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#please do not claim or use my oc

lilyoffandoms · 1 year

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something, something… don’t fall in love with your sworn enemy…

Hati (Cadell) x Marcus by @mooreaux

I look forward to the private bathhouse scenes I hope are coming now that Marcus knows Antonia gave Hati permission to use them hehe

If y’all haven’t played @defiledheartsblog ya definitely need to go do so now and then come back and scream at me about it. I am just so in love with this IF!! It’s by far my favorite ever!!

Y’all have no idea how amazing this art is! Seeing it come out from the start to now this gorgeous finished piece is just… I’m just absolutely astounded by the sheer talent of the amazingly wonderful Poppy. They are just incredible and if y’all get a chance ya must commission them!!

#dhtb #defiled hearts: the barbarian #marcus x cadell #my commission #do not repost #do not tag as your oc/mc #do not claim as your own #please ask artists permission before downloading and using #my oc: cadell

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getinmahbe11ay · 11 months

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Security Breach Ruin trailer brought me back to life

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PLEASE DO NOT USE, EDIT, COPY, OR CLAIM MY ARTWORK/OCS AS YOUR OWN. THANK YOU. DO NOT DELETE CAPTION.

#security breach #security breach ruin #sundrop #moondrop #eclipse #G. Brightburn Eclipse #Rubbi Hotlegs #ocs #my ocs #my art #getinmahbe11ay2023

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rosey-tta · 7 months

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is it a controversial topic to say that making the reader's appearance overly detailed, giving them a title and a overly detailed backstory (mary sue backstory often), focusing more on their pov which reveals their personality heavily that some readers would NOT relate too, not making it poc friendly, saying it's gn but using personal pronouns and characters calling them gender specific nicknames (princess/ baby girl...etc), is it controversial to say you didn't write an x reader fanfic but an x OC and you're tricking us to read it?? lmfao i think people have the right to be mad ESPECIALLY if it's not gn or poc friendly when you claimed it was... like i love writers and i appreciate the works ALL of you are putting yall are awesome for giving us this fanfics but PLEASE BFR

if your (y/n) is someone the reader can't relate to it's not x reader. simple as that. idk why ppl are scared of saying this.

PS; i deleted a stupid reply that got mad at x black!reader for being exclusively for black people when black/poc friendly fanfics are already a minority when the harmful majority is very european centered (white people specifically) and even very anti black in some cases. don't twist my post to be fucking racist/sexist/homophobic/fatphobic or ableist because that's not what i'm talking about at all ffs. to the poc and other minority creators who are writing for their people and for unconventional, non-white beauty standards i love you, you're amazing and a straight up war veteran in some of these fandom, geez. (this is for context if anyone looks at the replies. and to tell yall to be decent human being cuz some of you are bold ASF.)

PS 2; i didn't want to address this but, some people pointed out that writing ambiguos x reader is impossible and hard. that's not the case at all, look at the most popular fanfics in a fandom x reader. they ARE ambiguous and general stuff! such as jealousy headcanons, general dating headcanons, prompts, general kinks or the like.... why? because you didn't give the reader too many details or made them mfing black widow or madoka kaname, who'll be relating to that???? you might say "oh i'm writing for myself" or "this is my self-insert don't like it don't read" cool, we all have self-inserts. stop tagging it as x reader however. that's it. tags exist for a reason, and you not using it properly is your problem not the readers who have been misled.

Ps 3 PLEASE READ: ❗❗❗

I read what other people opposing this post said and I absolutely get how difficult it is to write for ambiguous readers. I'm deeply sorry for making it seem as though I'm berating writers when I don't share my work here on tumblr. My post was NOT meant to insult creative writing OR to say that putting the slightest bit of detail on your headcanons, fanfics, scenarios etc is a terrible thing because I assure you it's NOT. But please for the love of god tag your work correctly. THAT'S IT. And give warnings and heads ups about what your writing contains. If it has fem!reader only tag it as fem!reader, if there's mention of physical characteristics specific to one race others or group may not relate to PLEASE give a warning. I know the content here on tumblr is free and I like many here are SUPER grateful for it.

I don't appreciate entitled readers and ik how frustrating it is to get backlash from something that you do for free and it brings you immense joy, but please remember your work is also public and by that it WILL be subjected to criticism and feedback however it may be. And of course I'd never support harrassment or rudeness on any party giving or receiving feedbacks.

Remember that tags and warnings exist for a reason and you're free to write WHATEVER as long as you publicize it keeping in mind the target audience you're reaching. Of course people will not be happy if you state your work is something that ultimately isn't. But imo if you give a prior information then no one should harrass or demand of you anything. This post was made to address the lack of honestly with certain content, the non-poc friendly fanfics and MY PERSONAL OPINIONS. You're free to agree and you're free to disagree.

I read the replies and tags and I understand both sides of the argument, but I also needed to clarify what this post is NOT about. Of course any harrassment or rude comments will be ignored. You're free to have your opinions and preferences and free to say them as long as it isn't problematic.

I also removed the x reader because I understand how it would be hypocritical of me but I truly needed to get people's opinions on a wider scale. Again I apologize if I offended everyone and if I came off as rude or entitled i promise you that's not the case, And you can't even say I think the fanfics should be centered around me since most with the unconventional beauty standards and personality within them do not match me in any way and that's okay 💁‍♀️

#genshin impact #honkai star rail #csm #jjk #fandoms #fandom: discourse #fandom discourse #(y/n)#hopefully i covered everything regarding my take and the feedback i received.#also sorry but i won't allow anon messages since i already got soms nasty ones and I'm not bothering to argue with someone-#that either was crude or gave threats #if you misinterpret my post as something as me restricting writers or being entitled it's on you and your reading comprehension

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spamgyu · 4 months

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COLLEGE!Mingyu drabble - hairties and phone numbers

another installation to the college!mingyu au no bc college!mingyu as someone who lives down the hall from your dorm and you always run into him doing something questionable

kind of obsessed with the thought of oc's dad loving mingyu and wanting them together.

Her and her roommate rarely locked their door.

In fact, most on their floor rarely did as well — some even leaving their dorm room door wide open a majority of the time, allowing for guests to come in and out when they please.

They put way too much trust on one another...

"You got a hair tie?" He barged in, making a bee-line to her desk.

Looking up from her laptop, she watched as he rummaged through her belongings as she sat on her bed. He had a habit of making himself feel quite at home in her and her roommate's shared space.

"Hi, Mingyu. Hello, I'm doing fine. Thanks for asking" She rolled her eyes.

She had given up telling him off, opting to use sarcasm instead.

She had invited him in one time... One damn time, to help him with his paper and since then, he had made himself a regular in her room. Most of the time, he stopped by for useless reasons.

Just the other day, he had come in whilst she was busy plucking her eyebrows, only to turn off the lamp and scurrying away with a mischievous giggle.

He was always up to no good.

"Hi y/n." He paused his search with a sigh, as if she was the one bothering him. "Do you have a hair tie?"

Holding her arm up, he zeroed in on the black elastic around her wrist. "Thanks!" Mingyu smiled, slipping it off of her.

He pulled half of his hair up atop his head, securing it with the newly borrowed hair tie. "Looks okay?" He faced her.

Y/n snorted, grabbing her phone and pointing at him. "Smile."

Mingyu forced a smile out, like a five year old who just learned how to show off their teeth.

"You look like a toddler." She laughed, showing him the image she had just taken.

Mingyu chuckled, tucking the other strands he wasn't able to gather, behind his ears. "Send this to me."

Within seconds, the phone in his pocket buzzed – pulling it out to save the image. "Instagram dm's fucked up the quality." He frowned.

"Give me your number."

"You want my number?" He wiggled his brows.

"To send it, doofus." Y/n countered, giving him a look.

"I knew you always had the hots for me."

"I need you to look in the mirror and say that again."

Craning his neck to catch a glimpse of himself on the mirror hanging by her door, Mingyu let out a laugh. He looked absolutely ridiculous; wearing faded sweats, an ill-fitting puffer vest that he had stolen from his dad closet, and socks with his Birkenstock clogs.

"I think I look fine." He shrugged, going back to looking down on his phone.

hi it's mingyu

Y/n looked at the message from the unknown number, snorting. "You have my number?"

"Your dad gave it to me."

"Of course he did."

Her dad had hounded her numerously in regards to her finding a boyfriend, claiming that it was another man's turn to spoil her and treat her well.

And he knew just the right guy for the job.

He was not giving up on his dreams of making Mingyu a part of their family.

#inconsisten au.... but why am i kinda obsessed with this mingyu #literally no story line except mingyu just being cute and oc's dad wanting them together #spam drabbles #sg: mingyu #mingyu x reader #mingyu scenarios

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viperixsworld · 4 months

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GUTS, luke castellan x oc(prologue)

summary: where an aphordite daugther falls for this lying hermes boy.

disclaimer: english is not my firt language.

We don't get to choose who we fall in love with.

Arianne knew that. She believed it to her core. Love was something magical and illogical. Her own father, said it when he told her about her mom. Apparently, she was a beautiful young woman that crossed paths with Nicholas Deveraux (her father) during his travels in Europe before officially settle down in the family business in Chicago.

Everyone expected that Nicholas would come back from Europe with a bad tan and a few souvenirs, not a freaking newborn baby daugther.

Nicholas was a loving father, but not a really smart man. That is It's one of the reasons she didn't question when a man showed up at her Chicago home, offering her only daughter a scholarship to a prestigious boarding school.

Arianne came to camp half-blood when she was thirteen years old. After some encounters with several monsters, Chiron himself went to her doorstep in Chicago to get her to camp.

Nevertheless, during her arrival there was an incident. An incident involving three more demigod, a satire and a cyclops.

Arianne was claimed a few weeks after the attack, same as the two demigos that survived. Luke Castellan, son of Hermes, and Annabeth Chase, daugther of Atenea.

And let me tell you, Arianne Deveraux didn't choose to fall for the son of the Traveler. It was fate, or maybe was her mother ? She wasn't really sure. They started off as friends, adapting to camp at same time, being the same age, having the same friends.

Arianne was a nice, generous and beautiful girl, she was the perfect definition of an Aphordite daugther. Everyone that knew her personally (and even those who didn't) held her close to their hearts. Knowing that if you had to trust someone, you could trust Arianne Deveraux.

It was also a flaw, being the goodie older sister of Camp Half-blood.

At sixteen, she was named captain of Aphordite cabin. At the same time, Luke Castellan was named captain of Hermes cabin. They started to spend more time together, attending bonefire together, sparring together... Then the gifts started, Luke liked how her eyes would shine everytime she opened a present, no matter how stupid or simple. He would get her little details, It was his way of showing love, his love language, and her siblings would beg her to ask Luke to please, please, get them things for the cabin.

On the othet hand, Arianne would be (even without her knowing) the best of the presents for Luke. She was kind and beautiful, and gave him all the attetion he craved. And even Annabeth liked her, and would let her do her hair when she was tired. She was a part of their little, broken family.

Sometimes, Ari would cover up for Luke, when he sneak out to get things for other half-bloods and for himself. Like a PlayStation or some chess board for Annabeth, or his little presents for Ari.

Sometimes, Luke would sneak her in the Big House, to use the phone to talk to her father.

Every friday night, the would sit in the shore of the lake, to talk about everything or to be completly silent. Every time the scar on Luke's face hurt, Ari would stay by his side and try to ease the pain. Every time Ari felt like the stress of carring everyones problems and her owns, Luke was there to relieve her.

They were partners in crime, always there for each other.

That, until an enemy emerges from the shadows and resentment.

That, until one betrays the other.

Until Arianne Deveraux feels love and hate in her guts.

#luke castellan x oc #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #pjo show #pjo series #pjo #luke castellan #arianne deveraux

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lovewithmary · 7 months

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— LOVEWITHMARY'S MASTERLIST

most of the pictures I use for my stories are not mine and are credited to whoever owns them! the pictures are used to entertain and I do not claim any of them!

one shots:

max verstappen (MV1): cooking disaster

lando norris (LN4): wrong driver

alex albon (AA23): childhood friends to... already lovers?

The Engineer | A MCU X FORMULA ONE Crossover

one summary: where mick schumacher and viviana stark are best friends, unbeknownst to most.

two summary: where daniel riccicardo is star(k)struck

three summary: where viviana stark is a traitor

four summary: where max is less than pleased.

five summary: hell hath no fury than a woman scorned. or, where viviana is pissed.

(Not) Moving On - A Poly!Max Verstappen x Stark!OC x Charles Leclerc Series follow #(not) moving on for chapters and me answering asks

one

two

three

four

five

six

seven

eight

nine

ten

eleven

twelve

thirteen

fourteen

fifteen

sixteen

seventeen

eighteen

nineteen

#f1 imagine #f1 instagram au #f1 x oc #f1 ig au #f1 oc #f1 smau #f1 social media au #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you

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suiana · 1 year

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how about yan senior?? reader have some interest at him but just move on cause she knows that she doesn't have a chance with him since he is a model student. and poof he actually notice reader and obsessed likes her too!

/⁠ᐠ⁠｡⁠ꞈ⁠｡⁠ᐟ⁠\ anon

I like your idea anon!

✎ yandere! senior headcanons . . .

✎ warnings . . .

― possessiveness, stalking, mild violence etc.

(gn! reader x male yandere! oc)

‎

✎ yandere! senior who is one of the most handsome and charming guys in the school, easily stealing hearts left and right. which includes yours as well!

✎ yandere! senior who drowns in the attention of everyone fawning over him. it's just so addictive! the way people would do anything for just a minute of his attention~

✎ yandere! senior who doesn't even bother to remember most of the people who adore him. that was, until he saw you. you're so plain! yet you attract him so much? did you cast a spell on him?

✎ yandere! senior who thinks of you as a cute pet. you fawn over him just like the others but something about you is just so... different?

✎ yandere! senior who makes you do everything for him during school hours. from helping him to throw away his rubbish to helping him carry his books around. you would do anything for him and he's going to make full use of that.

✎ yandere! senior who realises that you're not as enthusiastic about him as you were before. he notices your bored face, the way your face drains of energy as your friends inform you about his presence...

✎ yandere! senior who feels his heart shatter when you tell him that you don't want anything to do with him anymore. your words pierce his heart as you rant about how you hate getting treated like a maid by him, how you used to actually like him because he was the perfect senior.

✎ yandere! senior who can't do anything but watch as you turn your back on him and walk away. he feels his hand clench but he calms himself down. well, he'll just find a new pet then. this is your loss.

✎ yandere! senior who realises that he can't find anyone like you. everyone else is boring. disgusting. absolutely trash! no one is as adorable, obedient and charming as you are. no one is you.

✎ yandere! senior who finds himself inside your room when you're sleeping, taking pictures of you and stealing some small trinkets in your room for safe keeping. don't worry! when you come back to him he'll return them to you! so be a good pet and come back please.

✎ yandere! senior who messes with your test papers and rigs your grades. oh! the teachers need someone to tutor a student who suddenly started flunking all of their tests? he eagerly volunteers, smiling in victory as it means he'll be able to see you with a reason now.

✎ yandere! senior who uses his reputation as a model student to get the teachers to ignore your complaints of him. as if they would believe he tried to strangle your friend when she tried to pull you away from him~

✎ yandere! senior who claims you as his, not allowing anyone else to come near you. you're his. his. he can give you anything you want. so just be a good pet and stay with him, okay?

✎ "my cute pet~ do you need me to go through this part again?"

#tw yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #male yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere blog #yandere hcs #yandere headcanons #yandere drabble #yandere drabbles #yandere senior #yandere senior x reader #yandere senior headcanons

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sharkfinn · 9 months

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MASTA POST YEEAAAAHHHHHH

this is how the cool tumblr kids do it right

a few things i like/you might see me post about:

tmnt, danny phantom, adventure time, final space, outer wilds, tf2, zelda, mlp:fim and other schtuff :3c

- you have permission to use my art for profile pictures or headers or whatever, as long as you credit me

- please do not repost my art elsewhere or use it to train ai.

TAG LIST

#sharkfinnarts - all my drawings (excluding little brother comic pages)

#sharkfinnfanart - other arts people have made

#little brother au - everything little brother au

You can multi-tag search!!!!!!!!!

for example - for my danny phantom art: "#danny phantom, #sharkfinnarts" or all the little brother fanart: "#little brother au, #sharkfinnfanart"!!!

reference sheet for my sona! kachow!!

newer version

Little Brother

a rottmnt oc au fancomic by sharkfinn

just a small warning beforehand, this comic contains a faaaiiir bit of angst and violence, i will balance it out with some more lighthearted stuff don't you worry

any helpful criticism or feedback is very welcome 💙

trying to update whenever i can!!

i hope you enjoy !!!!! :]

page 1

spots reference sheet

1, 2, 3, 4, cover 2, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, cover 3, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, cover 4, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28,

when is the next update? (info)

turtles name list

how old is spots?

voice claim

story related drawings???:

someone you didnt mention

is it okay to talk about it yet?

pre-rat king family doodles

big plans for you

missed you too

#master post #little brother au #sharkfinnarts #sharkfinnfanart #sharkfinnreblogs #sharkfinnmisc

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kinkyliterotica · 1 year

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(This image belong to Sony and I do not claim ownership of it)

(Part 2)

Venom x OC Period Sex Smut

Summary: Shannon unexpectedly starts her period, Venom has a creative solution.

Warnings: Period sex, blood play, oral sex, rough sex, rough penetration

———

Shannon, Eddie, and Venom had formed a much more intimate bond since their first night together. The initial lust was strong, and Shannon’s chemistry with Venom was substantial. There were moments when Eddie felt like he’d been sidelined by his own Symbiote.

He tried to remember that he fronted most of the time, Venom had little time and space to be free. Perhaps he owed Venom this.

That evening, Eddie invited Shannon over to cook. He was not an excellent chef, but he was eager to try. Anne had done most of the cooking during their relationship, and he was ready to prove himself as a partner.

Eddie was pan frying sausage while Venom mixed pancake batter. Shannon rang the doorbell, and Venom dropped the bowl on the counter, and extended himself to answer the door.

“Hello Darling.” Venom greeted her.

Shannon moved smoothly past Venom, “Hey, sorry I have to use the restroom. Give me a sec.”

Venom was caught off guard. Eddie had to remind him to close and lock the door. Venom’s wide white eyes watched Shannon as she headed to the bathroom. Eddie continued cooking, shaking the pan to flip the sausages.

“There is something wrong, can’t you feel it?” Venom asked Eddie, his head floating next to him.

Eddie dismissed him, “What’re you talking about? She just had to use the bathroom.”

“Listen to me Eddie, I smell blood.” Venom ground out.

That got Eddie’s attention. He killed the heat on the pan, and turned his attention towards Shannon. He rushed down the hall and knocked on the door.

“Hey, are you okay in there?” Eddie asked. Venom pressed his head against the door to listen.

Shannon sighed, “Yes, I’m fine.”

Eddie didn’t want to drop this issue, he pressed on, “Venom said he smelled blood.”

Shannon was irritated, “Could I get a little privacy please?”

Eddie held his tongue, he didn’t want to piss her off, but he needed to know what was going on.

“Just tell me, are you hurt? Should I be worried?” Eddie’s voice was laced with concern.

Suddenly Shannon pulled open the door, her underwear and pants were around her ankles. On the crotch of the pants there was a puddle of red. She had fresh red blood dripping down her legs. Her brows were drawn together in frustration.

Shannon’s voice was frantic, “I started my fucking period 3 days early, I don’t have any spare clothes, and I’m bleeding everywhere!”

Eddie couldn’t hold back his laugh. He hunched forward and gripped his stomach. The laughter burst from him.

“Oh shit,” Eddie exclaimed, “I thought it was something serious.”

Shannon’s mouth formed a dangerous looking frown.

“This is serious for me Eddie.” She said between clenched teeth, “It’s humiliating. I’m a grown woman.”

Eddie realized his reaction was less than ideal, “Sorry, sorry. Let me run down to the store and grab you some stuff alright? I did it for Annie all the time. You can borrow some of my clothes.”

Before Shannon could respond, Venom consumed him. Enveloping his form, and growing around Eddie.

“What a waste. Why not let me solve your problem?” Venom purred.

His tongue lashed out, flicking through the air. Saliva dripped from it and landed on the vinyl floor beneath them.

Shannon’s brows hit the ceiling. She had not expected this kind of reaction. She stumbled back, her hand grabbing the sink for support.

“What–what do you mean, Venom?” Her voice, a moment ago so full of anger, had faded down to a meek whimper.

Venom’s enormous black arms wrapped around her, forcing her down on top of the toilet. Her bare ass shivered against the cold porcelain. Her pants and underwear were still around her ankles.

“Sit back, relaaaaaaax…” Venom’s voice was equal parts hypnotic and eerie.

His hands were so large they easily closed around her biceps. His huge body was crammed between the wall and the toilet. He got onto his knees, his head hovered right above her bleeding cunt.

Her flow had just started, the blood was fresh, and quickly pooling inside of her. It leaked out of her hole just a bit.

Venom smiled, his teeth bared, enormous and terrifying. The tip of his tongue traced his lips like he was about to devour his favorite meal. His wide white eyes looked up at Shannon’s face for a moment. There was lust there, so much lust it frightened her.

All at once his tongue dove into her. The blood inside of her made a noticeable SQUELCH. It didn’t stop Venom from digging the fat muscle futher inside. He was moaning, growling. He withdrew for just a moment, her blood coated his tongue. He swallowed it, sighing contentedly.

“What a treat!” Venom said, “I want more.”

Before Shannon could respond, his tongue was back inside of her. Exploring her folds, and lapping up all of the blood. She couldn’t hold back her own moans. Her voice was foreign to her, full of meekness and hesitation.

It did feel good. Extremely good. But all the same it was strange, this was not what she’d been expecting. She knew that Venom had eaten people before, but she didn’t know about his affinity for blood drinking. It was entirely new to her, she’d never had a guy fetishize something like that. She wondered for a moment how Eddie felt about this, if he was enjoying himself, or just allowing Venom to indulge himself. Either way, it felt too good for her to risk stopping it. Venom was fronting, so she had to trust him.

Venom’s grip on her tightened, he was truly ravenous. The blood continued to flow from her hole, and Venom drank it like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. Shannon writhed and moaned as his tongue played with her cunt. The tip traced along her folds, leaving no part untouched.

Shannon was shivering, her body unable to resist but struggling to find comfort or purchase on the seat.

“The taste of fresh blood,” Venom’s voice was deep, “There is nothing like it. Eddie does not want to scare you, but you’re not scared, are you?”

Shannon cried out, “No, no, please, keep going!”

“Yes, yes, this is all mine. There is no shame, I want all of it.”

Venom lifted her up, holding her hips and ass in his enormous hands. He buried his face in her cunt. She grasped his head for support, nearly hitting the wall. She could barely register the sensation of his tongue lapping at her pussy. He was moving so fast, she was afraid his teeth would puncture her. She wrapped her arms around his head, trying to keep herself upright.

Venom’s pace was torturous. The sounds he made were primal and deep. Eddie was in there somewhere, but now, there was only Venom.

Venom pulled his tongue out of her. She let out a held breath, tears coming to her eyes. She was shivering, her heart racing beneath her breast.

“I want more. I’ll have to speed things along.”

Venom’s hands ran up her ass, along her back, until he held her upright entirely with his own hands. He slid her down onto the floor carefully, making sure she didn’t hit the door or the counter. When Shannon was about to get her bearings, Venom’s tentacles slithered out. His tentacles wrapped around his midsection, lifting her from the ground once again. Just enough that she could be flipped over onto her knees. Her hands came up to support herself, but one of Venom’s hands pushed her down.

Her ass was prone in the air, her cheek pressed against the fuzzy rug on the floor. Her arms were tucked under her form, no space to move, she was trapped. Before fear could overcome her, Venom used one of his thick long tentacles to prepare her cunt for him. It pressed in and out of her, stretching further, going deeper. The friction on the inside of her walls was maddening, she ground against him. The tentacle suddenly swelled, pushing the limits of what her cunt could take.

“Venom, please don’t break me!” She begged.

Venom purred, the appendage stretching her did not let up, but he did slow the pace down. He gently entered, and pulled out, dragging out the sensation. His form fell over her like a shadow. His mouth was by her ear.

“I will not break you, but I will make you bleed. Again and again for me.” His voice was a promise.

The tentacle slid out of her entrance, and was quickly replaced with the tip of his cock. The head was so much larger from the back, she knew that in this position she would be the most vulnerable. She tried to take a deep breath, and steady herself. But when his dark head pressed into her heat, she whimpered.

It hurt. It hurt so much. His girth was inhuman. There was nothing that could soften this. She knew by now that enduring was the best she could do until her walls adjusted. Her cunt would learn to take him eventually.

Venom let out a dark laugh. The sound rumbled in his chest, and vibrated against her back. She wondered what had caused him to laugh, but in a moment she felt it. When his tip hit her cervix, he had caused another wave of fresh blood to flow. She was bleeding on in, because of him. It lubricated her tight hole, and provided some relief.

Venom teased, “You’re coating my cock with your sweet red juices. Such a filthy Human.”

His hips drove into her, forcing her tits to drag across the small bathroom rug. Her pelvis strained from the effort of Venom slamming into her. Venom was primal now. Growing and drooling and using all of his strength to hurt her, just enough to make her bleed once again for him.

She wondered if Venom could keep this up all night.

#monster smut #x reader #dom/sub #oc smut #breeding toy #monster fucker #eddie x venom #venom smut #venom x reader #we are venom #venom symbiote #venom x OC #eddie brock #period sex #bloodplay

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ddollfface · 4 months

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𝐓𝐨𝐨 𝐇𝐨𝐭 𝐓𝐨 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐥

𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗦𝗶𝗰𝗸!𝗔𝘁𝗵𝗹𝗲𝘁𝗲 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

"You're as hot as the bottom of my laptop, mamas ;)."

Trigger Warnings; gaslighting, manipulation, somewhat spreading misinformation, hinting at yandere behaviors, fluff, PDA, reader is referred to as a girl, honestly this is pretty tame lol If I missed anything, then please let me know ♡ Just a few headcanons on a new OC. And, just so you know, when I was writing this, I had an afab!reader in mind! If you have any requests, idk why you would, but send them in! I hope you enjoy:)))

Never, ever refers to you as your given name. He prefers to call you by some type of nickname or pet name, depending on his mood. His go-to is mamas, sweet cheeks, baby cakes, hot stuff, good-lookin', and so much more. Honestly, he could go on all day, just listing different pet names he has for you. At this point, it's become a source of entertainment for you, trying to see what odd name he'll call you. Come on, you don't like that nickname, sugar plum? How about dolly? Baby girl? Pumpkin? I don't know, you look like an angel, baby.

Though you'll admit it, it's somewhat endearing to hear, especially when you know he's only called you these cute names. But at a certain point, it gets embarrassing... Like does your mama need to know that he calls you bubble butt, of all things? Let me answer that for you, no, no she does not. If anything, that's something she should never, ever know.

He demands that you come to his games; he doesn't want you to miss a single one. He'll show up to your house at the crack of dawn, on a Saturday, and drag you out of bed to bring you to his game. He doesn't give too shits if your hair looks like a mess or if you're still in your jams. Nope, not at all. If anything, he likes it. He thinks you're adorable with your Hello Kitty booty shorts.

He just wants you there, to support him. He wants to have his own personal cheerleader, someone who he can come to after the game, and give a hug too.

While the thought behind it is endearing and cute, that doesn't change the fact that he's just so pushy. He won't give up, no matter what. If he says you're going, then you're going. You don't get a say in the matter 'cause if you refuse to go, then he's going to bring out the waterworks. He's going to look at you with the saddest eyes you can imagine, there's even tears. He'll cock his head to the side and question you, asking why don't you want to support me? What happened to 'friends first? Remember when I went to that stupid party 'cause ya' didn't want to be alone? Where's my payback, yeah?

He'll use emotional manipulation to get what he wants, making you out to be the bag guy, instead of him. His guilt-tripping usually always works, well, so far it has. And now you're at some stupid hockey game, wrapped up in his jacket, wearing his team colors. Great, now people are asking how you bagged a guy like him. Jesus, where'd they get that idea from? You're not even dating...

Well, that's what you think. Little do you know, he's been going around town tellin' everyone about you. He'll hype you up to his buddies, rambling on and on about how you smell, how your cheeks puff up when you smile, and God, you're so pretty when you're sleeping. Wow, he doesn't mean that in a creepy way! Why would you think of it like that? Because he's just admiring the prettiest girl in school! Don't you know, mamas? You being here makes me the luckiest guy in town, yeah?

He's just so God damn touchy; people can't help but think ya'll are dating. Everything about your relationship screams dating. He's always got an arm around your shoulder, and if he's feeling really ballsy, he'll place a hand on your hip. Though those moments are far in between, seeing as you'll give him a hard side-eye when he does it.

But the PDA doesn't stop there. He'll hold your hand, claiming that he's just warming your hands. After all, it's pretty cold in the winter, yeah? He's just looking out for you, nothing to freak out over. Sometimes, he'll hug you a little too tight, and for a little too long. His touch lingers for such a prolonged time it causes you to look up at him with a questioning look.

Of course, he's the master of diverting your questions, shifting your conversations from his touchy behavior to finals. And this does nothing but piss you off, but it's hard to stay mad at him when he looks at you like that. The way he scoots his chair closer to yours, intertwining your pinkies together, and smiling at you like a dork. The way he'll bring you coffee (or warm tea, depending on your preference) during a cold morning, always making sure his baby's all warm. Or how he'll cover for you when you're late to a lecture, stalling the class for a few minutes, just enough for you to slip into class unnoticed.

All these small things let you forget about why you were even mad in the first place! I mean, what could he have done wrong? It couldn't be that bad right?

And just like that, you walk right back into his arms, not knowing that he's the one you should be running from. You're such a stupid girl, aren't you? Don't worry, I'll take care of you babes.

#bad writing #lovesick #obsessive love #yandere #lovesick!athlete x reader #𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡'𝙨 𝙮𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙚'𝙨 #𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙘𝙠!𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙚 #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc x you #yandere headcanons #headcanons #yandere oc #original character #new oc alert

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lilyoffandoms · 1 year

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Crimes of Passion by @javsarts

Is it June yet?

My dear Mich, you always amaze me with the art you create! Thank you for absolutely blowing me away with this one!! As always it was an true pleasure commissioning you 😘

If y’all get a chance, go commission Mich when comms reopen for your own beautiful art!!

#playchoices #choices stories you play #choices cop #choices crimes of passion #trystan thorne #my commission #do not tag as your oc/mc #do not claim as your own #do not repost #please ask artists permission before downloading and using #cw: guns #cw: blood #my oc: gabriel rose

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xjoonchildx · 1 year

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kanalia | jhs x reader | chapter five: the king is a fool

banner by the amazing, incredible @kth1

⚜️summary: secrets and uncertainty plague a young queen in her arranged marriage to a kind but distant king. the farther she drifts from her husband, the closer she gets to one of his most trusted men.

⚜️pairing: queen!reader x royalguard!hoseok

⚜️rating: mature, 18+

⚜️genre: royal AU, historical AU, smut

⚜️warnings: infidelity (it’s complicated, y’all) mentions of pregnancy, fertility issues. OC struggles with depressive thoughts and episodes.

⚜️word count: 10K

⚜️notes: the queen is hot and bothered, literally & figuratively. the king puts several Ls in the disappointed but not surprised category, everyone gets drunk at some point. lord min is a terrible archer, yeona remains round and winning. the queen could melt steel with her sexual frustration, lord jung is not faring much better but at least he knows what he's doing, slightly awkward marital smut. the queen fights with everyone.

i could never have finished this chapter without these amazing authors & minds @miscelunaaa and @vyduan and one person who would probably level us all with her first fic if she decided to write one, @hobi-gif. please let me re-iterate how much it means to me that any one of you reads my stories, and it would make me endlessly happy to talk to you about it. you can talk to me here 💕

previous chapter final chapter

Hyeri is curious.

She examines the stains at the hem of your walking dress with narrowed eyes, pausing her thorough study of the red-brown splotches only to steal the occasional furtive glance your way.

Her lips purse as she shakes dirt loose from the grooves of your walking boots. She watches the sediment fall to the floor with a raised brow, uncharacteristically quiet as she reaches for the broom to sweep the mess away.

But her bewilderment only grows as she draws closer.

The older woman’s posture stiffens as she regards you, lips pulling into a thin line as she takes in the state of your wind-swept hair and grimy fingernails. You must reek of the ill temper you’ve brought back from your ride, the smell of it as pungent as the sweat and horse on your clothes. She tests your temperament in much the same way as she tests your bathwater, query as feather-light as the fingertip she skims along the surface.

“Are you… well, this evening, Your Grace?”

“As well as I ever am,” you answer succinctly, accepting her hand and stepping carefully into the tub. Woven into the spaces between each of your clipped words is rebuke; a silent warning to proceed no further. Your handmaid, who is by no means a meek woman, has the good sense to heed it.

So Hyeri says nothing as she takes a comb to the tangles in your hair, working them apart with peach oil. She says nothing as she scrubs away the dirt embedded beneath your normally pristine fingernails. And she says nothing still when you wince at the ache in your thighs as she helps you from the bath.

When the heavy chamber door finally pulls behind her, shutting the stares and the questions safely out, you make your way to bed. You extinguish the lamp on your nightstand and welcome the shadows.

And then you succumb to the darkness that envelops you, inside and out.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Steamy heat has put an end to weeks of pleasant fall weather.

You’ve sought refuge this afternoon beneath a tree at the edge of the castle’s sprawling open field. The oak, though grand, offers scant protection from the midday sun. A bead of sweat trickles down your neck and disappears into the linen at your décolletage.

“Between you and me, I’ve always found hunting to be an appalling sport.”

Boram shakes her head at the scene in the distance. The King and his men claim to be training for an upcoming hunt, but by all appearances, there is little training taking place. Instead they look to be bandying about like mischievous little boys, scrambling for position in front of the straw targets with bows in hand.

“I find it to be an exercise in vanity more than ability. Little more than male preening disguised as sport.” Boram dabs at her brow with a handkerchief and sighs. “What do you think?”

You don’t answer Boram’s question on account of your distraction. Try as you might to keep your eyes on the dashing elder Lord Kim or the charming young Lord Jeon or – heaven forbid, your husband – they wander to Lord Jung instead, over and over and over again. Your gaze pulled to his strong face as though drawn by a magnet.

He turns his head and his dark eyes find yours across the distance.

The butterflies you’ve felt in his presence before are not to blame for the unsettled feeling that comes over you now. The very sight of the man makes your stomach turn over, as though you can taste the vivid recollection of the last time you saw him.

The memory of that wonderful ride – and of the horrible way it ended – are still bitter on your tongue. Like picking the most beautiful fruit in the orchard only to find it sour and decaying inside.

“Your Grace?”

You blink.

“I say this to you as my friend and not my Queen,” Boram says, pausing to clear her throat. “You don’t seem yourself today. Is there anything you want to talk about?”

“Nothing at all,” you lie quickly, smoothing down the damp curls springing up around your ears. “I’m fine, truly. Though I suppose it is possible the heat is making me cross. I can barely think in such conditions.”

“Awful, isn’t it?” Boram laments, reaching over to give Yeona’s belly a tickle. The baby curls into herself like a starfish, giggling as she rolls around on the blanket. “Yoongi says it will take a rain to break it. But until then, we must all suffer.”

“And suffer we shall,” you echo under your breath, watching Lord Jung load his bow in the distance. He sets his lithe body in a precise stance then draws his arm back and releases his arrow. It flies in a tight arc and lands just below the bullseye on the target. The men erupt into raucous cheers. You resist the urge to scowl.

“As for the hunting,” you add, “I think men are just as guilty of the frivolity they so often accuse women of. Not that any one of them is likely to admit it.”

“No, I suppose not,” Boram laughs. “Men are not known to be skilled in the art of introspection.”

“They certainly are not.”

And why should they be? Men never have to stop and consider the consequences of their actions. They alone decide the rules of engagement. They are free to be as vain and as frivolous and as thoughtless as their hearts desire. Horrid, infuriating creatures.

Lord Min steps up to the target. His stance is uneven and his arrow is wild the very second he lets it loose. It flies yards from the target and lands off in the grass. The men jeer loudly.

“Poor Yoongi,” Boram winces as she watches the men tease him. “He’s never been much of an archer, I’m afraid.” But the good-natured Lord Min appears to take it all in stride, shrugging off their taunts as he trades his bow for a fresh tankard of ale.

The King takes his turn next – the lines of his body thicker and stronger than Lord Jung’s, but no less elegant. The men circle around your husband as he draws the bow back with one strong arm. He takes careful aim with his arrow and deftly plants it just above the target’s bullseye. The sound of the men’s whooping echoes across the field.

And so it goes for a while, with the men taking turns loosing their arrows to varying degrees of success.

Lords Park and Jeon both prove to be adequate archers, hitting the targets more often than not. The elder and younger Lord Kims are less skilled and spend the lion’s share of their time plucking arrows from the grass behind the targets. Lord Min quickly gives up on the endeavor entirely, opting instead to sit with his ale and heckle the others.

But the two best archers on the field refuse to be distracted by drink.

The King and Lord Jung set an arduous pace, loading and firing their arrows in quick succession. Even at a distance, even with your meager knowledge of archery, you can discern that both men are quite evenly matched in terms of skill. They load, fire, and strike their respective targets with precision.

On and on they persist – despite the brutal heat, despite the fact that the other men have begun to tire. One by one the other Guardsmen surrender, abandoning their bows and collapsing onto the grass to watch.

“These two seem quite serious, don’t they?” Boram notes.

They certainly do. The air of silly fun that’s sat over the group for much of the afternoon is all but gone now and what began as a diversion for all of the men has clearly become a challenge between just two. The other Guardsmen seem to sense the shift in atmosphere as well, their faces earnest as they watch the King and Lord Jung compete.

Physically, the two men are quite different. The King’s muscular arms and chest serve him well as he steadies his bow and fires. In contrast, Lord Jung’s body is lithe, sleek. He moves with an agility the King cannot. But both wear matching expressions of determination. And though this competition might have been amiable at the start, it’s now evident that neither man is willing to leave the field without a clear victor.

Lord Min calls out to them both – voice too distant for you to make out his words – and the men appear to nod in agreement. They both step back from the targets, increasing the difficulty of each shot. But it takes only a few more arrows to prove that the added distance is no hindrance to either man. Both set their stances again, both aim and fire, and both land their arrows with ease.

The Guardsmen sitting nearby fall silent, and in the absence of their racket the King’s answering growl of frustration echoes over the entire field.

“Oh my,” Boram whispers. “I’d heard there was some tension between them, and it would certainly appear to be so.”

It certainly would. Right now, the King and Lord Jung look more like rivals seeking to settle a score than lifelong friends.

The King’s agitation is apparent in every move he makes, in the way he jerks the arrows out of the straw targets and stalks back into position. Lord Jung’s agitation is equally apparent. He accepts a skin of water from Lord Min without so much as a thanks and hands it back once he’s drained it.

It’s a strange thing to see the handsome Guardsman challenge his King with the very same passion in which he’d defended him just days prior.

“Has the King spoken to you about it?”

“No,” you admit stiffly, “He has not. Are you determined to keep me in the dark, as well?”

“Heavens, no,” Boram protests, pulling Yeona into her lap. She hands the baby a rice cake and Yeona sets to gumming at it right away. “I would never want you to think that I’m speaking ill of the King, is all.”

“I could never think that of you.”

There is hesitation in Boram’s face when she flicks her dark eyes back to meet yours.

“Well, the details I have are few,” she starts slowly. “But what I know is that the King expressed a wish to see Lord Jung married again and Lord Jung, from my understanding was – ” she pauses, carefully considering her next words,“ – less than amenable to the idea.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Yoongi says they fought over the matter. Quite thoroughly, from what I’ve been told.”

“I see,” you say, taking great care to keep your expression impassive. “And did Lord Min explain why Lord Jung is so opposed to marriage? He’s still a young man. I can certainly see why the King would think it a logical proposition.”

Boram’s lips purse as she thinks.

“I do not know that I can say. Though I consider Lord Jung to be a dear friend, he can be terribly private about some matters.”

You cut your eyes towards the field to search for the man in question.

Does she really know Lord Jung? Do you? Today there is no sign of the man who’d leveled you with a smile in the Great Hall, no trace of the man who’d teased you about riding clothes before helping you onto your mount. The man you see now wears a strained expression as he watches the King take aim, his energy volatile like a pot ready to boil over.

Perhaps you’d been foolish to think him so different from the King. Perhaps they are as evenly matched in the art of duplicity as they are the skill of archery.

“So what will come of it?” you ask after a while. “Will the King – make him marry?”

“I don’t know,” Boram admits. “And therein, I suppose, is where much of the tension lies. Lord Jung has already taken a bride once in service to the Kingdom. I can’t imagine he’d be inclined to do it again.”

There’s a sudden commotion on the field then, an outburst that has Lords Park and Jeon on their feet. The younger men rush to meet the King and Lord Jung mid-field, nodding as the King speaks. Both take off running at once.

“I’ve no clue what that is all about, but I do wish they’d end this already,” Boram grumbles, watching the young men disappear behind the tree line as they go off in search of whatever it is the King’s asked for. “I don’t know how much longer I can last in this heat.”

“Nor I,” you agree, watching the King and Lord Jung speak to one another. Both men look sober, the lines of their faces hard. “But it seems we’ll all have to endure it for just a bit longer in order to humor this contest of male prides.”

Some arduous minutes later, Lords Park and Jeon make their return to the field.

The dust kicked up by the horses they ride precedes them, the ground parched from weeks without rain. Both men arrive in a cloud of grime – Lord Jeon on the King’s mount and Lord Park on Lord Jung’s– and dismount without delay, handing the reins over to their elders.

So this is how they will decide the victor.

“Well, let’s hope they keep their wits about them,” Boram sighs. “Lest they both break their legs in the heat of competition.”

“Yes, let’s,” you mutter.

The King is first to take his turn, of course.

He mounts Jeonsa with ease despite the horse’s grand height and takes his time warming the warhorse up. The King runs his mount in circles around the target until he’s satisfied with his plan and the timing of his shot. He steadies himself against the jostling with his strong thighs, pulling his bow back to fire. The arrow hits the target just below the bullseye.

The men, who’ve spent hours now drinking in the hot sun, erupt into a chorus of ruffian cheers.

Lord Jung wastes no time taking to his own mount. His horse is leaner and quicker than Jeonsa, and it’s clear that he commands complete control of the animal’s every step. Both horse and rider move as one as he urges his mount faster, straightening his back to fire. The arrow hits the target just above the bullseye.

The men are getting rowdy now, egging on both competitors as they circle on their horses. Their shouting is louder, more animated, and you would not at all be surprised if there were a few healthy wagers underway. You wonder which of the men they’ve bet on.

You wonder which of the men you would bet on before pushing the thought away and reminding yourself that you’re not particularly fond of either at this moment.

The King circles Jeonsa around the target once again, taking his time about it. He seems to consider every circumstance surrounding his next shot – the angle, the speed, the light wind that blows east. After a great deal of circling and thought, he rears back to release his arrow.

It lands on the target, just above the arrow planted by Lord Jung.

The shouting from the men becomes a low roar.

Lord Jung pointedly ignores the commotion, rolling his shoulders as he stares down the target, brow knit in concentration. Soon he’s urging his mount to move, the pair fluid as they circle the target.

Just like the King, Lord Jung circles longer for this shot than he had for the first. Twice he draws back as though ready to fire and thinks better of it. But after painstaking deliberation, he finds his stride. He pulls his arm back and sets his stance. Then he releases his arrow.

And it misses the target entirely.

It flies off the end of Lord Jung’s bow with astonishing speed, gliding just to the right of the straw and landing off in the distance. The men are on their feet now, jumping and yelling and slapping one another on their backs. Lord Jung shakes his head in disgust.

“Well,” Boram reaches for her basket, loading her things into it with haste. “That’s settled now. I certainly hope at least one of them feels better. Let’s move into more liveable conditions, shall we?”

You open your mouth to agree just as you spot the King barreling towards you atop Jeonsa, leaving the men celebrating his victory on the field behind.

You nearly stumble over the hem of your dress in your rush to rise to your feet. Your husband is grinning widely when he reaches you, stopping his mount long enough to extend one large hand. You place your hand in his and he dips his head to plant a kiss on your fingers.

“Well done, You Grace,” you demur, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “A hard-fought victory.”

“Thank you. I’m quite pleased with the outcome.”

The King acknowledges Boram with a smile before turning his mount to ride back to his men. You put a hand to your brow to shade your eyes and watch as they cheer for him – reward him with the adulation he’s clearly worked so hard for.

But a thought occurs to you as you examine the scene in the distance.

There is no sign of Lord Jung.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The King comes to you that night – hair damp and smelling of fine soap, breath tinged faintly with ale.

He coaxes you to your knees just as he’s done so many times before. His fingers slide against your most secret place, slippery just as they’ve been so many times before. And then he’s pushing inside you, hard and hot just as he’s been so many times before.

But there is something different about him tonight.

Your husband’s touch is rougher than you remember. His grip on your waist is harder than you remember, large hands moving from your waist to your backside to dig his blunt fingertips into the soft flesh. His thrusts are more forceful than you remember, more erratic, powerful enough to push you up the length of the bed.

You fist your hands into the bedding and push back, refusing to allow your knees to buckle under the pressure. That earns you a low groan from the King – a sound that strikes a strange chord inside you; sends a shiver racing up your spine. You press your hot face into the sheets.

Perhaps Namjoon is still feeling the effects of an arduous afternoon in the hot sun. Perhaps he’s still in his cups after a night of drinking with his men.

Or perhaps it is all just a trick of your mind.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Morning brings no improvement in your mood. Quite the opposite, in fact.

You wake snappish, jarred from a fitful sleep by the sudden appearance of light in your chamber. Shafts of it – hot and harsh – stream through your windows, spill across your duvet, assault your eyes. You bury your face in the pillow in a futile attempt to avoid it, sweat beading at the nape of your neck until the uncomfortable warmth forces you to quit the bed.

But the rude manner of your awakening is only one reason for your irritation.

The other is the lingering tenderness between your legs, a dull ache you can feel with each careful step. The sensation is more an annoyance than a true discomfort, but it vexes you nonetheless. Each muted throb serves as an unwelcome reminder of your visit from the King, of the peculiar way he’d bedded you last night.

Your face flames as you think of it.

What is he about, your husband? And what of the juvenile, chest-thumping nonsense you’d witnessed yesterday afternoon? The combative way he’d gone up against Lord Jung and the grand show he’d made of coming to you to fête his victory. Boorish, absurd behavior – all of it.

You go about your morning ablutions in silence, unwilling to meet Hyeri’s eyes for even one moment. You are in no mood to withstand her meddling today – well-intentioned or otherwise – and so it is for the best that she helps you wash and dress in relative silence.

If there is something the older woman means to say, she has the good sense to swallow it, murmuring only a quiet warning about the heat as you slip out the chamber door.

And heavens, how you are wholly unprepared for the heat.

It, too, has worsened overnight – the air around you nearly thick enough to drink. You hurry towards the aviary, spurred on by the promise of the shade beneath its trees, but by the time you are finally seated at your desk you are soggy and sticky all over. Slick with sweat between your thighs and beneath your arms and breasts.

Perhaps you should have heeded Hyeri’s warning.

The thought rankles you as you open your book and attempt to pick up your story where you’d left it. You start and stop the same sentence over and over again, the heat so tyrannical that you can barely breathe, much less think. Even the King’s prized birds refuse to fly under such conditions – opting instead to perch on the highest branches, wings lifted to cool themselves with the occasional passing breeze.

The stillness unnerves you; makes your aggravation mount with each unbearable minute that ticks by and before long, you throw your novel down in frustration. This will not do.

Loathe as you are to spend another day confined to the castle’s thick stone walls, there is no avoiding it. You’ll not survive another half hour in this heat, which means you’ll certainly not be able to pass an entire afternoon in it. You huff as you throw your things back into your basket and stalk off towards the aviary’s entrance.

But perhaps you should have been more mindful.

Immersed as you are in this black mood, you don’t notice the brambles growing at the edge of the heavy gate. You brush past them in a hurry, only to be wrenched back by the thorns that take hold of your skirt. You tug at the material with your free hand, successful only at tearing a hole in the fine linen but unsuccessful at pulling yourself free. You drop your basket in the struggle and the contents spill out, an apple rolling to a stop at your feet.

It is then that you do something very unladylike, something that would have earned you an exaggerated gasp from your sister or a sharp rebuke from your mother.

You swear. Loudly.

You summon all of your frustration and scream what is perhaps the most undignified word you know at the very top of your lungs, the vulgarity echoing in the aviary’s eerie quiet. And though it’s done nothing to solve your current predicament, there’s something truly satisfying about speaking the nasty word out loud, about shouting it into existence.

That is, until someone coughs.

“I take it you need some help, Your Grace?”

You clap a hand over your mouth as you whirl in the direction of the voice.

Lord Min approaches slowly, eyes sparkling with amusement as he takes in your sorry state. You’ve no idea where he came from, but at this very moment you’ve never been so horrified and grateful to see him, all at the very same time.

“Yes, I – ” you start and stop, flustered by both your behavior. “ – I’m stuck. The brambles are caught in my skirt and – ”

“Oh yes, I see,” he says, leaning down to examine the mess you’ve gotten yourself into. He tugs at the bottom of your skirt and you wince at the sound of the fabric tearing. “You’ve got yourself quite tangled up here, haven’t you?”

“I believe I have,” you admit with embarrassment. Lord Min gets down on his knees and begins plucking thorns and burs out of the fabric, brow knit with concentration as he attempts to extricate what remains of your fine linen dress.

You clear your throat.

“My Lord, I hope I didn’t – Well, rather, I hope you were not offended by that word you heard me say. It’s not a word that I usually use, not really. Well, not ever. What I mean to say is that I know of coarse language, of course, but I’m certainly not in the habit of using it.”

“What word?” Lord Min interrupts your rambling from his perch at your feet, eyes wide with feigned innocence. “Did you say something, Your Grace? I must not have heard it.”

The corners of his mouth curve into a cautious smile, which you return with a timid one of your own. His teasing is welcome. It brings badly-needed levity to your embarrassing situation and lightens the heaviness of this atrocious day.

“What’s this, Min?”

At once, the gesture dies on your lips.

Lord Jung comes into view by way of the same path taken by Lord Min, though his sudden appearance does not bring you the same kind of relief. Quite the opposite, in fact.

The very moment he’s standing before you, critical gaze moving from you to Lord Min and back, you feel absolutely lightheaded with anxiety. You wonder what he must make of the scene he’s stumbled upon: Lord Min on his knees, at your feet, hands fisted in your skirts.

“You Grace.” The lines of Lord Jung’s beautiful face are hard as he acknowledges you, his voice stiff and formal in a way that makes it foreign to your ears. He bows to you much in the same way, body rigid as he performs the required motion.

“My Lord,” you return with similar formality.

“Her Grace is stuck,” Lord Min explains, unaware or perhaps unbothered by the provocative position the two of you have been discovered in. “I’m trying to free her without ripping this linen to shreds. Could use your help, seeing as you’re standing there. Push that branch back for me?”

“Yes, of course.”

Oh, but now you feel a migraine coming on. Lord Jung squeezes into the space beside you, leaning over Lord Min to push the brambles back so that the older man may have both hands free to work. At this point, both men are too close, but he is far too close. Heat blazes a path up your neck and into your cheeks.

Inhale, you twit. Exhale.

“Last few, Your Grace,” Lord Min announces, voice muffled by your skirts. “I think the linen will need a bit of mending, but not much more.”

“Thank you, My Lord.”

Lord Jung’s gaze connects with yours. His dark eyes, normally so warm and expressive, are flat as he regards you. In fact, everything about the handsome guardsman’s countenance is uncharacteristically severe today, from the deep knit of his brows to the way his bow-shaped mouth presses into a firm line. He looks away from you without so much as a smile.

Is he – is he angry with you?

Your mouth nearly falls open at the realization. What right would Lord Jung have to be angry with you? It was he who’d laid the trap with the promise of a perfect afternoon spent riding and he who’d sprung the trap by defending your husband’s dishonesty.

If either one of you had a just claim to animosity, it would most certainly be you.

The awful word you’d uttered at the very start of this ridiculous dilemma springs right to the tip of your tongue. If only you had the courage to spit it at him. Horrid, infuriating man.

“There now,” Lord Min announces. “I think we’ve got it. Hang on to that bramble for a bit longer while Her Grace steps away from the gate.”

You start forward slowly, steps mercifully unencumbered by gnarled plants. Though Lord Min has done his best to salvage the fine linen, your skirt is now covered in a fine dusting of grime, torn in places from your knees to your ankles. Hyeri will have a fit when she sees you, but you couldn’t care less about the state of your ruined dress. The only thing that matters now is quitting this place at once.

“Thank you so much, Lord Min,” you breathe, dropping to your knees to gather your scattered things. The elder guardsman helps you retrieve the wayward charcoals and papers, which you hurriedly stuff back into your basket. “I’ll be off now and won’t take up any more of your afternoon.”

With that, you rush to your feet and turn on your heels to leave. You try not to think about the scene you’re leaving behind – Lord Min puzzled by your sudden exit, Lord Jung affronted by the fact that you’d pointedly ignored him in your thanks.

You make haste with those first few steps towards freedom, only to be pulled back once again. Only this time, not by jagged brambles.

“Your Grace.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stand at the sound of the gruff voice behind you. You turn around slowly, acutely aware of both men watching your every move. When Lord Jung steps forward, your eyes fall to the gently worn leather binding in his hands.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

You take great care to school your features, though the panic rising inside of you threatens to spill out. Your most private thoughts are inside that book. Fragments of poems and unsent letters and one horribly incriminating sketch of a man who is most certainly not your husband.

“Thank you, My Lord,” you mumble, resisting the urge to run to him and snatch the book right out of his grip. You can feel him watching your every move as you approach to accept it with unsteady hands.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

A storm is coming. You can feel it.

Never mind that the sun is shining – or that the sky outside is a perfect, crystalline blue. The clouds dotted across the horizon hang in the air, unmoving. There is no wind to rustle the leaves in the trees. The calm is ominous. Foreboding.

“... think none of the people in this kingdom have ever seen this kind of display before. I imagine they’ll be quite awed by it. I’ve only ever seen it once myself, in a village far North. A strange lot, those people are. After all these years, they still dabble in the dark arts.”

At the other end of the long dining table before you sits the King. He’s been prattling on like this for the better part of ten minutes now; far too absorbed in his grand talk of the festival to note that his audience of one has yet to engage with a word that’s come out of his mouth.

“It’s strange though, to think of celebrating a Fall Festival in this heat. Though I generally prefer the heat to the cold, these conditions are quite beyond the pale. We’ll have to have just as much water on hand as we do ale.”

You make a sound under your breath that you hope will pass for discourse.

“Of course, there’s still much to be done. But the stewards assure me that everything will be ready in time. And there will be much to celebrate this year as I’m told the crops in all our holdings are faring well. The wheat has – ”

The King’s jabbering comes to an abrupt stop.

“You’ve barely eaten,” he notes, in a sudden fit of awareness. He regards you over the rim of his wine glass, curious. “Is the jajangmyeon not to your liking?”

“It is to my liking,” you insist, pushing the wheat noodles around your bowl in a half-hearted attempt to appease him. “As always. I suppose I’m just not very hungry tonight, is all.”

“I find that surprising,” the King says, as though you’d asked his opinion on the matter. “I understand you were brave enough to venture out into that awful heat this afternoon. I would have thought you’d be famished tonight.”

Every muscle in your body tenses at once.

“Oh?”

“I spoke with Hyeri this afternoon,” the King elaborates, oblivious to his misstep. “She said she’d warned you against leaving the castle under those conditions, but you’d off and done it anyway.” He chuckles under his breath as he recounts the conversation. “I think you surprise her at times with how strong-willed you can be.”

Beneath the table, your hands ball into fists.

The thought of Hyeri disclosing the details of your day to the King, no matter how trivial, incenses you. You imagine them together over tea, sharing a laugh as they trade observations about your shortcomings. Or worse – meeting with one another somber-faced as they commiserate over your inability to produce a child.

That thought is the most insidious. Your nails dig savagely into your palms.

“Do you and Hyeri discuss my comings and goings often, then, Your Grace?”

Your husband shrugs, helping himself to another generous serving of noodles.

“Often enough, I suppose.”

“So am I then to assume that when you ask me about my day, you are merely standing on ceremony? Surely you must be, given that you’ve already had a full report from my handmaid.”

The King sets down his chopsticks to look at you, perplexed by the contentious turn in this conversation. But he’s careful to school his features as he considers what to say next.

“Of course not,” he starts slowly. “I ask after you because I genuinely want to know about your day. It’s a consideration that I would think customary between husbands and wives.”

Is he – is he toying with you?

What on earth would His Grace know about what’s customary between husbands and wives? He is the one who’s made this marriage into a farce with his deceit and adultery. He is the one who’s held you at arm’s length from the very start in order to protect the woman he truly loves. Your husband’s hubris is as astonishing as it is aggravating. Horrid, infuriating man.

“Well I, for one, would genuinely like to know about your day, Your Grace,” you say, unable to keep venom from seeping into your every word. “So tell me then – as is customary between husband and wives – how did you pass the afternoon?”

The color drains from the King’s face.

You should shut your mouth now and say no more, you know it – but by now you are far too consumed with anger to give much thought to the consequences of sharp words. You push the bowl of jajangmyeon away and get to your feet.

“Nothing of interest to share, then?” You raise a brow as you stare down at your husband, unwilling to look away for even one moment. “What a pity. Perhaps tomorrow.”

The King’s eyes narrow but his mouth stays shut. He says nothing in his own defense, says nothing to attempt to placate you.

And he says nothing as you turn your back on him and walk out the door.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The first crack of thunder sounds just as you’re readying for bed. You stand at your window and watch the storm roll in.

Black clouds build off in the distance, discernible only by the occasional flare of lightning. Each bright flash is followed by an earth-shaking rumble that satisfies you somehow, as though you’ve manifested this squall with your thoughts. The violent wind and rain it carries with it a mirror of the tempest inside you.

“Do you require anything else, Your Grace?”

Hyeri’s voice comes from behind, timid and small. She’s been tiptoeing around your chamber all evening, clearly disquieted by the cold reception you’d given her upon your return. The well-bred, well-behaved woman inside you whispers that you should turn to her, do something to reassure her, but you refuse.

Fortified by your anger, you keep your back to Hyeri and go on staring at the storm clouds.

“No,” you say firmly. “You can retire for the night.”

“But I – ” Hyeri starts, stops, and then sighs. “Very well. As you wish, Your Grace.”

And you do wish. You wish for Hyeri to leave you – not just tonight, but every night. And you wish not just for Hyeri to leave you – but all of them. You’ve grown quite tired of humiliating yourself in this kingdom; of placing your trust in people who’ve made you into a fool time and time again.

There is rustling as the older woman hurriedly gathers her things, then a brief pause before she slips out the door. The heavy thud that finally announces her departure brings you some small measure of peace, but it does not last.

Your bath-damp body is warm when you slip beneath the heavy duvet. Too warm. Though the storm raging nearby brings with it the promise of cool rain, it is still too far off to displace the humid air in your chamber. You toss and turn beneath the heavy covers for a while, your thin nightgown soaked through with sweat by the time you finally kick your bedding away.

So you lie there in the dark, close to feverish with heat and unable to settle down. Every time you close your eyes, you’re taunted by images – of Hyeri, of the King, of the child that never comes. What you would give to be able to quiet your mind, to have some respite from the reality of your circumstances.

But there will be no respite, not any time soon. The thunder outside is close enough now to shake the castle’s heavy walls with each new blast that rips through the sky. You feel the tremors right down to your bones, the sensation causing goosebumps to scatter across your skin.

In spite of the heat, you shiver.

There’s a prickling that starts at your scalp and goes right down to your toes. It makes you itch with the desire to drag your nails down your arms and legs. It makes you want to squeeze your thighs together, tight and tighter still until your agitation is gone. Perhaps that is the solution.

You cup your breasts through the damp, thin material of your nightgown. They feel sensitive, tender — and the very moment you brush your fingertips over your nipples they come to life, pebbling against the gauzy fabric.

You close your eyes and try to imagine that your hands are not your own. That the fingers that close around the aching buds, teasing and testing, are not your fingers. That the dormant pleasure the pressure rouses inside you has instead been roused by someone else.

In your mind, the hand that steals between your thighs is not your own. It’s larger than yours, the fingers longer and rougher than yours. You imagine that hand parting your legs, coarse fingertips slippery against the wetness gathered at your entrance. And you imagine it caressing you there, expertly stroking the spot that makes the air leave your lungs.

What would it be like to be touched like this? To have a lover’s lips at your neck and his hand between your thighs? To have the weight of him pressing down on you, the scent of him enveloping you – to feel his warm breath fan over your skin?

These thoughts only serve to make the ache between your legs more pronounced. But the more you attend to it, the sharper it becomes. Pleasure blooms with each inexpert pass of your fingers over that place, but in its wake your desperation grows, too.

You whine under your breath as you touch yourself harder, faster – a heaviness building at your core that makes you feel full, overripe. There is relief on the other side of whatever this is, and you know it.

But can you reach it?

Your imaginary lover would know how to help you reach it. He would take you in his arms and in his mouth and leave no inch of your body untouched. He would fuse himself to you, skin-to-skin, and show you how to beckon your pleasure at will, help you realize its full potential.

In your mind’s eye you can see him – legs and arms strong and lean, golden skin illuminated by firelight. The mouth he sets to your aching nipples would be soft, lips pretty and bow-shaped. And his hair would be dark and his eyes would be a rich chocolate and his face would be –

A clap of thunder explodes in the sky.

Your eyes fly open – unseeing – as you gasp from the shock of it. It leaves you trembling, body slick with sweat and limbs tingling from the sudden fear. You lie there in the dark, panting as you wait for your heart to stop racing.

And just like that, the pleasure you’ve been chasing is gone. Quick as a rabbit.

Outside your window the heavens weep, the rain beating against the ground like a hail of arrows.

The dry earth enjoying a relief that always seems to elude you.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

“Magnificent, Your Grace.”

Hyeri passes a hand over the embellishments in your bodice, chest puffed with pride as she examines the dressmaker’s handiwork. Though her brown eyes have long gone dull and gray with age, they shine as she steps back to take you in from head to toe. “Just magnificent.”

It is magnificent – far and away the finest garment you have ever worn.

Rich, plum-colored velvet embellished with gilt thread, the plunging neckline and bliaut sleeves lined with pressed bezants. You hardly recognize the woman looking back at you in the mirror, the one with her hair swept off her neck in an intricate braided bun, eyes darkened with kohl, ears and neck adorned with sparkling gold. Whoever that woman is, she is far bolder and far more sophisticated than you.

“There’s nothing like his work,” Hyeri muses, running a thumb over pattern pressed into the hem of one sleeve. “Frail as he is, it takes him ages to complete a dress. But he’s worth it. Worth the wait and worth every single won.”

You study the intertwining gold patterns stitched into the bustline. No doubt the King has paid dearly for this dress and all its fine accoutrements. The thought of your husband spending an obscene amount of money on it nearly puts a smile on your face.

“You look remarkable in this dress,” Hyeri remarks quietly, wrinkled mouth lifting at the corners with a cautious smile. “Well, of course, you look remarkable everyday, but especially tonight.”

Her expression is bittersweet as she reaches for you, gently tucking a strand of hair that’s fallen loose of your braid behind your ear. This newfound emotional distance has been hard on her, you know. It’s been hard on you, too. And though holding her at arm’s length has proven difficult at times, it feels somehow vital to your self-preservation.

“Don’t forget your shawl,” Hyeri says softly. “It’s gotten quite cold out there.”

It certainly has. The storm that ripped through the kingdom just days ago took the insufferable heat with it, leaving behind a pure, crystalline cold. The night sky is clear enough to see for miles.

So you accept the shawl from Hyeri with a quiet thanks, avoiding her eyes as you slip out the chamber door.

By the time you make your way to the great hall, the revelry is already well underway. You can hear it pulsing through the slats of the heavy wooden doors, the music and commotion contained within powerful enough to stir the ground beneath your feet. The footmen posted at either side of the entrance bow deeply as you approach, then move to pull the doors open.

You raise a hand to still them, wanting a moment to steel yourself before entering the fray.

“I’m not – If you’ll just give me – ”

One of the guards steps forward to speak when your words falter.

“No need to explain, Your Grace,” he says earnestly. “Just let us know when you’re ready.”

“Thank you.” You take as deep a breath as your elaborate gown will allow. “Truly.”

You already know what awaits on the other side of those doors. Artificial smiles that hide whispers about your empty womb, honeyed and hollow words of praise from your exasperating husband. Pity too, perhaps, from those connected enough to be privy to the true state of your marriage.

But you’ll bear it. You must. Because it’s what’s expected of you and because your political survival in this kingdom depends on it.

“Well then,” you say, smoothing down your velvet skirt with trembling hands. "I believe I've had time to collect myself."

The very same footman that had spoken to you just moments earlier gives you a sympathetic smile as he places one hand on the door’s ornate wrought iron handle. He pauses to look at you before signaling to the other footman, one brow raised as if to say are you sure?

You swallow thickly and nod your affirmation.

Slowly, the heavy doors are pulled open, creaking as they part. You step forward to enter, feeling a rush of cool air at your heels. The brief hush that falls over the great hall makes your heartbeat quicken.

But then the King stands.

He rises to his feet and bows to you, and every person inside the great hall follows suit. You return his bow and then straighten, holding your head up high as you set off to fulfill your duty.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The King makes no mention of the tense meal you’d shared just a few nights prior. Not that you’d expected him to. If anything, your husband’s predilection for avoidance has been one of his most consistent traits. And if he’s harbored any ill feelings about the curt words you’d spoken that night, surely they’ve been washed away in a torrent of ale.

He’s already a bit drunk when you take your seat beside him – pleasantly so, if his ruddy cheeks and leisurely smile are any indication. His dark eyes are glassy as they sweep over your form, taking in the grandeur of your dress. But they linger at your bust for just a heartbeat too long and it takes all the self-control you can muster to not kick him beneath the table.

“You look fetching in that dress,” the King notes, reaching for his tankard. “The color suits you.”

“Oh? Then you’ll be pleased to know I’ve dozens more just like it on the way.”

You startle a laugh from the King just as he’s taken a drink and he splutters on it, coughing until tears gather at the corners of his eyes. “Very good of you to warn me before the bill comes due,” he wheezes.

“But of course, Your Grace.” You infuse your words with cloying, contrived sweetness, putting a hand over your heart for emphasis. “It is the very least I could do.”

The King chuckles as you turn to look out over the room.

The tables below the raised platform on which you both dine are teeming with people, their long wooden benches bowing beneath the substantial weight. They are littered with food and drink, tankards and platters and goblets scattered for as far as the eye can see.

You sip your wine and watch partygoers reach over one another for noodles and steal dumplings from their neighbors’ plates.

It takes a minute for you to spot Boram. She and Lord Min are tucked into a corner, cozy and close. Your dear friend is the very picture of contentment; resplendent in a royal blue gown, glowing in the torchlight when her husband presses a kiss to her temple. Your heart aches as you watch them. What you would give to have what they have – to know the fulfillment they’ve found in one another.

In fact, the Mins make for such a compelling tableau that you nearly overlook the one behind it. Lord Jung is dressed in an arresting black and gold tunic, dark hair styled away from his face and a tankard of ale in his hand. And he is not alone.

Seated close to him – so very close – is a woman. A beautiful woman, as best you can tell from a distance. Her dark red dress in perfect contrast to her shiny fall of dark hair, the garment cut to accentuate what can only be described as a generous bust. She leans in to Lord Jung as she says something, décolletage on full display when she throws her head back to laugh.

Your grip on the wine goblet in your hand tightens.

The woman is brazen, that much you can tell. Her proximity to the Guardsman is far too close to be proper, her scandalous – if stunning – manner of dress far too self-indulgent to be benign. And though you cannot make out clearly how she’s been received by Lord Jung, the very fact that he has not sent her away is telling. Is this the woman he intends to marry, then? Or just a diversion for the night?

You drain the wine that remains in your goblet and signal for the serving girl to bring you more.

Moments later Lord Jung, too, flags down a passing servant to fill his tankard. For a man who once took great pride in extolling his discipline with spirits, he seems to be exercising very little of it tonight. In fact, he looks to be indulging as much or perhaps even more than his fellow Guardsmen. Perhaps that is why he does not he does not move to distance himself when the alluring woman at his side places a hand on his arm.

You swallow another large sip of wine.

“It’s nearly time for the evening’s entertainment,” the King says. “I think you’ll be impressed by what’s in store.”

You cannot tear your gaze from the scene before you. You cannot stop staring at the comely woman at Lord Jung’s side – stiffening in your seat when she leans over to whisper in his ear.

“I’m looking forward to it,” you say absentmindedly, lifting your wine glass to your lips once again.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

When you were a girl, barely ten years old, your father had come home from a long journey with a fantastic tale.

He’d spoken of fire – in shades of red and green and gold – launched into the sky, embers raining down on the earth in a magnificent display. You’d been spellbound by the picture he’d painted for you, wishing desperately to see this phenomenon for yourself.

And now you have.

The King’s promise of a surprise well exceeds your expectations. Each new flare sent up over the open field is met with a hush from the crowd, followed by loud cheers and applause as it explodes into color.

“I brought them back from a village up North,” the King explains, preening at the crowd’s reception. “And though I wanted to show them right away, I made myself wait until the most advantageous time. What do you make of them?”

“They’re splendid,” you answer earnestly. “I’ve never seen anything so grand.”

The King hides a satisfied smile behind the rim of his tankard. By this point in the evening, he’s crossed the line from agreeably drunk to good and well soused – as have many of the others in attendance. You, too, are feeling the effects of your wine, experiencing that strange weightlessness that can only be brought on by drink.

And you are glad for the distraction of the fire display.

It’s helped pull your focus away from Lord Jung and that woman. Though each time there is a brief break in the presentation, you cannot help but search the throng for any sign of them. You wonder where they are right now. What they might be doing. But then you drown the bitter thoughts with the wine in your goblet.

The night wears on and the crowd around you becomes rowdier, louder – the ale barrels slowly disappearing one by one. Even the King is looking a bit worse for the wear. He’s sagged into the chair beside you, heavy-lidded as he watches the bright detonations that light up the sky.

You are not faring much better. A dull throb taps at your temples, no doubt the consequence of drinking too much wine, and you suspect that it will be far more pronounced come morning. You ought to retire for the evening now, while you still have some of your wits about you.

You open your mouth to say as much to the King at the very same time you catch sight of a slim man ambling away from the crowd. Though he’s hundreds of yards away and though there’s little light beyond the torches and the occasional embers in the sky, you recognize him right away.

You would recognize him anywhere.

Impulsively, you get to your feet and utter a rushed goodbye to the King. He bids you farewell with a sluggish smile and not a moment later he’s gone back to gazing skyward, mesmerized by the lights. Just ahead, Lord Jung slinks off into the shadows, moving with an unsteady gait.

And you follow him. To what end you cannot be sure.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Clearly, you’d given no real thought to this course of action.

If you had, you’d not be scurrying across damp grass right now, struggling to keep your balance in your beautiful velvet dress. The heavy fabric weighs you down with each step, making each footfall precarious. In fact, if you’d stopped for even a moment to consider the implications of stealing away to pursue a man who is not your husband, you’d have ended this lunacy long before it even began.

But here you are in the dark, chasing after Lord Jung. With only the moon to light your way.

The slender man moves quickly, unburdened by the trappings of women’s formalwear and assisted by his long legs. You lift the hem of your dress off the ground and do your best to keep up on the shadowy path. Just a short distance ahead you can make out the lines of a thatched roof and wooden fence.

It’s the stables, you realize, and the pieces start to fall into place.

He’s come here to meet that woman. The two of them must have agreed to leave the festival and come here for a secret tryst. Were you a woman in your right mind, that realization would stop you cold and send you running straight back to the castle. But you are absolutely not in your right mind. You are dangerous tonight; fearless from the wine flowing freely in your veins.

As such, the very thought of Lord Jung arranging for a passionate liaison with this woman has the opposite effect. It infuriates you. And you’ll not be satisfied until you can see the proof for yourself and then end this fixation once and for all.

Overhead, a flare of light illuminates the darkness just as you’re nearing the horse stalls. It’s followed by the sound of sizzling gunpowder, and it draws your attention skyward. You look up just in time to see wisps of fire tumble back to the earth. But when you fix your gaze forward again, Lord Jung is gone.

What on earth?

You’ve barely begun to consider your next move before your body is moving of its own volition, jerked right off the walking path by a hand that wraps around your arm like a band of steel. Lord Jung drags you behind the horse stall with one hand and claps the other over your mouth to smother the sound of hysteria that threatens to escape.

“What. Are. You. Doing?”

He hisses the words, one by one, his low vibrato thrumming with barely-contained anger. You’ve yet to recover from the shock of being accosted in the dark and so you stare at him, bewildered and mute.

He releases you, dropping the hand covering your mouth to walk to the edge of the stables. You watch as he ducks his head around the corner to check the walking path. Once he’s satisfied you’ve not been followed, he rounds on you.

“Anyone could have seen you.”

“No one saw me,” you scowl, finding your voice. You rub your forearm where his fingers dug painfully into your flesh. “They’re all far too drunk to see anything, I assure you.”

The Guardsman shoves a hand through his dark hair and exhales deeply.

“What are you about tonight, Your Grace?”

A fair question, and one you ought to have considered before dashing off into the night. But you’d been so hellbent on hunting the man down that you’d given no real thought to what you’d do if you actually caught him. You hesitate for so long that he grows impatient, closing in on you.

“What,” he repeats slowly, “Are you about?”

“I don’t know,” you admit.

“Well, you ought to know,” he growls. “You ought to know damned well exactly what you’re about before you go off following men into the dark.”

But it’s not as though you’ve followed just any man into the dark, is it? You’d followed him. The admonishment riles you, bringing your temper back to a full boil. You straighten your spine and sear him with a withering look.

“That woman tonight. At the feast. She wants you to bed her.”

Lord Jung’s dark eyes go wide just before they narrow. He stalks towards you slowly, forcing you to retreat until your back is flush to the stable’s rough wooden slats. Slivers of moonlight play off his angular face, making the shadows in the hollows of his cheeks more pronounced.

He’s beautiful – even like this – even when he’s so irate that he can barely stand still.

“I know what she wants,” he murmurs, voice sinking to an octave that raises goosebumps on your arms. “What I do not know is what you want. What I do not know is why you are here.”

“So you intend to bed her,” you challenge.

Something dangerous flickers in the man's expression as he regards you, gaze potent enough to almost make you regret your sudden bout of daring. Almost.

“No.”

And so there is no tryst. No agreement between secret lovers. Adrenaline floods your veins, bringing with it a clarity that you’ve not had since you began drinking tonight. You’ve been reckless – so, so reckless – and now there is no undoing what you’ve done.

“I’ve answered your question and now you will answer mine,” Lord Jung warns, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “What. Do. You. Want?”

All the fire has left you now. Whatever force possessed you to confront this man in this way has disappeared, leaving behind only a sickly taste in your mouth. You’ll feel more than just the wine in the morning, you know it.

“Brave enough to follow me into the dark, brave enough to demand I explain my plans for bedsport,” he continues, brows knit as he stares you down. “But somehow, not brave enough to tell me what you’re doing here in the first place.”

“I – ”

“Tell me then,” he goads, growing more agitated by the minute. “Open your mouth and speak. Tell me why you’re here. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to kiss me.”

You ought to have slapped him across the face. At the very least, you would have earned the look he’s giving you right now – this frozen mask of incredulity that’s come over him. He backs away from you slowly, as though poised to run. But he doesn’t.

“You’re mad.”

“I am not mad,” you say evenly, with a poise you’d not thought yourself capable of. “You asked me what I want and I’ve told you. I want you to kiss me.”

Another burst of color explodes in the sky. A loud cheer goes up over the field nearby, a disquieting reminder of the hundreds of people milling about just a short walk away. The commotion seems to sober him.

“Go home, Your Grace.” His words are strangled, forced. “You are playing with fire. You have no idea what you’re doing here.”

You stiffen, lifting your nose in the air.

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” you lie.

Your insistence only serves to make him even more agitated. He begins to pace back and forth, glowering at you as he moves.

“Go back to your castle, Your Grace. Go back to your fine life and your fine things and no one will ever be the wiser.”

“I will not,” you refuse, petulant.

Lord Jung delivers his last blow, the fatal one, in a voice so graveled it sounds as though the words are spoken by a stranger. And perhaps he is a stranger, this man you’ve been so infatuated with. Perhaps he’s nothing like what you’ve made him in your own mind.

“Go back to your husband,” he growls. “Your King.”

Your humiliation is instant and acute. You burn with it, the embarrassment so all-consuming that it nearly makes you see stars. You can hear the blood rushing in your ears, feel your heart pounding in your throat when you finally manage to speak.

“The King doesn’t want me,” you say stiffly. “Though I am certain you already know that.”

“The King is a fool!” he explodes, surging forward and slamming his hands down on either side of you. The outburst is violent enough to shake the horse stall and the venom in his countenance nearly makes you come out of your skin. His mouth hovers terrifyingly close to yours, so close that you can nearly taste the ale on his breath. You stop breathing altogether.

Then he wrenches himself away from you, staggering backwards as though he’s been burned.

“And so am I.”

i’d love to hear from you about this chapter! you can talk to me here. otherwise, i hope you enjoyed it and only the final chapter is left 💕

#hoseok smut #j-hope smut #bts smut #hoseok x reader #j-hope x reader #bts x reader #hoseok #bts hoseok #bts x you #hoseok x you #bts scenarios #bts au #hoseok imagine #bangtanarmynet #thebtswritersclub #bangtan

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katabay · 3 months

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full body commissions, at long last!

the base price is $100 for a single figure, and then you add on the price for colors if you want that! flat color prices vary on complexity. if you have someone in a suit, then it's just +$30, but it's more like a complex period costume, then it's closer to +$40-50 (same for simple renders)

(simple renders are not an additional fee on top of the flat colors! I realize that it might be a little confusing, flat colors + simple renders is it's own thing, which starts at +$40)

anything over $100 can be paid either in it's entirety up front, or $100 up front, and the rest once completed (for this, I'll send a lower resolution jpeg of the finished illustration when it's finished, and the high res png when the payment goes through)

visual references are a big help! either art of the character, or things like a face claim or actor. if you have a character from a specific time period, please also send references of the clothes you'd like them in! if you have a pose in mind, feel free to tell me! It can be anything from standing around, to sitting down, jumping, etc.

these prices are for private commissions only! which means you can go ahead and get 'em printed or whatever for your own personal use but you can't use them commercially

currently, I don't have prices for a commission with a second full body figure! if you really want something like that, we can work out a price.

I'm also using a dead line weight in these examples, but if you want something that looks more like the inking style that I use in Trikaranos, just let me know!

🍊 commissions will be on a 10x15 in canvas at 300dpi :)

🍊 email me at [email protected], and we can talk details! I use paypal for payment, do not send me money ahead of time because this is not my paypal email and I use invoices.

if I don't reply in like, a day, feel free to message me here and I'll give you my other email where we can hash out details because sometimes, the perils of having an email on public display is that people will sign your email up for junk mail and it takes a minute to mark it all as spam

things I'll draw: established characters, ocs, your favorite dead roman or greek hero, I'm cool with it all!

things I won't draw: generally, I'm not too keen on drawing anyone under 18, as you may realize from the fact that many characters on my blog are vaguely in their 30s. like, it's not a hard rule, but I will fully admit right here that I'm better at drawing people over 20.

(also! again. money this month sucks, and the economy is honestly just a huge bummer for literally everyone everywhere. if my prices for full body comms are out of your range, I'm cool to do payments in $50 a month installments!)

#also my finances are a little yikes this month: if you get a full body commission i'll also throw in a little thank you head sketch of your #character. but that's a secret. shhhh.#commissions tag

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cleoluvrr · 9 months

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Smarty II (Rafe Cameron x OC)

SYNOPSIS: smart girl isn’t as smart as rafe cameron.

WARNINGS: mature content; dark!rafe, toxic relationship, domestic violence, verbal abuse, blackmail, jealousy, general violence, manipulative behavior, explicit language, substance abuse & addiction, use of guns, mentions of past crimes, obsession, controlling behavior, pouge!oc

masterlist

I remember the first time Rafe Cameron hit me.

It was a couple days after my eighteenth birthday, the two of us alone at Tannyhill. I hadn’t spoken to him in those days out of irritation, the memory of my birthday ending in disaster haunting me every time I closed my eyes.

Rafe threw me a big party at one of his father’s empty properties, the unused house filled with teens and young adults, drinking and singing along to music of my choosing. There was a table stacked with gifts from both friends and strangers alike, the phrase “happy birthday” was imprinted into my mind from the countless times I heard it that night.

I wore a pretty, pink dress–one that Rafe bought me specifically for that day. He told me I looked like a princess, and that was all the convincing I needed to put it on.

Rafe was supposed to drive me home that night after the party died down. He was supposed to kiss me sweetly on my doorstep before I went inside and tell me how beautiful I am.

Instead, he drove us deep into the Cut, claiming that he needed to run a quick errand before he dropped me off. I already knew where we were going–he had taken me plenty of times before–and it annoyed me greatly.

He was already high enough, his blown out pupils and constant sniffing the only evidence I needed to know. The fact that his priority was going to his drug dealer’s house made me upset, and I let him know that.

Rafe was irrational when he was high, but I didn’t think he would kick me out of his car and leave me stranded at the house of the guy that supplied his blow.

It was dark out, the moon high in the sky as the night stretched on. All of my friends were drunk off their ass, my parents were asleep, and there were no car services running in that area at two in the morning. My boyfriend was long gone and despite the offer, I refused to get in a car with the man that sold drugs to teenagers for a living.

It was a relief when Kelce pulled up to me on the side of the road that night. I don’t remember how long I had been walking, but I do remember how grateful I was.

I also remember how much I wished I just kept walking home instead.

“Go away, Rafe! You’re scaring me!” I yelled from behind the door. The wood vibrated against my back as the man on the other side beat against it with his fist, my heart jumping every time it connected with the surface I pressed myself against.

“Open this fucking door!” Rafe’s voice was loud and angry even through the thick wood of the old house.

My heart nearly jumped out of my body when he shook the doorknob with a terrifying strength, the entire frame shaking violently as he pulled against it with what I’m sure is his entire body weight. My hand flew to my mouth to keep the fearful yelp from escaping my lips after I felt the force of his foot kicking against the door.

I felt like I was in a horror movie–like I was Wendy and Rafe was Jack. I could feel the eyes of the audience watching in horror as I hid in a room with my boyfriend on the other side out for my blood.

The sound of the door frame splintering drew a scream out of me, one that I couldn’t hide as I flung myself off the door. There was nowhere I could hide from the blonde on the other side, the room bare of any hiding spots other than the long table in the center. I ran to the part of the room farthest from the door, eager to put as much distance between the pulsating door and I as possible.

I watched in horror as the door flew open a few yards away, the wood by the handle splintering as Rafe’s foot made contact.

“Rafe, please!” I squeaked out when he caught my eye. The fuming nineteen-year-old ignores my pleads, long legs making record time as the long strides carry him to me. “Please! Just–just calm down!”

I moved around the table, nearly stumbling over my own feet as I held my arms out in defense against Rafe who was fast approaching.

“You’re dead.” Rafe grits through his teeth. His finger raises to point at me as an aid to emphasize his point, the other hand shoving the chairs I moved to block his path back under the table carelessly. “You hear me? You’re fucking dead!”

Spotting the open door just a few feet away, I take a final glance at the man before making an attempt to bolt for it.

I knew I wasn’t fast enough–the move was quite predictable and I‘m sure Rafe saw it coming from a mile away. I barely took four steps towards the frame before I felt his fingers grip the back of my shirt, the movement jerking me backwards and right into Rafe’s arms.

I felt my body hit the wall shortly after, the hard surface colliding with my body leaving a sharp pain in my side and arm as I’m thrown against it disgracefully. I don’t get the chance to recover before I feel a familiar hand make contact with the side of my head and press it into the cool surface of the wall. My body shivers from the sudden change in temperature, cheek flat against the patterned surface as Rafe holds me there in a bone crushing grip.

“You think I’m stupid? You thought I wouldn’t find out?” The blonde says into my ear roughly, the feeling of his breath brushing against my ear giving me goosebumps. I shook my head the best I could under his hold, wincing as he pressed my head harder into the wall.

“Rafe, it’s not like that–”

I feel Rafe’s fingers move from the side of my face and take home in the roots of my hair, nails scratching against my scalp as he grips the strands by the base. He yanks me away from the wall by the hair balled up in his fist and I yelp in pain.

“Huh?” Rafe forces me to meet his gaze, eyes glaring down at me angrily. “It’s not like what? You weren’t texting my friend behind my back? I’m imagining shit now?”

“Yes!” The worse slipped out faster than I could stop it, regret immediately filling my body as I held my own hand over Rafe’s that has found home in my now tender scalp. “No, Rafe. You’re just–it’s just a misunderstanding!”

Rafe digs into the depths of his pocket, scoffing at me in disgust as he does so. He pulls out a phone; my phone. The pink case catches my attention immediately as he unlocks the device with my own scared face.

He already knew the passcode, the action was just one to show his power over me in the moment.

I watch him silently school through my text messages as I tremble in his arms, struggling to hold myself up in the strange and uncomfortable position. The screen reflects off his blue eyes as he reads through my conversations, the concept of privacy no longer.

“‘Thanks for the help, Kelce. I really needed that.’” He reads off the text I sent to his friend late last night. His eyes flicker up to mine, the depths of them filled with jealous rage as he forces me to stare into them. “What the fuck were doing texting my friend at two in the morning?”

“I was texting him because you left me stranded in the Cut with your drug dealer at two in the fucking morning, Rafe!” I snapped at him, the fear quickly turning into anger and frustration as he accused me of doing anything else. “Not that you would remember; you were too coked out to care about anything but yourself.”

I should have left him right then, but I didn’t. And It was no surprise that it would continue to happen.

Instead, I sit behind these grand, white walls of Tannyhill, eyes glued to the picture frame on Rafe’s desk.

He was working silently in front of me, fingers making quick work of the keyboard as his own eyes flicker back and forth from the computer screen to the papers spread across the dark wood of the desk that was once his father’s.

I looked so happy in that pretty, pink dress. A smile that stretched a mile wide grazed my lips as Rafe embraced me from behind, a fond look in his eye as he looked down at my glowing face.

The memories of those days would flood my mind the moment I set eyes on this house, which is why I couldn’t stand being here. I couldn’t live a life in a house where I can remember every room I’ve been beaten and berated in during one of my boyfriend’s coke induced rages.

Sighing heavily, I tear my eyes away from the picture and lean back onto the firm couch I was seated in. I try to hide the wince caused by the sharpness in my side as I move, ribs flaring up in pain once again.

Rafe does not take being disrespected lightly–not by anyone. I already knew that before I said what I did a few nights before, and I also knew the consequences.

I shouldn’t have been surprised when I woke up just a few hours later with him standing over me, the darkness of his looming figure making my heart stop for just a few seconds before I realized it was him. I should have known he would show crossed on God-knows-what, the mixture of substances increasing his hostility tenfold.

I didn’t fight against it when he ripped me out of the bed with a fistful of my hair, or when he threw me against my dresser, the sharp corner digging to my side as I was shoved into the piece of furniture. Rafe is bigger than I am, his strength outmatches mine dangerously; there was simply no point. I didn't cry out for help when his calloused palm struck my face the first time, nor the second time.

When he told me to apologize, I did. When he went through my wardrobe and ripped apart all the outfits I’d been scolded by him for wearing to work, I said nothing. I stood silently as I watched the ruined fabrics pile up on the ground in front of me. When he told me that I was lucky to have him because no one else would want a girl that dresses like a prostitute, I didn’t argue.

I didn’t resist it because it would only make things worse for me. It always did.

He kissed me goodnight and I kissed him back like nothing happened, the ache in my side burning hot as he traced the stinging skin of my cheek where his heavy hand met my face just a few moments before.

I used to fight back in the beginning. I would kick, bite, scratch, scream. I would threaten to leave if he did it again, to tell the police and give them all the evidence.

“Who would believe you?” Is what he told me, and he was right.

Who would believe some random, middle-class girl over Ward Cameron’s son? On what planet would Ward ever allow his family’s name to be tainted by his son being arrested for hitting his girlfriend?

The defeat I felt is something I still cannot describe.

“Laia?” I snapped out of my thoughts by the sound of Rafe’s voice. My eyes land on him behind the desk, a hum leaving my lips in response. “You okay?”

I nodded my head, afraid that I’d whimper in pain from the rib that is surely bruised by his own doing. I pulled my hand away from the sore spot slowly, teeth clenching together to keep my face expressionless.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by my boyfriend, blue eyes flickering down to the hand that I’ve removed from my side and back up to my face. He says nothing for a moment, just allowing our eyes to hold each other tensely.

“Come here.”

I stare at him for a long few five seconds before moving, ribs screaming as I stand up from my seat on the leather couch. I walk over to the blonde behind the desk, awkwardly standing in front of him as I await further instruction.

Rafe reaches forward to place his hands on my waist, the warm prints of his fingers pressed firmly into the skin under my top as he pulls me closer. He angles me sideways slightly, hand moving to lift up my shirt. He just stares silently for a minute as he analyzes the bruise, eyes glued to the large spot spread over my skin.

I knew exactly what it looked like; I’d been staring at it for three days and watching it change color as the time passed. It was big and splotchy, a mixture of yellow, red, and purple in a somewhat rectangular shape displayed across my left rib cage. It was nasty, and I’m sure Rafe thought the same.

“Damn, baby…” He finally breaks the silence. “I did this?” He looks up at me, eyes meeting mine as he waits for an answer.

I nodded my head again.

Rafe drags his gaze back down to the bruise, a look of both awe and pity covering his face. I flinch when his fingers move to trance over the perimeter of the bruise, sucking in a sharp breath of both pain and surprise from the lack of warning. The hand that grips my waist tightens, keeping me still as he studies it closer.

Leaning into me, he brings his face to my side. I feel his soft lips press into the discolored skin, a gentle kiss that leaves me breathless for a moment. The gesture was something he did often; sweet kisses to cover the bruises he leaves behind.

It was poetic almost–like a band-aid over a bullet hole, or a drop of water in a wilted garden.

“You know I love you,” Rafe pulls away slightly, eyes peeking up to stare into mine. “Right?”

“I love you, too.” The words leave my mouth quietly, the phrase feeling at home on my lips.

The blonde leans back into the chair and pulls me with him, his once open lap now occupied by me as I’m given no choice but to sit. The hand that was used to trace over the ache in my side rises to my face, the same palm he used to strike me now cupping my cheek warmly, thumb stroking over the skin softly.

I’m tempted to lean into the familiar feeling, but I don’t, instead sitting stiffly on his thighs as he caresses my face.

“You know I don’t like doing that–I hate it.” I nod my head at him wordlessly, the sight of his striking, blue eyes leaving me unable to speak. “But you just don’t give me a choice. I just…You make me so angry sometimes, Laia. And–and you do it on purpose.” He looks at me with an expression of both exasperation and desperation, head shaking from side to side as he speaks.

He wasn’t wrong–sometimes I did make him mad on purpose. Never over anything serious, only things like calling his favorite show boring or saying his outfit didn’t match. Little things that we would laugh about later.

This wasn’t one of those times.

I nodded anyway, choosing to maintain my silence in place of verbal response. It was just easier to get through it that way.

“All of our actions have consequences, baby.” He continues on, the familiar phrase vibrating against my eardrums. “You knew better than to say that, but you did it anyway. Do you not respect me?”

“I do…” I say quietly, a defensive tone barely present in my voice.

“So why would you think it’s okay to say something like that to me?”

I didn’t know how to respond to him truthfully without him getting angry again. I said it because that’s what I thought at that moment.

“I said I was sorry…” My eyes dropped from his gaze, instead choosing to hold contact with my own hands as they twitched nervously in my lap. “I just…you were calling me names, and–and it made me really mad because I didn’t do anything wrong!” My voice barely raised an octave, but it was still enough to convey my frustration.

“You’re right.” Rafe nods his head at me in response. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You looked very beautiful in that outfit and it’s not your fault that other guys can’t keep their eyes off you. I was being mean and I’m sorry for that.”

Rafe traces over my lips with his thumb, the warm digit gently smoothing out the pout that had appeared on my face.

“But it’s not safe for you to be dressed like that around a bunch of gross, strange men you don’t know all day. You haven’t heard the things they say about you, but I have. It makes me sick.” He says with concern.

I look at him confused, unsure of what he’s talking about. All my customers have been nothing but respectful towards me, the implication of them being anything else but that leaving me puzzled.

“It scares me to think about what could happen if I weren’t there to watch over you…I just want you to be safe. I know you think I’m hovering; I know you think it’s annoying and ‘controlling.’” Rafe’s worry seems to be genuine, the crease between his brows deepening as he looks up at me in his lap. “I know that. But how else am I supposed to make sure nothing bad happens to you?”

“I can take care of myself, Rafe.”

“I know you think that, Laia. I’m not saying that you can’t, either.” My boyfriend shakes his head at me as he speaks. “You’re a smart girl, but you don’t know everything. I’m a guy–I know how guys think. Sometimes I know better than you do, and sometimes you should listen to me. Okay?”

I say nothing for a moment. There was a slight tension in the air and I could feel his eyes on me.

My eyes remained fixated on the fingers in my lap, nails picking at each other mindlessly. My gaze is pulled away from the digits by Rafe’s knuckles underneath my chin, my eyes forced to keep contact with his instead as he awaits my response.

“Okay?” He repeats the word a second time, not accepting my silence as an answer.

“Okay.” I say quietly.

Rafe nods his head at me, the fingers keeping my chin in place moving to tuck a loose braid behind my ear.

“And I’m sorry I hurt you this bad; I should have been more careful.” He says, referring to the big, fat bruise hidden beneath my shirt. “I was high and I–I shouldn’t have come over when I was like that. I went too far.”

Rafe says that every time this happens. He always has an excuse, whether he’s sober or higher than the moon that lights our sky at night. But I always accept it.

Maybe I was stupid for that, but it would be a lie to say that I cared.

He was remorseful every time, I could see that it hurt him to see the pain he caused me after he finally calmed down. He would always apologize, and I would accept it because I knew he was really sorry–even if I knew it would probably happen again.

I loved him too much to leave. I’d been with him for almost four years; he was my first kiss, my first date, my first–and only–boyfriend. I promised myself to him, the diamond ring with our names engraved inside had been sitting heavy on my finger for two of those years. I helped him through his darkest moments; through his cocaine addiction, when he got kicked out of his house, when his dad died. I was there for all of it.

This relationship meant too much to me to let it go–Rafe meant too much to me. It’s why I allowed so many things that people say I shouldn’t, why I allowed myself to be treated in a way that would make me pity someone else if they were going through the same thing.

I was strong enough to handle it all, even if it left me feeling drained at the end of the day. To me, it was a small price to pay.

“I don’t like being so rough with you, but I feel like it’s the only way you’ll listen to me.” Rafe sounds disappointed, though I’m not sure if it’s in himself or in me. “I don’t like it, but if that’s what I have to do, then that’s what’s going to happen. Clearly, it’s working.”

Rafe’s eye’s trail down to my outfit, silently approving the choice. The big, pink sweater I found at the back of my closet was far from seasonal, but I needed something to cover the bruises that littered my arms and body. The plaid skirt I paired with it was something Rafe bought for me a few weeks ago; I chose it because I wouldn’t have to worry about him not liking it.

“My sweet girl…” He says softly. His strong arms wrap around me firmly, careful to avoid the spot that I’d been nursing all day. “You’re just so perfect for me.”

I allowed myself to melt into him, the stiffness of my body gone as I accepted his warm embrace.

#dark!rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x oc #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #rafe cameron #drew starkey #dark rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe cameron x kook!reader #obx fanfiction #obx1 #obx2 #obx3

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