#yes i made myself cry writing that particular scene
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📚 10 f1 fics i've loved lately 🏎️
been thinking a lot about how to organise fic recs into some sort of sensible post, 'cus there are so many (great!) pairings and (delicious!) driver combinations, not to mention so many varying styles of fic and SUPER TALENTED WRITERS!!111!!
just gonna list a bunch in no particular order, with accompanying pics, so you can get a sense of the vibes.
'cus what is f1 rpf but all about the ✨ vibes?! 🏁
p.s. people are in this community making amazing stuff for freeee!! if you liked these please leave a kudos or a comment, it makes a writer's day 🫡
let's gooooo--
objects in the mirror by linearity (@drivestraight)
charles/max. 87k words (series), rated t then e
listen. LISTEN! charles to rbr is one of the best premises ever and i will read it in like a thousand iterations. but this fic. this fic series in particular cleared my skin, made me want to cut my hair into a bob out of sheer emotion. i would be remiss not to start with this one because its impact on my f1 rpf trajectory should be studied by science. you know when a story just jumps off the page and it's so real that it becomes your canon. a kind of meteoric inevitability. plus, i almost never cry at fics. but by the time the third act of this one hit, i just went -- damn, am i rly about to tear up at a f1 rpf fanfiction rn? (yes.)
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sawtooth by nottonyharrison (@nottonyharrison)
charles/max. 40k words, rated e
max as a f1 engineer? for CARLOS at FERRARI? sign me the fuckkk up. first off, awesome premise. there's always going to be something so heartwrenching about "what ifs", especially in any universe where max isn't a racer. despite the change of circumstances, just... the sheer poetry of two characters who just inexplicably find their way to each other in any universe... 🤧 also this story nails racing scenes in a way that's so visceral, i feel like a fly on the damn halo with them. and, aside from the gourmet lestappen, carlos's whole thing in this fic is joyous! spicy! he's so unapologetic and vaguely annoying! hilarious! + the swimming pool scene lives rent-free in my head.
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salt skin by peachbellini (@strawberry-daiquiris)
oscar/lando. 12k words, rated e
this fic is magic. literally and figuratively. (MERMAID LANDO???? MERMAID LANDO.) the kind of story that makes you gasp and melt a little bit. and made me want to throw my phone at the writer, 'cause it's really that good. the yearning, the metaphor for all that's monstrous, a boy who is lost (and the boy who he finds, is equally so). this is just beautifully written and a little quirky and so well executed. i think i put it in my bookmarks as "what if lando was a mermaid and it was filmed by a24" or something. pearl of a story.
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hockey!! shrimp colors :) by leafmeal0ne (@ocontraire)
oscar/lando. 13k words, rated t
leaf meal one. i have only known you a week but if anything were to happen to you i would wreck everyone in the room including myself. in all seriousness, anything that leaf writes is brilliant. they're one of these writers who could do a throwaway line on the label of a ketchup bottle and i will probably scream about it. the precision, the way they switch up sentence structures, the freaking darcy-level regency yearning transposed onto a contemporary sports setting. i'd rec all of leaf's sports AUs and i'll probably talk about more in a future fic rec post. BUT. the hockeyyy one my GOD. the barely restrained violence, their mutual desire, the theme of finding your place... *wails uncontrollably*
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you almost unearthly thing by anonymous
max/daniel, 3.7k words, rated g
max is a governess(govern..lad?) and daniel is the mystery man at the manor. this was a response to a request i made in the kinkmeme! (if you haven't read those fics go check 'em out, there are so many great ones, and not necessarily all rated e). this is a criminally underrated little story that has my favourite repressed feelings + people dancing around each other + gothic vibes + "what the hell is wrong with y'all in this tale" combo that i really adore. it's really well written and captures the atmosphere so well.
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the so-called narrative by antimonyandthyme (@antimonyandthyme)
oscar/carlos, 10k words, rated e
i'm once again asking why there are only 7 carlos/oscar works in the tag. I'M ONCE AGAIN ASKING-- *is sedated*. *jolts awake* okay but for real this is a great story. hot, fake-friendship-to-situationship which so happens is one of my favourite places to be. also hello miscommunication/they're so weird about it/they both want each other but can't express themselves for shit/insane racer boys energy.
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and silver, and samarium by pink_mink (@on-softs)
george/toto, 5.2k words, rated e
i profess i am not usually the biggest fan of A/B/O (altho!! this fandom has made me go BUT ACTUALLY HM at least a few times). and this fic freaking nails it, along with the twisted power dynamics between TPs and drivers, as seen through the lens of omegaverse. this story rattles around my head like a stubborn ghoul just from the style and prose and sheer audacity alone. george kneeling at toto's knees while he's working..... ohhhhhhhhh i was this close to calling my lawyers.
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algorithm by anney (@badboy-george)
charles/max, 16k words, rated e
i LOVE, LOOOOVE a sci fi concept alright. love that shit, will inhale it like moon dust with zero regrets. and what a fantastic one this one is!! the premise is that the FIA can now statistically show the compatibility of drivers on the grid and it's very pacific rim-y drift compatible, mixed with the surreal vibes of eternal sunshine or HER or some such. it should be outrageous, but it really works. that's the beauty of a great fic right there.
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trajectory of trojan asteroids by redpaint (@redpaint)
nico/lewis, 3.3k words, rated g
also one of the fics i first read when i hopped on board the f1 rpf train. the pain and poignancy just gets worse the more i learn about brocedes. you know when you're like "there's no way this was reallll" and then you're like "fuck, it was so real". then you get a fic like this that just encapsulates all that rage and loss and grief and upset, set against the starry vista of endless space. *clutches tablecloth* god.
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p.s please bear in mind that these recs are entirely subjective! i enjoy loads of f1 stories but these are the ones that have especially stuck with me for some inexplicable reason.
p.p.s if your fic is on here and you want it taken off for whatever reason, i'm happy to, no questions asked 💛
BYE for now / until part 2. (i also love talking to ppl about fics so pls feel free to send an ask or hit me up in DMs or whatever.)
xoxo,
-- wizz
#f1 fic rec#f1 fanfiction#lestappen#landoscar#maxiel#groto#brocedes#f1 rpf fic#i don't know that carlos/oscar have a ship name yet?#sainztri?#Carloscar#f1 rpf#wiz.recs#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#did i spend a full hour at work doing this last week instead of my actual work?#yes -- very yes
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Imagine Dante Leaving On A Mission And You’re Having A Hard Time Seeing Him Leave
Dante X FemReader
Rating: T
Warnings: Angst
Word Count: 600
(A/N:) I’ve had this in my drafts for awhile and I finally got it finished! I need a Dante in my life and those are just the facts. XD I can’t help myself but to write a little bit of angst but I did leave a fluffy bonus scene so I don’t leave y’all with emotional damage! 🤣 Until next time happy reading! ~Countess
You knew you should be used to seeing Dante leave, but it never got easier to watch him go. But this particular moment you were struggling with the fact that he was going to be gone awhile and he didn’t even know when he would be back. You fought tears as you watched him grab all the gear he would need. He could sense your unease and turmoil. He didn’t want to leave, but the lights hadn’t been on for at least a week and he wanted to provide everything you needed.
That meant leaving and being gone for however long the job required him to be there. After loading up his gear and placing Ebony, Ivory, and Rebellion in their rightful places, he turned towards you. The tears brimming in your eyes, shattered his heart. Normally you would go with him and take care of whatever devil was plaguing the area. But this time it was too dangerous, that even had you more worried. If Dante didn’t think you were strong enough to face the challenge it meant the mission was dire. You had seen what happens to Dante when things are dire, he gets hurt. You can’t imagine life without him and you start losing the battle with your emotions. The tears can no longer be suppressed and as they stream down your cheeks, Dante sighs.
“I’m sorry babe,” he said taking you in his arms.
You had a difficult time returning the embrace as his weapons kept getting in the way. You tightened your arms around him as best as you could. He squeezed, trying to will as much comfort into your trembling form as he could.
“I’ll come back to you,” he whispered while stroking the back of your head. Your soft hair tickling his bare fingers. You hiccupped and sobbed into his chest staining his worn shirt with salty tears.
“You better,” you threatened. Though it didn’t sound near as scary with your voice trembling from emotions. Dante chuckled as he continued to hold you. He really didn’t want to leave but he wouldn’t leave you until you had calmed down a little bit. He couldn’t bring himself to leave you in such a distraught state. It took a little bit but your tears finally dried and you breathed in deeply and your sigh hitched when you breathed out.
“Better,” he cooed bringing you out to arms length.
Not trusting yourself to talk you just nodded, wiping at your eyes. Dante took the chance and kissed you deeply, it had become a tradition of his if he went alone on missions. He’d leave you with a kiss you’d remember until he got home.
“I will come back,” he promised again but this time more firm. His blue eyes losing the gleam of mirth that was normally there. His features becoming more serious as he wanted you to not worry anymore.
“Go get ‘em devil boy,” you teased, finally ready to let him go.
“Yes ma’am!” His goofy self came back with a sloppy salute before shutting the door to Devil May Cry. When you heard the motorcycle roars fade away did you collapse to the floor shaking with uncontrollable sobs.
Bonus:
Dante pushed the door open to his office. He switched on the lights so he wouldn’t trip over anything and wake you up. He had been a little longer than usual, since he stopped to pay the electric bill before coming home. You were fast asleep in bed, unaware that he had made it home in one piece. Putting his weapons back up, he snuck his way upstairs to see you dreaming peacefully in the bed.
“Hey babe, I’m home,” Dante whispered, stroking your hair from your cheek causing you to nuzzle deeper into the pillows.
#Dante X Reader#Dante / Reader#DMC#Dante#Devil May Cry#Dante Imagine#DMC Imagine#Devil May Cry Imagine#Imagine#Not My Gif#My Writing
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As a writer, do you find it annoying when readers comment asking for chapters? Because as a reader, I've always wondered how I could correctly phrase that I'm looking forward to reading more so that it doesn't come off as pestering and pressuring the author. Sometimes, when stories that stick with me hasn't been updated in months, I find myself back in the comments section thinking, I wanna leave something nice for author letting them know that I'm here and I love their story. Is there any particular do's and don't's we should be aware of?
Honestly? Completely honest?
Yes it's annoying when people ask for updates 😬 BECAUSE, and I can't stress this enough, no one on earth wants that story to be updated more than the writer. No one. That un-updated story haunts their dreams and taunts their waking days. We want it to be finished too, and we're painfully, excruciatingly, cripplingly aware of how long it's been since it was updated. Authors want to update their stories, so if they haven't, there's a reason why. And asking for updates only does 1 of 2 things (or usually both): makes writers feel even worse than they already do about not updating, or straight up piss them off because if they could update, they would. Because in the end all asking for updates really is is pressuring someone, whether the commentor means to or not. It's fantastic to know someone loves the story and wants to read more of it, and we DOOOO wanna know you're excited about the story and want more. So while we absolutely want to hear from you, here's 3 better ways to convey that than asking for an update:
Just tell the author you like the story! Doesn't have to be complex, just say "I love this story! I've reread it X times and enjoy it every time 😌" Boom, instant shot of serotonin for the author
Paste a line or lines of dialogue you loved. Maybe a specific scene that spoke to you or made you laugh or cry or you thought was hot. Authors love having their words thrown back at them because then we know which parts work the best, and which are reaching the audience and leaving an impression. It actually helps sometimes moving forward in the story knowing what parts readers felt were the strongest. Yes we write stories for ourselves, but we also want you guys to like them too. And feedback helps us grow.
Say how the story makes you feel. Do you like it reading it before bed as lil comfort story that helps you wind down? Maybe it's something that when you're sad you pull out of your bookmarks cuz it brightens your day even just a little bit. Maybe you like it because it hurts in the best ways, it gets emotions flowing that you can connect with and commiserate. Do you wanna squish those little dope's faces together for being too cute, or boop them on the nose with a newspaper for being dumbasses. We wanna know! Authors put their heart into these stories, so hearing what emotions they bring out in readers is like winning the fucking jackpot
Understand this isn't me saying if you've ever asked for an update I think you're a bad person or you should feel bad. What I'm saying is that it's not conveying what you may be meaning to convey, and at worst you might be actually thwarting any motivation the author had managed to gather to update.
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fic writer meme
Thank you thank you to the timkon QUEEN @hearteyeshayley for tagging me <33
1. How many works do you have on Ao3?
67
2. What's your total Ao3 word count?
322,925
3. What fandoms do you write for?
I mostly write for DC, but I also write for Marvel, as well as TBOSAS, ATLA, and any other book/show that randomly grabs my interest
4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?
Mark Me Like a Bloodstain (Most unfortunately, because i hate to think that this is my AO3 legacy. Smut for Miguel O’hara that I wrote in an hour…)
Thoughts of You Consume (More smut! I didn’t expect this one to gain so much traction, but it is super fun to write!)
The Hardest Thing to Lose is You (…more Miguel O’hara smut..)
Like Melting Snow (Aaaand more snowjanus smut) ((This one is especially awkward seeing as I promised to never write Omegaverse, and yet here we are))
Guilt and Greed (One that I am actually proud of!!!! Not my greatest work but I did enjoy making this one.)
5. Do you respond to comments?
I try my hardest to!! I’m a bit behind right now, but I also haven’t been on my AO3 much this last month. I reread every comment at least 5 times, they genuinely are the food that gets me through it all. I love love LOVE talking to others about my works, and so getting to talk to yall in the comment section is SO fun for me!!!
6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?
Probably Memory’s Embrace. While it is not my angstiest work by far, I usually throw some comfort in there as well to let it not end angsty. This fic, however, is the only one that truly ends without a happy ending.
7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?
I think So If You Will, Please Fall in Love With Me may be my happiest ending. I absolutely adore this fic, I love fluff but don’t write it nearly as much as I’d like to.
8. Do you get hate on fics?
Yup! The Snowjanus fandom, while ever so kind and supportive, also shockingly is full of haters as well! I’ve received everything from death threats to blatant slams of my writing. They make me giggle every time
9. Do you write smut?
I told myself I wouldn’t, and yet… here we are.
10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you have written?
No, I’m boring :(
11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?
Twice actually! (To my knowledge)
12. Have you ever had a fic translated?
Yes!!!! I had one turned into a podfic (literally made me CRY, I was so so happy)
13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?
No but I’ve talked about doing so with a few writer friends!! I am so down to
14. What's your all time favorite ship?
This is a very tricky question for me. I tend to love things with my entire being when I hyperfixate on them, and then I tend to feel very ‘meh’ about them after. So picking an all time is difficult, since my interests are always fluctuating.
HOWEVER, I would say that Timkon and Drarry are the two that have remained constant. (And while I am new to Andreil, I can already see it becoming another core ship for me)
15. What is a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?
I have an entire half-written Timkon Reverse Robins AU where Tim is red hood, and Kon ends up an accomplice. @sophiasrant has heard way too much about this AU.
As much as I would love to expand upon it and actually finish writing it, I don’t think I’ll ever have the time to do it justice. It would end up as SUCH a long fic (though I do have full written scenes if anyone is ever interested)
16. What are your writing strengths?
I like how I describe emotions and feelings. I am not very good at articulating how I am feeling, but give me a character and suddenly I have a million shades of color to paint the particular emotion they are feeling. I love to be poetic in writing, and I think I sometimes achieve that.
I also think I have a talent with smut, though I am not sure. The feedback would say so, but I literally do not know how to judge smut writing. It always feels cringe, but maybe all smut feels that way.
17. What are your writing weaknesses?
I never plan ahead. Like, ever. I lack discipline and I never do enough editing. As soon as a work is finished it gets posted. There are quite a few works that I know I could have done better, if only I weren’t so impatient. But alas, I cannot make myself wait.
18. Thoughts of writing dialogue in another language in fics?
I’ve only ever done it once, in a fic with Bucky Barnes and Natasha. I feel neutral on the topic. Just do research if you plan on doing it.
19. First fandom you wrote for?
Downton abbey! I wrote it for me and for me only, and then decided to share it. I still never got around to finishing it…
20. Favorite fic you have written?
I have quite a few!!! (Because it’s so hard for me to pick favorites)
All of my favorites are non smut fics. I love the ones where I managed to be particularly poetic, or especially fluffy. Like, the words just flowed, and I was quite happy with the outcomes.
Those include:
So If You Will, Please Fall in Love With Me
Born From Ash
Rough on The Surface (But You Cut Through Like a Knife)
That Which Lies Beneath
I'm tagging @nanachachasposts <33 As well as anyone else who would love to do it!!
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4, 13, and 18 !!
cyrus cyrus hello and its an honor to get fic asks from you an amazing fic writer mutual of mine.
[ask game]
4. Anything you like in particular about writing for this fandom? (the setting, the aus, the people,etc)
another thing i like is the ability to write fandom poetryllike theres so muchj of it im glad poetry is a part of this fandom
13.Any segment of your work that made you cry while writing it? (because it moved you deeply)
yes pletny of times. I will use one scene from I rose from the ashes that made me cry as self promo.
18.How similar are the things you enjoy writing to the things you enjoy reading?
tropes wise? ig similar though very variety my reading is comapred yto what i write. similar characters/arcs i like. for other fandoms (not dsmp/osmp/mcyt stuff) i definitely read more ship fics & adult topics of which i do not enjoy writing myself often. Like even if i do write ship fics which is rare i do not write mature fics much nor really enjoy it. I also feel like everyones writing style in fics i enjoy is way better than mine like the way ppl write is so amazing and wonderful.
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For the ask game!
5, 8, 14, 18, 31, 39, 45, 60, 65, 73
I know it's been a bit, but I haven't forgotten about this and have been adding to it in between all that fic writing/editing last month (and my laptop being a pain) and it's finally ready! I really like all these questions and wanted to give great answers; I hope you enjoy! (warning though: it's long).
5: Do you like constructive criticism? - Yes, I actually do! Admittedly, it can be hard to hear, and also admittedly I haven't had much experience receiving it (prior to writing fic, my main genre of writing was academic, and I never got much writing feedback on those papers), but the odd times I have received it I did appreciate it and feel like I grew as a result.
8: Do you prefer the beginning, middle or end of the story? - Ending, one-hundred percent! I just love that feeling you get when the story starts winding down, folding itself up like a letter you're about to tuck in an envelope, and you can feel it; it's such a cool sensation and I love it. Plus, I like the fun in thinking up a final angsty gut-punch line or snappy bit of humor to end things on.
14: How do you write emotional scenes? Do you ever feel what the characters feel or draw from personal experiences? - I usually try to clear my head (easier said than done) and really slot myself in the character's shoes, focusing on the scene and how it affects them and let that guide what I write. I really try to let the scene guide what happens next, especially if the scene is a conversation or argument; in the latter case I'll probably go back later and revise it a little to make sure everything is in-character.
I do sometimes draw from personal experience, especially for more intense emotions like anger or disappointment; I have a multi-chap upcoming where Cass goes through a pretty tough time and I dipped into personal experience a lot for it.
18: Do you title your fics before, during, or after and how do you come up with them? - Honestly, titling fics is hands-down one of the hardest parts of the whole fic-writing process for me; it's usually the very last thing I tackle along with the summary, and more often than not I just do the whole 'one-word title' thing. 🙃 If a fic is inspired by a particular literary work or quote, I usually reference that for the title (like 'White Roses')
31: Do you start with the characters or the plot? - I'm...not actually sure? A lot of my fics start with a plot, but other times (especially if I'm working from a prompt) I start with the characters and just think of different situations to put them in and how they'd react. But maybe that's still plot first? I think the answer would be some of each, then? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
39: Share a snippet from a WIP - Gladly! How about that multi-chap I just mentioned?
"She had only taken a few steps towards the barracks, though, when a cry split the still spring air. "Ho! Coming up the road! The Captain and his troops!" Dad! Instantly Cass changed course, sprinting for the front courtyard. Her dad was back early! Hooray! As much as she liked having Captain Williams here, it just wasn't the same as her dad. She had missed him so much, and couldn't wait to sit on his lap and hear- "Look alive, everyone! They've got a man down!"
45: Do you want to break your readers‘ heart or make them laugh? - Well, my favorite thing to do is pull the rug out from under readers; give them some cute fluff or a happy moment then -BAM!- flash forward to angst! But between the two: laugh. I know I write a fair amount of angst, and I do enjoy it very much, but I just really love reading a comment where someone says that my writing made them laugh. 😊
60: Have you had a writer you admire comment on your fic? What was that like? - Well, you've commented on my fics, right? 😉 I have been so fortunate as to have had this happen to me many times, starting from the very first fic I posted. A few writers who I held (and still hold!) as among the fandom's very best actually said they liked what I wrote and I, an extremely self-conscious writer who was seriously thinking I'd made a huge mistake and should just delete my account before I could humiliate myself- was over the moon (once the initial mortification of oh my gosh, this incredibly talented person who's writing an epic read my piddly little fic wore off 😅).
It's been three years since then, and I still get such a thrill whenever I see any writer I admire comment on my fics (and if it's the first time they've commented on my fics, that 'oh my gosh' mortification still kicks in 🤦♀️)
65: Tell us about what you’re most looking forward to writing – in your current project, or a future project - I can't really name one thing in particular. Right now I'm on a bit of a break from new ideas; I currently have a lot of half-finished projects I want to get back to and fully-written fics that need to be edited before posting. So right now I'm most looking forward to digging out those old pieces and getting excited about them again. But I also have some ideas for Little Cass fics that I've never gotten around to writing at all, and I'm eager to dive into those and see where they lead!
73: What do you think makes your writing stand out from other works? - My style. I mostly learned how to write a story by example, with my 'examples' being books like 'Little Women' and 'Anne of Green Gables:' titles that are well over a century old and written when the world had a different idea of how you write a novel. They have a flowery, flowing feel to them where the author routinely switches perspectives (sometimes several times to a page), personifies things like household objects and the environment, goes on about someone's thoughts and feelings at length, and provides some commentary on the goings-on. It's a style I love and, by habit and intent, strive to emulate. It makes my fics long and sometimes a challenge to write, but I love the end result too much to do it any other way!
Thank you so, so much for the ask! This was a lot of fun and I hope you enjoyed reading this! Take care! 💙
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4 and 16!! :)
4: Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)
from the letter to nmj in the last chapter of foowd:
I hope you would wish me well. I want to believe that you do, even if what I’ve become is unintelligible to you. All I can hope is that I will succeed in making myself unintelligible for reasons besides doing things that appall you. I still have some good qualities. Some of which you used to bully me about lacking! I’m certainly wiser than I was. More patient, too. I have developed somewhat of a sense of responsibility, and am much more independent and capable. But all of that has been true for years. The newer things… let’s just say that there are fields inside of myself I thought I salted, where things have taken root nonetheless.
this letter was some of the earliest stuff i wrote in the fic, because it was grafted from a scene cut from an earlier (canon era) fic, but it wasn't in letter format then, and it of course shifted a lot to fit this specific story. this paragraph was written much later.
even though this isn't how story structure works, i kind of consider that fic as having three "climaxes"... one being the flop proposal/sangcheng breakup, one being the eleventh-hour sangcheng makeup, but in between them is the part where nhs writes the letters... this one feels like the real climax of the fic in some ways. not in terms of tension but like. emotional weightiness rating????? nhs just could not have gone on to say "fuck it, i want to be with the person i love even if it means i can't fake my death and go into the self-imposed exile for the rest of my days that is the only way i've been able to conceptualize/justify quitting my job and taking the L permanently on the person i was supposed to be," if she hadn't come to some degree of peace with the fact that she'll never know what nmj would have made of these choices. if it feels like a betrayal of family/sect/etc, that all gets symbolically fixed into grief and guilt about specifically nmj, and that's the real barrier here--not anyone else in the world at large, really. but it felt like a very delicate needle to thread because i emphatically didn't want nhs' arc re: her family/nmj to come across like "realizing that your family sucks and having a victorious fuck-you-guys-i'm-out moment," because that would be severely out of character and also the nies' problem is not Bad People but intergenerational dysfunction and reverberating tragedy. so "i love you and always wanted to make you proud and am having to accept the risk that i wouldn't, because i have to believe that you loved me and wanted me to be happy more than you wanted me to be the person i should have been"--not specific to gender but everything else, of course--was the point i needed nhs to reach. which ig i decided was going to happen when she woke up at 5am to write some emotionally raw lettermail a few hours after breaking up with the guy she's actively in love with and then having a total meltdown about it.
the story having an epistolary motif was partly because i'd early on thought that the idea of sangcheng doing ye olde racy texting was funny and charming, but also i knew that the fic was not going to work unless there were opportunities for huaisang's real thoughts and feelings to occasionally surface through the tides of bullshit, and that was easier to do through in-universe writing than either dialogue or pov narration. and i couldn't come up with a less clunky way to get some overt closure/finality over the nmj stuff, but needed to, because it was like such a looming but intangible part of the story.
so anyway. um i made myself cry typing up this blurb about my own fanfiction which goes to show why i'm so proud of this bit in particular... because regardless of whether it worked for anyone else, it has consistently gotten me very emotional to think about/work on so i'm getting what EYE wanted out of it!!!!
16: Tried anything new with your writing lately? (style, POV, genre, fandom?)
lots of things, actually…
it's not that "writing an unreliable narrator/POV character" is new to me but something i'm messing around with on beefleaf #2 aka The Big One is shi qingxuan (who is the POV character) like… being a very active presence in the story As A Story. you know this post?
like that.
who's the audience? shi wudu? he xuan? both/neither? us? who knows!!!!! we'll see if that sensibility makes it into the final product but i'm enjoying playing around with it for now. it compels me because sqx, unlike most characters people think of as "unreliable narrators," is not manipulative in a meaningful way. they're not TRYING to lie to you. it's just... you know. hard to look things in the face sometimes, right?
the other thing that sticks out is that i've got not one but two wips at the moment that deal with sexual violence in some way, which i've shied away from in the past because of worrying that people would be weird about it, but i feel strongly that these are at least, like, the kernels of good ideas? we'll see how they fare in my execution lol. but also, like, xie lian's character arc is, among other things, About Sexual Autonomy And Violence in a blatant and textual manner so this doesn't feel particularly outre in comparison (they're both beefleaf but you know. operating in the same ballpark. shi qingxuan and he xuan both have certain obvious parallelismssnhdsm with xie lian so it's all In Conversation imo.)
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Hiiii long sappy post ahead but read for info about the upcoming release of my college fic in bold!!
I’m just over halfway through final edits and the final word count is hovering at around *drum roll* 127k words 😳 If you've been following, I know what you're thinking, yes that is more words than the first draft, I promise I did cut some stuff, this is what we're working with 🤪
So now I'm like... pretty much ready for it to be out in the world? And I hope everyone loves it as much as I do because it really has become very dear to me 🥹 Structure-wise it's appalling, clearly there's still so much that needs to be cut but I'm too attached to it. But emotionally, I think it hits all the right places, there are points it makes me want to cry, there are points it was pure torture to write and yet this doesn't even cover as many years as the real life pre-relationship, there are scenes where I really think the writing is beautiful if I do say so myself. It strayed a little further from real life than I think I originally thought it might but there are still a lot of moments that feel very real to me, or at least to what I imagine they could have been. And this particular characterisation of them? They're my babies. And I had to keep reminding myself while writing it that at this point they WERE babies (18 and 21??????) 😭
I’m very excited to post the first chapter tomorrow (for a reason that will be revealed) and then twice weekly after that on Wednesdays and Saturdays 🗓 Mostly because I don't know if or when I'll write another fic so I'm not ready for this one to be over too quickly 🥺 (Side note: definitely not ruling another fic out! I truly love writing these two so much and if inspiration strikes me again I'm sure I would go for it, but this was the last solid idea I had for a whole fic and I think that's part of why I've taken so much care over it and made it so fucking long trying to include every possible idea I had, because if I am going out on this I want to be going out on a high, which I think this is. I'm gonna try and shift focus to working on some original stuff and we'll just see what happens on the fic front. Anyway!) But when I was calculating dates I realised a twice weekly schedule also means it'll be starting in September and ending in May, which feels like a fitting span for this story, even though it takes place over several years 💙💛
It's going to be a longgg journey, but I hope you'll join me for it, if you want. I've been thinking it might be fun to post the wattpad links to each chapter on here along with a little mini commentary of any thoughts I have about it, any BTS on the process, songs that particularly fit?? I know that’s what author’s notes are for but I feel more connected to my tumblr audience than to wattpad, you know? I don't know, let me know ✏️ But I'm grateful for anyone that wants to read it and any and all feedback. It's rare for me to love my writing as much as I do with this fic but I think it's because of how grounded in reality it is, they definitely feel the most true to the way I see Joey and Lauren that I've ever written them. And I'm really excited to share it with you 🥰
Shoutout to Gabi who's read all but the epilogue and tells me it's good so I know at least one person likes it before I publish it, and is also all round the best and most supportive friend ❤️
And I have to say a huge thank you to anyone who's ever read one of my fics. It started off as a single oneshot after AVPW and I now have like 175k total reads across all my works 🤯 I know that's probably the same 5 people rereading them thousands of times but that's still an absolutely mind blowing number for me. I might not have rediscovered my love of writing if it weren't for all of you. Thank you 💗
And finally here's a cover reveal for Right Place, Wrong Time ‼️ (very basic lmao but some fun/painful fitting details)
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Anxiety is such a frustrating phenomenon to endure.
For me, it's notably a feeling of stress and overwhelm, which contaminates other stuff around it. I often tie it to general tiredness or difficulty with task switching or chronic pain, because those things make it harder to deal with, but they are separate phenomena.
... and I think my brain just recently got 'reset' somehow, because I've been struggling with this for a while, and now I'm not.
Like. Same dietary habits, same caffeine intake, same medications, same work hours & work duties. Same (or slightly worse) terrifying US political landscape. Same (or slightly worse - there's a spike in cases where I live) pandemic news. Same financial situation.
I am trying to think of big things in my life that could possibly be related to this, and there are a couple, and I 100% am serious about this despite the silliness of how this sounds.
I think ExU Calamity was a big part of it. It occupied a large portion of my brain space for a while. (Hyperfixations can do that.) It was extremely good from a storytelling standpoint. You care about the characters and their families and the world they inhabit; you watch the actors themselves fully immersing themselves in that world, laughing and crying and reacting to the story they're shaping together; you watch the DM at times also clearly having moments of being caught up in it.
The whole premise was that this story would end in tragedy, and it did. I thought it would end badly. It didn't. The ending of the finale was among the least bad of the possible endings available to the cast, given how Episode 3 ended, and the machinations of the infernalists and K'nauthi that had been going on for a long while before Episode 1 starts.
The ending was a triumph, because it could have been so much worse.
There was a bit when I was just processing ExU: Calamity, and re-watching particular sections, and enjoying fannish discussions about plot and character and world building and the most excellent cast who brought it all to life.
I think... It matters a lot that the Ring of Brass got their tragic ending, and not the bad ending that I was expecting.
I think that I, and a lot of people, often feel that we (& the world at large) are trapped in an endless spiral of terrible politics, climate change and its devastating consequences, a hopefully not terminal case of late-stage capitalism, and other incredibly unfortunate world states.
I think that a lot of the best endings have been taken off the table. Not for you personally, or for myself personally, but for humankind. For mortaldom.
I think that a lot of people have been working to make the world better. Behind the scenes. Doing the research and writing the papers, yes, but also fostering communities and debugging code and offering alternatives to people who don't realize they have more options than they think.
There's a lot of suffering in this world that doesn't need to be, that should not be, that we didn't choose and are still somewhat complicit in, because the only way to escape society's ills entirely is to opt out and become a hermit or a shut-in. Which is not fixing the problem, merely avoiding it.
There are going to be a lot of people these next few hundred years who do vital things and do not live to see the hopeful times that will come after. Who will not be remembered. Whose work matters, matters as clearly as a diamond is made of carbon, matters as much to this world as the last desperate stand of the Ring of Brass matters to Exandria.
Maybe it's silly. I don't know that I will remain this way, anxiety-free, for long. But I choose to believe that I've got a little more time to remain myself before the anxiety returns.
And I've got a little steel necklace, still in the gift box from when it was given to me. There must be brass rings available at hardware stores or Ren faire stalls or Etsy shops. Maybe Critical Role would be willing to sell them. It wouldn't be a particularly good advertising tool for them, any more than lilac blossoms on the 25th of May are a way to sell Terry Pratchett books.
Anyway. I admit this is silly. But I know I'm going to be at San Diego Comic Con this year, and I think I'm going to carry a brass ring on a chain around my neck.
#storyteller tag#exu calamity#exu spoilers#meta and worldbuilding discussion#2020 and related bullshit#disasters of our time#anxiety cw#managing mental health#tag for 'making the world better in ??? incredible ways'#'actors and performers and talented people' tag#discussion or criticism of a work#critical role fannishness
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actually if you want to talk about it I’d be curious about your petscop opinions (in a friendly discussion way) but if not that’s totally cool!
One of the things I was telling people Petscop was of too high-quality for something to be what was happening was the incredibly dumb "playing the game in a car" thing, which I thought was a completely ridiculous theory and I really was out there like, no, guys, that's stupid, that's so stupid, and this is PETSCOP, the single greatest web series in existence, my Roman Empire, it's not stupid so obviously that can't be it.
But what I really disliked and put me down a lot was the lack of hard answers. I unironically feel like people nowadays fetishize narrative ambiguity. Death of the Author or even the idea that a work might have literally no intended meaning except to be a viewer's personal Rorschach test has gotten so big that to even suggest something mysterious might have an answer can be seen as sacrilege.
Sometimes that can be a difficult wire to walk. David Lynch refuses to ever give away the intended meaning of his work because he does want his audience to reach their own conclusions and find their own meaning in it...but, also, he did still have an intended meaning behind everything and it's not weird to try and work that out. Yes, the demand for answers killed Twin Peaks - but I would argue it was more like impatience because what fans wanted to know was specifically who killed Laura Palmer, and Lynch always intended to get to that eventually, just at the very end.
Fans during the airing of Twin Peaks took it 100% literally and weren't generally looking for symbolic meaning, they were looking for hard facts about what was occurring in-universe. While my belief of the "correct" interpretation of Twin Peaks is that the narrative blends in-universe reality with out-of-universe meta anyway, I think we would have gotten basically satisfying answers to the in-universe reality if the network had been willing to let it cook. I think subtext can be really cool, and despite my sidebar text being a Garth Marenghi reference the things I write have subtext in them as well, but usually I'm far more interested in the text when it comes to mysteries like this.
So like, I'm going to take a gamble with allowing myself to be vulnerable and admit something: when it turned out the website in Petscop had been made, but the creator just decided not to put it out? I was without hyperbole livid.
I struggle, like really struggle with anger issues, to the point where earlier this morning I was thinking about making a post about how much I've been feeling the "check your bathroom" message from Rainer, but decided against it because that's implied to be a suicide note and I didn't want to give the impression I was referring to suicidal ideation. I mean, I am also extremely depressed, but that's not what I had in mind.
Just like...the bitterness of what Rainer says in that message, the exhausted rage? Yeah, that's me. I'm an angry person. It's one of the reasons I related so hard to Kipperlilly Copperkettle in Dimension 20. Because like, my fandom for her started out being really annoyed with the protagonists and the ways they have their cocks sucked by the fandom and narrative no matter what, and how KLCK in particular was getting insane hate for insane reasons, but when it was revealed she had been in therapy for years for anger management I wanted to cry because I suddenly felt this intense empathy with her.
No matter how irrational, the revelation about the website existing but not being shown gutted me. So I was really, really angry about it and to be honest I still kinna am. I don't hold any real ill will towards the creator and, again, I know it's irrational, but that hurt me a little.
There's this scene in The Expanse where a spaceship hits a field that makes anything in motion come to an instantaneous and complete stop, and you can imagine what that does to the occupants of spacecraft traveling a bazillion miles an hour (it should really obliterate the ship, too, but whatever). It kinna felt like that. Like the series just came to a sudden and arbitrary stop with nothing explained and my investment turned into several gallons of red paint splattering the camera.
I was also very dissatisfied with it turning out that either it was all about being trans or the very least had a significant amount of it's plot be about that. I don't mean to be a Sad Puppies kinna geek who thinks their entertainment should never touch on social themes and just stick to cool laser guns, but like...I am trans. Nearly all my friends are. I talk about it constantly on this blog, I'm thinking about it constantly, it is one of the single most important, defining aspects of nearly every facet of my life. I enjoy some media that's outwardly about being trans and my writing is heavily heavily HEAVILY centered around diversity and inclusion and talking about it all, but when it's the answer to a mystery?
I can't help but find that tremendously boring. And that's another thing that, like not getting answers and it all being over so abruptly, Expanses the shit out of my investment.
And my investment in Petscop ran...deep. Very, very deep. I loved the series with every fiber of my being. Like I said, the drop-off in how I felt about it was like Satan falling from Heaven like lightning, and I felt every bit of that falling damage.
So Petscop and the way it ended was a lot for me.
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...holy fuck, my last post is quite literally the very first time that I've ever reached the tag limit for a post, and I primarily pulled that off by prattling on about Cinnabun at extreme length.
I didn't even know that there was a limit of 30 tags per post. I've never had any reason to hit that limit before. If that doesn't fully prove and emphasize that this little trauma rabbit isn't my most detailed and obsessed-about OC brain worm of all time, I don't know what the hell else could possibly spell it out any better.
...if you've been reading her tag on my blog, but can't understand what her deal is thus far: She's a Lopunny OC, and hers is a mature, fairly dark, and very heavy story, taking place in the Pokemon universe. Yes, I started writing this in a very low, very mentally/emotionally fragile, and really dark part of my life, so yes, this started off as "me effectively venting/'self-harming' in a way through her." I know that OC stories involving both Pokemon and sensitive subjects like death, self-harm, suicide, and so forth are usually frowned upon by a good deal of the fanbase or whatever, since that's not what the source media is like on the surface. But at this point, I hardly care to even acknowledge that stance... you know, past the upcoming walls of text.
Prepare for an encounter with an autistic hyperfixation hidden raid boss fight just below the post cut.
For one, Cinnabun starting off as a sort of "projection" of myself made her both VERY special and important to me, to the point where writing about her low points started to actually personally resonate with myself. This made writing about her in great detail that much easier, since whatever thoughts and feelings that I felt as I was coming up with ideas for this story was on par with how she was meant to feel in those particular scenes. I've quite literally never synchronized with an OC this deeply before, and this let me write out the longest story that I've ever written in my whole goddamn life. It's been a fun and engaging process from start to finish, coming up with plot points and general story details, and then figuring out how to weave everything together so it flows in a way that I like. It's all very special to me, for that reason.
And then two, to be blunt... life is short. To be even more blunt... who knows how much longer I have to be around and enjoy small things like this. I don't care to stunt my ideas just because the theme/tone in its given setting isn't regarded as "popular" by many others in the Pokemon fanbase. It gives me a massive creative outlet — the biggest that I've ever had, really — and working on it to any extent feels really great to my mind that's otherwise typically too crowded up with TV static and disorganized/negative thoughts to let me ever experience a single moment of catharsis to any degree.
I know that the setting of Pokemon is considered to be an odd choice for a story that is largely very upsetting and dark... but, in my defense, the world of Pokemon is already very heavily implied in canon media to be utterly horrifying behind the scenes. A lot of Pokedex entries straight-up designate a good deal of Pokemon as "chronically suffering," like Phantumps being dead lost kids in the woods, Cubones crying over their dead mothers (whose skull they wear) loudly enough to attract their natural predators straight to themselves, or Yamask carrying a depiction of its face from its past life and crying over it. And then, there's other Pokemon who are designated as "chronically making others suffer," like people getting their spirit stolen by looking into a Shedinja's back, Drifloon being a Pokemon "formed by the spirits of people and Pokemon" that casually abducts children, or the fact that a strong pseudo-legendary like Hydreigon has a habit of "biting anything that moves" and has tales of it destroying whole villages. And then there's other Pokemon who just... accidentally create problems by existing. Some casually explode for little to no reason. Others make a lot of earthquakes or other natural disasters just by going about their business. Shit like that.
Like yeah, obviously these details aren't going to be shown in regular Pokemon media, since it is ultimately a franchise geared towards the enjoyment of kids and young teens (with a great deal of fossils like myself obviously still latching onto the franchise for longer than I thought I'd still care about it). But like... there's enough context clues just out there in plain sight to know that the Pokemon universe is 100% capable of being a circus of both horrors and dangers. As far as I can give a damn, my little story and the poor rabbit that it revolves around would be considered "just another Tuesday in Hoenn" in comparison to what else could happen in any of the regions at any given time.
So... yeah. I don't know what possessed me to talk at length about this to like... no one in specific, but that's my mental word salad about that OC and her story. I like writing about her since it gives me a massive creative release, and I fully disagree with the thought that every original story in a Pokemon setting has to be sterile and pleasant or else it's just "bad" or whatever. If I wanted a tame and clean story in the Pokemon universe, I'd just watch the show or play any of the official games... hence, me writing out my own story, and then defending its existence to no one but I guess myself for what feels like the past hour.
...I should probably go and eat something now;;
#v.txt#cinnabun#i say without exaggeration that this OC and her story are the biggest hyperfixations that i've ever had in my entire life#and they both came straight from myself so like. They're Really Fucking Special To Me No Matter What
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Author commentary: THE BOYS FINALLY BREAKING DOWN IN SHANKS CABIN PLEASE AND THANK YOU
One of my all time favourite scenes and also one of the ones where I made myself cry writing it xD
Buggy’s breakdown had been planned from the very first moment Buggy appeared at Marineford: even without that particular clusterfuck, Buggy had just spent months in Impel Down with no news of his crew, then had to deal with the nerve wracking experience that is Monkey D. Luffy and the escape of Impel Down itself, which, honestly, would be enough to give any reasonable person a nervous breakdown (hence why it had no effect whatsoever on Luffy)
But then came Marineford, and with it multiple triggers and aggravating factors for Buggy.
Psychological/emotional factors, first: having all these escaped prisoners look to him for leadership; the realisation that his captain had had a kid and never told them; the realisation that the Rogers gathered to save the kid but couldn’t be bothered to come and save him; the setting, much too reminiscent to Loguetown and Roger’s death; a kid being held responsible for his father’s sins; the emotional toll of having oversensitive Haki and being in the middle of the biggest battlefield ever, bigger even than Edd War had been; seeing the Rogers again for the first time since Roger’s death; seeing Crocus again, with everything that happened there; being alone until Rockstar makes it there; being terrified of being recognised and hunted down again; the parallels between Roger’s death and Newgate’s attempt at going out in a blast of glory while allowing his kids to escape
Add in the physical factors: a battlefield full of giants on both side; Devil fruits aplenty rewriting the laws of physics; too much noise; too many smells; the very buildings being liable to collapse at any moment because of Devil Fruit fuckery; Buggy’s own physical state being... very not good after Impel Down; Buggy being very aware of just how small a fish he is compared to everyone else there...
Buggy’s breakdown was sealed in stone long before he decided to step in between Akainu and his prey - that part just made it even worse than it would have been. Add in Sengoku targetting him, then Blackbeard getting a bit too interested, and the fact that Buggy didn’t have a panic attack right there and then is a testament to his survival instincts, honestly.
Now Shanks, Shanks on the other hand would have been mostly fine if Buggy hadn’t been in danger. It sounds callous, putting it like this, but it’s definitely Buggy’s role in it that pushed him over the edge. Sure, he would have been very worried about Luffy, and probably would have had a heart attack or ten, but he would be nowhere as badly off as he was with Buggy in the middle of things - and, he would probably have been even more worried but a lot less on the edge of a flashback himself if it hadn’t been broadcasted.
Because this whole thing, this is way too similar to what happened to them when they were kids and being hunted down by Roger’s enemies. Having Buggy be in danger, be hurt while Shanks can do nothing but watch, is the worst form of torture, a reminder of those years they got separated and Buggy went through hell without Shanks being there to help him. And, unlike with Luffy where he can at least somewhat trust that Newgate’s people won’t let the reckless brat die on them, if only for Ace’s sake... He has no such assurances in Buggy’s case, with the exception of Rockstar, who he couldn’t be sure had made it to Marineford until he showed up on the screen. Until he saw Rockstar, he had absolutely zero assurance that someone out there was watching Buggy’s back. Worse, he knows Buggy is this close to a breakdown and has no guarantee that he’ll be able to keep it at bay until Shanks can get there. And then Buggy, who’s not exactly a crack shot with a gun, is suddenly facing a rampaging Akainu with only a gun in hand, and he somehow manages the perfect shot, but then Sengoku is about to attack him and then Blackbeard, and yeah, no, that does it, Shanks is done with everything.
Now on to the breakdown proper (after six huge paragraphs of what led to the breakdown itself xD)
It was very important for me that the breakdown take place privately, in a space that feels safe for both of them: so, of course, it had to happen in Shanks’ cabin. Not only is it isolated and you would have to go through every single Akagami + Force and Speed in order to get to them, this is a space that is basically infused with Shanks presence, which would have a soothing and comforting effect for Buggy.
They both really, really needed a hug, so of course that’s the first thing that happens in that scene. Physical reassurrance that the other is real, is here and alive.
It was also important that, while Shanks was also on edge and about to have his own breakdown, Buggy had his first: he’d been pretending to be fine for too long, but now his mask is breaking, and Shanks has already proven himself to be very, very good at pushing his own breakdown aside to care for those he loves (see: Smiling at Luffy and comforting him despite just getting his entire arm bitten off by a giant seamonster). And Shanks, objectively, has been through less, emotionally and physically speaking, than Buggy, and the best way for Shanks to help himself right now is to help Buggy.
The shower scene just had to happen, because I’m a sucker for someone crying fully clothed in the shower and someone else stepping in to comfort them scenes.
The fact that they maintain physical contact during the entire scene is very much deliberate. They are both very much codependent and tend to touch all the time whenever they meet up, but this is compounded by Buggy having just spent months alone in an unsafe environment where any touch meant pain. Buggy is very much touchstarved, and also needs the grounding effect of Shanks’ touch to prevent himself from spiralling or dissociating. In return, Shanks very much needs the reassurance that Buggy is right there, alive and breathing despite everything that happened.
Same for the sleep schedule and nightmares: it’s in part a return to habits they got while on the run (one sleeping, one keeping watch for enemies, which also means someone being there to wake you up if you’re having a nightmare) and also a way to help each other through the nightmares that they’re both going to have for a long time after this mess.
I’m also a sucker for non-sexual intimacy, so that added to that part as well.
The thing is, while both of them have crews that they love and who love them right back, and who can and do support them and help them as much as they can, the fact remain that, most of the time, the only person that can really help them is each other. It’s not just the shared past and shared trauma, though that plays a role as well; it’s also a matter of a. unconditional trust and b. their position as equal vs their position as captain over their own crews. Even if they’re not too big on authority and hierarchy within their own crews, the fact remains that their nakama are their responsabilities and they don’t want to burden them with their problem or feel like their crew needs to protect them when it’s their jobs to protect their crews.
(And also, maybe, not wanting their crews to go on a murder spree on their behalf, but that’s another matter entirely)
So the only person they can really go to when they reach their limit is each other, but because of circumstances (cough cough Garp throwing a tantrum cough cough) they hadn’t been able to see each other in person in over three years. Denden calls help, but they’re not the same. So it’s not just Impel Down and Marineford and seeing the Rogers that just hit them, it’s also over three years without seeing each other and being able to help each other through memories and nightmares both.
One of the things I really wanted to get through with this scene is that there’s no shame in having emotions, nor in expressing them - expressing your emotions is healthy! No toxic mascuilinity here, no sire! Not expressing them in a situation where it could be dangerous is one thing, but you are allowed to be vulnerable and need help and ask for it.
This is probably a much longer commentary than you expected haha but I hope you enjoyed it!
#stereden talks#one piece#dvd commentary#stereden writes#buggy the clown#akagami no shanks#Watashitachi wa Roger kaizoku desu (we still stand proud)#the breakdown scene#yes i made myself cry writing that particular scene#Anonymous
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FIC REC: poppies in october by tahtahfornow on AO3 (wolfstar, also jily, remadora, and remus/lily)
since stumbling upon it the other day I’ve run through so many options trying to find the best way to describe this fic (up to and including ‘favorite wolfstar fic ever’) - and the best one I’ve got so far is ‘my wolfstar ship manifesto (fic version)’
it’s a canon-compliant multi-era one-shot, written for the intention of accounting for canon, and it absolutely achieves that IMO. I’m not particularly big on caring about canon for the sake of it, but I do like things to Make Sense, and wolfstar has always 100% Made Sense as canon to me and I don’t foresee myself ever getting enough of that — which is the reason why canon-compliant is my favorite type of wolfstar fic to read (it’s not purely because i’m a masochistic angst monster)!
the characterizations are incredibly spot-on, not only for each individual character (sirius, james, lily, friend!peter (!!)), but also for each of them at their different ages/life stages: from kids/teens, into post-Hogwarts life and the first war, and, and and and. and. measured reflective remus, perfectly ineffable sirius. and how they change and stay the same.
the writing is just – wow. there’s literally everything, there's so much to cover across the eras and all of it is incredible. it’s plain and simple and funny, it’s beautiful and haunting and evocative, there’s softly falling in love, there’s exhilaratingly falling in love, reluctantly falling in love. there’s. struggling to stay in love. struggling against love.
there’s so much achy hurty disconnect, ‘we just keep talking past each other.’ and there’s—above all—a connection, an entanglement, an inextricability, that—again, looks different and hits different at every stage, but is undeniably always, always there—that’s the reason why they are just. OTP like no other.
the other description i was toying with was ‘fic from a total stranger that somehow might have been written for me personally??’ – this fic somehow hits so many of the things i love/want/have always wanted to see! hidden for spoilers (minor spoilers, this is canon-compliant, you know the drill...) + length sorry i have normal amounts of feelings about this fic
there’s. sylvia plath poetry. daddy and lady lazarus, i’m crying
there’s epistolary bits with gratuitous literary references (personal guilty pleasure, i don’t even know. just. gets me every time yes 35 owls)
there are some of my exact precise headcanons about major first war events (specifically the secret keeper situation and Remus post-Halloween) written so much better than i could have myself/ ever imagined possible.
there is T H E most beautiful ending scene (... narnia and LOTR fundamentally shaped me as a story-reading human yall) that’s, again, just, exactly what i imagined except a million times BETTER.
there’s also hogwarts-era remus/lily and HBP remadora, written in a way I just. loved. speaking as someone who not just doesn’t mind but actively ships these ships... i felt this struck just the right balance of serving to enhance wolfstar yet also being lovely ships and characters, wonderfully compelling at that particular time, in their own right 🥺❤️
on top of everything else it is literally even my favorite fic length (short enough to read in one shot and long enough to be really substantial)
HELP I HAVE SO MANY FEELINGS ABOUT THIS FIC (AND THIS SHIP D: )
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The Aura Painter | DOB
Painter! Dylan x Princess!Reader
Word Count: 12K (12.057)
Warnings: Mentions of sexism, masturbation (mutual or solo), unprotected sex (this is a fic, be safe), cum play, breeding kink, filthy tbh, some cliché romance scenes. This is my second time writing ‘smut’. But this is the first time writing something so long and so filthy, bear with me.
A/N: This is an idea that I’ve had in mind for so long. Hope you guys enjoy it as much as I enjoyed imagining it. And of course, writing it. If you do, please give it some love and share it. The biggest solo piece I’ve ever written!
All Rights Reserved. The author, me, don’t allow any type of copy or adaption.
BIG MASTERLIST | KO-FI
Words you must know for the fic:
Onism (n.) the awarness of how little of the world you will experience.
Heriaeth (n.) a homesickness for a home to which you canot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning. the grief of lost places of your past.
Elysian (adj.) beautiful or creative; divinely inspired; peaceful and perfect.
.
The droplets of rain fell against the glass, leaving a trail which I followed with my gaze. The glistening tear of water disappeared before I could place my finger against the window and imitate that I could command its movement.
The sky seemed to cry, turning a darker shade. Perhaps the sky had lost a lover or perhaps, the one they loved was far from its reach. I could not tell as I never experienced one of those stories.
The books I had to read as a child were those who would teach me how to act and think. But those I read on the confines of my room when everyone was sleeping were different. Those told the story of a beautiful lady who wished to be rescued by a gentleman. I would try not to squeal under my blanket, as that was something, a lady of a high position should not do.
I glanced at the sky again as it screamed, lightly swaying the trees outside while his droplets of tears wetted everything under itself.
"M'lady," I corrected my form, trying to look as straight as possible. Turning around, I glimpsed directly into a pair of green eyes that seemed to lose their brightness as the seasons passed. Those eyes used to be the brightest ones in this palace, but now they were almost colourless, decorated by a couple of wrinkles. "Your mother is asking for your presence at her table."
That was unusual. My mother was a sophisticated distant woman who liked to spend time on her own. Hence, she tried to escape from her responsibilities as a Queen while having breakfast by herself. She would relax outside in the gardens. A small white table filled with her preferred meals, and even if she sought to convince herself, and lie to me about her drink being just a mere juice, everyone knew it wasn't.
"Tell me, Harold," While walking through the corridors of the palace, I noticed once again the monotony. The clicking of my heels appeared to be the only sound, except the melody of the rain falling against hard surfaces. "Did the Queen seem mad?"
Harold tried not to chuckle, knowing that if my parents or any of my siblings were near, he would end up getting struck by executing such a natural gesture. "I must say that the Queen did not ask for the cello man to accompany her this morning with some music."
I gasped, glancing at him to discern if he was teasing me. Harold had been in our family for so many years. I dare to say that he was in this palace before anyone else.
"She must be quite mad, then." I bit my lower lip, trying to think what of the things I have done could have gotten her mad, and how she had discovered them. "Perhaps she found the romance novels hidden in my room?" I muttered to myself.
"M'lady," Harold opened the door to the great hall. "She preferred to eat her breakfast in here as it is raining cats and dogs outside." He whispered, letting me walk in first. I silently nodded my head, wandering closer to my mother, who was sitting on the farthest place even though she was on her own. "My Queen. The young Lady has arrived. If my services are required, I will be waiting outside to escort the young Lady back to her room."
I shivered as soon as Harold left the room, wishing he could have stayed with me. But of course, he did not deserve the wrath of my mother. While walking closer to her, my clicking heels seemed to resemble the countdown of a bomb that would explode shortly.
"Take a seat, my darling," She demanded as soon as I was close to her. I swallowed, swiftly grabbing the skirts of my dress. I sat down on the white chair in front of her. She coughed. "Someone quite similar to the young Lady of the palace has been seen on the street market." A newspaper was placed on top of the table, facing me.
I swallowed one more time. "Must be someone who resembles me." I attempted to sound confident. "I am afraid that happened on Friday, and I take piano, courtesy and manner classes that day."
"Tell me, darling," She faked a smile. Her dark brown eyes, studying my position and expressions. "May I ask how you knew this happened on Friday as the article does not say something like that?"
"I-." Her stare became even more intimidating. "Guessed?" I squinted my eyes, perceiving that she would raise her voice to inhuman levels.
"Nor did you only skip your classes, you also lied and went outside on your own." Her tone was sharp. "Hideous things could have happened to you. Do you know what this could mean to your brother's throne?" Of course, this was about my dear brother. "The sister of the future King of Onism does not follow the rules of the palace. Then, what should they expect from their new King?"
"I did not do anything inappropriate, mother." I sighed, shifting my gaze to look at her directly. "I did not get in trouble, and as you can perceive, I am all right."
She rolled her eyes, which surprised me as she always claimed for that gesture not being refined. "And books," She pointed to one of the chairs, where I noticed all my favourite romance novels resting upon it. She had found them.
"May at least have some privacy in the confines of my bedroom?" I was mad, but raising my voice to her would get me in even more trouble. "Those," I referred to the pile of books that were my most precious property. "Those are mine."
"Not anymore," She got up, grabbing one of them and examining the title. "Romance novels? When will you understand that nothing like this happens in real life?"
I felt a little strength going through my body. "That book, in particular, describes the love story of the author! It is a romance that happened to her in real life. It is not fiction."
"But that woman was not a princess, was she?" I shook my head as she waited for my answer. "However, you are one. Even if you do not have anything to do with the future throne of Onism, your brother does, and you must behave like a princess." She walked closer to the fireplace. My eyes widened, and I gasped loudly. "You are a woman and a princess. The only thing you must worry about is making your future husband happy while following his rules, even if you do not love him." She opened the book, her skinny finger ripping some of the pages, and in the process, shattering my heart. "You will get married to someone you do not love, just to unite two countries." She let the book slip from her fingers. Falling to the fire, and burning as much as my eyes were burning due to the tears. "Stop filling your head with stories that will never happen to you. You are dismissed."
I got up from the chair, slightly glancing at the pile of books. I knew they would end up in the fireplace, slowly burning. I bowed my head. "I apologize, mother." She made a gesture with her hand, instructing me to leave the great hall.
My head was down as I walked to the door, wishing to exit the room and rant to Harold. "Wait," The voice of my mother interrupted my walk. "Get prepared as in two hours a man will come to paint a portrait of you. We will send the portraits to different future Kings of other countries that have shown interest in courting you."
"Yes, mother." I could not argue.
As I came out of the room, I noticed Harold's gaze fixed on me. I shook my head, letting him accompany me to my chambers. While walking through the long corridors, I glanced outside the windows. I reminded myself that I would never dance under the rain with someone while we laugh and kiss. I will never be caressed with love. I will only be touched with the purpose of bringing an heir to someone. An heir that would have to live the same dull life as me.
Going inside my bedroom, Harold bowed his head while he walked away. However, three ladies that worked in the palace entered my room, ready to assist me. I could not even take a bath on my own, nor could I dress by myself as the three of them did it for me.
"The painter will be here soon, ma'am," Rosetta informed, deciding to stay in the room as a lady should not be alone in a room with a man who is not her beloved husband. "He is a painter from town, said to have a gift."
"Is he quite known?" I asked to continue the conversation as I did not want to be rude. Nonetheless, the image of my books burning was the only thing in my mind.
"He is known in town for doing amazing portraits in exchange for food and a place to live." My curiosity peaked at the comment. "Royals are quite interested in getting their portraits done by him. Though, he had denied their offers." I looked at her with confusion. "He does not want to be related to any royalty member." I nodded my head, understanding why he did not want that.
There were two knocks on the door, indicating that the painter was here. I was quite surprised as my mother wanted the portrait to be painted in my private chambers. "Please, come inside."
When the door opened, a tall man came inside. He was probably around 5' 10". Wide shoulders that were covered by dark brown clothes. It seemed to be his best attire. Even though you could see the cheap fabric, and how he had tried to cover some holes and get rid of some stains. He had tried to gel his hair back. At first, I thought his hair was black until a streak of light fell on him, and I discerned it was a little lighter than that.
His light brown eyes fell on me, and studying them in-depth, I noticed that they resembled to be hazel. He bowed his head. "Uhm, it is a pleasure to meet you, Princess. I am here to-."
I offered him a smile. "Welcome to the palace," I bowed my head a little, which seemed to surprise him. "Please, do not call me Princess. It is fine to call me Lady." I gestured to one of the chairs in my room. "Please take a seat. It must have been a bumpy ride to the palace."
While sitting down, he nodded his head. There was a big black binder between his hands. Noticing my gaze on it, he quickly opened it, showing different canvas. "I can make different types of portraits. I thought I should bring some examples for the Pri-, Lady to choose the one she fancies the most." He stretched his arm, providing his drawings for me to look at them.
"May I ask for your name, sir?" My eyes focused on his drawings, understanding why everyone wanted to get their portrait done by the young man.
"My family name is O'Brien, while my name is Dylan, my Lady."
I nodded my head while still focused on his magnificent paintings. However, one in particular seemed to grab my full attention. It was the portrait of an elder, who appeared to be looking deep into me. He was skinny, and by his clothes, I could tell he was poor. He was sitting on a chair, and I almost gasped when I discerned that he had a missing leg. His expression was warm, a gorgeous smile decorating his face. Though, you could see that he had missing teeth.
"Did you find any equivalent style to what you desire?" His soft voice snapped me from my thoughts.
"May I ask?" I turned the portrait around, giving it back. His eyes examined the elder he had drawn. "Why is he smiling, but there are shadows around him?" I had noticed that the elder was smiling. However, black and grey adumbrations were around his figure. Some resembled horrible monsters. Especially a grey shadow that resembled a demon, resting upon his head.
He chuckled. "Those are the ones people in town ask the most." He glanced at me. "I draw their exterior as they want other people to see them. But then, around them, I draw what I can perceive or what I learnt about them." I furrowed my eyebrows. "Sadly, this man passed away a couple of weeks ago due to a cold." He licked his bottom lip. "He had offered me a home for a couple of days, and of course, he had proposed food in exchange for a portrait. Those days, I learnt many things while listening to his stories. I noticed that the man was attempting to look happy for his sick wife, whom he loved with his entire soul."
I fidgeted on my seat. "What happened, then?" I curiously asked, making him grin.
"He was not happy. He was afraid of losing the love of his life because death had knocked a couple of times on their door." He glanced at the painting. "Their children had married to people in higher positions, ignoring the elderly couple and not helping them with medicines. He was 87 years old, working in the town market. He was selling vegetables that he was cultivating by himself." He decided to continue as he saw that I was expectant of knowing more. "He never lost the smile for anyone, even if people did not treat him right. And of course, when arriving at his house, he would maintain the smile for his wife."
"Then," I tried to hide my teary eyes. "Those dark shadows..."
"Those are the monsters he tried to hide, but that I got to meet. The fear of losing his wife, the frightening feeling of wanting to end his own life, the fear of not having money to pay for his wife medicines, and so much more."
"And what happened to them?" Rosetta coughed, indicating me to fix my posture, and I quickly did, which made him furrow his eyebrows.
"As I said, one of his biggest fears was that they did not have enough money to pay for his wife's medicines." He peeped at the ground for mere seconds. "She died in her sleep. Her body could not hold the pain anymore, and she faded away."
"What about the old man?"
He nodded his head, his gaze shifting to the portrait. "He passed away in his sleep too. There was a smile in his face."
I blinked, affected by the grievous story of those who had to fight to survive. "I want one of those!" Both Rosetta and Dylan looked at me with surprised expressions decorating their faces. "I would like one of those portraits."
"My Lady, I'm sorry to intervene on matters that I should not. But I do not think the Queen will like such a portrait to be sent to those who are interested in courting you." She was right.
"She will not look at the portrait. Harold will be the one sending them." I affirmed, knowing that my mother would not dirty her hands for anything.
"It could get the young man in trouble, my Lady."
I glance at the man, who was looking at Rosetta until his eyes met mine. "Yes," I smiled, even though I was upset. "You are right. Then," I studied a portrait, a simple one. "I would like this one." Dylan nodded his head.
"It would take a couple of days to finish it. But I will be staying in the palace for the time being." He informed. "Is there any time of the day where you prefer to spend your time just standing in front of me?" He blushed a little. "Just for the portrait, of course."
"Tuesdays and Fridays I must spend receiving 'Lady classes'. The rest of the days and hours, I will be in here." I sighed, offering him another smile. "Did they give you directions for the room where you will stay?" Nodding his head, he showed me a piece of paper with some important directions to places of the palace that he could visit. "Your bedroom is at the end of this corridor. You are lucky as it is empty, except for me and Harold's room." Of course, he had met Harold already. "I must warn you not to leave your room after 11 pm as there are guards everywhere." I got up from my chair. "Rosetta," I pointed at her. "She will bring every meal to your room. Do not hesitate if you need to ask them something. There are a bathroom and a study in your chambers."
Before he could answer, the door of my chambers opened. A broad man stumbled in with decisive steps, and fury adorning his face. I gulped, stepping back before I could hold myself.
The man threw a newspaper at me, hitting my chest. Glancing at the floor, I witnessed the same newspaper my mother had been holding a couple of minutes ago. "Again?" His voice was sharp. "Did you escape again to buy those stupid books?" I shook my head. "Oh, yes, you did. Mother told me." His boots sounded like thunders as he walked closer. "I do not desire to hear any rumour of how my sister is not acting like a lady." My brother Evans glared at me. "If my future in the throne is affected by your stupid imagination and ambitions, I swear I will do whatever I must do for you to learn your lesson."
"I am s-."
"Do not you dare speak back to me!" He screamed. His gaze shifted to Dylan, who was standing too, eyes widened and what seemed anger decorating his face. "Are you the painter?" He nodded his head. "Try to make her attractive in the portrait. Hopefully, some rich soon-to-be King from another country will want to marry her." He peered at me. "Luckily, he will know when a woman needs a genuine beating to act like a lady or a wife." Those were his final words as he left the room. I finally could breathe.
"Uhm," My legs shook, and I attempted to hide it. "As I said before if you need anything, do not hesitate to ask."
"Thank you, my Lady." He got up from his chair, clutching his paintings. "Is it all right to start with the portrait tomorrow morning?" I nodded my head, wishing him goodnight as he left my bedroom.
"Rosetta," Her hands were behind her back, respectfully. "Tell Harold that I demanded not to be disturbed tonight. Not even for dinner." She nodded her head, bowing and leaving me on my own.
I sighed, wandering closer to a full-body mirror that decorated one of my walls. The moment I feared the most was getting closer. I would marry someone whom I do not love. I would marry someone whose eyes would not hold back from gawking at other women. And with those thoughts in mind, I went to sleep.
The following day, I decided to have breakfast and lunch in my chambers, not wanting to face my mother or my older brother. I had convinced Harold to stay outside my room, wanting to be on my own with Dylan. I thought that I would feel more comfortable if I didn't have someone constantly checking my posture or warning me of what should not say. Moreover, I also believed that a painter needed his privacy to reflect his art on a canvas.
I was stunned toward the bright day outside. Looking out of the window, I saw my little siblings running around the garden as some servants followed them. They were probably making their job even more complicated. Alexander and Victoria were quite the troublemakers. However, I was thrilled for them as they would not have to follow such strict indications, as to the ones I had to obey.
"Are those your siblings, my Lady?" Scared by the prompt presence, I turned around. Dylan was standing there, holding a big canvas and a briefcase, which I assumed held his painting materials. "I apologize if I alarmed you. Harold permitted me to come inside."
I nodded my head. "Yes, they are twins." I offered him a smile as he grabbed a chair, placing it in front of me. I discerned that my back was resting against the wall, and I quickly moved to stand straight. "Oh, please, no." He extended his arm. "Would it be okay for you to go back to that position? The light was caressing the right side of your face. There was a beautiful contrast." I swallowed, nodding my head while resting my back against the wall. I heard him chuckle. "Please, do not worry. It is okay for you to blink, breathe or swallow. It is also okay for you to do light movements."
"May I talk?"
"I am not great at holding conversations, but I will try my best, my Lady." He placed the blank canvas on the easel. His hands worked fast while taking out his painting material from the briefcase. "If it is not rude," He swallowed, probably questioning himself if it was okay to continue speaking. "I have noticed some books lying under the bed," I glance at my bed. Noticing that some books could be seen, which meant he was good at observing and that I did not hide my books correctly. "What books do you read?"
"Well," I gulped. "I read books about manners a lady should have in front of males and for the table. I study geography too as I must know the rest of countries for future alliances, and-."
"I apologize, my Lady." He wetted his brush. "Perhaps I formed the question wrongly. I wanted to know which books you enjoy."
My mouth opened as no one has ever asked me such a question. "You will think I am a typical young girl."
"Cannot think like that, my Lady." He mixed some colours. His painting brush, caressing the canvas delicately. "You are not a typical young girl. You are the Princess of Onism." Though those words shattered my heart, he was right. I would never be a 'normal' girl as my life was nothing like the one of an ordinary lady. "However," He continued. "When you paint someone, you get to comprehend them deeply. I believe I might discover that you are an ordinary human at heart. Something beautiful that would separate you from cold-hearted royalty." I was surprised by his words as people would not dare to talk of royalty like that.
I offered him a smile. "You might." He got distracted for a couple of seconds. His eyes navigated from the canvas to me, trying to retain my features and the folds of my clothes. "Romance." I was flustered. "I do truly enjoy romance."
"I presume something you will experience as soon as these portraits are sent."
I shook my head. "Something I presume I will never experience." His eyebrows furrowed once again. "Royalty men have the right to choose whom they will marry, even if they do not love them. Women will have to accept whomever their parents choose for her." My gaze shifted to the window for a couple of seconds. "It is my destiny."
He stopped painting for mere seconds, staring at me while slowly blinking. "Destiny can be changed." I shook my head. "It can," He nodded his head. "It might be scary or go against the rules. But destiny can be changed by the decisions you make. Only you are the sailor of the ship." He grinned. "That is something my father used to say."
"Used?"
"He passed away." He gritted his teeth. "He was a great painter too. Better than me." To my curious gaze, he decided to continue. "My mother left when I was a baby. She fell in love with a younger man, leaving my dad and me." He gulped. "Therefore, I would not dare to say that I have seen love as my mother left without looking back."
"H-Have you experience love, sir?"
"Please, call me Dylan, my Lady." There was a comfortable silence between us as he seemed to be concentrating on the portrait. "Not sure I did. Love is not what is shown in books. Nonetheless, I would like it to be like that."
"I cannot agree or disagree." I offered a sad smile, trying to hide my tears. "May we take a rest?"
He glanced at the clock hanging on my wall, nodding his head. "I apologize, time went by so fast." He cleaned and placed his paints inside his briefcase. "Good night, my Lady." I bowed back to him as he closed the door.
I waited for a couple of minutes, opening the door and seeing Rosetta waiting there. "Where is Harold?" I glance around, hoping to see the grey-haired man.
"He had to take care of some issues." She replied, looking nervous. "Do you need anything, my Lady?"
I quickly nodded my head. "I expect no dinner today, and I demand to be left alone." She furrowed her eyebrows, and before she could speak back, I stopped her. "I would like to take my nightly bath on my own, please." She nodded her head, walking away after wishing me a good night.
I closed the door of my chambers, quickly locking it as I rapidly walked into my bathroom, doing the same thing to the door. Walking closer to the bath, I turned on the faucet. I checked the temperature of the water until it was lukewarm.
I sighed as my hands went to my back, untying my dress. As the clothes fell to the ground in a surprisingly elegant manner, I appreciated not being forced to wear a corset. My legs shook as I placed one inside the water until I was sitting down.
I have read in books how a woman and a man would fall in love. A passion that they could not resist. An absolute passion that would make their hands wander through their bodies, wanting to feel each other as close as possible. I have read it so many times that I could lie to my head, making it think that I have experienced something like that.
I have read the way hands seem to burn on the skin, and how breathing becomes more arduous. And how after being pleasured, you need it over, and over again.
I sighed, feeling my nipples hardening, and I learnt they could do so even if the temperature was not cold. My left hand gripped the edge of the bathtub as the right hand rested on my chest. I decided it was time to move it, and closing my eyes, I left it to wander down while grazing my nipples.
When my fingers caressed my tummy, they seemed to become shy. Not used to the places they were descending. I have read books, but I have never experienced the feeling, which made me feel curious.
I tried to remember all the books. My fingers ended up placed on top of my bundle of nerves, and just the mere touch made me shiver from excitement. I slowly moved them in circles, adding more pressure, little by little. The temperature down there seemed to get warmer to the point where it burned. I could not avoid the need to move my fingers faster.
My left hand continued to grip the edge of the bathtub, but this time harder as my mouth opened and my vision became blurry. I felt this strange sensation. I felt like I was going to urinate inside the warm water, and even though I felt quite disgusted by the thought, I could not stop my fingers. They moved in circles, faster and adding much more pressure.
And it came. A rush of pleasure came over my body, and I could not hold back the moans escaping my mouth as I peeped down between my legs. My intimate parts turned red due to temperature and agitation. Then, I regarded the water near it, looking less transparent. So that was it. That is what a woman felt after pleasuring herself.
Curiosity invaded me even more, and I wanted to experience more further.
A couple of days had gone by, and the portrait was already looking amazingly good. I did not have any doubt of Dylan's talent as I have seen some of his works.
"Has anyone shown you around?" We had got a little closer as we spent many hours together for the portrait. He shook his head, taking off his dark green beret, and resting it on a nearer seat as he proceeded to mix some colours. "Would you like to see the gardens and the horses?"
His eyes widened. "Horses, my Lady?" I chuckled at his expression, nodding my head.
"Eight to be exact." His eyes widened even more. I remembered everything he had told me about himself, especially his love for horses. "We could take a rest. I feel dizzy from the smell of paint." He promptly nodded his head, halting and resting his brush on top of an antique plate stuffed with remains of paint.
Strolling through the gardens, I peered at him. He seemed content, having the chance to smell the fresh air mingled with the scent of the white roses that decorated our gardens. "White roses are your favourites." He had surprised me while retrieving such a simple, but a unique fact about me.
I nodded my head. "I prefer them over red roses. Those are overrated." He laughed, making my heart beat loudly. Dylan was an attractive man, and these past days I could not stop my body and my heart from reacting as soon as my gaze met his. "The stables are over there." I pointed to a couple of meters away from us. I extracted my arm as I felt something falling on it. "Oh, it seems like it will start drizzling." We walked faster to the stables, almost running as the rain appeared to fall swiftly upon our clothes. "You will adore Arden. He is my hor-." I was interrupted as I saw two bodies stirring frantically against each other. Their moans, invading the stables. "Wh-." A hand covered my mouth while another dragged me off the stables. Dylan and I ran under the rain, getting as far as possible from the horses' house.
Both of us gawked at each other in astonishment. "Maybe my eyes deceived me. However, I believe that was Harold?" He seemed as shocked as me.
"They did not trick you." I gulped. "May I add that woman was my mother?"
His eyes widened even more. "T-The Queen?" I nodded my head. "I am so sorry, my Lady."
"I am not angered by the fact she was committing adultery! I know my father is no saint." I gritted my teeth. "I am mad by the fact she lives a miserable life. In which she had to marry a man she does not love, and she wants to impose the same duty on me!" My hands reached my hair, fingers clutching it. "It is not fair for her to desire the same dull and cruel life for me!" Dylan kept quiet, allowing me to rant. "Why must not I experience falling in love with someone? I crave to be touched by adoring hands, not dirty ones that will not care about my desires and will expect for an heir to be conceived." I sighed. "I ache to live that romance until the day I die." I let my posture fall, whining. "Why cannot I be kissed by someone truly interested in me? Why cannot I be touched by someone who desi-."
My speech was interrupted as Dylan's hands rested on my cheeks. His lips were tightly pressed against mine. I have read how a kiss was mostly controlled by the fight of tongues, aspiring to be the dominant one. But this was just a simplistic kiss.
"Oh my-." His eyes widened as my mouth fell open. "I apologize for my behaviour. I do not know what came over my mind for me to-." My hands were now covering his cheeks as I bought him closer. My lips were awkwardly pressed against his. He separated from me, blinking dumbfoundedly. "Close your eyes." I did. "Open your mouth a little, my Lady." His thumb drew my lower lip downwards. As he got closer, I felt his tongue stroking my bottom lip.
My hands were pushed against his chest as I gripped his white shirt between my fingers. One of his hands had to wander to my lower back as my legs shook. His tongue was now grinding against mine, and not knowing what to do, I mimicked his actions. My mouth instinctively melted against his.
"You will be the death of me, my Lady." He held me closer. His right hand, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Literally."
The following day, I walked to the great hall, confident enough not to knock on the door before stepping inside. My mother seemed shocked to be interrupted by my presence, as she gripped the teacup tighter.
Harold wandered behind me, fear written all over his features as he had never seen me disrespecting my mother in such a way.
I gestured for the cello man to leave the room, which he quickly did, not even daring to glance at my mother. "How dare you to come inside in such a-."
"I will not get married." I interrupted her, something I have never done before. I had been informed by my brother that there was a powerful candidate for me to marry. A 52-year-old man. "I will not marry someone I do not love, and even less a 52-year-old King just for our countries to be at peace."
"You have no say on it."
"Mother, do you want me to live the same life as you?" I ventured to ask. "Do you want me to marry a man who will sleep with every servant or woman that crosses his way while my future children will have to suffer the consequences too? A boy that ought to follow the rules of a King until he becomes a tyrant. And a girl who ought to have to act as demanded. Merely for the young male of the family to be even more respected?"
"As I sai-."
"Will I be like you then, mother?" My lower lip trembled. "Will I be cold-hearted towards my children, towards my daughter? Will I have to submit her to the same shameful life as me?" I did not let Harold intervene. "Will I have to close my eyes to true love and consume my infatuation with the person I truly love in some dirty stable?" Both of them were shocked by my words. "You are preparing and forcing me to the life you both have. I do not want to hide from the public eye and keep the person I cherish a secret."
"If this is about that paint-."
"He has nothing to do with this." I did not appreciate the way she spoke about Dylan. "I have openly expressed my discomfort about marrying someone I do not love since I recollect. I understand romance books do not happen in real life. But love does, and marrying someone for my brother's throne is not love." I sighed. "It is not fair for us, women, to be treated like this while men are approached like that!"
She surprisingly glanced at me for a couple of seconds before her sober expression appeared once again. "Every King marries the women they choose. We cannot decide. Every King has bastard children." I had to remind myself that Alexander and Victoria were the children of one of our servants. "Even your brother is going to have a bastard child." I furrowed my eyebrows as it was the first time hearing that news. "Rosetta." A disgusted expression decorated my face.
"Well," I breathed deeply. "Destiny can be changed." I recited the same words Dylan had told me once. "It might be scary or go against the rules. But destiny can be changed by the decisions you make. Only you are the sailor of the ship." I glimpse at Harold. "I am tired of not being the sailor of my ship." I softened my voice. "Think about it, mother. I will do everything in my power to get out of here, even if it means dying in the process." For the first time in my life, my teary eyes were met with the glistening tears that invaded my mother's eyes. "I will be in my chambers. Please do not bother me at all."
When arriving to my bedroom, I did not expect to see Dylan waiting inside. I locked the door behind me as my eyes examined his entire body.
"Are you all right, my Lady?" He showed the briefcase he was squeezing between his fingers. "Rosetta told me to wait here for you. Since we could not continue with the portrait this morning, I assumed that perhaps, we could tonight."
"Let's escape together." My mouth seemed to move on its own. However, Dylan stared at me with complete confusion decorating his features.
"My Lady, I do not think I understand what you are trying to imply." He knew.
"I have told you before I do not plan on marrying someone whom I do not love." I walked to my bed, sitting down on the mattress. "It has been decided without letting me know that I will get married to the King of Hiraeth."
He glanced down at the floor for a couple of seconds to later shift his gaze on my direction. "Perhaps he is not only a noble because of his blood. Perhaps he is also noble at heart."
"It does not matter if he is noble at heart or not," I answered decisively. "He is a 52 year-old-man! And as I said before, someone I do not love!"
He sighed. "My Lady," Resting his briefcase on the floor, he pulled a chair to sit in front of me. Though, he maintained the distance. "If I am not wrong, you have never met this man before. You might end up fallin-."
"Do not dare to say that!" I got up from the bed, eyes flickering. "Please, do not be like the rest of those who live in this palace! The first time you came here, you told me I could change my fate." He swallowed, nodding his head. "That is what I am trying to do." My hands were squeezing the skirts of my dress. "Please."
"I cannot take you anywhere, my Lady. You are the Princess of Onism. Everyone in town knows the beauty you behold." He coughed while deeply looking into my eyes. "I do not know anyone that will keep the secret of you being in to-."
"You are not understanding me, Dylan." I tried to ignore the way his body shivered every time my tongue and lips worked together to create his name. "I know I told you that I have never experienced love." I bit my lower lip, taking a breath. "I only know what I have read in books." He nodded his head, waiting for me to continue. "But I understand my feelings. Even before the day we kissed under the rain, I was already attracted to you."
"Attraction is something that can be felt many-."
I stepped closer, making him glance up. "It was attraction, I admit." Both of my hands navigated towards my back. "But my heart beats madly, whenever you are near me, whenever I glance at you or when I think about you." He got up from his chair, slightly stepping back. "I am utterly sure that I am in love with a man who worries about me and my feelings. Someone who has been encouraging me and that has seen my fears."
"My Lady," He gulped. "I truly feel honoured to be inside your mind and heart. I will not lie as I do also feel the same towards you." When I moved closer, he prevented me. "But you are a Princess, and I am just a simple man who paints in exchange for food and a roof." He blinked fastly. "I cannot give you the life you might expect." He offered me a side-smile. "And of course, our relationship would not be approved by the King and Queen." His voice turned softer. "Neither by the soon-to-be King of Onism."
"I do not care!"
"But I do, my Lady." He breathed deeply. "I do not want you to live a life where people will insult and degrade you plainly because you married a penniless man, or because you did not obey the established rules of the members of the royalty."
"I already have that life, where I am discredited just because I am a woman." This time when I stepped closer, he did not back away. "I already have to follow settled rules for the sake of my brother." My hands were still behind my back, and I finally decided to let them untie. He did not notice yet. "But now I have found someone who makes me feel something I have never experienced before." I sighed. "What did you do to me, Dylan?" He opened his mouth. "My mind and heart are full of you, and they constantly demand my body to be filled by you too."
His neck and cheeks turned red as he seemed to have difficulties while swallowing his spit. His eyes shifted around the room, trying to decide what to do. "My Lady," He sighed in desperation. His hands travelling through his body while he clenched it and gritted his teeth. "I truly have been trying to hold back." His hands now grazed his face. "I have been trying to hide how in love I am with you as I am just someone who does not deserve you."
"You are the man who deserves me the most." The shoulders of my dress fell, displaying my bare skin. His eyes widened even more. "And you do not have to hold back anymore." Finally, the cloth fell onto the ground. "I have read so many things, but I have never thought of experiencing them." I felt embarrassed by revealing such a matter. "I could not hold my hands from exploring my body for the first time as your image was in my mind."
"You did?" I nodded my head. His eyes had never left mine, not even to peer at my underwear. A rush of confidence seemed to hasten through him as he walked to the door, securing it. "Show me." My expression must have confused him. "Show me how you did it."
It was my turn to gulp as I got on my mattress, lying down on my back. I was slightly sitting thanks to the pillow, which granted me to discern Dylan as he shuffled closer to the end of the bed.
My bralette was already off, but his eyes still fixed on mine. "You can look." As soon as those words came out of my mouth, his eyes glanced down at my chest. It seemed like he had complications breathing.
My hands gently travelled down, gripping the sides of my underwear and slowly bringing them down my legs. The chilly air was a contrast of temperature to my entire body. I shifted my legs to completely discard my panties, which ended up someplace on the ground.
I permitted my fingers to touch the bundle of nerves, suffering a chill through my body that reminded me of that time in the bathtub, or the following times where I could not restrain my needs. Rubbing on circles, my other hand went to my mouth, biting on it not to make any sound.
"That is how you did it?" I nodded my head. "Until you exploded?" Again, I acknowledged with my head. "My Lady. Has any man touch you in such a way?" Shaking my head, he offered me a smile. "May I be the first one to do so?" I nodded my head, which he did not seem to like. "Please, use your words."
"I do," I did not hesitate. "I do want to be touched by you, Dylan."
"I might die right now, my Lady." He wandered closer. His hands slowly discarded his dark blue beret. Then, his fingers rapidly unbuttoned his white shirt, which had some dark little stains due to his paintings. His body was fit, enough to make a woman drool. I must say, he seemed broader than what I have imagined. "Have you ever introduced your fingers inside?"
I shook my head.
I hear the sound of his shoes falling to the ground as he kneeled on the end of the bed. His right hand moved my left hand from my clit, leading it to his hair. "Hold on tight, my Lady." Not sure of his next actions, I shivered as his breath hit my heated core. His tongue peeked out from his mouth, gently grazing my centre.
I gripped his soft hair between my fingers, making his gaze shift to look deep into my eyes. His tongue lapped, adding pressure on my clit. I whined as his tender tongue left my core to slid down and up a couple of times, extending my wetness all over my intimate part.
I was utterly surprised when the tip of his tongue ended up inside me, and he seemed to noticed as he grounded it against my walls. His right hand slowly left my thigh, where his grip had been tough. "I will be gentle." His whispers were almost unnoticeable as my moans were louder, feeling one of his warm fingers getting coated by my juices as he introduced it, inside my vagina. "Does it feel good?" Without waiting for an answer, he started thrusting it. His lapping tongue and his thrusting finger, producing a drooling combination.
"Oh my god," The candles that were lit, and resting on the table next to my bed seemed to flatter by a scene hotter than their flames. "Faster, please." I must not lie. Introducing his second finger on me had provided a slight pain. But seconds later, it had been replaced by an unbelievable pleasure. "Please do not make me beg."
"I would like to see you beg, my Lady." His mouth had left my clit, chin dripping with my fluids. "I would love to see you beg under the light of the candles while no one else knows that you are getting the love and passion you deserve." His fingers made a wet sound when they left my insides. I could not help but whine as he got farther from my body but became expectant when his fingers played with his belt.
As soon as he slid his pants down his legs, I could not help but moan again. There was a bulge between his legs, and I could not help but get flustered thinking about having him inside me. However, I was quite worried about his size as he already seemed thick through his pants.
I remembered a scene from a book where this girl had her first experience with her childhood friend. They had become lovers and decided to consume their love on top of the counter of the protagonist's kitchen. Her description of the scene was incredibly detailed. And even though my body had become more heated while reading it, I could not help but be worried when she described the experience as feeling as if she was getting 'ripped', which was quite vulgar but exciting in an unusual way.
I had been distracted by my thoughts, as to when I realized my rounds, Dylan's member was finally free. It stood tall and thick against his stomach. He could not help but contain his grin as I gasped.
"I never-."
"I know, my Lady." His hands grabbed my ankles, calmly making their way to my thighs, which he squeezed while separating my legs even more. "I am utterly happy to be the first and only man to make love to you." Uh? "I will take care of you for the rest of my life." His eyes looked deep into mine, asking for permission for his next movements and actions. Of course, I nodded.
He grabbed his shaft, his hand circling it while he thrust into his clenched fist a couple of times. He left if free, spitting on his hand to later grab his member again, lubricating it.
"I am a little scared," I confessed, shifting my gaze to his face. "You are so thick and long. H-How is that supposed to fit inside-."
"We can stop if you want, my Lady." One of his thumbs caressed one of my thighs. "There is no rush and enough time to do this whenever you feel ready."
"I do want to do it! I am just a little scared." I gulped, glancing down at his member. "Could you maybe go slowly?"
He nodded his head, getting closer and placing a peck on my lips. "Whatever you wish for, my Lady." Asking for permission again, he waited until it was granted, for the tip of his member to graze the lips of my vagina. "Here I go." He started adding pressure. Until the entire tip was inside, making me gasp. "Sh, breathe." His right hand went to my tummy, caressing it. "We can go slower."
I nodded my head as I took deep breaths, ignoring the tears that were falling from the corner of my eyes. A couple of minutes went by when I decided that the pain had become a pleasure. I shifted my hips toward Dylan. I was right as there was only pleasure. "Dylan, please," I whined. "Please move."
His entire member was inside me, and Dylan's thrusts had become steady and swift. His mouth was travelling from my jaw to my lips, sometimes stopping to ask for my well-being.
One of his hands left my hips, going between our bodies as he started circling my clit, adding more pleasure. "Oh my gosh," I raised my voice, not being able to hold back the incredible feeling. "Lord, please go faster." I circled my legs around his hips, bringing him closer if it was possible. His member, hitting places that it could not reach before. Wails of satisfaction came out of my mouth. "Please, fuck me harder."
He seemed quite shocked by my choice of words as his eyes widened. But he had seemed to enjoy them too, as his thrusts became even faster and sloppier. "I will not last long." He groaned, not afraid of expressing his pleasure while his lips grazed my ear. "I have been dreaming of this for so long." His moans made my entire body shiver. His right hand, circling my clit even faster. "Please, my Lady. Tell me you are close. Please."
"I am!" I drowned my screams while biting his shoulder. "I am so close." His left hand travelled to my left nipple, toying with it. The different stimulations, getting me dizzy while my vision became blurry. And I came undone under Dylan's body.
Reading was nothing like experiencing it.
My breath was laborious. Dylan stayed inside, thrusting a couple of times more until he quickly came out, thrusting in his clenched fist. He was going to finish soon. His eyes, questioning where to explode. My hands went to my breasts, holding them together.
Dylan's eyes widened as he understood what I was implying. He moved, his hips getting closer as his dick ended up being embraced by my breasts. I held them in place while he thrust, moaning at the contact. His tip, hitting my chin and lower lip. He did not last much longer, exploding and cumming all over my chin and lower lip.
He gasped, our bodies full of sweat. "I made a mess. I am so sorry, my L-." My tongue peeked out of my mouth, licking some of the cum that was resting on my lower lip. "I-. Oh, gosh." His lips settled up against mine. His tongue, parting my lips so his tongue could slowly dance against mine. "Did it feel good?"
"It felt amazing." I was still trying to breathe at a regular pace.
He kissed my forehead, leaving the bed and wandering to the bathroom. His member was still lightly hard. But he quickly gave me the view of his butt.
When he came back, he was gripping a towel. Sitting on the side of the bed, he slowly cleaned his release from my chin and chest. Then, folding it, he cleaned between my legs. He was cautious, trying not to hurt me as my entire body was sensitive. Next, he discarded the towel.
His body fell on the bed next to mine. We both gazed into each other's eyes with foolish smiles decorating our faces. "I do not want to leave. But night curfew will be soon."
"I do not care." I wrapped my sore body against him, breathing in. "Stay here. Nobody will know. You can leave early in the morning." I did not notice I was pouting until his lips pecked mine. Then, the rest of the night was a cuddling blur as exhaustion took over our bodies.
Another couple of days had gone by, and it was nearly impossible to keep our hands for ourselves. Dylan had been sleeping in my chambers, which was difficult to hide. I had been ignoring my mother and Harold as much as possible. And thankfully, my brother was away in a political meeting with my father. We had also continued the portrait sessions, which sometimes ended with our bodies full of paint as we could not hold back for holding each other.
I must confess that there had been sexual escapes around the palace, which was a surprise, as we did not get caught yet. Momentarily, Dylan's boxers were around his ankles like his pants as I was grabbing the skirts of my dress.
My face and chest were pressed against the wall of a tiny room while he thrust in me from behind. "Ah, we will get caught." He whispered but did not stop his movements. "You are going to be the death of me, my Lady."
We had been walking around the castle until I could not hold back myself anymore. I took Dylan's hand, going inside a tiny room that, it is used, for cleaning materials. Therefore, we were fucking as fast as we could, aiming for a release. "Please, go deeper!"
"I believe I am as immersed as I can, my Lady." The sound of our skin slapping against each other turned both of us on even more.
We both were close to our release. But we were rudely interrupted by the door of the room opening, showing Rosetta and Harold, who stared at us with surprise written all over their faces.
Dylan quickly came out of me, pulling his boxers and pants up while I let the skirts of my dress fall.
"Harold," I started. "Please, do not say anything." My eyes begged. "Could you please give us five minutes and wait in my chambers?" Without saying anything, they closed the door. "Oh my god."
"It is okay, my Lady." Fear was visible in his face and voice.
I was baffled as when entering my chambers, my mother was there, next to Harold. He ignored my gaze, staring deep into Dylan's eyes.
"Mother-."
"I told you!" She did not hesitate to raise her voice. "I know you did not choose to be a princess, but this is what we have to deal with." I could not protest. "I am not trying to make you miserable. I was trying to avoid a situation like this where this young man," Surprisingly, she did not glare at the young man next to me, who was squeezing my hand. "And you will be in danger!" She sighed. "Imagine if it was your father or brother finding you two! They arrived early this morning!" I did not know about their arrival. "He would have killed him and make you watch." I gasped, getting teary. "I did not want you guys to end as I did."
"What?" I asked while being overwhelmed by confusion.
"Your mother," Harold decided to spoke as my mother had to seat on the end of my bed, trying to calm herself. "She fell in love with a servant of this palace, way before you were born." Dylan and I were pretty interested in the story. "You do not choose who you love, my Lady." He shifted his gaze between the two of us. "However, keeping such a secret was complicated. And eventually, someone found out." His hand rested on my mother's back. "Unfortunately, the one that discovered them passionately kissing in the gardens was your father." I gulped while swaying closer to Dylan, searching for his warmth. "He executed him right there, in front of your mother."
"Those white roses used to be red." My mother's voice shook while she referred to those planted in our garden. "It was so repulsive to see that his blood mattered nothing when for me mattered the world. He was my world." She offered us a sad smile. "No one mourned for his loss except me. His body was taken away by other servants in uncaring behaviour. His blood could not be seen, because it had splattered on the flowers that had the same tone." She wept, trying to breathe and calm herself to continue. "It was as if he had never existed. I thought I had gone crazy, and I had imagined the love and the man that I desired to have."
"Mother," My eyes were teary. "I am so sorry that happened to you, and now, I understand you tried to protect me." I glimpsed at Harold for a couple of seconds. "But this is just throwing me into a deeper hole. I will end up in a similar situation to yours, and my children will be doomed, to the same cruel fate." I was desperate. "Mother, destiny can be changed." Dylan was looking at me, a tiny smile on his face while he rubbed one of my freezing hands.
"I have seen you grow up," Harold intervened. "I have learnt every one of your moves, understanding when you wanted to cry or laugh." He grinned, crossing his arms. "Deep inside, I knew one day you would want to fight from the established and dull life you are supposed to live."
"He spoke to me." My mother continued. "Harold opened my eyes, and he taught me to perceive that you were falling in love with this young man." She bowed at Dylan, and he returned the same gesture. "And I perceived that this young man was falling in love with you too."
"Your father and brother lied of their whereabouts." Harold stepped closer. "They bought with them a visitor."
My mother shifted closer to us. "It is the King of Hiraeth." She gulped. "The 52 year-old-man that they expect to marry you with."
"No," I shook my head. "Please, mother." I could not stop the tears from falling down my cheeks. "Please, mother. Do not let them do that. Please. Please." Before I could fall to my knees, my mother held her hand up, offering me a brown bag.
"It is yours now." My mother replied, sliding the bag into my hands. "This will help both of you." Money, there was a lot of gold inside the bag. Dylan was looking inside the container with wide eyes as I did. "If I had stolen money from your father, he would have noticed. Therefore, I bargained my jewellery." Her hand unconsciously went to her neck, and I noticed her diamond necklace missing.
"Here," Harold extended his arm, offering us a piece of paper. Dylan clutched it. It was a map. "That black circle is your shared property. It is a near kingdom, not too far from here but enough for you two to be safe and not be recognized, as the Princess of Onism."
"What?" My mouth was agape.
"It is Elysian. It is a small town full of life, and it is secure." Harold explained with a smile. "It is your new home. The money will help you guys for a couple of years, but of course, my Lady, you will have to get used to a life without servants and luxuries. However, I do not have any doubt that you will be able to adapt to such a life."
"Then," I glanced at my mother. "You are helping me escape?"
"I am helping both of you leave." She cried. "I am helping you get out of the life you did not choose and the one you do not desire." I turned around to stare at Dylan, who had tears running down his cheeks while smiling at me. He shyly pecked my forehead. He wiped his tears while bowing again, staying in that position for a couple of seconds. "No, no, please stand up." He did. "We are family now. Please take care of my little girl."
"I will, your highness." His words sounded so confident that it made my heart beat violently.
"W-What about you two?" I glanced between them. "Are you coming with us?" I was expectant to hear their answer.
My mother shook her head. "We did change our destiny." She referred to the present situation. "Do not worry about us."
"But-."
"My Lady," Harold took me into his arms, embracing me. "Escaping is more complex for us. But do not worry, because we will end up getting away from here. One day, we will." He smiled at me. "For now, Arden is prepared to take you both far from Onism tonight."
I nodded my head. "Take care of my mother, and thank you for being like a father to me." After squeezing him, I quickly hugged my mother. "Thank you. Thank you so much."
Before they left my room, my mum turned around. "Dylan is your name, right?" He nodded his head. "I viewed the portrait. It looks marvellous. Take it with you." He was perplexed. "The portrait was for the man that will marry her. That man is you, so that portrait belongs to you."
"I bought gifts!" I overheard two squeals, rolling my eyes with a foolish smile, adorning my features. Two tiny figures ran to the owner of the voice. "Perhaps you both only love me when I bring presents."
"Perhaps they do." I walked closer to the man, whose beautiful smile was aimed, at me. My right hand gripped his arm, a signal for him to lower his head so I could peck his lips. "Welcome home. I made your favourite dish." My lips had trapped his bottom one between mines for a couple of seconds, making him whine lowly.
He seemed to be dumbfounded while pecking my lips a couple of times until our children interrupted the moment with their excitement to know what their father had brought them. "Well," He chuckled. "I bought my little princess this!" He took a stuffed animal from his coffee-coloured bag. Charlotte squealed and giggled while running around the room with her new plaything. "And I bought my not-so-little prince," He remembered how our little boy did not want to be named as a child anymore. "This." He showed him a new brand book, which cover was of a dark blue with golden touches.
Thomas could not help but grin. "This book was printed a couple of days ago! Thank you so much, father!" He tightly hugged his dad. "Perhaps I could bring it with me to the Addington's home?" He could not help but jump around due to his excitement. "I believe Newt will love it too!"
Dylan nodded his head. "Take care fo your sister, please."
The Addington's were a young family of five that lived next door. We were constantly inviting each other over to our homes, wanting the kids to play together. We, the adults, were also mates. A couple of times, we babysit each other's kids to have privacy with our respective partners.
As soon as the kids were out of the door, Dylan's briefcase had fallen to the ground. He had been away for an entire week due to a commission of a portrait where he would earn a lot of money.
His hands were caressing my entire body as we both tried to make our way to our shared chamber, in hopes of continuing the passion there. "I have missed you so much, my Princess."
My fingers moved quickly, trying to untie the dress I was wearing. My hands were sweaty, and Dylan must have noticed as he ended up unlacing my attire. "I am not a Princess anymore."
He swallowed, eyes focused on my breasts as I was not wearing a bralette. Both of his warm hands slid up, cupping my bosom. His fingers grazed my nipples while his entire hands squeezed the rest. "You are right." His gaze shifted to my lips. "You are the queen of my heart now, my Lady." That name had stayed since the very beginning, and every time it came rolling gently out of his lips, my undergarments got drenched.
"I will explode right here, Dylan." I moaned as my hands were busy sliding down his pants while he worked on his jacket and shirt. "I have missed having you around. And being around you."
He groaned, slipping one of his hands behind my back as he squeezed my buttocks. I whined when he pinched it. "You seem to be so desperate for me."
"That smirk," I grinned while kissing his bottom lip. "Perhaps you are as desperate as me." I glanced down as I spotted his hard bulge against my front.
"I am not as needy as you are, my Lady." The last word was said sensually, making my legs shake.
"I am sure you are as needy as me, Sir." It was that word for him. I could feel the temperature of his body rising.
"What does my queen require from such a humble servant?" He acted while sprawling my body down on the bed. His hands, gripping the sides of my panties, bringing the down and discarding them. "Maybe she needs help down here?" One of his fingers ran up and down, collecting my fluids. He did not hesitate to bring that finger into his mouth, savouring it. "My Lady, perhaps I should confess that you taste like Heaven, itself."
His face leaned closer to my core, but I immediately stopped him. He glimpsed at me, confused. "I want to be the one giving you as much pleasure as possible." Sitting down on the bed, my hands pushed against his chest until he was the one lying on his back.
I questioned myself when he had taken his boxers off as his member sprang free, hitting his tummy. Pre-cum was decorating his pink tip while sometimes, you could see it palpitating as the veins were tightening.
My right hand started working immediately, grabbing his shaft while going up and down. I softly squeezed it as his arm rested on top of his forehead, blissfully. My thumb stayed on the tip, playing with the tiny drops of pre-cum.
"Gosh, are you an angel?" His words wavered as my left hand cupped his balls, lightly tugging on them. "My Lady, I need your mouth, please." I attended his demands, my left hand still playing with his balls.
However, my mouth was also sucking on the lowest part of his member. Licking my way up, my mouth embraced the tip of his dick. His hands went through my hair, settling on grasping it forcefully and guiding me down until his entire thick member was inside my mouth.
His moans got louder as his hips could not hold back, shifting upwards, choking me as his tip scraped the back of my throat. "My Lady." Glancing upwards, I could see the sweat falling down his forehead. His entire body was sweating, especially the part of his chest with a spot of hair.
I sucked harder, preventing my teeth from grazing his delicate member. "May I come inside your mouth, my Lady?" Humming against his dick, he seemed to understand my permission. A couple of hard thrusts that chocked me and he was cumming down my throat, spilling a big load. His breath was laborious as his hands caressed my hair back. "Please, ride me."
He whined when his member lost the warmth of my mouth as I shifted my body to position myself on top of him. My left hand was resting against his chest. My other hand, grabbing his still firm member. "May I?" He nodded his head. As soon as he was filling me up, both of us became a moaning mess. "Ah, I felt so empty without your dick inside me."
His hands instantly clutched my hips as he encouraged me to bounce on top him. "You look so ravishing while you bounce on my dick." I moaned, loving his dirty talk. "I could do this every day. I love how your breasts bounce while you are getting stretched by my dick." He gulped. "They have got even bigger after you had our beautiful children." His right hand slapped my ass. "Listen," I ceased my moans as I heard the slapping sounds of our skins. "You are so wet for me, my Lady. Your pussy demands to hold my dick."
Both of my hands were now resting against his chest. "I am going to explode." The hand that was on my ass moved to the front, flicking my clitoris. "You fill me up so good, Sir!"
"I will fill you even more soon." He groaned, sitting down so he could move me closer to my body. Our mouths, touching in an open kiss. "I am going to release my entire load inside you. I am going to impregnate you, my Lady." I moaned. "You want that, right?" His thrusts became sloppier and harder. "You want to get filled and carry another gorgeous baby." I nodded my head. "You are as irresistible while pregnant. The way you cannot keep your hands to yourself. The way your bosom gets even bigger."
"Please, fill me."
No more words needed to be said as our teeth clattered against each other, riding our highs together. My vision got blurry, and my moans louder as I felt all of his huge load filling me up. "Oh, fuck me, my Lady. You take my load so good." The rest was full of kisses and warm under the sheets. His member had softened inside me.
On one of the walls of our chambers, there was a portrait of my younger self. She resembled grave and upset. Her composture seemed forced, but around her body, there were flames. Sparks that represented the passion she badly wanted to share. The adventures she wanted to live. There was a yellow light, which seemed, to be connected to her heart.
Dylan had described a young lady who aspired to live a passionate life. A young woman whose heart and mind were full of hope.
There was a lovely detail on the portrait. On the wall behind the young girl, there was a mirror, where you could perceive a young Dylan, examining the woman before him with a peculiar shining light on his eyes. The identical light young Y/N had while looking at Dylan O'Brien, the humble painter who shared the 'fictional' love she always wanted to experience.The love they both found and fancied.
Yes, destiny could be changed.
.
.
Those who asked to be tagged. Thank you for showing interest:
@og-baby-ob14 - @sweetest-serpent01 - @tovvaa - @jazminebrightxx - @sonnydoesrandomshit - @badgyal-barbie - @trustfundparker - @blueraindrops
#dylan o'brien x you#dylan o'brien x reader#dylan o'brien x y/n#dylan o'brien x oc#au!painter#au!princess#dylan!painter#dylan o'brien fics#dylan o'brien fanfiction#dylan o'brien fanfic#dylan o'brien fluff#dylan o'brien smut#dylan x you#dylan x reader#dylan x y/n#dylan x oc#dylan smut#dylan fluff#dob imagines#dob imagine#dob fanfic#dylan fanfic#dylan fic#dylan fanfiction#dob fanfiction#dob x you#dob x reader#dob x y/n#dob x oc#dob fic
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[Deleted scene from 100 flowers...]
@meryuukan requested to see the full scene that I cut out (mentioned in the comments thread here) from 100 flowers. So here it is--for context I am posting the entire scene with the cut bit and rewrote the ending of this particular scene as if I went with it.
As for the why I cut it out--simply put, it was already 4 AM, I had a shift at 6AM and I still didn't get any sleep, and I was of the mindset of why the fuck am I writing something that is literally tearing myself apart emotionally when I could be writing smut goddamn
Also I didn't like it much because it was just my dark mood running myself to the ground and it felt like me projecting
But here it is now--enjoy...?
Raindrops now mingled with the blood on his fingers and palms, trickling down to his arms and onto the ground into rivulets of pink, rose-colored rivers of his heartbreak that he vowed would never be uttered by his very lips–lest he fully acknowledge it, and he would have to relive the unbearable pain and anguish all over again.
“…Dr. Richter?” came the voice that he now loathed to hear.
I must be hearing things. Vyn ignored the voice, and carried on with his single-minded task of removing the roses from his garden.
“Dr. Richter!” The voice only grew louder.
Wearily Vyn set aside his shears and turned to look at the unwelcome guest. “Rosa,” he began. “To what do I owe the honor of being graced by your presence?”
“Never mind that, you’re going to get sick if you carry on like this!” Rosa held out her umbrella to shield him from further assault by the rain. “Come, let’s get you–oh my god, what happened to your hands?” Rosa’s free hand flew to her lips; the wounds looked terrible, even warranting a trip to the hospital.
“Never mind me, Rosa,” Vyn’s voice was already grating. “What are you doing here?”
Seeing that he wouldn’t budge from where he stood, Rosa gave up on pulling him towards shelter. “Marius…Marius told me that you will be leaving–”
“That fucking idiot,” Vyn muttered.
Hearing him swear in such a manner took Rosa aback. “Dr. Richter, please–”
Vyn raised his hand to stop her from further speaking. “This is none of your concern Rosa, and it never has been. Our relationship is no more than doctor and patient, and even then this relationship will soon be terminated.”
“…what do you mean?”
“What I mean, Rosa,” Vyn struggled to pull the words out his very being, his patience already frayed. “is that I am also leaving the research institute. I will be handing over your therapy to another specialist, if you are worried about me dropping the ball just like that.”
Rosa visibly panicked at his words. “Of course I am not worried about that, Dr. Richter!” she found her voice rising. “I find this totally unnecessary–would it make things better if I left instead of you?”
Vyn took a deep breath. “Rosa.”
“Yes?”
“Rosa, please do not misunderstand. You no longer have the right to talk with me in this manner,” Vyn hissed through his teeth. “You have no right to ask me personal questions. You and I, we are just casual colleagues. Do you hear me?”
“…yeah. I hear you.”
And yet, Vyn is seeing Rosa struggling to suppress her own sobs.
“Why are you crying?” came his callous question.
“I can’t help it, Vyn,” came her answer. “I’m suddenly remembering bits and pieces of how we were, but I don’t know exactly how to feel about you. And Artem has been with me all throughout and, frankly, I don’t know what to do anymore.”
Vyn regarded the quietly weeping Rosa with a gaze so unfeeling it made her feel sick.
“I am sorry, Rosa, but if I need to rephrase what I said–I do not give a shit.”
“Fine, I get the message.” Rosa’s lips were trembling. "But Vyn--you are being too unfair. I did not ask for this to happen. Why are you blaming me for having amnesia?"
No longer being able to keep up his stone-faced facade, Vyn's face twisted in agony.
"I AM NOT BLAMING YOU FOR ANYTHING!"
His outcry came out more like a cry of pain than of anger.
"I am not blaming you for anything!" He repeated, his voice now strangled in sheer emotion. "This is what is tearing me apart, Rosa, this is what is driving me insane! THERE IS NO WAY TO FIX THIS!"
"I want to help, but--" Rosa was about to reach out to Vyn, but stopped after seeing the man flinch before she could even touch him.
"How? How can you make amends when you haven't done anything wrong?!" Vyn wrapped his arms around himself, his bloodied fingers digging to his sides, his tear-blurred gaze to the ground. "You know who is at fault here, it is me, Rosa, it is I who have willfully ignored the cautionary tale that my father was, I knew giving away my everything to the altar that is you was dangerous--and what happened?"
Vyn let out a pathetic, self-derisive, bitter laugh.
"Of course I would lose you. Such is the fate of arrogant bastards such as myself. Lose my everything."
Rosa gritted her teeth, clearly frustrated about how her every attempt to soothe the man she truly felt sorry for only turn into sharp barbs. "Are you quite done feeling sorry about yourself, Vyn Richter?"
"Oh, so you dare tell me that you understand how I feel?" Vyn spat. "Then tell me, Rosa, since you obviously have all the answers--will you make things right by leaving Artem, and come back to me?"
Rosa bit her tongue.
"Well?" Vyn prodded, goaded. "Of course not! For you, Rosa of 2029, I probably am still the man your Artem has warned you about. You have--"
Vyn bit his lip, no longer able hold back his crying. "--forgotten everything we went through. Together. There were so many..."
The man, once looked up to as the very image of perfection, broke down and let himself fall to the mud of the garden he once tended with his own hands; the very same garden whose blooms maimed and mangled the flesh of the very same hands that nourished them.
Like everything else that his hands built up: his life, his entire career, and his carefully-tended relationship with the only other person who mattered to him more than himself--all of them, falling apart like the house of cards that was instrumental to him falling madly, deeply in love with the woman who would unintentionally break him asunder.
The woman who, in front of him, was still holding an umbrella in a vain attempt to shield either of them from the rain. Like her vain attempts for the both of them to make peace with their situation.
"I'm sorry. Dr. Richter. Vyn." Rosa began, after a full minute of witnessing Vyn fall apart in front of her, the man kneeling on the muddy ground with his face in his wounded hands.
"I want to say that I will...I will go to your side--I know you are not lying, I have seen your letters, our pictures together--but..."
Rosa clenched her fists.
"I could not feel anything. I am only confused. I don't want to do you a disservice...do him a disservice...by lying."
"What are you still doing here," Vyn's voice was muffled, his face still in his hands.
"Vyn..." Rosa tried to reach out--
"DO NOT TOUCH ME!"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I--"
"There is nothing to be sorry about, Rosa. There is no one at fault. This is how tragedies usually turn out to be. It is not a matter of who is at fault. Things...just fall apart on their own. Leave me be. Please. "
“Well, at the very least can we have your wounds treated?”
“You have no right to be concerned about me, Rosa. Know your place.”
He did not move from where he knelt on the ground, but he might as well have swatted her hand away, pushed Rosa away.
That was the final nail in the coffin, as Rosa stifled a loud sob at his words, making her turn on her heel and run out of the garden.
Leaving Vyn alone, miserable, on his own.
The rain washed over him as he freely wept, his tears camouflaged by the torrential rain.
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↬ 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐲 𝐧𝐞𝐭 | 𝐬. 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬
abstract: the one where steve finds your love letters.
pairing: au!steve x fem!reader
word count: 3K+
warnings: cussing, fluff, angst, crying, slight self-deprecation.
[author’s note]: hey guys! i’m really new to the writing scene so kind words are appreciated! srsly just testing my writing style out and wanted to just post something to motivate me to keep writing. hope u like it. <3
also thank u ari for the inspo and that bomb ass album that saved twenty-twenty. now we just need biden to get elected.
ps. don’t forget to vote! <3
Stevie,
First and foremost, I want you to know how proud of you I am. You have become the man you’ve said you become, the one I always knew you would. You have finally seen what the rest of us see.
A good man.
The soul you carry within you shines brighter than I’ve ever seen. Just for that only, I’m thankful for the time we’ve spent together. Maybe one day, I’ll be brave enough to tell you this without hiding behind the comfort of this notebook. She won’t spill my secrets, fortunate for me.
Some days you have no idea how badly I want to tell you. I think it’s on the days I discover a new fleck of green in your eyes or maybe when you show up to class with a cup of coffee for me without request.
More. More. More.
More. More. More.
It’s selfish of me, that much I know. More days than not, I would say you give too much of yourself away. Always wanting to appease everyone, you, Steven Rogers, the bridge to making the people around you happier than they walked in. Even when Bucky drags you into his nonsense bullshit, you say yes without hesitation.
I’ve got not a a clue on how you continue on, how you still remain you when you tend to spread yourself so thin. Who watches out for you? Who cares for you? Who loves the almighty, selfless Rogers?
For me, it’s much easier to pretend you carry too much on your plate than to deal with the rejection I would receive from you. You’re just too good, more than I deserve. More than I would be willing to take. I know I couldn’t possibly give you what you deserve but, I hope that one day you might see me differently. You would see me more than the light I’ve painted myself in.
Even though the shade is lovely, I want to be deeper. Deeper into you on a level which only seems unattainable at this point.
A forever friend. To be in your life, just as a friend, is an reward in itself.
But someday I hope you would love me in the same way I do. It’s all a love struck girl could do. Hope for the best, bet be prepared for the downfall.
With much love, your forever friend.
Tearing the page away from the binding of the overfilled notebook, dispensing it in the first empty drawer you could find, you abandoned the feelings as soon as the pen’s ink bleed out dry.
“You know it would just be easier to tell him how you feel.” You peaked up at the sound of her voice, before realizing she was looming over you, watching your write the letter.
Your supposed, secret letter.
“Nat, please. No.” Opening the drawer, she grabbed the letter but was surprised with just how many she found.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. You’ve written about him multiple times?” You sank in the soft, plush material of your seat hoping that just maybe it would begin to swallow you whole. Hopefully, fast enough were you wouldn’t have to endure the rest of the conversation. One you had been trying to avoid, for the past three years.
“It’s nothing Nat, just forget it.” Just like a Romanov, she couldn’t leave it alone. Even if she tried it was laced in her blood to see any little thing through.
“You really shouldn’t wait so long. A window might close for you, much sooner than you think.” With a curious eyebrow lifted, you felt your breath leave you.
“What does that supposed to mean?” Steve certainly deserved the best and you knew it was only time for him to figure out you would never be enough for him.
“Peggy Carter.” Peggy.
The one girl of a sea of many who had been enamored by Steve. He never really seemed to spend anytime with the women who vied for his attention, but Peggy was surely different than the rest.
Even if Steve was oblivious when it came to the advances everyone would make on him, he saw Peggy. Considering she was the most beautiful woman you had ever seen, she intimidated you. God, did she ever.
On numerous occasions she and Steve had gone out, and even though he assured you they were just friends you were starting to believe he was only trying to protect your feelings. As a friend.
He had never cancelled on you once for her and he would tell you if he had started to date someone, just like he had before.
Even though the entire three years you’d known him he only had one serious girlfriend and after eight months, the pair broke up and even now he still didn’t budge on why they broke up.
“Steve can do whatever he wants with her. He’s a single man. He’s gone out with her before and he’ll probably go with her again.” Then Sam was the next to speak up, dismissing the total bullshit spouting from your mouth.
“Can’t you see he doesn’t want to? The damn man follows you around like a goddamn puppy.” Okay, when did he even come in here?
“God, fuck, no he doesn’t. He would have said something by now, he’s had three years and it’s been nothing but radio silence.” With an all knowing smirk, Sam proposed a new concept into question.
“It has been three years. So, have you ever said anything to him?”
Shit. Fuck you, Wilson.
“W-Well, not exactly.” Sam didn’t have to say anything in response. You knew he was right and you hated it.
Your unwillingness still stood for you, there was just no way he actually would reciprocate your feelings.
“Listen, I think it would be really good for the both of you to air everything out. Peggy is sinking her claws in him and it isn’t too long before they get stuck. Just talk to him.” You nodded silently, but you weren’t sure if you’d ever have the courage to.
—
Emptiness.
It’s all you seemed to feel today. Following you around was a dark cloud, looming over you. Wishing you could be anywhere but your own body. Nothing in particular happened to make you deserve the feeling you were granted with. It just so happened to be one of those days.
From the moment you got out of bed — or rather stayed in bed until four in the afternoon, you felt like anything you would have done just didn’t feel enough. The feeling was fleeting, never staying for more than a day or so, but it made the day drag on. Never ending.
Your muscles sore, body aching from the lack of activity your presumed. Or maybe you had built it in your head too.
Thankfully for you, Nat was busy helping Bucky move into his new place the entire day. She asked if you wanted to help, but mentally you didn’t feel you would be useful for anyone. Simply, telling her you would hang back, claiming you had another an essay to write.
Which you did, you weren’t completely lying, but there was more than your sour mood to blame for your dismissal of social interaction.
You hated to be that girl, the one who needed the presence of men. Specifically, the company of one very beautiful, blue eyed one.
His absence in your life the past few weeks felt heavier on you than you thought it would. You knew from Sam’s intel he had been hanging out with Peggy more and more. He said the two of them were getting close, mercifully sparing you the details.
You hated it’s you’d become. A girl so damn struck over a boy who was giving his attention elsewhere. Upset you were though. Before even if he was busy between classes and his internship at the gallery, he would still text to check up on you.
Now, it was nothing but radio silence letting you draw conclusions on your own. Very, very dangerous territory for you to travel to.
Steve and you are just friends. Get. Over. It.
You thought you’d be alone the rest of the Saturday, especially since it was nearly midnight. Figuring Nat was staying over at Bucky’s and Wanda leaving earlier in early hours of the morning to see her boyfriend for the entire weekend.
Then, an incredibly drunk Steve stumbled into your quaint apartment, the thoughtfully sweetness in him blubbering out with the alcohol flooding through his system. It was like he was on overdrive. More than ready to crash at any given moment.
You had enough when Steve started shamelessly raiding your kitchen, but you remained on the couch attempting to maintain some distance between the two of you. He had a history of being incredibly handsy whenever he had bit too much to drink.
Stumbling his way over to you, almost tripping on the rug, until he was basically cuddling up to your side. His arms latched tightly around you, pulling you into him. Not spared a choice, not that you’d want one.
The security of being wrapped up to him wasn’t something you ever grew tired of. You don’t think there would ever be a time you would ever be capable of turning him away.
“I’ve missed you. It’s been too long.” His soft tone, penetrating the tiny resistance you held towards him. “Me too. I was starting to think you disappeared on me, bubba.”
“Never.” His iron grip holding so tight like he was afraid you’d slip right through.
“Is everything alright?” Trying to pull from him, but Steve seemed unable to let you go. You whispered in his ear, caressing his back.
“I think so.”
“Here, let me grab you cup of joe and some water. Okay? I’ll be right back.” Leaving him a kiss on the cheek, before heading him into the kitchen.
If you had been around him recently, perhaps you would be more in tune with how he was feeling. Then the guilt sept in.
“Sweetheart, do you know where the phone charger is? It’s not by the recliner.” You heard him shout, trying to stop your heart from hammering into your stomach.
Just make him some coffee, sober him up, until he crashes.
Steve always seemed to be a lightweight and somehow whenever he did decide to drink he always found himself routing his way into your home. You thought it was simply for accident alone. The bar he frequented at was only a few block from you.
The past few times he would just stumble into your bedroom, immediately passing out in your soft, silky sheet. Now, he seemed to have more pressing matters at hand.
“Check the drawers, Stevie. I think there’s one you left around here somewhere.” You grabbed the filters and the grounds out, brewing the coffee. Soon, with a black cup of coffee and a water bottle in hand you took note of just how quite he was being.
He was never this silent and it was freaking you out.
“Are you sure you’re o-”
Just like that.
Fuck.
Hunched over, practically on his knees, he read over the endless letters you wrote about him. Confessions never meant to be seen by him. You lost track of how many you had written over the past few years once realized how irrevocably in love with him you are.
He didn’t realize you had found him and you were suddenly paralyzed. Unaware of your presence he continued to read through them and his expression was unrecognizable. One you’d never seen from him before, and you didn’t quite know how to react.
No. He wasn’t grimacing nor did he seem to be elated either. He just stood there just like you, afraid what would happen next.
What did this mean for the two of you? Your entire relationship was purely riding on whatever happened next.
Softly, with a gentle hand, he sifted through them all like he was looking for something specifically. Steve let them fall to the hardwood floors as your shaking hands could no longer support the weight of the dainty coffee cup he had actually sculpted himself.
The glass shattering everywhere, several pieces making their way towards him, thankfully not fiercely enough to penetrate his skin.
Truly, you had never been more sorry than when he looked up at you with tears in his eyes. Threatening to spill over. Because of you.
You didn’t have to be told, you already knew.
Carefully, Steve stood up making his way over to you around the shattered mug. Still you couldn’t bring yourself to move. Simply just watching him until he was right in front of you — more silent than you’d ever seen him before.
“Those were about me. Weren’t they?” You nodded having no reason to lie other than to protect yourself from a rejection you been hoping to spare yourself from.
“I didn’t want you to find out like this. Or at all really.” Your resolve dropping instantly when Steve took a step further gripping by your hips, pulling you closer.
“Why not?” He questioned you, again. Almost like he needed a verbal affirmation of every secret he had just read.
Unintentionally, stealing your soul served for him on a silver platter.
“I know how you’d feel about me, Steve. It’s not how I want it to be and it’s okay.” You remove yourself from him, traveling to the other side of the living room. Suddenly, the apartment seemed suffocating with him in it. “I’m fine, Steve.”
Hearing him sigh in frustration only furthered your immense feeling of being a burden to him.
You’re just one more obstacle he has to deal with.
“One of them dated back for over two years ago. Two fucking years.” His harsh tone, piercing through you like a knife.
“I know. I should have told you.” You whispered, wishing you could disappear into any abyss that would take you. Deeply wishing you just didn’t have to endure for the rest of this conversation. Wishing you could have stopped him from opening that stupid drawer. “I tell you everything, but I just couldn’t bring myself to speak about this. Look at how you’re reacting? How could you blame me when every fear I have about this is justified?”
You really should have kept those elsewhere, not your open, public living room.
“Because it’s us. I’m always here for you.” He was still crying through broken words and you didn’t know why. Almost like you had shattered his resolve and his control leaving with it.
“Not lately. You’ve been otherwise occupied.” Suddenly find the plant in the corner of the room. It certainly weren’t trying to distract yourself from the insatiable cerulean eyes.
The breathtaking british woman wasn’t even here and as soon as she was brought up — there was a wall. Seperating, you from whatever was between the two of you.
“This isn’t my fault. You never said anything. How was I supposed to know you feel that way about me?” He tried to make his way towards you but you just stalked off in the other direction. Circling around the living room like a coward.
“It didn’t matter though, did it? You found someone perfect for you regardless of how you feel.” God, you wish he would just leave so you could let the dam break.
“No. You don’t get to do that. Since the moment I met you I only had eyes for you, but you never seemed like you were interested. So, I dropped it. Okay? You never left me a crumb to think you would ever want to be more than just friends.”
“You were my best friend. You still are. No matter how I felt, it could never outweigh the need I have for you to be in my life.” He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. Trying to figure out what was next for the both of you. Steve always had to initiate and this time was no different.
“Peggy told me tonight she wants to be exclusive.” His confession washing over you like a ton of bricks. Crushing you.
You really couldn’t have any ill feeling towards her, she was just doing what you lacked the courage and the tenacity to do.
“But I didn’t really know what to do.” He took quiet steps towards you, not wanting to spook you. He voice not no longer held the a warmth of teddy bear, but a man on a mission rather took over.
Steve kept quiet until he had you backed up into a corner, no escape route in vision for you.
“’Cause there’s this other beautiful woman, absolutely breathtaking — and I just I really needed to know how she felt. If I had known before, I never would have gone anywhere else.” His hand caressing your soft, plump lips. Pulling on your bottom lip with his thumb, sending you into a frenzy.
“Then, I just wanted to forget about everything until Sam called me. Three beers deep, when he told me of a drawer filled with letters I should take a look at.” You could feel his breath on you, temple pressed against yours.
“I just need to hear you say it. Just once.” Taking it a step forward, intertwining your finger with his own.
“I love you.” It was all he needed as he sealed his own affirmation with a sweet kiss, inking your lips with all of his love.
#for the love of god let these tags work :/#steve rogers#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers x reader fluff#steve rogers x reader angst#steve rogers fluff#steve rogers angst#steve rogers one shot#steve rogers imagine#steve rogers au#college!steve rogers#au#mcu#mcu fanfiction#fanfiction
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