#when the voices stop being only muffled noises that's when he sees whatever they were fighting already gone... or. you know. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cowyolks · 1 year

Text

HER MAJESTY,

PART TWO OF KING AU (Read Part One Here)

Prompt: King! König x Female Reader

Summary: Your King indulges you on your wedding day. For you are his new wife and queen.

Words: 6.3 k

Warnings: Fingering, Oral (f receiving), Spit, Voyeurism, Public Sex (Bedding Cermony), mentions of running a train, P in V Sex, Cum Eating, Creampie, Slight Breeding Kink. Please note that these are inaccurate scenes of Weddings, Bedding Ceremonies and Coronations.

A/N: Whew! I had to take multiple breaks with this one guys. Please enjoy and tell me what you think! Part Three?

“Pst,”

“Pst!”

Your eyes flickered around the warm halls of the keep, several torches illuminating the corridors as the sun set through the stain glass windows. Still, you could not pinpoint where the calling noise came from.

Your fingers reached for the singular dagger you had secretly hidden against your thigh. Even in your wedding dress, you didn’t like being defenseless, perhaps it was the General in you.

Before you could brush off the odd pestering, a warm hand fell over your mouth, halting and muffling your yelp all in one motion. With a tug, you fell backwards, darkness invading your senses as you scanned the familar room you were pulled in.

An opposite hand held onto your wrist, stopping you from using the dagger clutched between your fingers. You released the weapon once you heard the familiar chuckle of your promised.

“Easy, Maus.”

You whirled around, the sound of your heels echoing in the empty room.

“You’re lucky I didn’t kill you!” You whispered harshly into the darkness, only the shine of your earrings, the white of your wedding dress and König’s crown glinted against the pitch black.

“I suppose I am… lucky that is,” his words were filled with pride and satisfaction, you imagined his pupils blown out and hungry looking. Like a wolf stalking upon sheep.

“Why’d you pull me in here? I’m supposed to be meeting in the throne room shortly.”

His hands weaved around the middle of your back, pulling you tight against his chest. His form massive and daunting as he enveloped you. He smelt of cherry wine and sage, a combination that made your legs weak.

“It’s the last time I’d see you before you were my wife, I wanted to leave this part of us on a good note, ja?”

You couldn’t help the little smile that flew upon your lips. It’s a word you’d never grow tired of, his wife, the queen.

“Whatever you plan on doing, we don’t have time.” You scolded, although your hands were already betraying you, your palms slowly sliding down his chest, the softness of his cloak like velvet under your skin.

“How do you expect me to simply act as a King when you’re dressed like a Goddess, hm?” He leant forward, his mouth chasing downwards to your own lips, catching them in a mouthwatering kiss.

He pulled away briefly, one of his canines biting harshly upon the flesh of your bottom lip. You whined at the painful sting, relishing in the feeling of arousal building under your dress.

“We don’t have time.” You practically whined, thighs rubbing together almost pathetically.

“I know.” Your King whispered into the dark, the intention in his voice the exact opposite of what he said. His tone was needy, desperate.

Quicker than a flash of lightning, he flipped you, your ass pressed harshly against his growing length in his trousers. His chin pressed down against your collar bone, his body morphing into the unintentional arch of your back. His foot kicked your ankles apart, spreading your legs so he could fit his feet between your hunched over form. You shouldn’t, but you will.

Anything for the king.

König tilted his head, his lips greedily sucking upon your pulse point, quickly you jerked back, eyes narrowed as you looked him in the eyes.

“No marks…” you sounded, you did little to hide the disappointment in your voice, your body yearned to be painted in bruises and lovebites of your King’s doing. But alas, you had a reputation to uphold.

König pouted slightly, a rumbling chuckle vibrating from his chest, the vibrations filtering to your back. “I suppose you’re right.” He kissed your temple, before reaching back to your hips, his fingertips squeezing the soft flesh beneath the white lace.

“We have to be quick.” You sighed in defeat, although this defeat reaped plentiful rewards. Rewards in the form of your monstrous fiancé.

“I agree, although you deserve more than a few moments, I’ll promise you more time later tonight.” He vowed, lips finding the soft flesh of your shoulder again.

You reached behind your back, gently palming upon the hard length of his clothed cock, you heard his shaky exhale, just the same as the first time you held his cock. With a nimble finger you twisted upon his belt and buttons.

König hummed, “Cheeky girl, so eager for my cock.”

“Can’t help it.” You found yourself pouting, even more so when König pulled away to inch his trousers down enough for his cock to spring free. Your mouth watered at the sight in the darkness.

“Don’t have time to warm you up. Think you can take it?” He cooed, his large hand pumping his shaft slightly.

You nodded, already beginning to gather your wedding dress to pool around towards the front, revealing your bare back to him, ravishing in the purr that escaped his body.

His hand reached upwards, palm engulfing upon the whole width of your neck, pulling you impossibly close to his body. His other hand guided his cock against your semi-wet cunt, a teasing dance that had you squirming.

“I need words, darling. Tell me you can handle it?”

You squirmed again at the feeling of his spit falling down between your ass, coating your cunt and his hard length in extra slick. It was enough to make you gasp.

“Yes! I’ll be good, I can handle it.” You pleaded, cheek nearly smacking against the stone wall near your head when he pushed inside your walls in a painful stretch. He groaned at the tightness, just as your vision went black from the stinging pain and fullness you felt when his cock tore into you.

One of his long arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you down impossibly deep upon his length, enough to make you squeak pathetically.

“That’s it darling, stay standing for me.” The King whispered in your ear, it was then you noticed just how little feeling you had in your legs, his arm holding majority of your weight. So much so that the tips of your toes were the only thing brushing against the cobblestone floors in each wicked thrust of his hips.

It was pathetic how much you unraveled around him. How each snap of his hips and scorching kiss amongst your neck brought you to oblivion.

It was delightfully sinful, having your soon to be husband ravish you in the innocent white of your wedding dress.

At the rate he was going, you wouldn’t last much longer, he seemed to pinpoint this too. König pressed his thumb to your clit, adding delightful pressure all the while still holding you up.

“Can’t take… much more,” he whined pathetically against your shoulder, getting himself lost in the tightness of your soppy cunt. It was simply enchanting watching such a giant fold to you.

It didn’t take long for you to see stars, hands reaching back to hold onto him as you clenched in preparation, with a few more feral thrusts against your walls you released with a moan, only able to savor the feeling for a moment before König took the liberty of burying into you.

His arms flexed against your middle, pulling you in a vice as he filled you, his panting the only thing that could be heard in the silent room. Warm seed ran down your thighs, making you snap out of the blissed out sensation and focusing on the chiming of wedding bells.

Your own wedding bells.

“Fuck, We’re late!”

It was delightful how easy it was for König to put on a show. While he didn’t necessarily like the attention, he was never shy to show you off, or his kingdom.

The palace was decorated in the most lavish of gems, diamonds and gold. Among with the hundred of white roses and tulips that happened to be your favorite.

He always knew. He always did.

Hundreds upon hundreds of voices chatted through the large doors that would open in a couple of moments. Several civilians, nobles, your knights, and even other kings and queens awaited for this day. A day so incredibly special to you.

A day you’d become the King’s wife.

“Ready?” Your second in command asked from beside you, someone who would stand position to you against all your other knights on your way to the alter.

The knights represented a move of power towards the King. All your ranks and achievements would be flaunted all the while as you wore a white dress.

With a nod of your head, your second in command opened the large oak doors, the swinging of the hinges alerting the people that you were coming, and with a small inhale you began to descend alone, head held high as your searching eyes found your King.

He was there, a small smirk upon his lips as his eyes drank you in. The darkness of his chambers didn’t do him Justice, now in the warm setting sun, shaded by the beautiful gleams of stained glass did he look truly ethereal.

His auburn hair the color of flickering candlelight and warm cider parted for the iron-clad crown proudly displayed on his temples, the crown held no jewels, simply a testament to his power, made strictly of steel.

He was dressed in the colors of his nation, robes of red and white adorned his board shoulders and chiseled chest. His trousers were a dark color, that matched the black sigil illustrated on his cloak.

Your steps were sure, even with the thousands of eyes upon you. Your King’s eyes twinkled as he took you in. His gaze was the only thing you saw.

König reached out, his palm open to you, open to your new union. You took it with greedy hands, a smile upon your lips as you thought of how he was yours. Yours, yours, yours.

The officiants speech were blurred, a messy contraption of words you were too occupied to hear, until a heavy cloth landed upon your shoulders. The familiar black material that smelt like cherry wine and sage covered your dress. It dwarfed in comparison of your body, as most did when it came to the King.

“May your bride be forever under your protection. For she now carries your Sigil and name, for this day until the end of her days.” The officiant’s voice boomed in the silent throne room.

With those words, you turned to König, whose gaze was nothing short of undying affection. While he was a ruthless king in battle, he was also a ruthless lover. Never one to settle for less than perfection.

“Exchange rings.” The officiant ordered.

A small smile crossed your lips, as you pulled the ring out from your awaiting palm. The ring you would present to your King was something you had been pleased to make yourself. A band of gold, heavily intricate with weaving vines, a maze that encircled the entirety. You placed it upon his ring finger in pride, just as he planted an exquisite ring with a beautiful ruby rhinestone. Simple, yet elegant.

Then a ceremonial dagger was placed between your hands, the gold of the shaft glimmered and the hilt felt heavy in your hand.

You knew what to do as König offered his palm out to you. No hesitation in his mind as you gently held his wrist, hand strong and unwavering as you slid the dagger across his palm, a small dribble of blood pooling around the inflicted wound.

His face remained stolid, eyes only twinkling in affection as you passed the dagger to him. You presented your hand to him, just as his gaze bore into you, the crown making him seem even taller than he already was.

The cold metal stung against the crease of your palm, yet you couldn’t break away from his stare as you refused to flinch. Only looking down when the warmth of your blood fell from the wound.

König nodded to the officiant, then back to you. He held his hand out, offering you a permanent bond by his side. Offering you him.

You took his hand without question.

The officiant stepped forward, wrapping a soft ribbon upon your conjoined hands.

“With the bond of blood, man and woman become one, one unit, one nation, one love. I present to you husband and wife.”

The nation wept in happiness, loud applause drowning out from your ears as König bent down, attaching your lips in such a sweet and delicate kiss that it hurt your very heart.

Your Husband. Your King. And soon you’d be his Quee-

“Among with the wedding of your King, he has requested a coronation for his wife.”

Your breathing hitched, you did not think that your coronation would come soon. Maybe a week after your wedding, but now? Not that it mattered too much, you’d had time to gather yourself for your new rule as Queen Mother. Now it was only time to fulfill your promise to König. Your husband.

With a steady hand, König unwrapped the ribbon that created your bond, instead settling to create another one. Husband and Wife. King and Queen.

Your second in command ascended again, holding a velvet piece in his hand, something that protected a crown made of the same iron material that König’s was made of. Yours however was designed thinner, the rungs were taller and slender. A crown of simple elegance.

König nodded towards your captain, taking the crown gently in two hands. His body ascending in front of his people as he faced the crowds. You maneuvered as taught, back towards your people as your eyes fell to the King.

You dropped your knee, falling in front of him as your head tilted up. Awaiting your new position.

“You swear to uphold this Kingdom? Cherish it as one of your own, to protect them, shield them, and bear their burdens?” His deep voice rumbled over the kingdom, almost enough to shake the walls of his keep.

“I do.”

“And do you swear to serve the King? For his council is yours, and your council is his. Do you swear to rule together as one single force?”

“I do.” You vowed, head dropping slightly as your hands shook at your sides.

Fingers traced against your jaw, before a heavy object was placed against your head, the weight of the crown finally sinking in.

“Rise, my love.” His soft voice lured you to stand. To turn towards your people with a look of great pride. With his aid, you stood tall.

König took a step forward, his chest puffed up slightly as his eyes burnt towards his kingdom.

“For all to witness, here is my wife. Long live the Queen!” His voice boomed, just as the crowd chanted the words over and over again.

You gulped when König dropped to a knee, his eyes soft and dark at the same time as he took you in like a Goddess to be worshipped. The chants of “Long live the Queen!” vanishing as you gestured for him to stand beside you once more.

You stood shoulder to shoulder, hands intertwined as the two of you took in your kingdom.

Chatter rang throughout the large dining hall in merry celebration. Your lips were likely stained with the most lavish of cherry wines that König had been saving for this special date.

Now the two of you sat upon a large table overlooking the nobles and councilmen that took turns singing and dancing while feasting upon the layouts of roasted hog, breads, cheeses, and fresh fruits that heaped in surplus.

“You look divine in that dress.” Your husband’s voice broke your concentration away from the flickering lanterns of the hall.

“I bet you want nothing more than to take it off.” You teased lightly, only picking at your food as your gaze looked else where. Towards five approaching men coming to your table. Many had come, but only to lay gifts on the oak table with a gentle bow, these men however waited for König’s concentration to break from you.

Finally, his stare followed yours, settling upon the men that looked to hold shocking power. Perhaps Kings of their own nations?

“Ah, Welcome!” König voice was tight, a teasing notion that you noted. What was he up to?

The men all bowed slightly as they exchanged pleasantries, then their eyes left König and settling on you.

“This is my Wife,” König introduced you by name, just as your lips curled upwards in a greeting.

“Maus, these are the Kings of our bordering nations. I invited them as a hope to become allies”

They all were tall, one being taller than the rest and gloomy looking. He wore all black robes and kept his face covered much like your husband did in battle. His eyes were fiery as he squinted up at you. Carefully he placed a golden necklace next to your table, a gift you supposed.

His companion next to him was the opposite, instead dressed in a Scottish styled kilt and a smirk upon his face. You assumed this was John of Clan MacTavish, who graciously supplied the feast.

Another stepped forward, an impressive beard upon his face as he nodded to König. Before turning to you. “Simon and Johnny spoke of your beauty, I had to see if the rumors were true. They do not disappoint. You may call me Price.” His lit was elegant and precise.

Yet his eyes were nothing of that matter as he raked you up and down.

Another stepped forward, who offered the King pleasantries and you a simple nod. He offered you his blacksmiths who would make you a new sword fit for a general. His eyes never left your plush lips. Gaz he’d called himself.

Finally the last ascended, settling upon a gift of gems of every cut and size. His smirk never left his face as he bluntly disregarded König, instead going to your side.

“You bring every woman to shame with your beauty, cariña.” His lips found your knuckle, just as König cleared his throat in warning. Alejandro he’d called himself.

“I thank you for the gifts.” You muttered, feeling hot at the stares of all the kings. They departed, eyes still glancing at you occasionally from their designated seats.

A warm hand fell to your thigh, making you snap out of your haze and away from the gloomy stare of the king known as Simon. Instead, your attention settled back to König, whose fingers were digging slightly into the flesh of your leg, dancing dangerously close to your core. It made you shutter out a sigh.

“They’re right you know.” Your King’s voice was low as he continued his onslaught from under the table. His other hand holding onto his fork as if he was unbothered. Almost bored.

“Hmm?” You found yourself drunkenly leaning closer to König, just as his fingertip gently traced over your clothed clit. You jolted, alerting the other King’s attention from afar. Subtly you tried to control your flushed face and crossed your legs, smooshing his palm to get him to stop.

“That you’re the most beautiful woman in the kingdoms.” He leant to you, placing an innocent kiss upon your cheek as his warm breath fanned across your ear.

“I don’t care if they stare or compliment you. Hell, I don’t even care if they all take turns fucking your pretty cunt. Just as long as you know who you truly belong to.”

You shuddered at his words, shifting slightly in your chair as you imagined all of those men taking their turns ravishing you. König’s finger hooked along your chin, pulling you to face him.

“You do know who you belong to, right Maus?” He cooed, looking every bit the conquerer that you knew. You gulped, reaching up to twine your fingers.

“You, Your Grace. It’s always you.”

“Good Girl.” He smirked, dropping his hand to your thigh again. A sudden clatter made you jump, just as several councilmen stood up.

“It’s time for the King and Queen to indulge in the bedding ceremony.”

Your eyes skittered to König, who was back to rubbing his thumb amongst your leg. He had a relaxed smile upon his face, just as he stretched like a satisfied cat against his chair. He pushed it backwards, standing tall as he offered you a gentle hand.

You took it, standing tall as you eyed the foreign kings one last time before applause erupted through the hall as König led you down the halls and to his chambers.

Some of the councilmen followed, obviously to witness your matrimony and union as the both of you would try to produce heirs.

You weren’t particularly nervous, it wasn’t something the councilmen hadn’t seen before. Or at the very least heard. But you felt the pressure to please your husband, for this would be the first time you slept together since taking your vows.

Your King pushed open the door, and gestured you in first. Your steps faulted at the sudden transformation of his chambers. Soft candle light painted the walls a warm glow, and the air smelt faintly of summer cherries and scented wax. Petals of white roses scattered across the floor and on his furs, something that almost made your eyes roll in amusement.

König maneuvered past you with a brush of his hand, his touch lingering for a moment before he stepped towards his vanity.

He reached up, pulling the heavy crown from his wavy hair with a sigh. You felt the burning stares of the councilmen as you shuffled closer to König’s side, happily basking in his warmth as he removed his cloak, only left in his slightly unbuttoned under shirt and trousers.

His arm snakes around your waist, pulling you closer into his side as he preoccupied himself with pouring cherry wine into a cup. He took a large drink, before passing the goblet to you.

Your fingers snaked around the cool metal, eyes falling from your lover to the red liquid instead. You sipped upon the bittersweet wine, happily feeling the burning in your chest as König silently turned to face you.

It was much too silent. It made you itch.

His large palms reached upwards, cupping your cheeks in a cradle of security. His fingertips danced against your scalp, nails raking slightly in a calming gesture that you much appreciated.

You placed the goblet down, not sure if you were really supposed to touch him yet. The one thing you’d hadn’t prepared for was the bedding ceremony. You figured it would be König that made the first move, but he did little but relax you into his touch, distant from his warm furs of his bed.

“Are you waiting for me to start us off?” Your tone was soft as he lifted up on your own crown, discarding the steel material next to his as he went back to clutching your cheeks, this time his thumb brushed across the slight pucker of your lips.

He shook his head, a look of adoration crossing his features again. His stormy eyes were swirling lazily, if you looked closely the little freckles upon his cheeks seemed to glow in the candlelight. “No, I’m waiting for the rest of the council.” He admitted, maneuvering his large hands to your waist, flipping you so your back was turned to him and towards the entrance of his door. You avoided the stares of the council, instead focusing on the cinching sensation at your waist. “Everyone is here. Who else are we waiting for?”

König worked quietly, fingers threading through the ties of your corset. Occasionally he would press a gentle kiss to the back of your neck, causing goosebumps to fly against the contact. You shivered at the intimacy.

“On them.” He whispered against the lobe of your ear, nipping at the flesh. Glancing up, your heart rate picked up at the sight of the five kings from earlier, all eyes upon you and your husband.

König chuckled at your reaction, “if they’re so easy to praise your body with words, I’ll show them how I can praise you with my body and words.” He lowly spoke, so only you could hear. “They’ll speak compliments on their tongues, I’ll taste you with mine.”

Your breath hitched, all of this process was non traditional. Most of the bedding ceremonies in neighboring kingdoms just decided on a quick fuck, never bringing pleasure to the wife. Your husband was never one to follow tradition. He’d make the councilmen squirm as he ravished you with no shame.

The thought made you quiver.

“Shut the door.” Your King ordered, with the click of the hinges, you reveled in the feeling of his touch. His hands had finally tore apart the dreaded corset, his warm hands falling to the curve of your spine, until he dipped to your shoulders, pulling the dress down to your waist.

The air was cold upon your breasts, but the burning stares of the Kings seemed to set you on fire. You maneuvered in a trance, only being guided by your husband, who lowered you down upon the furs of your shared chambers.

He was grinning, obviously enjoying the ongoing attention as he hovered over you. He pulled you into a shuttering kiss, almost humming as you bit upon his lip.

His hands reached low, tugging upon the leftover material of your dress and discarding the white on the edge of the bed. Your eyes found his, he was a storm, the dark pupils nearly engulfing the rolling clouds of grey iris. Your bare legs wrapped around his torso, sinking him down further.

His tongue was hot against your lips, you welcomed him in open arms, loving the taste of the cherry wine leftover from his indulgence.

“So beautiful…” König paused, kissing innocently upon your nose, before shifting backwards and pulling off his shirt.

You bit upon your bottom lip, drinking in his pale skin covered in constellations of freckles. He was built, from all his years of wielding a sword and axe, yet still lean enough to move with great speed and precision.

Enchanting.

He lowered himself upon the furs, obviously enjoying the little hitch in your throat as he blew warm air upon your open and weeping cunt.

Not only were you aroused by the feeling of your King marking you as his, you were squirming at the feeling of eyes taking in your very naked form. Without thinking, your gaze shifted to the dark stare of Simon, who looked on with heavy eyes that were lidded in lust.

Your eyelashes fluttered when you felt the steady pressure of a kiss against the warmth of your inner thighs. König’s sharp canines nipped at the scorching flesh, definitely serving as a reprimand when he observed your wondering eyes.

“Is he holding his cock, Maus? Does he know you’ll only be filled by me tonight?”

You hummed, gaze falling back to your husband, who also looked at you in a hooded stupor, a look that made your insides jelly and your cunt to soak like a broken dam.

He watched you as his biceps entrapped the crease of your knees, prying you open, you faintly heard MacTavish and Gaz curse, for they got a full image of your arousal.

König must of heard, because a ghost of a smirk crossed over his lips before he buried himself against you. The wetness of his tongue against your opening was enough for you to let out an airy noise and drop your head against the silk pillows of his bed. The eyes watching were wiped away from your mind as König’s nose brushed against your aching clit, it was just enough pressure to have you chasing him, hand flying to the soft waves of his tousled auburn hair.

He hummed at your taste, pulling back for air. You could tell he was restraining himself, attempting to stop the vile sayings that would usually slip out of his mouth. You nearly purred when you spotted the slick upon his lips, watching him lick them clean before he dove back for more.

You squirmed as his lips pressed to your clit, sucking upon the bead of nerves in desperation, as if he was starving.

“Oh God…” you moaned softly, attempting to be silent enough for the council not to hear, but your King seemed scoff at that reaction. The cheeky bastard wanted you to scream, to embarrass yourself by squirming and screaming his name.

He was doing a well enough job, a loud moan falling unconsciously from your lips as a thick finger breached your hole, pushing snuggly against your walls.

König cursed at your reaction, still suckling upon your clit in soft slow pressure. Your eyes wandered again, catching on Alejandro, who was obviously glancing at your open breasts, bouncing slightly with each push of your husbands finger.

König looked up, seeing again that your eyes had wandered, with a amused huff he added another finger, this time watching you gasp at the fullness. Yet, it wasn’t just the width that made you cry for air, but the cold metal of his wedding ring pressed against the opening of your sex, the change of temperature sending you over the edge.

He spread his fingers, delightfully stretching your opening, his quick thrusts and licking tongue had you seeing stars. The knot in your stomach twisted and with a rather deep thrust, you whined spilling on his fingers as you rolled your eyes back, reveling in the feeling of a delicious orgasm.

With a sudden burst of need, you maneuvered König up, smiling drunkly when his fingers left your hole with a satisfying squelch, that had Price growling lightly in the corner, making a silent chuckle fall from your lips.

“You like them watching you, don’t you? Like them to see what I do to you, Maus?” König teased, pecking lightly on your lips, you hummed at the taste of yourself.

“What you do to me?” You found yourself becoming bold, likely too bold for a bedding ceremony, but you simply didn’t care as your legs wrapped around his waist, using enough momentum to flip your husband on his back. He looked far to irresistible under your mercy.

And he was enjoying it. You could tell by the darkening of his eyes, his pupils taking a majority of his iris, even with the candles lighting his handsome features.

You leant low, chasing after him in a drunken bliss, he hummed against your lips, hands falling to your hips. He desperately dug into your skin, maneuvering you to roll against his trousers. The catch of the material rubbing slightly upon your sensitive bead.

You pried down his trousers, happily nipping at König’s jaw when he hitched his hips up to help you rid them.

With lusting eyes you lowered your gaze, falling upon the hard and unwavering length of him. He twitched as you settled over him, the shaft of his cock sliding against your folds in a teasing notion. It physically pained you to not be full of your husband, but watching his forehead wrinkle and lips part open in sexual frustration was almost more delicious then being speared on him.

You rolled your hips down even slower, the head of his cock slightly breaching your entrance before you pulled away, you bit back a gasp, attempting to not let your husband know how much he effected you.

He cursed, a low hiss leaving his throat at the sudden movement.

“You wickedly divine woman,” he shunned, obviously taken with your little stunt.

A giggle escaped you, after all you couldn’t help the pleasure you received from teasing your King. Although, he seemed to be the most impatient tonight.

His hand found the plump curve of your ass, he lifted you with one arm, his other hand wrapping around himself. He gave himself a few pumps from his own hand, before lining his throbbing cock in one try.

Oh, how he memorized every curve of your body. How he adored every freckle, every blemish, every mark, and every limb. How he thought of kissing every worry from your mind, and fuck you like you were the only thing he’d ever worship.

Your palms lay flat on his open chest as you slowly settled down upon his tip, nails scratching against his firm muscle as your cunt swallowed him whole. Your head flew backwards, just enough for your breasts to bounce and throat to bob at your arousal.

The Kings all purred at the sight.

“That’s it, Maus.” König airily spoke, his fingertips digging so hard against your hips they would likely leave bruises.

You heaved yourself up again, his cock barely inside you before you let yourself fall back, filling completely. König twitched under you, the violent motion causing him to groan.

He was always one to fall apart when you were on top of him.

You bounced shallowly, reveling in the feeling of him sliding against your very womb with each bob of your hips. It had tears welling in your eyes, especially with the enormous size of him stretching upon your gummy walls.

“You like me hugging your cock? I bet the Kings wish they were here under me.” You whispered the vile words, enjoying the way your husband’s eyes flashed at such revelation.

His arm snaked around your back, allowing him to pull you closer and for him to rise up to meet your every move. You moaned at the jerky movement, allowing your walls to clench even tighter against him. König’s hands roamed your back, pulling you against his chest when he sat up, you ground down against him, appreciating his closeness as his lips nipped at your neck, now definitely leaving marks of purple and red.

You didn’t care. In fact, you clenched tighter at the thought of König taking you as his in front of everyone.

As it turned out, your King was relishing in that aspect too, his chin cradled against your collarbone as he eyed the kings from over your shoulders. A smirk plastered to his lips as he bucked his hips upwards, making a musical moan fall from your throat. Seeing the men so tore up with need for his precious wife only made him more smug.

He’d ruin you for any other man. No one could please you as he did.

He drew back, his mouth shining and bruised from your kisses. König’s lips pressed against your ear, “I bet they do wish for you. How could they not with your pretty little mouth crying on my cock?”

König bit the lobe of your ear, before squeezing his hands onto the backs of your thighs. He used his brute strength he only reserved for the battlefield to raise himself up, his cock still speared inside you.

You’ve seen him break backs over his knees, crack necks in his bare hands, spill guts with his sword. Now he used his strength to pull you into him, your legs wrapping helplessly around his waist. He used his strength to drop you onto your back, your head falling back onto the soft pillows once more.

You gasped hard, when he began to take control, pistoning into you at such a rapid speed you found yourself unable to control the cries of pleasure that left your throat.

He was sloppy, thrusting into you like a boy instead of a King. His large palms squeezed at your breasts as he ravished, your clenching cunt almost spent at the pace he was going.

His fingers rolled against a nipple, before he pinched upon the bud, making you cry out in painful delight. He was enjoying this, he was enjoying plowing into you and spreading your legs out wider to go deeper.

“I can’t…” you whimpered when he dug deep, his very tip hitting harshly against your womb.

“You will.” He growled, teeth clenching down as sweat began to slick onto his forehead. “Come on my love, just cum one more time for me.” He pleaded, kissing your lips as he rutted into you.

Those were the only words you needed, before you did as told. With a cry of pleasure, you clenched at the near euphoric sensation, your arms finding closure around his torso and legs wrapping around his waist as you shook.

“Fuckin’ Hell…” you heard one of the Kings loudly grunt, although you paid little attention as your eyes rolled backwards as König sloppily thrusted a few more times before he to, let out a grunt. He silenced himself by clenching his teeth down on your shoulder.

The warm feeling of his seed painted against your walls, a feeling of such deep devotion it had you thinking you could stay like this forever. Forever pierced on your Husband’s cock as he caressed your face sheening in sweat.

With a sigh, you unwrapped your legs, knowing you wouldn’t be able to stay like this forever. People were watching after all.

König dropped away from you, not without burying his seed one more time into your aching cunt. Whispers broke out into your shared chambers, the councilmen seemingly pleased that there was a guarantee for heirs. They left, satisfied with your activities.

Yet, the eyes of the neighboring Kings were still glued to your body. König rolled over, sitting up into the furs and looking the Kings dead in the eyes. He looked playful, yet determination glittered in the storms of his iris.

With a cool finger, he traced your hipbone, before dipping lower. You gasped when his fingers dug near the entrance of your used cunt. He dug them into his cum, scooping out just enough for all of the observers to see.

“You’ve served your purpose. See that my seed is taken by my wife. She’s mine.”

Your face reddened at his vulgar point, just as he brought his messy fingers to your mouth.

“Open.” He ordered, before having you suck his fingertips in obedience. He was bittersweet on your tongue, but ever so exquisite.

“You may do what you like with her if she allows it. But I want you all to know, her cunt only belongs to me.”

“My wife. My Queen.”

Tags: @soapyghost @downbadformaskedmen @brainlessgf @uriahs-sketchings @mykneeshurt @lenafisher @idkthefuckimdoingwithmylife @keiva1000 @imtherain @purple-crying-out

#good grief I need a cold shower #cod #call of duty modern warfare #modern warfare #könig #konig #könig x reader #konig x reader #King AU

3K notes · View notes

backwzzds · 5 months

Text

ೃ⁀➷ choose me, trafalgar law

it was the hundredth morning that the heart pirates were woken up before their time. the sound of glass being thrown on the ship alerted everyone, but mostly bepo, causing him to be the first one to wake.

"what the hell is all this noise?" the furry pirate grumbled, taking a full stop to your shared room with the captain.

"you're not being fair!" your voice is muffled from the other side of the door. "you never choose me!"

"i always choose you!" the captain's voice is loud as ever. bepo could actually hear some offense cloud his tone as well. "i do all this shit for you!"

tears ran down your face as your hand shook against it. "but you d-dont! i've been with you—longer than anyone else here has. I've had your back through thick and thin. time and time again you choose the crew over me—your wife!"

law’s voice is harsh as the next few words leave his lips. "so you're gonna make me choose?"

"i would never make you choose! these men are your family and i get that—they are just as much mine as they are yours-but you don't understand law that no one has had your back, not like i fucking did. that time where you fought with the entire crew over something you were clearly wrong about? i chose you. every single time whether you're right or wrong—i fucking choose you, as any wife would! you never choose me!"

law scoffed with a shake of his head, trying to dodge everything that just came out your mouth.

"i always fucking choose you. you have no idea how much i choose you. I'd kill anyone over you. you know that."

"that is not enough law, why don't you understand that?!" you scream. "you choose being a pirate over being a husband sometimes and i would never tell you to stop pursuing your dreams. i know you've wanted this since kids," your voice cracks. "but you choose the sea over me every time i beg you not to do something and you still do it. i fight with you over and over and you just think that sex will be enough to get rid of this empty feeling inside."

bepo could hear your sobs from the other side of the door. he could tell whatever you two were fighting about was very important. from what he gathered though, he could see both sides of the story.

law was a pirate captain; it was his dream to rule the sea.

understandable.

but he was also a husband first; committed to you, he's been clearly neglecting you the past few months and it was only natural that you became restless and needy for your man.

also understandable.

there were times that bepo did not agree with his captain and best friend often. he was brave enough to tell law when he was flat out wrong about things, and that wasn’t very often. but now he wasn't sure who was in the right or wrong this time. not when law had his mind set on completing a specific goal.

but, at the end of the day, captain's orders were still captain's orders. the heart pirates were obligated to follow their captain to death if the time asked for it. he could see both sides of the story limitlessly, but ethically, had to side with his captain no matter what. it wasn't his business to intervene either.

you and law continue going back and forth, but over time your comebacks slow down as you're practically choking on your tears. at the sight of your reddened brown face, law walked over to you and wrapped his large tattooed hand around your neck, grabbing your attention.

"look at me," his voice is low and demanding. but you didn't want to look at him right now. you wanted to look at anything but him. your sniffles don't stop him from repeating himself though as his grip on your neck grows a little stronger, tight enough not to hurt you of course, but just enough to where you got a little buzz in your head, just way he knew you liked it. "look at me."

finally, your beautiful eyes slowly moved upward to look at him. they couldn't help but glare (although it still came out as a pout), and law visibly frowned when he saw just how upset you were over this. your sniffles get lower as you fight the urge to wipe away your tears, but he beats you to it, swiping the D of his tatted thumb across your hot face.

"i will divide the seas for you, if need be,” law told you, voice strong and calm. you could tell he was out of breath from how worked up he was getting a minute ago. with a much lower octave, he leans in closer to your face, hazel gold eyes never leaving your own. "i’d fucking rip the flag off my own fleet and burn this sub on land with everyone in it over you," more tears run from your eyes in response to his words. but law continues to wipe them away for you, always catching your tears. “i will bring hell to this fucking place we call earth if that’s what you asked of me. everything i do as this ship's captain is for you. i would fucking give up being a pirate if that's what you wanted me to do. tell me. tell me what it is you want to me to do y/n because sailing these seas aren't worth shit if you hate me and if it's in another lifetime where you aren't my wife. tell me what you want me to do. not as your captain but as your fucking husband. that what you want, right baby? tell me what you want."

and that was when your lip quivered and your words cried out to the seas, "i want you to choose me!"

#lora’s fics! ೄྀ࿐#trafalgar law x black reader #law x black reader #trafalgar law x chubby reader #law x chubby reader #trafalgardwaterlaw #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #one piece law #law one piece #one piece x black reader #one piece x black!reader #one piece x chubby reader #lora’s shit talk! ੈ✩‧₊˚

665 notes · View notes

blackhairedjjun · 1 month

Text

the yearning club - c.bg

pairing: choi beomgyu x gn reader | genre / tropes: fluff, only a little bit of angst, misunderstanding trope, implied university au (if you squint), best friends to lovers, kissing in the rain | word count: 921 | warnings: none, this is just unbelievably cheesy lmao

part of my 300 followers event (event masterlist)

prompt - RAIN: sender reveals their love for the receiver while they’re both standing outside in the pouring rain. (requested by @boba-beom: “a misunderstanding(?) trope where you and gyu were becoming distant because you thought he was seeing someone but it was just a friend and he confesses to you outside your house in the rain”)

author's notes: hi smiles! this request is so classic romance aaaa sdklfjksldf i got a little carried away w this! but this was very fun to write, i hope you like it <3

the rain pours unceasingly outside your bedroom window, the sound like white noise. it nearly drowns out the playlist you’re listening to through cheap earbuds, the music itself already muffled from the duvet you wrapped around yourself in bed. still, the noise doesn’t drown out the thoughts you’re trying to distract yourself from.

it’s useless to worry, your rational side says. beomgyu and yui would have canceled their plans anyway because of the rain.

but what if they decided to move their date indoors? your heart objects. or they could be dancing in the rain together...

you curl up into yourself and screw your eyes shut, listening to the playlist beomgyu made for you. though you try not to imagine your best friend 一 the same best friend you’ve been in love with for as long as you can remember 一 dancing in the rain with the friend who said she would ask him out, the mental image is hard to erase. it feels more real than anything you’ve imagined. even as you shut your eyes more tightly, you can practically hear beomgyu’s voice.

the voice is a little too real...

“y/n!”

you jolt up from your bed when you realize that you can, in fact, hear beomgyu screaming your name through the downpour. you rush out of your room, forgetting to grab an umbrella, and throw your door open to find him indeed out in the street, so drenched that his hair and clothes cling to his form.

“beomgyu?!”

“y/n! you heard me!” despite being soaked and shivering in the rain, beomgyu looks radiant. his smile spreads across his whole face, his eyes lighting up at the sight of you.

“are you crazy?! it’s raining! you’re drenched, gyu!”

“i’m sorry, y/n! i couldn’t wait any longer! i 一 i have to tell you something!”

“you couldn’t just call me?!”

“no, this is important!”

you run out into the street yourself, not caring about the rain soaking every inch of your skin and clothes, and grab beomgyu by the shoulders. “whatever it is, you can do it insi一”

“i love you!”

he’s still smiling like a lovestruck fool. the rainfall does nothing to hide the shine in his eyes, nor the blush that starts to spread across his face. somehow he’s shimmering in the rain, and despite the wet locks of hair clinging to his forehead he looks beautiful.

“i love you,” he says again. his voice is quieter but somehow louder that the torrent pouring down on the both of you.

you blink and your eyes go wide. you’re so stunned that his confession doesn’t even register in your mind properly. you hear i love you, i love you, i love you echoing in your head, but it takes a few moments for its meaning to sink in.

“b-but... yui... your date...”

“date?” beomgyu tilts his head at you.

“i heard her say she would finally ask out the guy she’s in love with. i thought that guy... was you...”

he tilts his head back in a long laugh, not mocking but relieved. your heart stops for a moment at the sound. the rain soaks his hair and face even more.

“no, she asked out that guy in her sociology class. y’know, the one she’s actually in love with.”

“so she doesn’t...”

“of course not, y/n.” beomgyu steps closer to your and pushes away a wet lock of hair clinging to your face. your heart stops again, and you find yourself gazing into his eyes. “yui and i, we called ourselves the yearning club. we made a bet that we would confess to the ones we loved at the end of this week, so today’s the last day.” he pauses and takes a deep breath. “and the one i loved... is you.”

you let out a giggle that turns into laughter, then just as quickly turns into sobs of relief. your tears mix with the raindrops, nearly blurring out your vision. “gyu... i really thought...”

“sorry i was too shy to tell you.” his smile is smaller now, reminding you of the shy smile he had when you first met. “i didn’t know if you一”

“i love you too.”

you wipe your tears away with the back of your hand, useless as the gesture is, and meet beomgyu’s eyes again. at that moment it becomes clear to you: the shine in his eyes is his affection.

your best friend’s eyes go wide and he takes another step towards you. his forehead rests on yours. “you love me...?”

“i love you.”

“y/n...”

you can do nothing more but nod and lean towards him.

your lips part and he takes the invitation to kiss you. his lips are soft, and you taste both his lip balm and something saltier 一 is it the rain, or did he cry too? 一 and you feel firm hands bringing you closer still. despite the rain soaking both of you, you feel warm, both from his body enveloping yours and the new feeling blooming in your chest.

he pulls apart from you just to gaze at you, and you feel your face grow warm at the way he admires your every feature. then he pulls you back into his embrace and the two of you sway in the rain, with you smiling into the crook of his neck. each raindrop now seems like a blessing from the heavens themselves.

you’ve never loved the rain more than you did at that moment.

#txt x reader #beomgyu x reader #txt x you #beomgyu x you #choi beomgyu x reader #kpop x reader #txt imagines #kpop imagines #beomgyu imagines #txt fluff #beomgyu fluff #tomorrow x together imagines #txt fic #txt fanfic #beomgyu fanfic #bhj's 300 follower event 🖤#bhj: violet's works

317 notes · View notes

fallinforerling · 11 months

Text

the pinterest board - eh

A/N: this is so silly and stupid, i love it so much. i dunno why i thought about this, but my pinterest boards for erling are very specific, and yes, i do have a board for his short hair era. i still miss it. love you guys xx

ೃ⁀➷ erling’s masterlist

ೃ⁀➷ erling's taglist

ೃ⁀➷ masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

It was unusually quiet around the house, and Erling wondered what could be causing that. There weren't many moments throughout the day where you weren’t doing some type of activity that caused noise. From playing music, to cooking or practicing your pronunciation in Norwegian, you were always making your presence known.

So when he finally arrived from practice, it felt odd to find a very silent living room, with no sight of you anywhere. He peeked through the kitchen door, hoping to find you with your headphones on, but it was as empty as the previous room. Then he thought that maybe you went out, but you rarely did that without giving him a heads up.

So where were you?

“Baby?!” He shouted, still not getting any response.

He was starting to get worried. While making his way to the bedroom, he got his phone to call you. Only when he reached the door, he realize he did heard your voice. And you were giggling. But it wasn’t your usual laugh; it sounded like the giggly laugh you made when he kissed you behind the ear or when you saw him shirtless.

You were giggling because you liked whatever the hell was happening.

Of course he wasn’t thinking about cheating or anything related to that matter, but something clicked in his brain. He made sure to open the door as quietly as possible, sticking his head just enough to see you resting flat on your stomach, seeming to scroll through your phone.

Your smile was so big and mesmerizing that he took a moment to openly stare at you, finding your happiness contagious. It lasted a few seconds, because you giggled again and then he remembered wanting to find out what you were looking at.

“What are you doing?” He murmured, smiling when you visibly jumped on the spot. You turned and smiled at him, but your eyes were full of panic as one of your hands hid the phone deep into the pillows.

“Babe! Hey, I didn’t see you there. How was practice?” You fixed your hair behind your ears, something that you only did when you were nervous. You were hiding something. And now he was determined to find out what. “Wanna have some dinner? I prepared that liver you like so much.”

“Sure, sure. Thank you, honey.” He discarded his training bag on the floor, still standing at the door. “What were you watching?” The playful smile never left his face as he leaned on the doorframe, not letting you get out.

“Me? Nothing—I was just, you know, checking out Pinterest. Typical stuff! Anyways, back to the liver? Pretty well seasoned, let’s go make it! My big guy needs to eat!” You let a nervous laugh out, hitting his arm with no actual force. You were so nervous, it was killing him.

“I’m sorry, baby. Don’t hate me for what I’m about to do, okay?”

You seemed confused for a few seconds, and that was enough for him to grab you by the waist and practically kick you out of the room. He made sure to quickly lock the door, making a little run to the bed to get your phone before it was too late. He could hear your muffled screams as you banged on the door, begging him to stop being so noisy.

The problem was that the noisy monster he is today was created by you.

Once he got a grab on your phone, he thanked every god available that it was still unlocked. As he stared at the screen, his mouth opened in a silent laugh as his thumb kept scrolling through the content. There were hundreds of photos of him at literally every stage of his career. Then, he noticed that you didn’t lie about the Pinterest thing. There were boards dedicated solely to him. Once he had finally seen it all, he opened the door, still laughing a bit as you stared at him with hatred.

“Seriously, baby?” He still held your phone at his face level, so you weren’t able to reach it. “Short-haired Erling? There’s a specific board for that point of my life?”

“Give me my phone back!” You said instead, taking it roughly from his hands. “And yes, I have a Pinterest board for photos of you with short hair, so what? You looked stunning.” You turned around, and started to walk towards the kitchen.

“Hey! What’s wrong with my long hair?” He touched the man-bun he had going on hesitantly, following you. “You don’t like it?”

Then it was your turn to laugh as you turned again to face him.

“Of course I do.”

“Oh, but you don’t love it.” He didn’t even know why it offended him so much. “You don’t like it enough to make a Pinterest board. huh? Are you trying to say that I don’t look stunning in it?”

“Oh, c’mon! I didn’t say that!”

“But you’re not denying it!” He was getting worked up for no apparent reason, but it was mortifying to think that his own girlfriend didn’t like his hairstyle. “That’s it— I’m chopping it off!”

“Erling! It’s not that big of a deal! You do look stunning with long hair!”

But he didn’t let go for at least another two hours. Dinner got forgotten as he went off about how you loved his past-self more than his current one. You had to make sure to create a new Pinterest board with recent photos of him in front of him, and just after that, he seemed convinced enough that you liked the long hair as much as his short hair phase.

Talk about unnecessary drama queens.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆·˚ ༘ * ERLING’S TAGLIST

433 notes · View notes

eicrisis · 1 year

Text

*:･ﾟlose the crowd

characters; childe, alhaitham, beidou.

warning(s); minors do not interact. female AFAB reader. public sex & semi-public sex. modern au.

summary; they really can't help themselves when it comes to you, even if it's where anyone can see.

not proofread, but nonetheless i hope you enjoy my midterm stress-induced porn.

Childe

He's much more secretive about it than most would bother to be, but you can tell that he enjoys seeing you squirm.

It's not something he would ever outright admit—that he loves seeing his precious, beloved girlfriend get red in the face when he touches her on the crowded subway car. He doesn't say a word about how much he adores it, but you've learned to read his mannerisms.

"Tell me to stop, and I will," he warns, the heat of his voice warm against the crook of your neck. It's almost as distracting as the warm press of his fingers against the heat of your pussy. His hand was shoved haphazardly up your skirt, trembling lightly with what must be desire.

This had all started because you had teased him about foregoing underwear for your little date. You should know better than to provoke his overactive libido in public, but you honestly couldn't help yourself—not even in a space full of people. Your boyfriend's actions are only concealed by the closeness of everyone's bodies. A woman's elbow pokes your back as she types something out on her phone. A man's shoulder is pressed against Ajax's, their bodies jostling in unison as the subway moves.

Everyone is so preoccupied with themselves that they don't even bother to look down and notice the way Ajax's fingers are playing with your clit, heavy and teasing in their movements. You come just like that, your little noises muffled into Ajax's hair.

Did anyone notice? Did everyone notice? You would never know for sure, although you can't help but admit everyone was probably suspicious of how conspicuously Ajax wiped his fingers clean afterwards.

Alhaitham

The University's library was not a place Alhaitham often found himself. Usually, he preferred to study within the walls of his own home, where the little tics and movements of others around him would not interfere with whatever he was thinking.

It also allowed him to avoid prying eyes. Although, he supposes he's inviting that kind of attention right about now.

"Haitham, stop teasing," you groan, somehow so quiet despite the annoyance in your tone. "If we're going to do this, you have to put it in, now. Please."

"You don't want me to take my time?" He asks dryly, as if his cock was not pressed against you, hard and quite clearly very willing. "You are the one who asked me to do this here instead of waiting to get home."

You're pressed face first against a bookshelf, your weight being supported only by your propped up arms and his hands at your waist. It's almost maddening, how good you look like this—engulfed in the low light of the library with your pants shoved to your knees. If anyone were to peek into this secluded corner and see the sight of you, Alhaitham would think they were quite lucky.

Someone may get to see you, reddened and desperate to come, but that doesn't matter to him. Not when he is the one who gets to fuck you against piles of dusty old books, taking you apart in every way he knows how.

He tells you so, while he's fucking you so hard up against the shelf you're seeing stars.

Beidou

Beidou does not particularly enjoy losing her cool.

It takes a lot for her to forget the rules she put in place for herself. Rules like keep your dignity and don't get blackout drunk where impressionable children can see. She may not appreciate it, but she does have a reputation to uphold.

A reputation you don't mind grinding to dust, it seems.

Business dinners. A rare thing for Beidou to participate in for sure. And she may never get to be apart of one again, with the way this one is turning out.

She isn't even sure how you managed to get underneath the table without anyone noticing. Your pretty dress is being soiled with wrinkles as you crouch on the floor, your hair tangled into knots from where Beidou has a hand twisted into it. Her eyes are pointedly not staring at the way your tongue is lapping at her exposed skin.

The table is large, and each person has a wide girth of their own personal space. Beidou herself sits at the head of the table, as a venerated guest. She almost wished her hosts were less accommodating so you did not get this damned idea in the first place.

However, she has to admit coming on your tongue while onlookers speak to one another ignorantly did make the evening much more enjoyable.

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #childe x reader #alhaitham x reader #beidou x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #beidou smut #childe smut #alhaitham smut #!!lie is writing

622 notes · View notes

hystixia · 8 months

Text

FEATURING 、JEFF MASON X F!READER

WARNINGS 、NONCON, DEGRADATION, MANHANDLING, DACRYPHILIA, SEMI-PUBLIC SEX, NOT PROOFREAD

Your head is spinning, hand shakily pressed to your mouth to muffle the noises spilling from your lips as the jerk behind you slams into your pussy that grows slicker by the second.

The jerk in question was none other than Jeff Mason. The guy you couldn’t stand to be around in your classes.

“What’s wrong? Can’t talk back anymore?” He sneers, breath hot against your neck as he whispers into your ear and you hate how his voice makes a shiver run down your spine. His cock drags against your plush walls in a way that has you slowly losing control of yourself, your eyes threatening to roll back and your mind nearly giving in to the temptations of pleasure shocking your lower stomach.

“S-shut up—” You gasp, digging your fingers into your cheek as you press your palm tight into your face right as you let out a shrieked moan when he lifts one of your legs and hits a soft spot inside of you that has you lurching forward into the wall of the cramped up janitors closet you were stuffed into for this whole thing to take place to begin with.

He’s hitting so deep it has tears flooding your vision and your body relaxing against his bruising grip and he knows it. He knows you’re giving in and he chuckles at your submission.

“Heh, givin’ in just like that, huh? All bark and no bite, dumb bitch.” He groans, hands grabbing your hips tighter as he pulls you back to meet his rough thrusts. You hated how his words were getting under your skin in a hot and bothered way so suddenly. You hated how you were pushing with him subconsciously now, trying to fight it but unable to stop yourself from being a complete whore for him to use. It was embarrassing and humiliating.

You whimper and whine into your hand, fighting the urge to babble his name because God, did you hate Jeffrey. You despised everything about him— well, everything but his cock. At least his thick length could bring you a little bit of happiness but the rest of him you loathed with every fiber of your being.

So why did you let yourself get put into this situation in the first place? You blame it on miscommunication and naïvety on your end but he would just call you a filthy liar. Maybe you were one, maybe all the tension built between you both finally took a shape and this was it. That was still a part of the puzzle you’d failed to correctly place together.

His hips snap brutally into yours, cock nudging your cervix painfully with each thrust until a hand is grabbing at your throat tight making you choke on what little air you had time to intake. Your hands crawl at his wrist, eyes fluttering and rolling up and back into your skull as he pulls you back and flush to his chest.

He gets to see the fucked out expression on your face and he laughs at you. “Fucked dumb already? What a deprived little cocksleeve y’are. Bet you wanted this, pissing me off all the damn time so I’d fuck you.” He punctuates his emphasis with a rough thrust that makes you cry out. Your walls clamp down tight, milking him and sucking him in more causing him to growl out a choked groan from the sudden feeling. “‘m right aren’t I? This dumb cunt wouldn’t have squeezed me like she did if I wasn’t.”

You try to speak, try to form a single word but you fall short to only strangled gasps and moans. He thinks you’re pathetic, reduced to to nothing more than a cumdump after all the bitching you put up before being dragged into this janitor’s closet.

He leans down, voice low and quiet as footsteps walk passed the unlocked closet door and it nearly makes your heart stop completely at the indication you could be caught in this act. “I’m going to fuck you until they open that door, yeah? Heh, don’t bother shaking your head “no”. I’ll do whatever I fuckin’ want.”

#jeff the killer smut #jeff the killer x reader #jeff the killer x you #jeff the killer x y/n #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta smut #creepypasta x you #creepypasta x female reader #creepypasta x y/n #jeff mason x reader #jeff mason smut

256 notes · View notes

wackapedia · 2 years

Text

The Bet | Bob Floyd x Reader

You’re a mechanic, and that human R2 unit Weapon Systems Operator is your boyfriend. And now, he’s drunk.

Word count: 880 Warnings: Drinking, Drunk boyfriend, Mild language, slightly wild kissing (!)

After sunset maintenance checks for government funded fighter planes wasn't how you visualised your Friday nights. If only your fellow mechanics handed in their reports completed and on time, you wouldn't have to be shoulders deep in a two-seater fighter jet's exhaust, clenching a tool between your teeth while one hand holds your phone serving as a flashlight, and the other poking a screw, trying to decide if is it too tight on the hydraulics, or too loose to cause problems on flight. You're being more meticulous with this one tomcat jet though, not only because its worth over a billion dollars, it also carries very special pilots for routine runs and classified missions. Rather, your very special pilot.

"Lt. Robert "Bob" Floyd" it says on the jet's sidepod, just under Phoenix's name. It always brings you a sense of pride to be a mechanic at top gun, working with the best pilots like Maverick, and your best weapon systems operator, Bob.

Pocketing the rest of your tools and satisfied with your routine maintenance, you start to climb down the ladder when your phone suddenly blasts the chorus of the Macarena in full volume and displays a silly caller ID of Rooster. Wobbling a bit on your steps, the Macarena continues to blast as you climb down the rest of the ladder. Landing on your feet, you fold down the maintenance ladder while swiping your phone to answer the call. "Yup?" "Y/n, have you ever seen your boyfriend drunk?" Rooster yells on the other end. He presses his head into the phone's speakers to make out your response against the loud noise on his end. "Oh my go- You got Bob drunk?!" You yell into your phone while hauling the ladder into the storage, slamming the said government property among the rest of the clutter.

"Hey he's only had one, and he's on his way to get a second one. Come see, he's currently challenging Hangman in acrobatic darts." Rooster says. "I thought your were such disciplined model top students at Fighter Weapons Academy..." You grumble, putting on your coat and grabbing your helmet as you leave the hangar. "First of all, no one calls it that anymore, its just Top Gun," Rooster says, in his smartass voice, "...and second of all, you need to get that stick out of your ass, lieutenant top aeromechanics student. Get over here and save your boyfriend!" A cacophony of cheers ring on Rooster's end before he ends the call. ---- "Hey guys! y/n's coming!" Rooster announces and the rest of the squad cheers. "Hundred bucks says Bob's too shy do it." Hangman playfully taunts. The rest of the squad agrees, adding up to the betting pool. Bob looks like he doesn't understand the bet but laughs along anyway, raising the bottle for an acknowledging toast and knocks back his second drink for the night, looking absolutely smashed drunk. ---- "Hey, Bob! Your girl's here!" Payback calls out upon spotting you enter the Hard Deck. You spot Bob standing on the pool table, red faced, glasses askew, and drunk as hell. You shoot Hangman a fierce glare for patronizing Bob on whatever drunken game they were playing. Bob's fuzzy brain finally understands what Payback just said and ungracefully gets down the table, one hand holding a a few darts, and moves to hug you. Eyeing the bunch of darts, Phoenix immediately stops her backseater's wrist and takes the darts before your boyfriend accidentally hurts you or himself. Bob's drunken body drapes itself on you, making you stumble back. "Glad you all find this hilarious" You mutter, making the rest of the slightly tipsy squadron laugh. Among all of them, Bob was the most intoxicated, and it was only nine thirty in the evening. Bob was saying something, his deep voice muffled against your coat sleeve. "What?" You ask, lifting his head by taking his jaw up.

Now, Bob was a simple man. If his girlfriend wanted a kiss, she wouldn't even have to ask. He feels you grab at his jaw and his brain immediately went there. This type of programming on Bob's brain is the reason why he is now giving you the most scandalous kiss in front of his squad. At first they thought it was funny, but Bob doesn't stop. And don't get yourself wrong, every kiss with Bob is magical, but the squad's laughter dies down. Their smiles begin to drop as they continue to watch Bob make out with you. His hand begins to wander and before anything wild happens, you grab your boyfriend's shoulders and gently pull yourself away. The kiss ends with a hot smack of Bob's lips lifting from yours. By this time, everyone around the pool table fell silent. Bob pushes his glasses up and croaks out "I think I'm drunk..." Under his breath. Hangman makes good on his word, which was a rare occasion, and pulls out a hundred bucks from his extravagant wallet. The rest of the team follows suit, shoving wads of cash into Bob's pocket and ruffling his already messy hair, or giving him a pat on the shoulders. Bob is already half asleep, leaning his weight on you. "Should I ask you guys what the bet was? Do I want to know?" You ask Phoenix.

"Absolutely not."

#Bob floyd x reader #bob x reader #bob top gun x reader #top gun x reader #top gun maverick x reader #robert floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x reader #robert floyd #robert bob floyd #top gun fic #top gun fanfic #top gun maverick fic #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic

2K notes · View notes

nerdestiwrites · 2 months

Text

predator and prey chapter four (hazbin hotel reader insert)

The ringtone of your phone had you answering before it went on longer than two seconds, half expecting the sound of Velvettes laugh at your insistence on making a deal. Instead, you heard a voice you weren’t expecting. The voice of Francis. The man whom that demon had tried to save, only to condemn instead.

“You fucking bitch ass fucker!” He shouted, clearly he wasn’t trying to keep his cover at the moment.

“Oh hello Francis. Thought you could have someone else get you out of your deal, did you? Coward.” You said simply, finding yourself heading towards the hotel instead of the V tower, deciding you’d wait until you heard what Velvette had to say. “Upset to find yourself at the end of a chain and your soul belonging to me? I told you what would happen.”

“You can’t fucking do shit yourself! You’ve got no power so you have everyone else do everything!” Francis was angry, pissed, and it made you stop walking.

The bag adjusted on your shoulder, a hand placed on it, your other hand shifting the phone in your hand. “I’m on Hells boulevard and Dantes street. I’m expecting to see you here in five minutes.”

“What? Why would I fucking come to you now?” His tone shifted from one of pure anger to confusion.

“Because I said so.” A chain appeared wrapped around the hand on top of the bag and you gave it a slight yank. “Or else.”

Silence on the other end of the line as a slight stumbling noise could be heard muffled as well as a string of curses to fill the silence quickly. The perks of no one knowing you, knowing who you truly were as a person, no one knowing exactly what you were doing, no one knowing what to expect when you were angry. So there was silence again for a brief moment after the cursing died down, and then a quiet affirmative and the line went dead.

You stood, waiting on the corner of the street, hand still on the bag, protecting it, eyes focused on your phone as a text from Velvette appeared at the top.

Velvy: last time you said that it was for ice cream

Velvy: also how the hell did you know about the Overlord meeting

Velvy: meet tonight at your place?

You don’t give many details, a simple okay sent through, and a time for the middle of the night. You still wanted to head back to the hotel, get a room to stay in, and then have the excuse of needing to return to your apartment to grab some personal items. The princess wouldn't even question that, you knew that much.

Francis is in front of you minutes later. You check the time and click your tongue, he was right on time and seemed to have been sprinting to make it. Your free hand reached up, grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him down to your level. “Let’s make one thing understood, I own your soul. You will not tell anyone about me. You will continue to spy on that moth freak, and if you get caught, you will be paying the consequences for it. You had the illusion of choice with the previous deal, now you don’t even get that.”

His eyes widened by the sudden movements of being dragged down and he tried to pull away, which only caused you to smile, sharp canines glinting in the light. “If you don’t, I’ll just kill you here and now and be done with it. You still have the freedom of living wherever you do, having free time, doing whatever else you do with your pathetic life, but you will listen to me.”

Death, permanent death, even just the threat got the eyes of the demon widened even more. He put his hands up quickly and nodded, clearing his throat. “Right! Got it! Fuck!”

You released his shirt from your grasp pushed him back in the same motion and continued to walk forward, as if the entire conversation hadn’t happened. You didn’t look back but could hear the demon cursing under his breath. That caused you to snicker once, rolling your eyes, and continuing down the street.

You made your way back towards the Hazbin Hotel and walked in, eyes landing on the group sitting in the lobby-parlor as the princess had called it. You waved, smiled, and shifted. “Hey! I uh, did decide that maybe giving this a shot while I was out for a walk today… Going to have to go back to my apartment to grab some things but… I wanna stay here.”

The group turned to face you, Charlie bounding up from her spot on the floor and racing over quickly, practically squealing with excitement. “Oh my gosh yes!” She grabbed onto your hand and pulled you over to the others who were all still sitting on the floor.

You could recognize Vaggie from your first investigation of the hotel, Husk seemed to still be standing behind the bar which made you wonder if he was allowed to leave the bar ever. There was a smaller demon with one large eye who stared up at you with complete interest. You waved to everyone and introduced yourself as you sat down on the floor near the couch. Sitting on the floor, or table, or another surface that wasn’t a chair had been a bad habit of yours while living. You could still hear your mother's voice as clear as day asking what you were doing just sitting in the middle of the kitchen, or on the dining room table, your two favorite spots to sit.

Your gaze washes over everyone and stops on a certain demon lounged out across one of the other couches, a bottle of alcohol in one of his hands. Angel Dust. You hadn’t even officially met him, as you tried to keep your presence around the Vee tower to a minimum, but you had seen him entering and exiting, and you knew of his profession with Valentino. You could tell by the way he looked at you he didn’t recognize you in the slightest.

“This is Angel, and then Nifty, I told you about her when you were here last time, and here is Sir Pentious, our first official resident who’s interested in trying to be redeemed just like you are!” Charlie exclaimed as she smiled at the snake demon who seemed to stare at you with suspicion.

You give an awkward toward Sir Pentious and nod along to the introductions, you had been hoping to have less time talking with people and more time figuring out your room situation. The sooner you had a room, the sooner you could return to your apartment and get the meeting with Velvette set up, and you definitely didn’t need anyone learning about that.

Charlie clapped her hands together as she took her spot back down sitting next to Vaggie, crossing her legs underneath her as she did so, taking in a deep breath. “We were just going over some simple facts about ourselves to try and get to know one another better! Sir Pentious and Angel already went, so why don’t you go?”

You blinked a few times and rubbed the back of your head. A few simple facts about yourself, you felt like you were back in school and it was the first day, you hated these types of activities. “Right, uh, well, I died about a year ago, my favorite fruit are strawberries, and uh, I love to listen to music while doing tasks.”

The princess clapped along with Vaggie, who only seemed to be doing so just to make the other happy. Sir Pentious started to clap soon after seeing Charlie doing so. You stayed silent and leaned back against the couch behind you, looking around the parlor once again, taking in everything for a second time.

You wondered how many rooms there were in the hotel, with at max seven of them being occupied at the moment with the addition of Sir Pentious, eight now that you were going to be staying there for the foreseeable future. There was a bar and you were assuming that somewhere there had to be a kitchen, hopefully, a laundry mat, you didn’t want to carry your clothes up and down the hill leading into the city. If that was the case you’d end up just using a favor and having someone else do it for you.

The conversation kept going, Charlie and Sir Pentious talking with one another about different qualities to work on so he would have a chance at getting redeemed. You half listened, your mind elsewhere as you felt the static in the air shift, just slightly. Enough that if you were alive, you’d say a storm was coming in. Then just as suddenly as the shift in the air, the front doors opened once again.

“Alastor!” Charlie bounced up and motioned for the Radio demon forward, gesturing towards Sir Pentious and you. “We’ve had another person want to be redeemed!”

She motioned over towards you and you stood, giving Alastor a small wave. He turned and looked you over once in silence, his ever present smile growing once as his head tilted to the side, his ears flickering in response. It felt like he was looking through you, studying your movements.

You introduce yourself and put your hand out for him to shake. Alastor does so, shaking your hand twice. “It is a pleasure to see another poor unfortunate sinner wishing to try their hands at getting redeemed! I am Alastor, I’m sure you’ve heard of me?”

A nod is your response which earns a wider smile from the demon. You have heard of the Radio demon and the way he became an Overlord. You knew of what sort of power he held and what he could do if he so wanted. You wanted to know more about him, however. What made him tick, what his motivations were to start helping with the hotel in the first place, where he had been for the past seven years.

His stare never left you. You were but a lowly demon with one soul to your name on paper. Anyone else wouldn’t have thought twice about it, but it seemed to intrigue Alastor enough that he made a low humming noise to fill the awkward silence you left in the air. “Well I am certain that Charlie here has done a wonderful job getting you settled in! I must take my leave however at this time, I do hope I see you around.”

With that, Alastor seemed to disappear into the shadows. Charlie cleared her throat and brought everyone's attention back towards her, but you looked at your phone. “It’s actually getting late, I’m gonna go get my stuff from my apartment so I can set it up in my room here.” You stood and gave a smile towards Charlie.

She gave a nod in understanding, more than excited to see what kind of items you were planning on bringing back. You waved goodbye to everyone in the parlor and walked out of the hotel, heading down the hill back towards the city, taking in a sharp breath as you did so.

---------

tags: @luleck

48 notes · View notes

singsweetmelodies · 6 months

Note

Hello Katie 👋🏼👋🏼 :D

For the 50 romance prompts ask meme, I'll like to request for 44: soulmate AU: timers <3

but if possible... with a twist...? (you don't have to include a twist if it's too difficult to work it in!)

The twist being, for whatever reason, their countdown timers for each of them to the time they meet their soulmates doesn't match, so they think "we're not each other's soulmates. that's cool. (no it's not)" but it turns out that they're each other soulmates anyways. or they choose to be with each other in spite of not being each other's soulmates. idk. *nervous laughter*

hiiii charlotte 🥰 first off, i am SO sorry for the incredible delay with this answer!! i saw this prompt and i absolutely LOVED IT (and the twist!! 🙏 *chef's kiss*) but unfortunately i got struck with a horrible case of writer's block/work deadlines, and just couldn't get to it at all.

until yesterday: i decided to just open my inbox and see what came to me. no thinking, just following the vibe of a prompt and writing. and uh. this happened... not only did it get ridiculously long (oops?) but it also somehow became a mini "investigate montreal" fic?? so in that vein, i'm tagging @1016week and submitting a belated entry for Day 6 "Montreal"... ❤️

i love this one. hope you love it too!! 👀⌚

Charles' soulmate timer stops when he is seven years old, and he meets the boy with the bluest eyes he's ever seen.

He's been vibrating with excitement all weekend - not just because it's a karting cup, but because his soulmate timer has been ticking down to this day for months now. Well, not just months, not really. It's actually been his whole life, but Charles doesn't remember all of that. He only remembers the past few months, when the little numbers had been getting smaller and smaller, until there were only ten days left and Charles gasped when he realised that the day would fall on the same day as the Bridgestone Cup.

"Of course the girl I marry is going to like racing, too," he'd told Maman and Papa, confidingly. Not a lot about soulmates made much sense to him, but this did.

His Maman had tried to smile, and Charles had hugged her tight to let her know it was going to be okay. He would find his soulmate, and then everyone would be smiling, because that's what people do when you meet your soulmate.

(Later that night, when Charles had been too excited to sleep and he'd gone to the bathroom quickly, Charles had heard his parents having an argument in their room. The door was closed, so their voices were muffled, but Charles could still make out his Maman saying "I just don't think it's a good sign, to meet your soulmate so young!" But Papa had countered, "Many people do, and they have beautiful stories. You have to trust that our Charles will meet his perfect match tomorrow." And then there had been an icky noise, like kissing, and Charles had flushed the loo quickly and ran back to his room.)

Now, with the beautiful blue eyed boy standing in front of him, Charles thinks of Papa's words again. Our Charles will meet his perfect match tomorrow.

Charles thought it would be a girl who really liked karting, but this is even better. This is a boy who wins at karting, because he's holding a trophy in both hands and grinning like he couldn't be happier.

Of course Charles' perfect match would be someone who wins at karting. It's only right, because Charles also wins at karting.

Charles clears his throat. "Hi," he says shyly, and the blue-eyed boy jumps.

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there," he says apologetically, and then he laughs. He has a nice laugh, Charles thinks - like he knows how to have fun. "You are a bit short," the blue-eyed boy adds, and hey.

"Hey," Charles protests. "I'm tall for my age. I'm seven."

"Well, I'm nine," the blue-eyed boy says, like that's the most impressive age in the world.

It is a bit impressive, but not very, because Lorenzo is much older than that. Still, it is a little scary - Charles is only seven. What if this blue-eyed boy doesn't like him because he's only seven? Older kids can be mean like that.

No, he is your perfect match, Charles reminds himself. This blue-eyed boy won't be mean to him, because that's not how perfect matches work.

Charles takes a deep breath, then he sticks out his hand. "I'm Charles," he says.

The blue-eyed boy takes his hand, and it feels... weird. A little bit like when you get shocked by static electricity.

Charles giggles, unable to stop himself, and the blue-eyed boy smiles, as though he likes that.

"Hello, Charles. I'm Pierre," he says, squeezing Charles' hand. His eyes widen a moment later. "Oh! You've met your soulmate?!"

Charles doesn't understand what he means. "Well, yeah," he says. "It's y-"

And then he notices it.

Pierre's soulmate timer, right there on his wrist, right above where Charles is gripping his hand - it's still ticking.

Now, Charles doesn't know a lot about soulmates yet, but he knows that that's not good. Not good at all.

"I, um," Charles stammers, and then he does the one thing Maman and Papa said you should never do to your soulmate. Charles lies.

"I met so many new people today. I don't remember who it was."

Pierre's face falls. "Oh," he says, and he sounds unbearably sad for Charles. "But..." He chews his lip, shaking his head with a deep frown.

Then, mid-shake, Pierre's expression changes to one of determination. "I will help you find them," he says, with the kind of confidence Charles can only dream of when he's not on the racetrack.

He tugs on Charles' hand - which he still hasn't let go of - and Charles is helpless to do anything but follow.

They don't find Charles' soulmate anywhere, of course, and then Charles has to go win his race - but Pierre makes him promise that they will find each other at the next French karting event, and Charles will tell him all about his soulmate.

Charles promises, even though the idea makes his stomach feel all funny. I shouldn't be lying to my soulmate, he thinks, guiltily.

But Pierre's soulmate timer didn't stop ticking, and... that's not how soulmates are supposed to work.

The moment he's in the car with his father after the race, heading back home, Charles asks him about it.

Papa is quiet for a long moment, then: "Are you sure there wasn't someone behind Pierre, Charles?" he asks, in his careful, kind way. "Someone who's timer stopped at the same time as yours?"

Charles thinks about it for a moment, but even the idea of that feels - wrong, somehow. Like going into a corner and knowing you braked too hard, and you're going to flip the kart.

He shakes his head decisively. "No," he says. "It's Pierre."

He hears rather than sees his father blow out a soft sigh. Charles catches his eye in the rearview mirror, feeling confused and a little shaky inside.

When Papa sighs like that, it's never good news - it's usually something about sponsorship, which is a word Charles is already coming to dread.

It doesn't make sense how this could be about sponsorship, though. It probably isn't.

Charles waits for his father to gather his thoughts, like he needs to do sometimes to make sure he says exactly what he means. (It's something Maman keeps telling him he should try doing as well, but he's not so good at that yet.)

"You know how even the greatest racing drivers make mistakes sometimes?" Papa asks.

Charles frowns, but he nods. "Yes?"

"Sometimes the universe is like that, too. Sometimes the universe makes a mistake, and stops the timers too soon," Papa explains.

Charles frowns. He hasn't heard about that before, but he guesses it makes sense. It's true what Papa said - not even Senna was a perfect driver who never made mistakes. It makes sense that the universe is the same.

"But this doesn't mean you don't have a soulmate, okay, Charles?" Papa says before Charles can spend too much time thinking about the whole thing. His voice is firmer than Charles was expecting, and he reaches up to tilt the rearview mirror to see Charles better.

"It doesn't mean you don't have a soulmate," he repeats, like he doesn't want Charles to ever doubt that. "It just means it's going to be a little harder to find them."

Charles frowns, and he can't help but be a little annoyed. Isn't the whole point of soulmate timers to make it easier to find your perfect match?

It's just his luck that his soulmate timer doesn't work properly.

"I understand," Charles says, though, because he can tell it's important to his father.

Papa nods, but he keeps watching Charles in the rearview mirror for the rest of the drive, like he sometimes does after a race where Charles crashed the kart badly and he needs to keep making sure that Charles is fine.

Of course Charles is fine. He doesn't think this is comparable to a bad race at all! It's a little annoying, yes, but it's not that bad. It's just a bit of extra work, isn't it?

Charles shrugs his shoulders, glancing quickly down at the stopped soulmate timer at his wrist.

Whatever. Racing is more important than soulmates, anyway.

Almost twenty years later, Charles still says that to himself almost every day, even if he doesn't believe it with nearly the same careless seven-year-old confidence anymore: racing is more important than soulmates.

It is, because it has to be.

The thing is this: his father's explanation to Charles' seven-year-old self had been true - if a little oversimplified, and painted with an overt layer of kindness.

The truth Charles knows now is that there are two reasons, two categories, for people whose timers stop when the other person's keeps running.

One is, like Papa had said all those years ago, a simple case of mistaken timing - cases where the universe or fate or whatever controls it all stopped one person's timer a little too soon, or the other's a little too late.

It's harder to find each other in those cases, but it's still quite possible.

And then there's the second category. The unrequiteds. People whose timers stopped at the right time - when they met the person who would be their perfect match - except that they are not that person's perfect match in return. It only goes one way.

It's rare, but it happens sometimes. No system is perfect, after all - not even a system of soulmates.

For years and years, Charles tried to convince himself that he fell into the first category. His soulmate timer simply stopped too early, by some cosmic accident - but it's okay, Charles insists to everyone who asks and to himself as well, because what it's done is given Charles more time to focus on his racing instead. He's not constantly glancing down at his wrist and wondering when his timer is going to stop ticking - he can just get on with the racing.

He'll find his soulmate eventually, but on his own terms. There's nothing bad about that, surely.

Charles believes that. Really he does.

Except.

Except, if it's true and Charles falls into the first category - the mistaken timing category - then it would mean Pierre isn't his soulmate.

Pierre, who kept the promise he'd made to a seven-year-old who wasn't even his soulmate (because, yes, he had found Charles at the very next French karting cup, and he'd asked to meet Charles' soulmate - and when Charles had to admit that he still hadn't found them, Pierre had hugged him and told him not to give up and that he would find his soulmate someday. Pierre had held Charles' hand and explained that his parents almost didn't find each other, but they did. So it might take Charles some time, but that was okay, because it had taken Pierre's parents some time too, but now they were happier than ever. He'd been so convincing, firm but kind and absolutely sure of himself, and he'd made Charles believe it. He also made Charles smile, genuinely and truly, when he promised he'd stick by Charles' side no matter what anyone else said or whispered about his stopped soulmate timer.)

Pierre, who kept that promise about sticking with Charles, too. Pierre who never stopped being kind, and loyal, and the best friend Charles could ask for, whether he was seven or thirteen or nineteen or twenty-six.

Honestly, how was Charles supposed to not fall hopelessly in love with him?

He tried to deny it. For years and years, Charles tried to deny it - I will find my soulmate someday and it will all make sense, he'd tried to convince himself - but the thing was, what made more sense than Pierre being his soulmate?

It was roundabout the time of Pierre's first win (when Charles was standing under the podium in Monza with an aching back but a heart soaring with joy for his best friend despite the disaster of his own race) that Charles resigned himself to the truth: Pierre is his soulmate.

He has to be. Isn't a soulmate meant to be your perfect match; the person who understands you better than anyone and makes you happier than any other person in the world?

There's nobody else who could make Charles as happy as Pierre does. Nobody, nobody. There's no point in even trying to deny it anymore.

Pierre is his soulmate. But he is not Pierre's.

And that's okay. It's okay.

It has to be.

It isn't okay, not really, but that's true of a lot of things in Charles' life, and he's learned how to deal with them. He can deal with this, too.

On the whole, Charles thinks he does a pretty good job of dealing with it. He gets to be Pierre's best friend, after all - isn't that just a different kind of soulmate? True, Charles might want more, but it isn't like he has nothing. He has Pierre, and he will have Pierre for the rest of their lives.

Not in the way he wants, but - at least he will have Pierre.

The one thing he tries never to think about is Pierre's actual soulmate. Because Pierre has one, he knows, and he will meet them at some point.

Charles doesn't know how the hell he's supposed to look at some soulmate of Pierre's, and smile at her, and not be hopelessly, heartbreakingly jealous.

(He will do it, though. He will learn to smile at Pierre's soulmate - for Pierre's sake. He'll do it for Pierre.)

But that's a bridge he will cross when they get there. He doesn't have to worry about it yet (or at least, that's what Charles keeps telling himself even as the months tick by, and he knows there aren't year figures left on Pierre's soulmate timer anymore. Just months now, and then... weeks.)

Charles isn't thinking about it. He's put it out of his mind completely - which is easy enough to do, thankfully, given everything that's been happening on-track this season.

That's probably why he accepts Pierre's invitation to dinner in Montreal without thinking twice about it. (Even if he had realised, though, Charles doesn't think he would have been able to say no, either. He would give Pierre everything, if he only asked.)

So they go to dinner in Montreal, and it's perfect, and wonderful, and laughter-filled, and all in all exactly what Charles needed to distract himself from the fact that he has yet another engine penalty, and the sinking feeling that the championship is beginning to slip out of his reach.

Pierre seems to realise it, because he's in even finer form than usual - teasing Charles and tickling his ribs playfully and making him laugh at every possible opportunity.

Even on the drive back to the hotel: they stop at a red light, and Pierre steals Charles' cap, and Charles is giggling and filming it while Pierre is giggling back, and he's pretty sure neither of them are thinking about it at all, until-

Until Pierre's face changes from laughter to something almost ashen. "Charles," he says, and for all the years Charles has known him, he's never once heard Pierre's voice like that. "My soulmate timer just stopped."

For a few seconds, the words don't even register in Charles' mind.

Then they do, and Charles can feel his heart drop. "What?" he breathes.

His hands shake, and he doesn't even register the fact that the light has gone green as he glances all around them, craning his neck to see if there's anyone behind the white Ferrari, or around to the side.

Just a few minutes ago, their car had been surrounded by fans on all sides, all jostling to try and get pictures of them. But now, somehow, they're all alone in the Montreal night.

(The irony of it all is not lost on him - is this how Pierre felt all those years ago, when he was trying to look for Charles' soulmate at a karting cup, but not finding anybody it could be?)

"Are you sure it stopped just now? And not earlier?" Charles asks, willing his voice not to shake.

"Yeah," Pierre whispers. He sounds... devastated.

"But," Charles says, and then he has to take a deep breath. "But there's no-one else here, Pierrot."

"I know," Pierre says, somehow even softer.

Charles' fingers clench reflexively around the steering wheel, and he's moving in blank autopilot as he puts the car into gear and starts driving forward again.

He doesn't even realise he's shaking his head until Pierre says softly, "Charles." There's something wounded about it.

Charles stops shaking his head and slams on the brakes instead, jerking the car into something he hopes is a parking space at the side of the road.

"I don't understand," he says, far more calmly than he feels. "You can't - I can't be your soulmate."

Okay, maybe he's not so calm after all. But he doesn't think... he doesn't think anyone would be calm, in this situation.

Pierre makes a sound that could almost be a laugh, except that it sounds too strangled. "Do you know," he says, "that I have spent half my life wondering if the soulmate system got something wrong in my case? Because if you're not my soulmate, then who is? Who could possibly..."

Pierre does laugh this time, shaking his head. "You know, I asked to go out with you tonight for a reason. I knew - I knew it would happen tonight, so I needed to..." He swallows. "I needed to see you, one last time. Before I wouldn't be allowed to love you anymore."

It jolts through Charles then, what Pierre is trying to say. "Pierre," he breathes, and now it's his turn to say his best friend's name in a way he doesn't think he's ever said it before.

But Pierre's not finished yet. "I thought I could have one last night with you," he says. "One last night, before I had to say goodbye to my feelings, and try to love someone else."

My feelings. Try to love someone else.

Charles Leclerc is a lot of things, but an idiot is not one of them. He knows what Pierre is saying. He's...

Pierre loves him too. All along, Pierre has loved him too.

Only, he never had the option of thinking we're soulmates, Charles realised, and his heart twists in his chest.

Because Charles, for all that he accepted his soulbond toward Pierre was unrequited - at least he'd had the option of them being soulmates. Yes, it was in a twisted way, but at least he'd had that.

Pierre didn't. And he still fell in love with Charles.

The thought hits him like a shell-shock, and it's enough that Charles can only sit there for a moment, staring blankly, as Pierre continues talking beside him.

"I meant for tonight to just be a quick dinner together, something fun but normal for us," Pierre is saying, wringing his hands. "But I lost track of time. I always lose time when I'm talking to you, Charlito, I could talk to you forever - but the point is, I forgot to tell you I need to go back. I forgot that I was meant to meet my fucking soulmate tonight, because I was spending time with you, and - "

He takes a deep breath, and then he laughs again, leaning forward to drop his head into his hands. "I felt it happen, you know? I knew exactly when my soulmate timer stopped, because I could feel it, and it's - it was when I put that fucking cap on my head, Charles."

The cap that he's still wearing. Charles' 16 Ferrari cap.

Charles' hands shake as he reaches out to touch it, just the brim. "Your soulmate timer stopped when you put my cap on," he says, because a part of him still can't believe that this is real, that he's not living in some kind of heartbreakingly wonderful dream.

Pierre straightens up so fast that Charles is left with his fingers dangling awkwardly in mid-air. "Yes," he says, suddenly looking wild, "but this doesn't have to change anything, Charlito, I promise. I will still help you find your soulmate, and I will - I'll learn how to live with an unrequited bond, it's -"

"No!" Charles interrupts, half-throwing himself across the car to catch hold of Pierre's hands. "No, no, no, no. No more unrequited bonds, Pierrot."

Pierre starts to shake his head, but then he stops in the middle of the movement. "What do you mean," he asks, very carefully, "no more?"

And suddenly, Charles feels giddy, of all things. "I mean, your timer didn't stop when mine did. So for years, I have thought that we can't be soulmates, or at least that you couldn't be my soulmate. But now your timer stopped when you put on my cap, so -"

"Stop, stop, stop," Pierre says, squeezing Charles' hands tightly. "What do you mean, my timer didn't stop when yours did?"

"Oh," Charles says, and then he winces, the weight of the only real lie he's ever told his best friend (the only real lie he's ever told his soulmate) settling onto his shoulders with uncomfortable heaviness. "Um. Well. Do you remember when we met, and you thought I already met my soulmate?"

"No," Pierre breathes, but it's not the kind of no that says "no I don't remember." This no is more like "no way."

"Yeah," Charles says, and he can't help but look down at his own wrist, where the soulmate timer has been stopped for years and years. "My timer stopped the moment I met you, Pierrot."

"You..."

Pierre doesn't look like he knows how to finish that sentence, but Charles understands him anyway. "How was I supposed to tell you? I was seven, Pierre, and your timer didn't stop. I thought it was a mistake for years."

"But?" Pierre asks, like he can tell there was a but.

Charles beams at him. "But, I realised that there was nobody else who could be my perfect match. So I thought you were my soulmate after all, but it was unrequited."

"Never," Pierre says with a fierceness Charles doesn't expect. "Charles, never. If I knew... if I thought I had even half a chance, I would have been with you anyway."

Charles tries to laugh, but it comes out all breathless. "No you wouldn't."

"Yes, I would," Pierre argues, and his voice is heartbreakingly sincere. "I don't care. I would have chosen you."

Charles hears a punched-out noise, and it takes him a moment to realise it came from him. The next moment, he's unbuckling his seatbelt and climbing awkwardly over to sit on Pierre's lap.

It's not quite comfortable, because for all its luxury, the white Ferrari does not have a lot of leg space - but Charles doesn't think either of them give a single fuck, in this moment.

"I love you," he tells Pierre, reaching up to cup his cheek. "I've always loved you, but I never would have stood between you and your soulmate."

"Funny," Pierre says, his hands coming up to grip Charles' hips, "because that's exactly what stopped me from kissing you senseless."

"Well," Charles says, and if he grinds down just a little on Pierre's lap, he'll swear to everyone who asks that it was accidental. "It doesn't have to stop us anymore."

"Never again," Pierre agrees, tightening his grip on Charles' hips. "Never."

"So kiss me senseless, please," Charles whispers, and then he adds "soulmate," and that's what does it. Pierre surges up and kisses him, wild and desperate and more than a little clumsy, but without question the best kiss Charles has ever had. His own cap digs into his forehead a little, but Charles can't even bring himself to care about that - they owe too much to this cap now, honestly.

Maybe the universe does know what it's doing after all, Charles thinks. Maybe the universe just wanted to write a good story for them. A story that goes like this:

Charles' soulmate timer stopped when he was seven years old, and he met the boy with the bluest eyes he'd ever seen.

Almost twenty years later, Pierre's soulmate timer stopped in a white Ferrari in Montreal, and Charles finally got to kiss the boy with the bluest eyes he's ever seen, the man who is his best friend and his soulmate.

The odds of it working out this way have to be... a million to one, probably, or maybe even less.

But then again, what are the odds that two boys who met at a French karting cup and became friends with a shared dream would both make it to Formula 1?

Maybe the answer is just that Pierre and Charles have always liked beating the odds.

(50 Romance Prompts Ask Meme) <- not currently taking more prompts, sorry!

#50 romance prompts meme #piarles #piarles fic #myfic #soulmate timers au #*me writing this to try and banish my writers block* so it's just going to be a short little drabble!#you can tell i am a scuderia ferrari fan and delusional because LOOK what happened lmfao #i don't think you could call this ''short'' in any sense of the word #in fact it probably belongs on AO3 #OOPS #but i love it #i love it SO MUCH #we are so back babyyyyy #(like any good ferrari fan i fully expect to be saying ''it's so over!'' a week from now)#(but let's enjoy it while it lasts!!)#(SOULMATE PIARLES BABYYYYY)#(posted at exactly 16:26 my time too! this makes me smile <333)

54 notes · View notes

kingdomheartsmarts · 2 months

Note

Is it possible to request Xemnas with an s/o who is afraid of thunder and goes to him for comfort with he's busy working? Pretty please and thank you. Of course you're always free to toss this ask out if you'd like lol. 😘😘🫠

congratulations, this was the ask that pulled me back into kingdom hearts and got me to re-read the manga. This is a bit rusty but I hope it’s still enjoyable.

Thunderbolts & Lightning - Xemnas/Reader

The roll of thunder vibrates through the walls of the castle, turning white stone trembling, pulling you from your peace as your heart races you awake and painfully aware of the war of rain plummeted down on the castle windows. Perhaps without the rolls of thunder this might be a peaceful night, to be pulled into a deep slumber where there is no worry, but with the deep tremors that seemed to shake the darkness, that wasn’t happening.

The bed is empty. It tends to be that way, and it normally wouldn’t bother you, but not on this night; not on a night were there doesn’t seem to be a logical escape from what scared you. Not tonight. Not with this thunder.

Pulling yourself from the almost-too-white sheets, that glowed even in this thick darkness, you pulled a loose.. something over you, something that had been long forgotten on the desk, and retreating to the hall.

It was a bit redundant to actually walk in the Castle that Never Was, seeing as most got around in dark corridors— which was the most efficient way to travel— but this time it was for the fact the halls were on the interiors of the castle, shielding you from any window and muffling the rumbles of thunder when they came, all leading you to an ominously unmarked door. Well, normally unmarked. Sometimes someone would tape a dumb sticky note to it then have Xemnas appear in their room in the middle of the night. Normal boss behavior.

Your knock on the door only had a moment to vibrate though the… well, whatever material the doors are made of, for a dusk to appear beside you, cocking its head at you before disappearing again, the door cracking open for you, allowing you inside.

“Xemnas?” Your voice softly calls out into the room, only lit by the dimmest littlest light the storm was letting through its clouds.

There is a pause— the soft scratch of a pen abruptly stopping as a book is closed and shifted to the side.

“It is you, then. Come in.”

Your feet are soft steps, timid even, in the darkened office, an invisible path leading you to his chair and desk.

“What is it you need?”

Xemnas doesn’t look up to you— his amber eyes practically glowing— as he shuffles papers around on his desk.

“I need to be in someone’s company,” You murmur, leaning against the desk, trying to get into his line of sight.

“What is the occasion for that request?”

“I’m not enjoying the thunder.”

That admission makes his eyes meet yours, a mechanical blink being a response, his gaze briefly leaving yours to look at the storm outside.

“We have weather like this quite often here.”

“I know. It’s the thunder though, I don’t like it.”

With a soft noise of what can be assumed to be understanding, he pushes himself back a bit, exposing his lap.

“Come here then. Sit with me.”

You move swiftly, straddling his lap quickly as he lets out a soft, almost endearing, chuckle at your action, one of his sturdy arms wrapping around your lower back, your front against his as you rested your skin against his shoulder, cushioned by a drape of his hood.

Another roll of thunder rips through the walls, your grip on him tightening in response, his hand on your side hugging you to him gently rubbing, a soothing measure from a being who theoretically couldn’t soothe. A bit of warmth radiates from the leather to your skin, keeping you pressed against him in a warm comfort, his arm around your lower back weighty. He adjusts, pulling you ever closer to him as your head is closer to his neck, fanning his skin with your breath, a gentle weight on the top of your head as he rests his jaw against you.

“The thunder cannot harm you.” Xemnas quietly notes, his voice confident as usual as his volume lowers.

“I know, it’s just… I guess its a memory of being afraid of it.”

“Yes, but I find it more logical for it to be startling, not a fear.”

“How so?”

“It is a warning. It is not what can hurt you. It is warning you of what can.”

You slightly readjust in his grasp, relaxing a bit more.

“I suppose you’re right about that.”

Xemnas hums an affirmative noise.

“Rest now. I have you with me.”

#xemnas #xemnas x reader #xemnas kh #x reader #kingdom hearts #kh #ask box #organization xiii #kh2 #side note i reread the days manga and i think i got his characterization right #i hope #also i want you to know i'm fucking stupid and couldn't find the inbox tab on the desktop site. it's. it's right there. on teh side bar.

24 notes · View notes

reilliane · 2 years

Text

Withering ✤ 4NEMO

A/N: [cough] it's officially here - welcome! withering >:) ready to be thrown into childhood angst? let's go!

✤ "This indicates a dialogue in flashback."

Read: Prelude to Withering - Fleur - Epilogue

Words: 13k

Fairytales, an invitation to a whole other world.

Those collections, stacked and compiled in parchment are what keeps you up at night. It’s a miracle that your eyes haven’t gone bad what with the number of times you’d read them even when the lights are out.

Can you be blamed?

In an orphanage, where a ‘mother’s’ attention cannot linger on a single child for so long, what else is there to accompany you but the fantasies in a book?

For as long as you can remember, the twins have been a part of your growing years. It didn’t start off with a nice footing, but not everything starts off well, doesn’t it?

What matters most is the journey that is shared ahead.

You’re delighted to say that the venture is a one of a kind—a wonderful one.

Oh, if only it stayed that way.

Kaeya is the first one to depart your splendid fairytale, the boy older by a couple of years, the one who had nothing but an array of tricks up his sleeve.

He may be infuriating to be around with and he may often steal your snacks away, but he’s the best older brother figure—the only brother figure—you can ask for.

Ah, woe, for he was as transient as a passing traveler who aided a hero.

Promises entwined by pinkies are left empty, forgotten along with the light of the setting sun as he’s whisked away in a black [carriage] vehicle.

Though he had gotten a brother that day, one with hair and eyes as pretty as fires and rubies, he always said you will be his first ever sibling.

He’s always been sappy, that Kaeya. Sometimes it is too much, but nowadays you wish you can see him again if it establishes the chance to chat in retrospect of long ago.

With his departure, however, comes the arrival of a pair of boys you didn’t expect to be so fond of. It had been a terrible meeting, but you believe that if it didn’t happen, if you weren’t feeling so lonely in the orphanage and thus ran away… you wouldn’t have met them, then.

Enclosed in a world of your own, within the playground you used to frequent with Kaeya ever since you were maybe three, you remember whimpering atop the slide.

You weren’t particularly loud and you were certain that there wasn’t anyone, but all of a sudden you had been pushed off the slide.

A brusque shove that was, one that resulted in scrapped knees and a damaged pride.

Looking back, you can only wince when you recall being reduced to twice the number of tears you’ve been pouring. It had been a vulnerable moment of yours—yet it still ended up being a time that grew to be one of the most memorable, nevertheless.

The noises and shouts were scary, so you rushed to hide in one of the colored tubes in an attempt to salvage what’s left of your dignity. And maybe continue your tears in peace.

But the universe hadn’t planned for that. Not at all.

“I said I was sorry, didn’t I? Stop cry—ow!”

Bearing the same face, eyes, hair—even their voices are the same. They’re identical twins.

So similar.

“That’s no apology!” chided one, “Sorry about him. You can play with us if you want!”

“What?!”

Yet coincidentally different at the same time.

It’s like looking into a crystal pond, or a magical mirror. You have been captured by fascination at first glance that your tears have stopped.

You’ve never seen twins before—how can it be possible, for them to act as though they are one, but are actually split into two?

“What’s a better way to say you’re sorry then, hm?”

They bickered back and forth, adding kindling to an already growing fire, but as young as you were back then—you could tell that they didn’t really hate one another.

Somehow, they resurface the memory of Kaeya and how he’d engage in harmless squabbles with you.

Trembling lips and muffled sniffles took their attention, quick to defuse whatever argument they were having, and started to introduce themselves. One less eager than the other.

“I’m Venti, that’s—hey come on.”

A radiant stare, you’d describe it as sparkly then.

“Zephyrus.” Then came a much more mellow shine, yet brilliant all the same. “Just call me Zeph.”

They weren’t the sun and the moon, those two.

No, they’re both a single star, bedazzling in their own way. One does not and never outshine the other, they attune and coalesce as a singularity with such perfection that sometimes, you forget that there are two of them.

That day, for the first time, you’ve befriended children your age. Those at the orphanage always deemed you too eccentric or mischievous, so ever since Kaeya left, you tend to yourself alone. It isn’t a problem, but you can’t deny the loneliness.

The twins’ arrival eased said lonesomeness, but you don’t see them again after that fateful day. At least not until a year later, when the pages elapsed into a brand new chapter in your little fairytale.

“Congratulations on finally getting adopted, cookie.”

You were seven when he returned, that lopsided smirk still beheld by his visibly older visage. His hair was longer and for some reason, one of his eyes were bandaged, but he was still Kaeya, and he came with a pack of cookies.

The same brand he used to steal under your pillow when you were four.

Try as you may to hold a grudge, it was impossible—not when someone was about to take you in and Kaeya finally appeared after so long.

“You didn’t come visit.”

“Aha, my bad, my bad. It turns out that we live so far from the orphanage,” oh how you wish to relive the feeling of him ruffling your already messy hair. “But hey, I’m here now, aren’t I? Are you sending me off?”

“No.”

What you’d give to see the brother figure who knew and held you at your worst.

“Kaeya,”

“Will I see you again?”

Until the present day, you think of his possible whereabouts, but sometimes people just don’t want to be found.

“Why not, cookie?”

And you eventually learned to accept that.

It was a difficult feat, for Kaeya was such a figure in your childhood, but you managed to pull through. Besides, it wasn’t like he dropped off the face of the earth. A text or two drops in your inbox when you least expect it.

They are filled with the same, empty promises of a reunion, but you learned not to care as much as you initially did—Kaeya had always been like that.

And so came his final leave, never will he show up inked in the pages of your tale again. With the surcease of the first few chapters is the departure of your very first friend.

That’s fine—after all, weren’t some people meant to be deciduous?

They come and go, adding meanings that lasts the entirety of the book’s plot. Perhaps Kaeya is just the same… even if you refused to accept it in the beginning.

But maybe you simply thought of him as such to cope with the fact that not once had he ever appeared again. It was only letters in a screen, it wasn’t him.

And so, you continue to saunter about your tale.

A new chapter, a new premise, a new beginning.

A new family.

And, excitingly enough, a new place to live in!

The house was nothing like the ones you’ve read and seen in picture books. Not in Cinderella’s story nor Rapunzel’s, no, it appeared more like the castles where they got their happily ever afters.

You remembered thinking if you jumped several chapters ahead—surely, you weren’t supposed to live at a pretty castle so quickly, right? Ah, but you were young and were a dreamer.

Fairytales were called as such for they were imageries of a dreaming writer.

You were not a princess-to-be. Or so you thought.

You were just a child who refused the growing straits of the world, locked in a world of her own. Perhaps if you had chosen to wake up earlier from your petty phantasm, reality wouldn’t hurt as much as it does now.

Sure, there had been some cushion to soften the impact of falling into the real world, but your point still stands.

Even when multiple crucibles have befallen when you were a child, you remained an optimistic dreamer.

“Father!”

The idea of having a father—a parental figure that hopefully pays attention—was comforting.

Though there weren’t many descriptions and narrations of parents in the protagonists of the stories, they always end up having someone to rely on in the end.

Maybe, you thought then, the one who adopted you would be that pillar of support?

“No.”

Yes, no.

“No need to call me father.”

You couldn’t understand why he told you that it wasn’t necessary to refer to him as one—after all, wasn’t he your dad?

He looked the part, he even looked like a modern king! Adorned in a navy suit, oh, how you could imagine the crown atop his head and the scepter on the other!

His office would be decorated with elements of antiquity, quill pens, scrolls, banners… and the minty scent will instead be one of woody musk and parchment. Granted, even without imagination, the whole room looked as if it was out of a modern fairytale, you simply could not help but envision everything in an older fashion.

“Are you sure she’s the sharpest tool in the shed?”

“Certainly, sir,” assured a woman at his side, his [page] secretary. “Personally recommended, as well.”

You didn’t know what that saying meant then—you weren’t a tool as far as you were aware, but you did do well in the monthly tests the orphanage hands out.

Golden stars adorned the back of your notebooks and it was something you weren’t shy of showing!

“Alright, then.”

Excitement was meant to be felt.

Weren’t you about to greet the parent you’ve been hoping to have ever since you figured out what the word ‘orphan’ means?

Kaeya was indisputably glad when he saw the family who took him in—and he was smiling when he left. You were the same. You finally fulfilled one of your early dreams! You have a parent.

You have a home.

“Hello there, [Name].” though his smile was genuine, it didn’t reach his eyes. “Welcome home.”

Home—is it truly a home?

It’s more than what an orphan could ask for, that’s for sure.

Although it doesn’t seem like one at all [a home]. You’ve read about this in books, what’s the tale again? The Little Mermaid? No, Cinderella? That sounds more likely.

Ah! But Cinderella lived in a house where she was unwanted, living only to serve as a maid, whereas you were tended to your every whim. With a servant at your beck and call, and sweets to eat whenever you so desire. It needn’t be said that you’ve taken advantage of the latter.

Sweets!

But oh, you realized one day however, as you were eating a cookie in a room that was thrice as big as the one you had in the orphanage. There’s no one to share it with.

But nevertheless, they are good things—blessings, privileges that not all have the luxury to claim.

You’ve been promised leisure, all for a single duty in exchange; to take over the seat of chief executive officer when you’re right of age and to merge with a business partner.

You did not know what that entailed for you weren’t even at the appropriate age to discuss ‘diplomatic affairs’, but someone said that a whole life was planned ahead, jotted in notes and pinned in boards for you to view and embed in your mind.

It sounded magical, for to merge with another business implied the need for marriage.

‘Was it the happy ending those princesses got? Marriage, is that the word?’ Yes.

Contracts were feasible, but for some reason, a ‘tying-the-knot’ sort of action is preferred by current head of both companies.

They’re so old-fashioned. Now, you’re rather perturbed by it, but when you were just a child confined in her faux world, it was heavenly. [And later stifling].

Because marriage… does it not lead to a happy ending… most of the time?

You should be happy. You’ve seen photos of the boy you’ll soon call husband—though you’ve never really met him face to face. He was older, around Kaeya’s age, maybe. Blond with pretty blue eyes, like Cinderella!

In front of the huge mirror in your room, dressed in frills and ribbons that you asked for and received without a moment’s delay, you were a soon-to-be princess. Sometimes a maid would indulge in your play and even place a crown on your head and play tea party.

By the end of the day, that crown would lay askew and would find itself among the rest of the toys you were bought—but sun after sun, it was almost like you could still feel its weight.

It was the weight of responsibility—but such a fact remained unknown years ago.

Yes, perhaps your glorious father—you heard he rules over a kingdom [company]!—may not be as attentive to your whims and everything, but you were vowed an ending in which it would reflect the ones you’ve dreamt of.

In a decade and years’ time, you would be the princess you sought yourself to be.

Oh how you can laugh. It isn’t wrong to dream, per se—for little girls do dream of bejeweled crowns, pretty gowns, and a prince charming.

But if you are to say something to your seven-year-old self, it would be to stop indulging in hopeless fantasies… even if it was difficult to do so. [It was in a child’s nature to think of the impossible].

Truth be told, albeit you were a child, the logistics and intended plan for your whole life made it impossible to remain naïve even if you were trying to.

Affection may not be your father’s strong suit, but he was kind and he never failed to be munificent. That said, he was stern in your upbringing, meticulous down to the tee. He made sure that you were aware of what you were meant to do when the time came.

Who you were meant to be.

And the more you were exposed to these responsibilities- these prides, and sensibilities, no matter the age… the less inclined you were to be in the lull of a fantasy.

That was until you were officially allowed to go to school… and so, your worlds collided for the second time.

“Haaaah!” they were just as surprised as you were and to be honest, you didn’t know if they even remembered you—a solid year or two had passed.

But after your pretty teacher told you to go pick a colored table you liked—there were plenty; red, blue, violet, yellow, and green—one of them was already beckoning you over. Bright, he was still bright and beaming that he put the yellow paint of the table he’s at to shame.

“[Name], here, here, come sit here!”

Ah, so they did remember you.

There were no other children at the mansion of your father—despite him saying that what’s his are yours, you still feel a bit reluctant to do so—which means there was no one to entertain and play with you.

Except for some maids and servants, of course, but it wasn’t like they could just drop their obligations and responsibilities to play dolls with you.

Venti was more than welcoming to your arrival, erupting into excited blabbers about miraculously becoming classmates after having not seen each other in so long. He talked as if you were close—which, in truth, wasn’t really the case.

You had only met once the year prior.

“Fate’s—um, design! Don’t you think?”

Zephyr was pragmatic for his age, scoffing at the fatuous idea of his twin chalking it up to fate that you ended up being a part of their class.

“That sounds silly.” He chided.

Long, long ago, you were offended by what he said—there was nothing wrong with dreaming and choosing to believe in fate, right?

There was something indescribably beautiful in such a concept that eight-year-old you were more than peeved about his answer.

Yet, in the present, you just wish that you could’ve been more realistic like him. Alas.

Those twins may be each other’s parallel—and you may have unexpectedly cut in their life without warning, but the match wasn’t particularly awful. In fact, you got along with them well. Terribly well.

Zephyr may be rough on the edges and was marginally a bully but Venti always was there to keep in check with a giggle and a harmless knock to the head.

The latter always mentioned that the behavior stemmed from their frequent clashes with their cousin who lived in the countryside.

You never met that cousin—not until years later—but if Zephyr’s attitude was told to be almost similar to that relative of theirs, then they’re without a doubt a rowdy bunch.

It wasn’t difficult to overlook the common jibes given that he didn’t mean to be rude, and besides, you three were mere children back then who only knew how to have fun.

There were times when scuffles happen, of course, such as when Venti chose to steal your [c] crayon and you almost cried.

His twin—ever the mischief himself, too—told you to simply do the same, so you did, and stole all of Venti’s crayons, leaving only the ugly brown one in the box. You had a good laugh at the expense of your cheeks being pinched until they were as red as apples.

That, and the secretary of your father had to be called to the principal’s office because that tiny scuffle ended up being a tear-jerking argument.

For some reason, the principal apologized on Venti’s behalf, saying that it wouldn’t have started if the ‘troublemaker simply stayed put’.

You learned something that day after wondering why it was only your guardian who showed up.

The twins’ parents were working overseas, so they were being cared for by a different person—you heard it was their aunt. But she couldn’t go since she was hospitalized.

The principal mentioned that it was the lack of proper ‘guidance’ that led to Venti’s trouble-seeking nature, something that Zephyr thrashed around for in denial. He said it wasn’t true, and that the both of them have always been pesky troubles even before their parents went abroad.

You could tell back then that the principal wasn’t having it, though.

You later understood why; and it was because the pair have pulled a devious prank on said principal. Understandable.

In the end, much to your surprise, the twins weren’t the least bit irked—perhaps a little while ago, but that was in the moment itself—, saying that they were used to the treatment. They tell you about their wonderful aunt, however, and said that she’s a godsent angel for them.

She intrigued you, so it was unfortunate that you couldn’t meet her a lot of times.

The first time you did was at the end of the year during the accepting of certificates for a student’s job well done. She was practically glowing, incapable of wearing a frown and the way she carried herself was so, so much like a—

“Pretty princess!” your guardian could only smile in secondhand embarrassment as that woman stared, pretty eyes blinking in recognition.

Zephyr choked and Venti grinned. He was mirroring your enthusiasm and all but squealed, “I know right!? Auntie Gui is the best!”

How was it possible for someone so perfect to be in this world? She was everything you were striving to be that you found yourself copying most of her mannerisms.

It was only a matter of time until you learn of ‘noble etiquette’ as she certainly did!

Albeit it was a childish thing to do that would annoy most at worst, but for that cherubic woman, she was only flattered.

You couldn’t remember much of her or how she even looked like, but it was her words that struck a chord within; they were nothing short of inspiring. It needn’t be said, too, but it was obvious that the brothers were truly fond of her, as well.

“If you believe and put your heart into it, I’m sure whatever you dream of will come true.”

What if you wished to find happiness? Getting married to a stranger [prince] sounded magical and terrifying at the same time.

You were getting old enough to understand that maybe… maybe, you would not feel that fairytale spark when you meet him for the first time like in those books and movies. What happens then? You would be robbed of a happy tale.

Confined in an ending that was chosen by fate.

All of a sudden, the idea of an arranged marriage was no longer appealing—and you began to show more reluctance.

Of course, you hid it to the best of your abilities. But the fact remains that you were but a child, still [one who has turned nine] and children were translucent like glass.

In the midst of the adults whose experiences have shaped them to be shrewd and discerning, you were no match under their scrutiny.

Mainly, your father’s.

You felt bad. Really.

It wasn’t in your intention to think so heavily of a future yet to come, but ignoring it otherwise was impossible. The moment you arrived in that stellar mansion, your story had already been written and planned ahead.

One should be happy that your life was so carefully arranged. It meant absolutely no worries about which path to take and which option to choose, but for some reason, it was so… stifling.

Were fairytales meant to be like that?

The question stayed in the headspace for a long amount of time, lasting the coming years and creeping in when you lost yourself in a reverie.

If those princesses knew that their lives were planned, would they feel trapped?

One time, you were playing dodgeball with the whole class and you made the mistake of seeing an older pair of students walking together in the path by the courtyard.

Yeah, you were hit by a ball that day and had a rather painful bump since your fall was nothing short of excruciating—but it was nothing too serious.

Funnily enough, it was Zephyr who had hit you and of course, being Zephyr, chided you for daydreaming instead of giving an apology. It only took a good smack at the back from his older brother to get him to say ‘sorry’, though, even when you insisted that it was truly your fault.

They didn’t believe any of it—which was understandable, given you were crying your eyes out from the pain and embarrassment of it all.

It only took a cheeseburger to calm you down, one that Venti could not comprehend why. Apparently, he disliked anything too cheesy, which was hilarious, since he was an avid lover of cheesy lines and flicks but couldn’t stomach cheesy food.

Digressing, ever since then, dodgeball fights consisted of the three of you in the same team, never being split. The twins were known for being utterly merciless with their throws and you could vouch for that any day, any time.

They were, however, merciful enough to graciously pull you to their side of the team—something that the rest of the class said was favoritism! And were they wrong? Nope, not at all.

“[Nickname]’s a very precious friend, that’s why! Bleeeeeh!” Venti reasoned one time as he stuck out his tongue, only to be met with a ball to the face.

A very precious friend.

It was the first time you were referred to as one, let alone ‘very precious’… oh how touched you were—and oh, how touched your face was from the ball that slammed against it, too! What did you say about daydreaming being dangerous?

That was obviously forgotten. Of course, for children were prone to making the same mistakes twice.

Rest assured, though, for you were both avenged by a tunnel-visioned Zephyr, who took out the opposing team without any difficulty. Seriously, he could’ve been a star athlete.

“There you two go again, lost in your heads! You’re lucky your noses didn’t bleed. You know how Tighnari is with his throws!”

A brusque star athlete, but it counts. It’s cliché, but deep down he’s a worrywart, you’ve lost count of the times both his aunt told you that; how what one twin lacks, the other fills in.

They are complementary siblings, though they do butt heads a lot.

They never outgrew their differences and similarities, sticking to what made them each to their own yet still retaining that ‘oh yes I’m definitely this guy’s twin’ vibe.

People around them had incredible difficulty trying to discern who is who, for the pair had a knack for impersonating the other—and they were good—but you never had any complications with it.

That was another thing you could flaunt to your peers, you supposed. Or well, you thought you were good—you didn’t know.

It wasn’t every year that you were their classmate, and it wasn’t always that the twins were in the same class, too. That did not deter the three of you from hanging out, however. Everyone knew that you were all attached to the hip.

There were things you could only disclose to them and vice versa, ergo the continuous bloom of fragile trust. It only grew with age.

And with the development of your ages and mentalities—so came the inevitability called adolescence.

A time of utter frustration in your case, for when you were prepubescent, the unloading of obligation and responsibility increased.

All of a sudden, the stack of fairytale books in your shelves lessened, replaced by tomes and subjects that were for adults; business management, communication—things that an eleven-year-old shouldn’t be studying that early!

The additional tutoring given by your father was spartan. It only ever flourished the seed in your mind, a mix of frustration, dubiety, and anxiousness. Was it possible to ignore? No.

Not when it was revealed that you would be wed at the young and tender age of twenty-five.

Twelve years away—it was twelve years away. [Presently speaking, five.]

If you were still eight, you would be bursting in excitement—because look! The fairytale ending you so desire was set in stone, you only ever need to prepare for it.

But you were no longer eight, but eleven.

Young, a child, still, but one whose eyes were already opened to the sense of duty. It was too fast, you were growing up too fast and you weren’t ready at all.

You were at a bad place at that age, constantly debating with your conscience who was no older than your mind, attempting to reason if your guilt was warranted or not.

Was it bad if you didn’t want your life to be scripted? Was it bad if you wanted to make your own tale and search for your own prince?

It was cringeworthy at worst, but boy, how you feel those questions resonate within.

You never spoke to your father about it—how could you, when he had done and given everything? You gained so many things an orphan could ask for and he only asked for one thing in return; cooperation.

Would you dare then tell him that you didn’t want to follow his plan when he had been nothing but good?

You were helpless. [You are helpless.]

You were torn—and you were trapped.

You shouldn’t be so dramatic over it, heavens above, you should be grateful! But you were only human, you were only a hopeless dreamer, you could not refrain from feeling even if you so tried.

It was only when you were in the presence of the twins that you’d forget the looming responsibility over your head. An invisible crown, resting on tresses of [c] as you once so desired when you were four.

But when you were four, you did not know that the crown was heavy not because of gold.

But because it carried an obligation; a duty to serve.

Maybe you weren’t a ‘princess-to-be’ because you’ve always been a princess all along, a royal with an intransigent future, a dreamer with a crown that could not be removed.

It was heavy and it still is, because at each waking moment you would be reminded of the day your tale will meet its end.

Pre-written, pre-ordained, something out of your control.

The twins were pretty scrupulous for their age then, being able to notice that you were under the weather for most of the time.

You supposed it was only natural for they’ve known you for years—and you liked to imagine that you knew them just as much.

What kind of best friend would you be if you don’t?

Venti was, understandably, the first one to ask you about it one afternoon, but you were much too irate then so you blew off his concern.

It was a terrible thing and although you felt awful and apologized, he brushed it off with his usual laughter, saying that you could just spill your problems when you were ready.

They didn’t pester you about it as the older twin promised—and you didn’t think it was possible to drown in shame and guilt until that very moment. Wasn’t it unfair?

You knew practically everything about the two but they, on the other hand, knew very few things about you in the years that you’ve become friends. Most they were aware of was that you were wealthy and that was it!

But you were scared.

If you told them your problems, won’t they think of you as selfish, too?

The three of you were at the age when you start to become more aware of the notion of morals, what’s right, wrong—what’s good and bad.

If you told them that you were just an orphan taken in by a man who wanted someone capable to take over the company and merge with another, that you didn’t really like the idea of being made to do things… won’t they think ill of you?

What if your friendship ended? What if they said you were a spoiled brat?

It did not help that these intrusive thoughts ate you from the inside out, gnawing without rest even when you were at the safety of the mansion—your home.

There was no one to talk to about it lest they start their critiques and you most certainly couldn’t tell father.

The chances of being returned to the orphanage… being abandoned… you couldn’t risk that.

You finally had a home, you had a family and everything you’ve wished for! All you had to do was suck it up and cooperate as your father wished. Surely, you would not give up everything that you were blessed with.

So, you kept those to yourself, those thoughts that knew nothing but to badger you day in and day out. Continuously beleaguered for the passing years, you persevered—and you thought, really, you thought that you could continue on like it.

Continue pretending that you favor the arrangement written by fate.

Come the age of twelve, you tried to breach the surface, tried to subtly tell your father about it—but his immediate displeasure caused you to refrain from proceeding.

The answer was as clear as day; though he gave you the freedom to choose which to study and what degree you’ll pursue in college, your life was settled.

It’s not like pursuing a different career would affect the plans—you would be reeled back in to take the seat of the head and the hand of a stranger in the end, anyway.

The more you grew, the more you became painstakingly aware of the ticking time. Like the clocktower in Cinderella’s tale, slow and gradual in the arrival of the golden hour, and when it comes, all magic will disperse.

Ah… maybe you should try to be like her, enjoy the time while it lasts.

That was the plan.

Well, until it was time to graduate from middle school, that is, for you had become thirteen, and when you rose to the stage with your father’s secretary, you saw the number of people in the crowd.

It had been a passing comment, innocuous and without any intent to perturb you. But it still did.

“Soon, you will face a crowd like this one. With your husband. Sir will be so proud of you, he will live to see his dream come true… and he’ll get to give you an even more secured life.”

You were wordless as you took your certificate, a simple word stamping in your mind as the teacher shook your hand.

Dream—it was your father’s dream to have a child and shape them to be the perfect heir to continue his legacy and to entwine with another powerful venture. Additionally, he had thought of your life along the way.

It was for his wish and at the same time, for the security of your life.

What was this? An endeavor to bring an orphan happiness?

“The Master grew to be very fond of you, mistress. He could not see you much, but he always asked about you.”

You knew your father wasn’t the most expressive about familial love, still, hearing someone divulge his true thoughts and intentions wrecked you.

Just a few years ago, he stated that it was not necessary to refer to him as ‘dad’, or ‘father’, or anything—but now he looked at you as his daughter. Someone he had learned to cherish and planned to give the best life to.

With those added reasons, how could you even begin to think of going against his wishes?

Guizhong mentioned once that parents plan a good future for their children, who would dislike them, unaware that it was for the best.

Was it not the same case with you?

You would embody the dream of your parent. That was fine.

So, even if you disliked the plan for your life… even if you wanted to write your own tale… you should just endure it. For the best, right?

It was all that could be returned to your parent.

You were in tears that afternoon, hiding away from the secretary and not returning to your seat so you could be alone with your thoughts.

The ceremony was far from being done but you could not risk bursting out into hiccups and sobs in the middle of hundreds of students.

In isolation only would you permit the weight of the invisible crown to drag you to the earth.

In the nearby playground by the swings, you hid. No one would think to look after you there.

And there at the swings, you thought about everything.

It was for you—and it was for your father.

If it was for the greater good and for your future, why must you run away from it? Teachers also did state that best of outcomes could only be attained through hardships and trials, through disdain and perseverance.

Was yours a similar case? Most probably.

Then… would it be possible to still be happy? Of course.

Life leads someone through ups and downs—surely, you would not remain down.

Surely, the invisible crown on your head would eventually be as light as a feather.

There were sacrifices to be made, but they were all for the greater good.

Stomaching that fact was hard… but it wasn’t impossible. If you looked at it in a different angle, it wasn’t so bad.

Who knows? Maybe the person you’ll marry would end up being the prince you’re searching for—maybe you’ll learn to be happy with the arrangement.

It wasn’t a concrete ‘yes’, it was just a ‘maybe’.

But ‘maybe’ is still a chance.

So, okay.

You’ll accept it—you’ll accept that you’re a character planned for a specific purpose. After all, ‘maybe’s still exist.

You still don’t like the arrangement, but you’ll tolerate it.

You’ll have to one way or another, anyway, you were simply resigning to it as early as now. Deep down, you knew you’d still long for the magic of writing your own story, and that was fine.

It wasn’t wrong to be a dreamer—no matter how hopeless one may be.

So there, you wept for the loss of the future you desired, you wept for the possibility of a crestfallen you in the years to come. You wept for the little confined princess within.

Ah.

What would Kaeya say if he was there?

Would he tell you to raise your concern to your dad? It sounds like him, he always had been confrontational and didn’t like beating around the bush.

He’d say that it was fine to feel selfish—he’s pretty selfish himself! Always stealing your cookies and promising to gift you when he visits, but those were empty.

But still—still, you wished he was there. Because even if he was a big bully of a brother figure, he was someone you found comfort in.

That time of twilight, you prayed—you wished for him to come.

It didn’t matter if he’ll tease you for crying, you just wanted to remember the way he’d do silly things to get you to stop crying.

And as if the heavens were listening, someone came.

“[Name]?”

But it was not Kaeya.

Your vision might be blurred from all the tears you had been spilling, but it was clear enough to discern that the blue hair of the brother you had been seeking was different. It was black—a friend’s.

“… Zephyr?”

The younger twin was openly gaping by the time your sight had cleared.

It was an uncharacteristic look on his face and he was pointing at himself—until he was shaking his head and heading to sit next to you.

“What’s wrong? You didn’t go back to your seat. V-“ he almost tripped, though he caught himself a quick moment later and sat on the swing. “Very worried. We were very worried.”

It was a simple question, ‘what’s wrong’. What was wrong?

So many things, so many things were wrong—but mainly, you felt that you were in the wrong the most. If only that selfish desire of yours would leave, then everything would be okay, wouldn’t it?

It was a simple question, but you couldn’t even answer.

“It’s okay,” his voice was surprisingly gentle. “You don’t have to say it.”

Ah they were so, so alike, weren’t they? They truly were twins.

All of a sudden, you were remembering the time you blew up on Venti for asking what was wrong—and your tears were bursting again.

You couldn’t bear to keep silent and confine them in the dark any longer, so as your tears spilled, so did the truths. Not a fraction was left unsaid; from your origin as an orphan, to being adopted and told of your planned life—everything.

Time was not an issue when you revealed all that you previously couldn’t, it was as if the setting sun was holding itself from dipping under the horizon so that the truths could proceed unveiling themselves.

At that moment, you did not care about what he’d think of you next. It was just too much to keep bottled inside.

You’ve overestimated your strength. You were still a child, and children were more vulnerable to breaking apart.

When all had been revealed, it felt as though you have flown into the open skies, unchained. In a way, it was true, for you had decided to break the thread that sewed your lips shut.

What was left now was to await the reaction of your friend. Oh, he’ll hate you for sure—he’ll say you’re asking for too much, that you should be grateful for what you already have, and-

“Eh? That’s constricting, isn’t it?” he grunted, “It sounds awful!”

To top your surprise off, he started going about how he thought of the situation; about it being unfair since it was technically thievery—that you were being robbed of a life.

His words faded in the background as you stared, eyes as wide as an owl’s.

He… doesn’t like it either? It was bizarre.

You didn’t expect such an outward expression from him at all, too—almost as though he feels the same conflicting emotions you’re holding.

With a shake of your head, you stammered out an apology, having lost once more to the enclosure of your thoughts. It must’ve been too silent though, because Zephyr was looking at you with a frown and a raised brow.

“Ah, I didn’t hear you. What were you saying?”

For a moment, it seemed like he was about to scold you—as always—for not speaking properly, but he just shrugged and started swinging back and forth on his seat, waiting for your answer.

He was being more considerate than usual.

Looking down at your twiddling thumbs, you repeated your apologies and chipped in a few of your own opinions. It felt safe to say more—not once has he judged you for speaking out, so…

“I said it plays a little differently from the fairytales I used to read.” You murmured, moving your hands to grip the rope on the swing before kicking off in the air.

“Wasn’t it Cinderella having a spontaneous Prince Charming? Snow White being rescued by a passing Prince? No arrangements, you know? And they get to live their lives however they wanted to.”

Love at first sight, was that what it’s called? It sounded impossible.

A story where it ends with the character gaining control of how they want to live afterward, it’s such a dream.

“It just feels… strange to have your happy ending planned. You get to live, but does it really matter?” the wind caressed your face and carried your whispers as you continued to swing, nearly straying from reality’s hold once more.

There was no response. His silence was prolonged for a while—then he snorted, bouts of stifles evidences of restrained laughter.

“Meaning, you want a stranger to sweep you off your feet or something?”

You spluttered at it.

To be fair, the one you’re to be married remains mysterious, no meetings whatsoever—you wonder why. Technically, that guy was a stranger… so the question was if he could ‘sweep you off your feet’.

You flushed red, digging your feet at the ground to stop the movement of the swing. But now that he puts it that way, doesn’t it sound a little scary?

“No,” you played again with your thumbs, voice small as you puffed your cheeks. “Just… I don’t know..”

Was it too selfish for you to want to search for someone on your own? To discover the mirth of finding someone you want to be with?

You don’t know why you’re worrying over this so much—you’re only thirteen! And you already accepted your fate!

You would carry your dad’s dream and live it out solely because it was his wish and it benefited you too. A life of power and stability. Really, the only thing you would lose along the way would be freedom.

It’s the fairytale book. Argued your conscience. Definitely.

Hah! So, it’s your fault for loving fairytales so much to the point that you are actively seeking it out in real life, something far from being magical? Ah yes, you can see where the fault lies—but still!

“I’ll take you away.”

“Huh?” you whipped your head toward him in astonishment.

The tips of your friend’s ears were red.

It was something thrown haphazardly into the fire. A sudden appearance that neither of you expected to surface.

Were you hearing things? You were, weren’t you?!

“I said I’ll take you away!” he all but exclaimed, kicking harder off the ground so he would be swinging a lot more. You wondered if he did it so you’d be unable to get a proper look on the expression on his face.

“Isn’t that what you want? For- for something spontaneous.”

No, you were not hearing things at all.

“You’re—” a lump was swallowed in your throat, palms starting to get sweaty you began to rub them away at your lap. “Doing it for show, right?”

Zephyr—the one child who loathed the idea of fantasies and was inarguably the sane, level-headed, pragmatic one out of the three of you- actually suggested such a thing?

Though yes, he had times when he indulged—involuntarily—in them, but-

He stopped swinging, giving you a dead set look in the eye that had you zipping your lips.

“It doesn’t have to be. Where’s the magic in that fairytale if it’s fake?”

Thump, thump.

All of a sudden, staring into his turquoise eyes felt suffocating, it felt heavy—surreal, flustering. It held a weight in your chest. You could not believe that he…

“You’d do that?” you whispered, breathless. For me?

“Well, why not? It’s like,” he hummed, “Saving Princess Peach or something.”

Ah.

It was as if the magic had snapped away in that instance.

Did he really just say that?

You were seconds away from laughing but the goofily serious expression he was wearing made you bite on your tongue. He always did carry a stern face but the way he mentioned that…

You didn’t expect… him to propose those things, but…

“You mean it?”

“You think I’m lying?” he countered.

You flinched, eyes widening again. He.. Zephyr… never really lies.

But—this was all still so…

For the second time, you tore your eyes away, head in a frenzy. Your palms were sweating like mad and your heart was racing as if you had just ran!

Was it normal to feel so shy when minutes ago, you were as normal as, well- usual?

A sigh.

“Take your pinky out,”

“Eh?”

He groaned, standing so he could position himself at your front. Then, he reached and yanked your wrist closer so he could align your fingers properly with his own. He kept ignoring your squirms.

“You’re slow.”

Without an ounce of visible hesitance, he linked your pinky with his.

Ah! Your eyes brightened, embarrassment forgotten, replaced by nostalgia and the memory of the similar action you used to do a lot with Kaeya.

A pinky promise… that’s what this was, wasn’t it? One to take to the grave.

“There, it’s a promise,” he gave your fingers a tug before letting go. “Now we’ll just have to wait for like, a decade and some years.”

“…”

Your cheeks started to grow warmer than usual… oh… was this alright?

Staring at the pinky finger that still clung unto the warm vestiges of another, your lips twitched, forming a shy, giddy smile.

It was useless—you know it was, that promise, but you believed in it anyway.

You have already accepted the future to come, you have resigned, even if it wasn’t favored. Nonetheless… the relief that he hadn’t judged you at all and even went out of his usual comfort zone to appease you was nice.

It felt nice.

It felt like you had someone to catch you.

“What promise?” came a voice, alerting the two of you about the newcomer.

“Venti!” he looked confused asyou beamed, hopping away from the swing so you could tell him all that had gone down, failing to register the frantic look that Zephyr wore.

There was nothing to be afraid anymore, you were certain that he’d react similarly—and he did! In one way more than one.

“He promised what?!”

Venti was thunderstruck in his exclamation, gaping widely as he shot a look at you and his twin back and forth. All attempts to construct a coherent sentence were met by failures.

You were too relieved to bother reading between the lines.

The twins were acting odd that day—perhaps they just woke up at the wrong side of the bed or something?

Still, when you parted ways with them, dolor was forgotten, and you met up with your father’s secretary wearing huge smile on your face along with a heart that felt full.

It was amazing how the littlest of comfort and most kiddish of promises could uplift your spirits. Perhaps all you needed was just a tad bit of assurance.

Deep in your bestrewed heart, a seed was planted. One of admiration.

Certainly, that promise stuck with you for days and for nights—you were happier, too.

Two of your best friends were in total support of how you felt and although it wouldn’t really help your future situation, it lessened the weight of your invisible crown.

It was bearable.

The bleak monochrome became less, replaced by heaps of color that spawned vibrancy in a life that you first thought would continue to be in a single bland hue.

Melodies of a waltz music you’ve memorized from hours of listening to—because what else was magical than envisioning a ballroom waltz?—were on an encore in your head.

After that encounter at sunset, the word ‘magical’ was certainly applicable to the prosaic reels of your everyday life.

One afternoon, when you were heading out of the school with a skip to your steps, painting every modern scenery into a grander medieval setting, you overheard the delicate sound of strings.

In a moment, you ludicrously thought that the music in your mind had manifested in reality and who knows? Maybe you have gotten a super power.

But that was much more impossible than your dad saying that your future marriage is called off, so you followed the source of the sounds—and you weren’t dismayed.

“Woah, you guys can play! That’s so cool!” how could you not been aware in all the years you’ve known them?

The music stopped.

Venti eased away from the chinrest of his violin, waving at you with the bow still held in his other hand. On the other hand, Zephyr kept his fingers at rest on the piano keys, expression blank.

“We usually play at some events! Hehe~” informed the older twin as you approached with a smile, one that was quick to dwindle in contrast to the speeding race of your heart.

For some reason, you felt a little shier than usual—was it because of that promise? You were kept awake the first few nights, unable to get some proper sleep because of it. This wasn’t normal at all, wasn’t it!?

“I heard the violin, it was amazing! And you play the piano really well, Zeph!” you grinned, pairing it with a clap. Oh, it felt like your heart was going to—

“Yeah.” He answered.

—… Burst.

Well, that was a bland response.

Your face fell, along with it your smile—he’s… being gruff. Not to find any fault in it since he always had been the personification of austereness, but- it felt like you were maybe hoping for something else.

You didn’t really know what.

A lightbulb flicked into life in your mind.

Oh, could it be that maybe he was thinking twice about what he said about that promise? It had been some time after that… It’s saddening, but you knew not to get your childish hopes up-

“Ow-! I mean, thank you.”

He corrected himself with a harsh pout. He still refused to meet your eyes—he was glaring at a snickering Venti—but even so, the smile was coming back on your visage full force.

Before you were even aware of it, you’re bouncing in place, giggling.

What was there to worry over?

“Why do you both play, though?” you beamed, curiosity genuinely piqued, “A hobby?”

You had heard Venti sing a couple of times in passing but not a time when he took it seriously. Because of it, you always thought that he just liked doing it as a pastime, so his answer caught you off-guard.

“We plan to be singers one day! Up there on a stage!”

He wore the brightest of smiles you’ve seen as he said this and though you were merely thirteen—you could feel it.

The genuine excitement, his adoration for a dream he yearned to achieve.

His twin also shared the same sentiment, though he evidently showed less avidness, there was no mistaking the sheen of eagerness over his eyes. It was sort of enviable, if you were going to be honest.

To have a dream so grand.

You only dreamt of being free and that was that.

“As a pair?” you pressed on.

You’ve heard of musical duos and even trios, so will it just be the two of them? They did operate blisteringly well together, so you wondered if they will stay as is or form some sort of band.

Venti was obviously more open to the notion of working with others, and Zephyr, not so much—however they would work around the possibility of being in a group was still unknown.

Venti shook his head, smile still on his face. “Nope! We have Xi—”

Riiiiiiiiiing!

The sound of the bell drowned and cut him off.

To this, Zephyr stood from his seat, pulling down the fallboard after a split-second skim of his fingers against the keys. “It’s dismissal. Time to go home.”

He was curter than usual—almost as if he was on edge, nervous- or maybe even upset. You didn’t know why, though he had been like so ever since you met up with them at lunch break.

You tried not to let the bad, bad thoughts insist that it was because of what he promised you.

He pushed past Venti, who called out for him to wait—to no avail.

“Um, maybe a cheeseburger will help him?” Guizhong often gave him one whenever he was being under the weather… and a lot said that food is a wonderful remedy to a bad mood!

Venti scrunched his nose at the mention of the food, mulling his thoughts about how his twin could tolerate the sticky, icky cheese.

At first, it was baffling how he—Venti—couldn’t bear to stomach anything cheesy, but now it was simply amusing.

Regardless, he did not set aside your suggestion about the ‘awful’ food, and invited you along in his little mission to brighten his brother’s spirits. You would’ve gone if you didn’t have an agenda after school, which was to take more private lessons according to your father’s orders.

It was sad but understandable.

You had only gone at least seven times at their house.

On the other hand, the times they had gone over to yours couldn’t be quantified even if one tried to.

That day, you parted ways with another seed, now of dismay, rooted in your heart. Try as you did, you could not abate the growing fear in your chest.

It was hard to convince yourself that promises could be taken back and that was fine—Kaeya had done it so many times—and though you were able to, it left a bitter taste in your mouth.

Fortunately, you were already used to those, so, albeit you subtly hoped that the promise would see fruition years from now, you did not continue abiding by the thought of it. It was cataclysmic.

Besides… the marriage was like, a ‘whole decade and some years’ away, so you had all the time in the world to continue being merry.

Well, that was what you thought.

If you can turn back time and tell younger you about the future, you’d warn yourself about the chapters to come. You’d tell yourself to be stronger.

But you were just thirteen then.

You had all but explored the ups and downs of becoming an adolescent with the twins, through the reigning awkwardness and the flustering shenanigans.

It was a journey destined to be embarked by a group of three.

Highschool was even larger venture that you thought would be roamed with your arms linked with theirs, and it was. Albeit, for a short while.

Most friends often deviate come highschool, they said it was a new chapter with new characters, but this failed to be the case with you.

Sure, you were not in the same classes any longer, but it wasn’t like that changed anything.

Only, they were getting more perceptive of the future they wanted, and yours was getting murkier.

Oftentimes, you felt like being left behind. Whilst they were moving forward, prepared like knights atop their horses, you were stuck in a prison cell.

In that dark confinement, you had all the time in the world to think of things—many, many things a thirteen-year-old would stew in. From the faraway future, to pesky puberty, and emotions.

You were growing up with a heart that you wore on your sleeve—and it knew only how to race in the presence of one. The seed of admiration had grown, blooming into a shy bud that seized your heart with its roots and caused it to tighten whenever you’d see him.

When you figured it out, you were deathly afraid, but understood that things such as feelings were one of the least serious factors that could strain your relationship with your friends.

It was a bond that could stand the test of time. You were that confident in it.

Everything may not be as transparent as it was before but it wasn’t like that was a major change.

At the oddest of times, you still would find out interesting things you wouldn’t know about them—like a novel that contained bits of details that one would only catch upon repeated readings.

“What flower is that?”

You asked one time during a festival hosted by the school, a rare occasion when you could leave classes and bond with the pair.

Everyone was in charge over different things, so it was a miracle that you were able to find the time to see them.

Venti was found in the school greenhouse, tending to the plants the gardening club had asked him to bring out.

There were pretty flowers all around—but the one he was trimming the stem of was the loveliest of them all.

A stark white, dipped almost with a shy gradient of viridescent. It appeared to belong in the lily family—you weren’t too sure, you weren’t an avid learner of plants and floras.

Instead, you were growing up to be adept with management and communications, as your father liked. It wasn’t bad, you sort of liked it, though you were influenced by the twins’ love for art.

The flower put a halt in your steps, bringing about an extra sense of awareness; specifically, the blooming flower of adoration that had started to grow in your chest.

It wasn’t something you expected to have nurtured over time.

You couldn’t even begin to recall how you grew to be so fond of him.

“A cecilia! Isn’t it pretty?” Venti looked up at you before he stood, aligning the flower to your ear with a grin. “Yup yup! My favorite, indeed.”

You chuckled, agreeing with a nod as you took the flora from his hand and giving it a look over. It really was pretty.

“Does Zeph have a favorite flower?” Venti shifted his stare from you to the patch of cecilias planted in their respective pots. Hands on his hips, he smiled a wistful smile.

“He likes these, too.”

Nothing to be surprised over.

Though you did wonder about the other’s whereabouts, they were usually together. You didn’t question it, but it seemed as though your friend was aware of the stewing question in your head.

“He’s busy running an errand for the student council so he wouldn’t be here until later.”

Ah, you nodded. I see.

Venti nudged your side, winking. “The festival doesn’t really start until four, I can come accompany you later after I finish these? You should go get some lunch. It’s midday.”

Ever the worrywart, this twin.

You appreciated his thoughtfulness, though. He probably saw you scampering around the hallway a while ago during recess with nothing but an apple in hand.

As if on cue, your stomach growled and you flushed, smacking your friend’s arm when he burst out laughing.

“Shut up! I’m going, I’m going.” You spun on your heel with a snort, “I’ll see you later!”

“Uhuh!”

You hadn’t seen Zephyr that day—not even the morning earlier. But that was fine, the three of you did agree to spend the festival together.

It was one of the few events that could be spent together in the school, an opportunity not to be missed.

You didn’t worry much.

But oh, you wish you did.

Come the strike of four in the afternoon, you were seated outside on a bench, reading a book that a good friend had suggested.

Almost avid in his quest to read all the materials in the library, Xingqiu had bestowed a very good book with the theme you were all over the moon for.

It wasn’t until later when Venti showed up, plopping onto the bench and throwing his head back with a sigh—almost as if he was out of breath. It was honestly funny.

The greenhouse wasn’t too far and he was that tired already?

You ought to tease him about it, but you were too engrossed in reading that a different question popped up instead.

“What do you think of fairytales?”

Without a wasted breath, he answered. “They sound stupid..”

Your head shot up, not expecting the answer at all. His head was still thrown back as he rose his hand and did a series of stiff motions, adding, “And by that, I meant stupidly romantic, you know what I’m saying? Hehe!”

Voice turning mellow, he sighed. “It sounds impossible to happen, but it still does, anyway. It may be cliché and all, but I guess that’s where the magic is… I think?”

You blinked—once, then twice.

It’s true—that magic can be found in incessant clichés, but that’s what makes them lovable… desirable.

Digressing, you had known that Venti was the sappy one out of the twobut not to this extent. It was admirable as it was funny.

That could only mean that he was serious about serenades being his form of future courting, emphasis on future.

“… Pfft- ahaha!” You playfully punched his arm, to which he yelped and straightened up to display a vexed pout. “What’s with you today and being so strangely gloomy all of a sudden? Are you still hung up over that brown crayon?”

He scoffed, though it couldn’t hide the lifting curves of the lips on his face. “Yeah! It was so uncool of you.”

It had been a running joke for years now to bring up the topic of the stolen crayon whenever either of you was under the weather.

It was definitely a naïve topic to reminisce, Zephyr would’ve lost his eyes from rolling them time and time again whenever it was brought up.

“It wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t take my [c]!” you stuck your tongue out only to shriek at the unexpected assault that came afterward.

“You deserved it!”

Venti ruffled your hair with a grin, ignoring your shriek and flailing limbs as he continued messing up your hairdo—which wasn’t anything fancy, but still!

It was a hectic day and it was a miracle in itself that your hair wasn’t sticking on ends… until now.

Other students’ eyes were naturally drawn to the both of you, a pair of chaos incarnates that huddled at a bench, but no one bothered, far too occupied with their duties for the afternoon.

It wasn’t until a passing teacher had come to scold and tell you to quiet down did you both apologize, sheepish in your mannerisms.

Now facing quietude with only the background noise of seniors and juniors running about the place, you slumped on the bench, glancing at your watch. It was half an hour until four, half an hour until it was time to reform the group of three.

Needless to say, you were both excited and nervous.

A glimpse towards the boy beside you as well as an agitated swallow was all it took to summon the courage to speak up again. You cleared your throat.

“Hey, Ven, I think I’m going to talk about something to Zeph later.”

He chuckled. “Don’t you always talk to him?”

Oh the woes of being a thirteen-year-old. You could do this.

Or not.

Your voice faltered, emitting a barely heard whisper. “I mean…”

That was more than enough for him to turn at you, eyes wide as saucers. With the heat spreading to your cheeks and ears, you didn’t need to look at a mirror to be aware that your face was becoming as red as an apple.

The twiddling of your fingers was another evident factor that spoke of your nervousness.

“… Oh.” He answered, just as silent.

He knew of what you thought of his brother because, as dumb looking as he may be, he was truthfully rather discerning. In fact, Venti was the one who was able to spell out how you felt with only a couple of questions.

When he first found out, he was excited.

“What do you think?” you asked, concerned.

So why was he acting off now?

He blinked, eyebrows furrowing in bewilderment. “What do you mean by that?”

What did you mean?

Perhaps you were looking for some moral support? The same one he had expressed come the initial revelation? Or… you didn’t know.

But it felt like you were going to burst the more you kept it inside—you cared not about the answer you would receive, you just needed to let it out.

“Well…” you looked down at your hands, “I think…“

How were you going to say that?

For someone who was taught rigorously in communications and management, your tongue sure loved to twist itself when it came to sentimental stuff. Dear heavens, was this another setback of puberty or something?

You’re just making up excuses now.

With a sharp exhale, you turned your head to look at him again, only, he was beating you to it with a troubled sigh. Fingers ran through his messier than usual tresses, giving them a firm tug as he gnawed on his lip. He looked more nervous than you were.

“Listen, [Name]-“

The ring of his phone startled the two of you into jumping, to which he curtly apologized before taking a peek at it.

It was concerning—how you saw his pupils dilate and his lips part open- until the colors were draining from his face.

Then came another ring—and another ‘till he was being spammed with calls that he was yet to pick up. His head and phone were angled away at the slightest, but you could see the panic rising to his face.

You rose a tentative hand to his arm.

“Venti?”

As though your voice was a wake-up call, he jerked upright, slotting his device in the pockets of his jeans before you could take a look at it.

His fingers were shaking as he regarded you with the palest face you’ve seen him wear.

“I—have to go.”

Already? What about the festival? It’s only a few minutes away from starting-?

Your visage must’ve already been showing the questions that were just about to roll from your lips, because he was already backing away—afraid, panicked, you didn’t know how to describe his retreat.

You hadn’t seen him looked so white.

“I’m sorry, it’s an emergency!” he called before sprinting, leaving you alone at the bench.

That afternoon, you may had felt worried, but it wasn’t too much.

Whatever the occasion, either of the twins never failed to let you in an update. Yes, the festival wasn’t that festive anymore because they both weren’t there with you… but that was fine.

It wasn’t.

You went home when the clock read seven and you were certain that neither were going to show up. That was the time you began to worry. Such a delayed response, but it was better to fret than never.

Not one of them picked up the calls, so you assumed that they were handling it well… hopefully.

They weren’t.

Even when the moon was already high up in the sky, there were zero replies.

It was then, that you truly began to be concerned. It was not normal, this duration of no contact, you weren’t used to it at all. You needed to know what happened.

You should’ve chased after him a while ago—but what if it was personal? No, it was okay, they would understand- right?

Sleep evaded your consciousness.

As you tossed and turned on your bed, gazing at the dark sky littered with tiny specks of white, you endeavored to bring yourself to a magical dreamscape—but it was an otiose try.

Not even reading the bunch of fairytales and storybooks in your shelves could allay the twist of trepidation in your chest.

You wished to receive a sign—a good one, or anything!

And lo, receive you did.

Your phone lit up on the bedside table before it started to ring, not like it mattered, for you were already swiping it to answer in a span of a second. Pressed against your ear, you called out the name displayed on the screen.

Breathlessly, anxiously.

“Venti?”

Nothing—just the distant sound of repetitive beeps and labored breaths.

It was a night to remember.

“[Name],”

And it wasn’t because it was good.

You can remember the way he responded to your second call of his name, so frail—so lost.

He’s crying.

He hadn’t said anything yet, but as if the organ keeping you alive was in tune with his, your eyes were already watering. The coldness of your room was becoming too much.

“I, he-“ a choked sob. “Zeph.”

You forced yourself to choke out an agitated, “Yeah?”

The quietude was deafening, the constant zoning out, the ceaseless beeping in the background- you were going to go insane in the darkness of your prison cell.

You debated saying his name again lest your words would tumble in with his, but he wasn’t saying anything and you were getting frustrated by the minute.

The tight grip you had on your duvet hadn’t even been registered until you felt a subtle stab of pain digging into your palms and you released it with a disgruntled, shaky exhale.

The roots of the flower you’ve nurtured within grasped away at your chest, seizing traces of air that you had trouble trying to wring in.

“Venti?” you try again.

And again.

And again—over and over and over until it was enough to snap him out of whatever had held him captive and-

“[Name], he—”

The world slowly began to still along with your freezing heart. Something slammed and the sound was loud, thundering in the ears like a judgement had befallen for all to hear.

So destructive, when in truth, it was only your phone that had rolled out of your grasp.

But it’s the same phone that heralded the terrible news—news you wished should be false, but alas. It wasn’t.

The tale you called life was warping into a nightmare.

It was his turn to say your name, reverberating in the walls of your room. But, just like he had been a while ago, you were too stunned to speak.

Far too gone, you were, that you didn’t bother to catch the phone that eventually slipped out of your bed.

Thud!

It’s cold.

“Hello, miss?” you blink with a shiver, turning to the voice with a confused look.

An old woman is handing you your—ah! Your phone!

“You dropped this.”

You take it from her aged hands and quickly placed it in your bag, a much safer location than your jean’s pocket. “Thank you…”

How long have you been standing out here?

You’ve arrived at your destination with a newly purchased flower and a semblance of fortitude to go along with it, but not even a step further and you are already gone.

Away, in the tides of a time irretrievable.

Goodness, here you go again, getting lost in your head… if Venti is here, he would’ve already started another motherly sermon.

He isn’t, however, so there is only your subconsciousness to tell you off for being an airhead.

“Are you alright, dear? It looks like you’ve come from a nightmare.” And you’ve forgotten that there’s still someone in front of you.

Resisting the impulse to slam a hand to your face, you wring up a strained smile, one that is swift to sway come the understanding of what was mentioned.

A nightmare?

You fight down the urge to laugh and admit that—yes, in some way, you did just resurface from a nightmarish memory. She isn’t wrong at all. Far from it, actually!

For the sake of preserving whatever mettle you have remaining, however—you like to think you’ve grown some resistance in reminiscing the bitter past—you chose not to reveal your true sentiments. Instead, you laugh it away.

As you learned to do over the years.

“I’m fine, granny, but thank you.” You grin, “It’s appreciated.”

The old woman coos, caressing your hand and giving it a firm shake, as though aware that you are lying—for her sake or yours, she doesn’t know. You don’t know either. “Dear girl, whatever it is, do not worry.”

Her wrinkled visage presents a knowing smile, olden with wisdom and experience that one can’t possibly forget. Before she departs down the white halls of the building, she presses faintly on your knuckles.

“When dream ends, so do nightmares. You’ve awoken from one, and you will for so many to come.”

Her words resonate in your mind, bouncing off memories in an endeavor to get it to stick—maybe even to console the conscience of your younger self. One that is mislaid in the oscillating enclosure of a bogey known as history.

Ah, but she has mentioned that you have awoken from that now—and, though still hurting, you daresay that you have in fact, woken from it.

Awake from a fairytale-deemed-reality, for now you are older and not younger.

Accepting, for now you are mature and no longer naïve; the moment you’ve decided to open your eyes, you have emerged past the pages of your storybook.

She’s right, you sigh, entering a room and shutting the door as silently as possible. I’ve awoken.

For it’s just as she said.

Your dreams have ended—and so have your nightmares. What lays before you now are nothing but the afterthought, the one that lingers, never to leave. You’ve awoken… but deep down you still wish to succumb to that slumber, to that pleasant wonderland where there are only pleasant dreams and nothing more.

The steady sound of a beeping machine stings your eyes as you place down a single cecilia on the vase, taking the old one out.

Oh, how you still wish for fairytales, for don’t they reach happy endings? Alas.

There is no time to hope for magic.

Ginger with your mannerism, you feel the petals under the pad of your finger, trembling lips tugging down to a frown.

It’s soft, despite nearing its death.

Beep

A long time ago, with the entrance of twin stars in your fairytale, comes the planting of a seed. Born of a promise you’ve held onto, but eventually let go.

Beep

A long, long time ago, you nurtured a flower, too—it grew with your heart, grew with your emotions.

It has blossomed into a beautiful one, never closing back into a bud. It knew not rain nor shine, for whatever the weather, it still kept its petals open, dancing to the presence of one.

The journey of it blooming. The dread of falling. The beauty of loving…

Beep

And the acceptance of withering.

A natural cycle, yet one you dreaded all the same.

Weakened, you fall to the nearby chair, feeling the twists and turns of your heart as you drop the wilted cecilia onto your lap.

In the end, deep down, although you’ve woken up, you are still the child yearning for an impossible fairytale.

Beep

Is it selfish for you to want to see it be fulfilled? That naïve wish? That childish promise?

Hand on the white sheets, near unmoving fingers, you sigh. With the last reserves of your strength, you bring your eyes to gaze upon someone’s profile. So strikingly similar, a mirror to a friend. Peaceful and undisturbed.

Beep

Your eyes are stinging—it’s impossible to keep them from hurting.

“When, just when,”

Your laugh comes out bittersweet, though it begins to form into restrained sobs.

Beep

“When will you stop dreaming, Zeph?”

The monitor proceeds to show and sound out the timid beat of a sleeping heart, as it has been doing for the past couple of years. It’s yet to show a sign of change, yet to show the sign of a hopeful awakening.

It drowns out the quiet weeping, lost in the coldness and the whiteness of the hospital room. A space stuck in the stasis of time.

Beep

It makes you look away at the face of a dear friend—

Beep

—Unable to see the stray tear that rolls down his cheek.

a/n: so :))) [passive smiling intensifies] we have a sleeping beauty~ at long last, namelessbard (zephyr) is finally- officially introduced! LORE! HOORAY! and the angst! ..not so yay?

@cherryflushz @e7t3 @scarlet-halos @lordbugs @nebulaera @annoying-and-upset @hanniejji @applepi1415 @tjjjrsj @azirajane @hey-comrade-hold-stil @limelightsuperhero @chloeloe @loptido @windyventi @nejibot @ganyuqrt @justrinnn @yasunamilk @alana5021 @coco-goat-milk @uwu-dreams @nomnom21 @milksnake-tea @layla240 @normalisthenewnorm @abbynxisys @ghostlystudentvoidbat @meinoballs @lost-in-alula @aryllechan @xiaosalmondtaro @yetchann @rayskyee @lunavixia @estelwrld @nightfloweruponahill @o0soup0o @little-fiinch @blueberrysauce @iineikoo @aestherin @hakobuns @monicahar @sirinxei @mundanenights @minitao @randomweebly @bluebeomz @emperatris-rinaka @durptwit @shioriryke @crapimahuman @cianalikesbeans @feverish-dove @sassyglassesbunny @m1chijou @galacticmei @dollpoetwriting @yamtwt

#m-fleur #venti x reader #venti angst #nameless bard x reader #genshin x reader #genshin angst #female reader #i apparently like to test tumblr's limits #i reached the max amount of blocks per post- 1000 #tumblr can you maybe please up that number JHDAJHDSAJD #so i can- yakno.. add more spaces between paragraphs for dramatic suspense KJSHDJASDHA

171 notes · View notes