erik at thirty-one and also how Simon himself rolled his eyes at Queen Kristina’s half-playful remark about giving them five years to have children since their wedding. It has only been half that long.

(Linda had Sara at twenty-three.)

“I mean,” he picks his words carefully, feeling restless and needing to continue walking around and gesticulating, “this room’s got one of the prettiest views of the garden, with the cherry tree, and it faces south, so it’s got sunlight year-round. And I know there are, like, three more guest rooms like this along the corridor, but they’re all so big, no matter how much stuff we try to put in them, but also, is this too far away from our room? And it would be weird to have a few guest bedrooms and random rooms between ours and…” his voice trails off.

Slowly, an amused smile grows on Wille’s face. “You’re asking if this is too far away to walk in the middle of the night every two hours? Because yes.” Wille steps closer to him again, drawing Simon to a stop so he can comb a hand through his curls. “You’ve been worrying your pretty mind about this all day?”

“No, not just today,” Simon confesses, and then bites his lip briefly. “And I’m not… worrying, I’m… brainstorming.”

“Brainstorming.”

“Yes.”

“Simon,” Wille says with the same amused smile, “we’ve got another four potential bedrooms by our room, if you’d be willing to turn the music room and the gaming room. It even beats your limit of three kids. Why are you pacing the tiniest guest bedroom we have?”

Wille’s idea of tiny has never been the same as Simon’s.

Simon sighs and lets his shoulders drop. “Because… I don’t know,” he mutters, averting his gaze. “This room is… cosy. It’s…” He looks around. “Can you imagine a baby in one of those rooms? It’s ridiculous. They’re way too big for a baby. But then, what if when they grow up they resent us for not putting them in a bigger room? Do we just– Do we move their bedrooms? Is that what happened with you and Erik? Did you guys have smaller bedrooms closer to your parents when you were super young? Is that how this works? Because it would be weird to change their bedrooms. Wouldn’t it? I feel like it would. But I can’t think of a single room in this godforsaken palace that is appropriate for both a tiny baby and a rebellious teenager.”

Simon has lived in five bedrooms in his almost thirty years of life, but they changed when he changed houses. First, his childhood room in his parents’ flat, before his mum had saved enough money to move them out. Then in the house where his mum still lives. Then his Stockholm flat. Then the Drottningholm apartments. And now Haga (before he eventually moves back to Drottningholm someday). He can’t really picture moving inside the same place.

During the speech, Wille doesn’t lose his playful air, and Simon has no idea how. Maybe he is being ridiculous and there is a simple solution right in front of him, but he feels like, whatever he chooses, it will somehow be wrong, both from a parenting point of view and a royal point of view. He can’t say he is the best prince Sweden has ever had.

“Simon,” Wille says his name again, in that endearing way only he can, “why would it be weird to change their bedrooms as they grow? We’ve moved houses before and it wasn’t weird. People do that.”

“We’re adults, Wille, and we didn’t move inside the same house.”

“I did,” he shrugs. “I mean, I don’t remember much but, back when we lived at the Royal Palace, before my grandfather died, I know I had a room closer to my parents and then, at some point, I was moved closer to Erik. Then we were put in an adjacent wing to them when we moved to Drottningholm when I was seven, and I moved again when you came to live with me.”

All he is saying makes sense in a practical sort of way, and Simon knows Wille moved inside Drottningholm. Of course, if your house is a literal palace with hundreds of different apartments and available rooms, you can just… move from one side to the other and it will be like moving houses. You don’t keep the new-born in the same place as the sixteen-year-old heir. It makes sense. However, Simon grew up with the notion of His Room. People rent, buy, and build regular houses with those things in mind.

Simon frowns. “You were moved to that different wing when you were seven?”

Wille mirrors him. “Yes…?”

“You were a little kid and, when you guys moved, your parents put you in a completely different wing?”

“It’s not a different wing – it’s within the same apartments, just in a different portion of them, but it’s honestly not that far.”

Simon thinks back to sharing a thin wall with his sister and his parents’ room. “I’ve been there. It’s very fucking far.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It’s very far for a seven-year-old child to be from his parents.” Simon sighs, frustrated, and looks around. “And this is definitely too far as well. I just… This is smaller. It’s more fit for a baby.”

Now, Wille has dropped the playfulness and is instead searching Simon’s face with a more serious expression. He raises a hand and caresses his cheek, in an attempt to calm down his rambles, and it works, taking away a bit of concern with each swipe.

Simon knows how he sounds like right now, so he crosses his arms and doesn’t meet his eyes. “I’m just… I’m brainstorming.”

Wille raises his eyebrows. “You weren’t brainstorming a few months ago.”

Simon shrugs, unsure of what he wants to say, unsure if he wants to start that discussion. To be honest, fucking terrified of opening up that line of discussion. Terrified of what they will tell him about how to raise his kids. Terrified of having to fight on every decision, even as small as wanting his children’s bedroom close to his.

“Hey.”

The whisper startles him into meeting Wille’s eyes.

“How about we talk over dinner? I’m starving, and I know you get cranky when you don’t eat,” he finishes with a slight upturn of his lips.

Simon wants to be petty and argue that he isn’t cranky right now, even though he very much is, although not because of hunger, but he finally lets himself register the fact that his husband is home with him after busy days for them both and how amazing that feels. How their guards aren’t inside with them and they can put on pyjamas and make a mess in the kitchen if they feel like it. And Simon feels like it.

An involuntary smile tries to creep up on Simon’s lips. He fights it, shoving Wille’s shoulder for good measure, and he is drawn back into a bone-crushing hug, which makes it really hard not to smile.

They do eventually talk very seriously about it later that night. Simon confesses that something in him is growing space and that that space is starting to feel empty. It’s not like he feels his life is empty – he is extremely happy to be living with someone he loves and being able to use the privilege of the royal name to do charitable work that is important to him –, but maybe, in a little while, he will crave more.

Wille watches him talk, and Simon realises he has got a dreamy expression on his face by the end of it. When questioned, Wille simply says that hearing him go on about having kids with him makes his heart burst and that it awakens something in him as well. There is definitely something about seeing your significant other around kids or talking about kids; Simon can verify. He knows he very nearly had a heart attack when he had to see, with his own two eyes, Wille playing with Eleonora’s son and glowing while doing it. So, he gets what Wille is saying.

With all the excitement of it, there is the downside. Simon knows he would be feeling uneasy even if he hadn’t entered the Royal Family, because his own dad wasn’t the best at being a dad. Plus, how does one even go about being a parent? How much will he actually sleep? How do you not fuck up a child?

He had entered the Royal Family, though, and married the heir apparent. Just his luck that it means he needs to have A Meeting™ with his mother-in-law/boss to say he wants to have kids.

He and Wille have a gameplay sort of ready, because they know they need to present a united front in this. Part of that involves having the meeting on their own turf, with their own rules about the attendees and level of formality.

#young royals #my fics #wilmon #it's a little taste for you guys okay #i'm going through withdrawal right now and thought we could have one (01) happy thing #even if i can never write them 100% happy oops-

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