#I hope he’s to your standards as his wife lol

[scarymonsters-andsupercreeps]

I just love how you draw Weather Report... If it isn't any trouble, could I request something for my favoritest guy? Lord knows he's in desperate need of some TLC </3

@mrs-bluemarine don't pay too much attention to the name teehee

Thank you! And of course I’ll draw him!

I hope you like him! Thank you for the request! 🩵

[narmothewraith]

You're just in denial Lucius /jk

[lannisterdaddyissues]

I love reading your replies and brainrot tags! It motivates me a lot and I will keep drawing for this! Thank you so much 😭 baby!Bradley will be such a cutie! He likes baby!Jake but doesn't want to admit it gshags, I keep wondering who can be Bond then my friend said Hondo and omg inagine a big doggo, so huggable 🌷 icemav chemistry remains the same hahaha with Mav and his horrible cooking and Ice being a perfect husbando 🌷 both love their little family! (Also imagine Cyclone in a tennis battle with Mav and witnesses him cut a tennis ball into pieces lol)

NGHNSFHJGFAHJf oh my GODDD hondo as bond is so cute wtf 🥺i am LIVING for this, he does have such huggable energy and he and mav would still have that friendship that transcends human and dog communication…

NOT CYCLONE AS FIONA THOUGH you are such an evil genius for that, i can’t get the mental image of cyclone in an ugly wig and tennis dress out of my head now 💀 god help me

[wutheringcaterpillar]

Omg pleeeease I need a dark/angsty Tommy fic where he ends up hurting the reader? Like an argument gets too heated and he ends up slapping her or something. Like maybe she was flirting and dancing a bit too much with someone at a party they’re hosting and he gets jealous and drags her to their room, then they start arguing and he gets so enraged that he basically sees red and absolutely slaps the hell out of her (some non con/dub con smut after as well???). Just need some heavy, dark, possessive, violent, scary/mean Tommy Shelby 😫 The darker the better lol

Warnings: noncon, p in v + anal, physical abuse, degradation, threats with a gun, some blood play, misogyny, name calling

Hope you enjoy! Thank you!

Tommy watched from afar, seeing you and Ada drunk, giggling like a bunch of school girls at a table filled with men. He may not be able to control his sister but his wife was another subject. People were beginning to stare, especially the men Tommy needed on his good side for now. The dress you were wearing was skin tight, your panties just barely showing through the thin black fabric. 

Tonight was a prestige dinner with delegates that Shelby Limited was in talks for business deals. The plan was too conversate, find weak spots, understand the patterns of movements, but the only thing Tommy was focused on was you, a long with every other man.

Even Arthur made a remark, a statement that angered Tommy even more. “Y/N’s quite the appeal tonight isn’t she?” Arthur chuckled, taking someone’s glass of whiskey and finishing it himself.

“What are you talking about?”

“Look at her, need to cherish her better brother before another man makes a move.” That was it, that was enough. When Tommy slammed his glass down and started to walk away Arthur pulled him back, pleading and convincing Tommy to just allow you to have fun for a night but he wouldn’t listen. Frowning, Arthur returned to the table, grabbing another drink whilst Tommy tried to keep his compusure. Greeting and checking in with the guests before approaching your flailing, inebriated body.

Three tradesman of London were in attendance, the blatant look of disgust from where they stood at the bookcase, giving your husband a look of disapproval before carrying on in conversation.

“Tommy! My husband, come here!” When you attempted to pull him down by the sleeve of his expensive suit, he pulled back, tucking his hands in his pockets, giving you a stern expression that told you to follow him.

Pouting, you crossed your arms, rolling your eyes annoyed, picking up a bottle of champagne before walking away with him, making flirtatious remarks to random men as you wobbled away until you were in the master bedroom.

Closing the door, you fell onto the floor laughing in a disarray of emotions, your vision blurry and your eyes dilated. Tommy pulled the nearly empty bottle from your hands, tossing it into the corner of the room before grabbing your wrist forcing you up onto your feet.

“What the fuck are you doing, eh? Are you stupid, is that it? You know how important tonight is and you go and fucking wreck it, bidding yourself off to other men when you are a married, taken woman.”

“Relax Tommy, we’re just having fun. What the boys can do whatever they damn well please but because of what’s between my legs I’m expected to just be formal, elegant?” Tommy looked at you with expecting eyes, not understanding where the confusion is. There were important men here tonight and seeing you galavanting around like some whore and being incoherently drunk made his blood boil. 

Biting dowm on his tongue and locking his jaw, he pointed with dictation, sapphire eyes raging with fire as he seethed out the following words.

“Yes. It’s that fucking simple. You can’t even fucking stand up straight.” Scoffing, you tiptoed around the room, holding onto the dresser to keep your warm, sweating body from falling. The room was spinning but that didn’t change the anger from the double standard that was always set against you. You hadn’t thought before speaking, the words simply sputtering out what you’ve held in.

“You should be thanking me for flirting with them, without me you’d have nothing. I’m simply the means to an end to the shit deals you can’t make on your own.”

Tommy cut you off with the back of his hand slapping across your cheek ferociously, silencing you for good. Grabbing for the bruising skin, you looked back at your husband in shock and fear. He’s never, ever layed a hand on you.

When you ran for the door, he was faster, shoving the wooden object closed with his hand and yanking you back by the strands of your hair, pushing you carelessly onto the bed.

His hands tightened around your wrists as he shoved his hardened member upward against your mound.

“I’d have nothing eh? I’ll show you what it’s like to be treated like you’re nothing.” 

Screaming hysterically, you wept as Tommy ripped the expensive gown, exposing the bare, delicate skin of your thighs. Hitting and fighting against his chest to push him away, he simply lifted his hand, slapping you harshly once more to stop the whining. 

You pressed your hand gently against your temple, a headache forming in the core of your mind from the impactful blow. 

Hearing the buckle of his belt, you panicked but were too weak to defend yourself from the man who claimed to be your husband.

“Maybe if you had just listened and weren’t a fucking whore tonight we wouldn’t be in this postion. Someone’s forgotten their place eh?” Pushing the thin laced fabric of your panties aside, he thrusted upward, letting his thick length penetrate you without any lube. Writhing and seething in pain below him, tears prickled at your eyes, not recognizing who was staring at you anymore.

Spitting at his face, he smiled slyly, a dark twisted grin bellowing at what you had done.

Returning the favor he spat back, hitting you once more with a forceful, strong slap that echoed through the room and knocked out your hearing in one ear.

“Don’t forget sweetheart. I own you, you’re my property.” Wrapping his hands around your throat, you struggled for air as he drilled into your dry cunt, shredding open the sensitive skin like a grater would cheese. Blood slowly leaked out from your pussy, the ability to scream non existent as your airway was constricted, bruising as his nails dug into your skin.

When your hands reached up to try to push him away from your neck, desperate for air, he shed himself of his tie, wrapping the fabric around your wrists tightly to the headboard and shoved his underwear in your mouth. 

Slapping your cunt repeatedly, he mocked your whimpers, feeling your walls slowly start to produce your sweet syrup against your will.

“How pathetic, is this what you wanted? Someone likes me cock, who knew my wife was a little fucking whore.” Screeching beneath the makeshift gag, your skin seethed in pain, wanting nothing more for this to be over.

His hands grasped at your breasts, tugging and pulling at your nipples, smitten by how easily your body gave in to him. 

Flipping you over onto your stomach, he spread your ass cheeks, pulling the fatty skin apart finding that tight, untouched hole you’d been denying him for so many years, now he was going to take it for himself.

There was nowhere for you to go, your eyes searched, panicked looking for anything to get you out of these bindings, but there was nothing. 

Aligning himself with your taint, you could feel the rounded head of his shaft resting at your virgin entrance. Every bone and muscle in your violated body tensed when his head pushed through your strained, congested walls. You screamed in agony as he wasted no time burying himself balls deep in your taint.

“Oh fuck…Didn’t know you could feel this good love. My little slave, that ass devouring me cock. About time I reminded you of your place. Nothing but a slut, a mere stupid little bitch.” He moaned in between thrusts as he fucked your anus, pounding your ass up and down on his shaft while holding the cheeks of your ass roughly. The sporadic pain was different than your pussy, far more intensified. It didn’t feel like stinging anymore, the size of his penis sent flames of fire through your hole.  

When he buried his neck into the crook of your neck while he continued to pump relentlessly into you. You fumbled with the bindings while he wasn’t paying attention. 

Realessing a choked sob, you were on the verge of being free, fidgeting with the tight knot with a tremendous effort, working over the fabric through the tears and painful agony, but you weren’t as smooth as you thought. Tommy’s hand shot up, slamming down on yours and pulled you arms behind your back, causing the gag to fall out in the process.

“Help! Help! Ah-“ Striking you in the back of your waeay head, he shoved his fingers between your lips, invading your mouth and pulling at the sides of your lips.

“Shut the fuck up. Listen to me, are you listening sweetheart?” You whimpered through his fingers, nodding your head, squeezing your eyes closed in a pained expression when he thrusted his cock violently with a force of strength and dominance.

“No one is coming to your rescue, you belong to me, and I have the right to use and abuse my property all I want and you will listen, or suffer the consequences as you are right now. Get up.” Tommy pulled you onto his lap, reinserting his lengthy shaft into your soaking wet walls. You mewled from the discomfort, struggling to make eye contact with Tommy. 

His lips connected to your hardened nipples, biting down on the flesh harshly, aiming to draw blood. Slapping you across the face once again, your head whipped to the other side fiercly.

“Ride me. Go on, you claim to be so great in bed to those men out there. Can’t treat your husband the same?” Another backhand, before his hand gripped the fat of your ass cheeks, slamming you up and down on his cock, an immense joy curdling within him from seeing your pathetic tears.

Then an idea struck you, if you’r just get him off surely he’d let you go. A satisfied grin spread across his face when you began to rotate your hips, staring slowly at first before picking up speeding. 

“Ah, fuck, that’s it love. Show me what that worthless cunt can do.” You continued to whine and whimper as you rode his cock, your ass landing on his thighs with each powerful bounce, your breasts flying up and down for his amusement.

You could feel him begin to pulsate, he was close, very close.

Arching your back, Tommy focused in on your pussy devouring his lengthy member with each pivotal motion of your hips. Your walls tightened, constricting his length, and within seconds his seed was filling your tortured void, flooding into your ovaries.

At that moment you moved as fast as lightning, taking the lamp and smashing it over his head to try to escape his bitter soul. Rushing to put clothes on, you ran to the door, thinking that someone would help you but Tommy wasn’t weak and you were nowhere nearly as strong as him. He was quick to recover, but not as quick as you. Throwing on a nightshirt and slipping on the closest thing to work as underwear, you opened the door just nearly out when Tommy pulled on his pants, rolling over the bed and running, rushing toward you, slamming the door closed once again. 

You punched the door in defeat, frightened to turn around until he forced you to, pulling out something you’d never thought he’d use as a threat to you.

“If you think I am playing some sort of sick game, you are sadly mistaken sweetheart. Now get back on the fucking bed, you’ve done enough tonight.” Removing the safety, he pointed the gun directly on the middle of your forehead, the cool metal barrel sending chills down your spine. Is this what your marriage had come to? How were you supposed to move forward from this catastrophic night? Surely people would notice the bruises but then again, no one ever questioned Tommy Shelby, not anyone that gave a shit about their life.

Surrendering you rose your arms, the shaking of your trembling hands visible. The man facing you, you no longer recognized. There was no guilt, or shame, or any type of love present in those venomous, frigid eyes, he really wasn’t joking. Making your way back to the bed, you tucked your head onto the pillow, weeping relentlessly into the case of the feathered object. Tommy layed the gun down on the table, taking a seat beside you. You flinched away from his cold, heartless touch, terrified of what was to come next.

“I need to go back and entertain our guests. You stay here and be good. Can you do that?” He twisted your labia, pinching the sensitive skin, causing you a tremendous amount of pain, reminding you what could happen if you don’t listen.

Nodding with fearful, tired eyes, you watched as Tommy dressed himself, and stayed in your fragile position on the soiled sheets, eventually crying yourself to sleep in the dark room.

[luffysinterlude]

This is my first time requesting something so I don’t really know how to do it lol but would you be able to write a shanks x reader where shanks is readers captain and confesses to her? Thank you!

SOULTIES. . .

★ summary: shanks confesses his love for you. (fem!reader)

★ warnings: one piece antics, ooc!shanks, reader is extroverted, angst if you squint, idiots in love, reader and shanks might’ve manifested each other (soulmates basically), assassin!reader, fluff/somewhat suggestive (thanks beckmann!!), WC: ≈1.8K…is this a drabble?!

★ an: never really thought abt writing for shanks so thank you for this request! i tried my best so i hope its somewhat something you wanted, anon! ^^

shank’s sure you’re secretly a witch that has some sort of past-life soul tie to him.

he thinks maybe it’s because he’s somewhat always drawn to you; it’s subtle, but whenever he feels your presence near him, he searches for your figure. it’s also somewhat obvious, to everyone but you. maybe you did know of his infatuation with you, maybe you didn’t.

but shanks felt his life change the day you were found hiding in his ship, demanding that he and his men accept you, claiming you have nothing else better to do with your time and that you’ve always wanted to explore the world. he didn’t have much of a choice, considering the red-haired pirates had already been at sea for three days since their last stop.

you snuck on the red force during a party thrown by locals for the pirates, hiding in a supply closet, discovered by the right-hand man of the captain. at first, you were worried of what they might do to you, but then remembered that they were just men.

“well, sweets,” the man said. “i’m sure a woman wouldn’t just waltz her way onto a very notorious pirate ship and not know how to fend for herself…?”

you smirk at him, a spark in your eyes as the tone of your voice held a slight challenge. “i was trained to be an assassin.”

it was then he felt a sudden shift in the air, chuckling at your remark. he’s always up for a new challenge.

“well, we got a reason to party boys!”

again, he’s sure there’s a past-life connection between the two of you. (he thought how easily he was able to trust you, after blacking out.)

+x+

it’s been two years since you’ve joined the red-haired pirates, time flying as you enjoy the thrills of life. you’ve never felt this free before, coming from a noble family and being able to escape thanks to a certain red-haired man. you’ve dreamed of life feeling this way since you were a little girl, wondering what beauties your family had kept hidden from you.

you’ve learned so much. you’ve experienced so much. truth be told, you’re not sure if life could feel any better than this. though, you do wonder what would happen if you fell in love.

you’ve been courted by many suitors your entire life, growing up only to be taught two things: how to kill, and how to be a wife. the word love was something you associated with the tortures of your old self, but you feel as if you’re finally ready to experience it on your own; without people in your ear scolding you on how to act and how to ‘love’. you think you have a grasp of what the feeling feels like, but you’re still somewhat unsure.

you’ve accepted that your next suitor — someone you already know — is someone who won’t make you feel restricted or tied down. you’ve decided that you deserve nothing but the best treatment, and so far on this journey of freedom, one charming pirate captain has set your standards to the sky.

“food for thought?” a familiar voice breaks your thoughts as you blink back to consciousness, your eyes focusing on the waves in front of you. you’re standing on the observation deck of the red force, a light breeze brushing through your [h/c] locks as your captain stands next to you. in his hand there’s half of a cookie, a giggle escaping your throat when you notice it.

“is said food present?” you reply back, taking the half-eaten sweet treat anyway. a small chuckle reaches your ears as he leans over the railing, eyes watching the smooth waves. it’s night time now, stars sprinkling the sky. “just thinking,” you answer his question.

captain shanks. the shanks. a name that’s feared by many, though it’s one that brings you peace and joy. he’s a charming man, always looking out for not only his crew, but friend and foe alike. your mind can’t help but start thinking about marineford, the first time you’ve ever seen shanks in the flesh. a beautiful man, you first thought. a powerful one at that too. he looks like freedom.

“hmm. you shouldn’t let your thoughts consume you so much.” he states. it’s late and he knows he should be resting, but for some reason he wasn’t able to ease his restlessness. when he saw your figure out on deck, he then knew it was you keeping him up. “not sure what you’re thinking so hard about but if you need a reminder: you’re everything everyone says you are — powerful, beautiful, and intelligent according to the tabloids. a threat to the world, you’re quite the star.”

his words make heat rush to your cheeks, a sudden wave of nervousness hitting you. your relationship with the captain has always been full of back and forth teasing with a few intimate gazes, but to hear him state a compliment so sweet to you makes you want to shy away. instead, you put your brave face on, and return the gesture.

“yeah? and how does the big and scary emperor ease his mind on nights like this?” or maybe not. you internally cringe at your comeback, a feeling of disappointment lingering wishing you had said something more flirty, but as your eyes finally find the captain’s face, a tint of pink painted his cheeks.

“well this big and scary emperor, usually finds something — or someone — to spend his time with,” this time, shank’s the one cringing internally, the weight of his words settling on him. great, now she must think i’m a whore, he thinks.

you realize you’re both tip-toeing around each other. you both want to say something — which usually isn’t this hard — but you’re also both unsure of how the other feels, so you’re holding back.

you sigh as you physically feel your guard being lifted.

“i wonder…” you start quietly. “how it feels to be in love.”

shank’s eyebrows raise at your confession, something he’s never been told before. he’s had plenty of interactions with women — lovely ones at that — but he’s never heard a woman speak of love so vulnerably. he turns his body to face you, arm resting against the railing of the deck. he takes in your side view, the moon shining down on you so brightly.

and then he feels it, a feeling so foreign yet so familiar to him.

you suddenly turn to face him, eyes catching his in a soft gaze. he looks different, you think. the way his eyes shine brightly from the moon’s rays. the way his hair seemed to be brighter as well, despite the lack of light. you tilt your head, silently questioning his silence, wondering if you had said something stupid.

“have you ever been in love, captain?” you ask, watching as his eyes widen slightly, your question throwing him off guard.

one of the things shanks admires about you is your curiosity. in the time he’s been around you, he’s noticed many things about you — how you love dancing, eating [f/d], scolding the boys — but your curiosity makes you different from everyone else. people always assume you’re just nosey and full of gossip, but really, you’re just curious.

he’s never heard of you spreading rumors or telling lies, so he knows how genuine you are.

sure, you might overstep boundaries with some people, but shanks never minded answering your questions. you’ve confided in him before, telling him how your parents basically shielded you from the outside world. how caged in you felt.

“i think…” shanks starts. he steps closer to you, staring down at you. stars reflect in his eyes as he cradles your cheek suddenly, your body relaxing under his touch. “that’s the feeling i feel when i’m around you.”

you let out a choked breath at his sudden confession, the world around you both going silent. your eyes are wide and your jaw is slightly wide, chest swelling with warmth.

the captain who’s been helping you to experience true freedom just confessed something so delicate to you.

you’re unsure what to say. it hits you so hard that you feel tears well in your eyes and you feel your throat go dry.

“y-you — you what?!” you say. “you can’t just say something like that out of nowhere, idiot!” you scold the tall man, his eyes closing as he chuckled at your reaction. “sorry, cap’n. got a lil carried away there…but do you mean it?” you ask, averting your gaze away from his.

he rubs his thumb across your cheek, looking at you with eyes full of love, as if he’s trying to imprint this image in his head. he thinks about all the teasing the both of you throw, how you’ve never been scared to bite back. he thinks about the times he’s watched you publicly shame men who make you disgusted in bars, how your strength impresses him every time. he thinks about the times where he’s been lucky enough to witness you on the battlefield, so full of life despite being surrounded by death.

“yes.” he finally answers, the tension suddenly gone. “you’ve always been so curious about others, it’s made me curious in you. i’ve watched you grow over the past two years and somewhere along the way,”

“i fell in love with you. the way you naturally take on responsibility and the way you’re not scared of anything. i fell in love with the way you’ve faced death with a smile on your face, how optimistic you are.”

“i fell in love with the way you look in the mornings, the afternoons, and the evenings. and for the first time ever, i’m seeing you this late at night. and you look as beautiful as ever.”

“i fell in love with your presence, how you’re able to shift the energy in the air wherever you go. i’m not sure you even realize your effect in the places we visit. you bring such a lovely, warm spirit into the room, you have no idea how many bad days you’ve turned good.”

his words made you sick. your breathing got heavy as he confessed everything he’s learned to love about you, and a feeling you’ve desperately tried forgetting crawled its way back into your chest.

this time, your body accepted the feeling and for the first time in your life, your body filled with love. a warmth that’s somewhat familiar but so distant. something that’s new, almost sort of a craving you didn’t know you were capable of having.

and then, you kissed your captain.

you hoped he felt the love you had for him, words not being enough to describe the emotions running through you. he kissed you back; hand grasping the back of your head gently, pulling you closer to him.

you threw your hands around his neck, shanks’ body jerked forward, his eyes slightly widening at your strength. he relaxed and smiled into the kiss, giving you one last peck before pulling away from your grasp — before you accidentally hurt him.

“what? never handled a strong woman before?” you tease, smiling at his small tumble backwards. “i think i feel love when i’m around you too.”

+x+

the next morning, a tired shanks dragged himself into the dining area, pouring himself a cup of coffee. he fails to notice beckmann sitting across from him, too lost in his thoughts; the previous night replaying in his head.

“you’re an asshole,” beckmann starts. “i get you all had a great night, but not everyone needed auditory confirmation.”

★ an: ahhh!! ty for reading ^^ please feel free to request head canon scenarios!! i’ve never written for shanks so i hope i did him somewhat justice…as always, constructive criticism is always appreciated and welcomed!!

[szasfuckingwife]

DESIRE- pt 1

KING!SATORU X QUEEN READER

WARNINGS: arranged marriage, minor misogyny, dysfunctional family relationship

A/N: I am quite excited for this series, lets just see if I don’t give up on it halfway through, lol

series master list —> part two

It was far late from noon when one of your ladies ran into your room. Just when you thought your duties for the day were done, here comes another. Although it may seem easy living in your estate as princess with a thousand maids at your beck and call, you were also being groomed and moulded to be the best queen for your country.

“Your highness, your father writes to you.” She has a white letter in her hands. Knowing her, you wouldn’t be surprised if she opened the letter and read it herself.

A sigh leaves your lips as you hear it’s from your father, the king. Feigning a healthy father-daughter relationship was harder than it looks. In reality, you hadn’t seen your father regularly since he sent you to live in Seymour Manor when you were four. The only times you recall seeing him is during galas and balls where his attention is caught between the fine port being served or being involved in a dance, not you.

Your thumb grazed over the red Royal seal that your father was known for. Reluctantly, you open the letter, reading the words carefully.

To my darling daughter,

I hope the standards and degree of the manor has provided you with the upmost guidance as you reach this new age of womanhood. I wish to see you again as we approach our new season.

However, I do not write you to discuss your wellbeing, unfortunately. I wish to discuss your betrothal to Sir Satoru Gojo of the Gojo clan. His father, the head of the Gojo clan, wishes to see you and his son marry before the year ends.

I will not hasten you, daughter. But, as princess of our great kingdom, I do wish to see what you will do once you become queen. More importantly, if you will produce an heir that will continue our great monarchy. I rest assured knowing the nannies and ladies at Seymour Manor have groomed you into being the perfect wife to Satoru and the perfect queen for our nation.

May God be with you,

Your father.

This is the 5th letter he’s sent about this Satoru Gojo since some months ago. You crumble it up and throw it behind you, like you’ve done before. Who is he to rush you into marrying a man you’ve never met? You’ve hardly ‘met’ with your father.

“Augusta, remind our mailman that I will not receive any more letters from my father-” “But, your highness..” Your maid interrupts.

You look at her softly, “My father must be having you all nervous. Trust me, Augusta, that man is not to be feared. Oh, are you scared? You shouldn’t be. Tell the mailman it is the princess’ direct orders.”

“Your highness…” She sighs. “A carriage awaits you outside from the palace. Along with your bags…”

She sees your features soften as you come to the realisation. The joints in your body stiffened up as you blinked at her a couple more times, trying to spot dishonesty. But, to no avail.

You were getting sent down to the palace, whether you liked it or not.

“My lady-” “Very well.” You purse your lips as you exit the room.

The manor became smaller and smaller as you begin your journey. Memories of you playing with toys when you were a toddler and running around in the outside fields plague your mind.

It was home. No mother. No father. No worries. Just the maids and nannies raising you into the open minded woman you are. They were the mother(s) you never had. It made you fear how quickly your happiness could be snatched away.

“Excited, my lady?” Your father’s footman asked. God knows why he was selected to chaperone your travel. He saw you glare at him before returning your gaze back yo the window.

“Take this as an opportunity, your highness. Soon, you will be married and produce a surplus amount of heirs for your kingdom.” He says, a little too excitedly.

You sigh. “James?”

He sits up, “Yes, my lady?”

“Stop talking.” You sarcastically smile.

As you arrive to the palace, you see your father stand outside the front stairs of the palace. He looks mighty in his royal clothing, a proud smile adorns his face as your carriage comes to a stop, like he raised you.

It was unnerving seeing your father standing alone. It was just last winter where your mother succumb to a terrible illness and met her maker. If you weren’t in this predicament you’re in now, you’d count that as the most depressive moment in your life.

Your father’s footman offered his hand, helping you step out of the carriage. The king speed walked down the steps, grinning from ear to ear. You curtsey in front of him, almost second nature to you.

“Hello, father,” the words leave your mouth bitterly. “How are you?”

“Better now you are here, darling.” His eyes squinted as he smiled. “Please, tell me, how was your travel?”

Another fake smile plasters your face, “A little home sick. However, I was fine.”

His fave dropped, “Well, this is your home now, dear. You are at rest when you are here.”

You watch him as he takes a deep breath in, “That is good. Well, what are you all waiting for?! Accompany my daughter with her things as she settles into her new home.”

You’re left with your thoughts as you sit on your new bed. The only thing that comes to mind is how your freedom is gone and now in the hands of this Satoru Gojo.

Wonders of his appearance come flooding into your mind. What would he look like? He could be some scrawny adolescent. No, your father couldn’t give the title of ‘King’ to a child. Maybe he was an old man. As old as your father. His belly round and his hair fading.

Goosebumps plague your skin as someone suddenly walks into your room.

“My lady, the garments have arrived.” A maid walks in.

Your brow raises, “Garments? I did not send for garments.”

She smiles, “My apologies, your betrothed sent them.” Some more people walk in, holding beautiful dresses. They contrast your everyday dresses you wear back home, where the thoughts of marriage never crossed your mind and days ended when you passed out in the fields.

“My betrothed..?”

“He sent these for you to wear tonight during dinner. It’ll be you, him, his mother and father and of course, the King.” She says merrily. “He must be enamoured by your beauty.”

Your brow rises, the fabric used is clearly expensive and foreign. Silky satin and the brightest purple that has ever met the eye. It was all too grand. A huge contrast from your country-house dresses you grew to love.

But beautiful nonetheless.

Whoever this Gojo Satoru was, he was playing his cards right.

Everything tells you to run out of the palace gates as you head downstairs for dinner. If you took off your shoes, you could make it to the town hall. Or was it the boutique?

It had been so long you’ve forgotten what surrounds the palace. Soldiers would definitely catch you within seconds.

A sound of laughters interrupts your thoughts. It’s your father’s and someone else’s. Before you could even breathe into the room, you are held back as you remember you are to be announced.

“Her highness, Princess Y/N!” A butler announced.

All murmurs stop as you walk in the room. The Gojo clan stood up upon your arrival. You noticed the smiles of the mother and the father and then your eyes landed on a man no other suitor could compare to.

His hair was snow white, it reminded you of snowy days where you cosied up to the fire place. His eyes were cerulean, bright and blue. But his stare made you feel small. The way he looked at you, like he was analysing your demeanour, how you walked, how you carried yourself.

They all bowed as you took your seat. “Pleasure to meet you, your highness.” The head of the Gojo clan grinned. “Your father has spoken highly of you. He’s assured you will be the perfect fit for our son.”

So, this is the infamous Satoru Gojo. The way they spoke of him, as if he is the prize. It was hard to not be egotistical considering you were, quite frankly, the future queen.

“Yes. This is a momentous occasion. We are currently witnessing the start of the of the next generation. I’m confident that Gojo will be a great king.”

You sit there, waiting for your father to mention you and how great you will take care of your kingdom. But your wishes were never grabted, they moved onto another topic swiftly.

Throughout dinner, Satoru kept locking eyes with you. Even with the jokes and banter your father and his were throwing about, his eyes lured you back in.

“We are to discuss the date of the wedding, and then the coronation. It should be quick and around the same time, we don’t want to string this along any more than we have.” The king spoke with a certain dominance that shook the bones of everyone in the room, but you of course.

Gojo’s father nodded, “Of course, your majesty. And may I thank you again for recognising Satoru as capable of being king.”

You clearly have missed a plethora of conversations and rumours of Satoru becoming king. “Yes, I see Satoru as the son I never had. He’s most capable of carrying this kingdom to glory.”

Satoru smiles for the first time during dinner, “I’m sure I’ll do that with the help of your daughter, your majesty. Every king needs his queen.”

You want to scoff.

“Of course. And then, hopefully, we’ll see Princess Y/N withchild very soon.” His father spoke. It made you sick how they spoke about you as if you weren’t there.

Suddenly, you felt something wet on your lap. As you look down, you notice the burgundy red wine staining your blush pink gown.

Gojo’s mother gasped, “Oh no, your gown..” You wonder if she was even worried about you embarrassing yourself or rather the fact her family spent a pretty dime on was ruined by your carelessness.

You take a deep breath in, already frustrated from the lack of communication regarding your own marriage and your father’s lack of awareness. “Pardon my absence for one moment..”

The party watches as you stand up and leave abruptly. Satoru notices as your father mumbles something about you being dramatic and unladylike. “I shall go check on her.” Satoru suggests.

“Satoru, you shouldn’t-” “I’m only to check on her welfare. She seemed conflicted tonight.”

The Gojo parents turn to look at the king who is now slumped over in his seat, “Very well.”

You seek comfort under the stars on a balcony, the atmosphere downstairs was too suffocating. It seemed you were a pawn in this big crown game.

“My lady.”

You gasp as you turn around to see the very man you grew to despise in a short amount of time. “Must you cut up my peace..?”

Satoru walked towards you slowly, “It’s a shame the dress is stained…This is the one I wanted you to specifically wear.”

His attempts at flirting made you sick. “I would thank you for the dress. But seeing its already ruined, I don’t think my appreciation would go far.”

Satoru nodded, “It is alright. Did you like your dresses? Were they a good fit? If not, I can get my men to-”

You hold up a hand, “Leave the other two. They are sufficient for gardening.”

He breathed out a chuckle, “Your highness, did I do something to offend you? If so, I do apologise. My father raised me to be a gentleman.”

Nothing leaves your lips as he responds. No smart remark, No rolling of your eyes, nothing. He was nicer than he seemed during dinner. However, you didn’t know what to trust. But something inside you told you to build some sort of relationship with him, considering you two will rule a nation together.

You scoffed as you remain your gaze on the environment, “Gentlemen? You…You hardly know me, why do you wish to be wed?”

“You are really magnificent, Y/N.” He whispers. The absence of formalities and honourifics threw you off immensely. He was now very close to you. It was only now you noticed how tall he was. “If I was just a commoner, I’d still want you as my bride.”

You blink up at him, “Satoru, if I am to be your bride, you can leave the theatrics at home. I’m not a child, I will not fall for such…dishonesty!”

“Dishonesty?” He chuckles once more, stroking the side of his face with his gloved hand, “Have you been like this with other suitors or just me?”

You look away. You’ve never had other suitors. Only him.

“Pardon me, Satoru, but I must go to my chambers. The sun is resting, and I shall rest with it. You don’t want to stop the future queen from receiving her sleep.” You begin to walk away from him.

“Trust me your highness, once wed, I plan to.” He mumbled.

Satoru sees you turn around swiftly staring at him with confusion. If it weren’t for his good looks, you would’ve sent the guards to behead him as quickly as possible. You open your mouth to say something but nothing comes out. Instead, you walk away.

[szkunas]

SORRY, YOU LOST! ౨ৎㅤtoji fushiguro.

synopsis / premise ♱ㅤokay, toji needs to admit it. you’re magical, or something because he genuinely intends to change for you, as stupid as that sounds. unfortunately, he decides to go out to gamble one last time. when he returns, his worst nightmare comes true.

featuring ♰ㅤREDEEMED toji fushigiro X fem!reader.

warnings ♱ㅤANGST ! MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH ! no happy ending ! toji is a little ooc i guess ! BLOOD + DEATH ! assassination mentions ! violence + murder ! gambling addiction ! toji thinks about making you a housewife ! marriage mentions

author’s note ♱ㅤhi. im not dead, lol. just trying to post a lot of things together. i took a small time for myself, to rest, and now i think i can come back with writing with these posts and the event! <3 i hope you all like it, its my first time trying to write for toji

WHOEVER WAS THE IDIOT who invented pachinko, toji hates them deeply. it was probably some very bored and very greedy man. the world will become a better place when those tired, money-crazy expressions disappear. until then, pachinko machines and gambling games will squeeze every penny out of him. or not. no more.

there is a clear reason why some countries strongly prohibit betting shops and casinos: betting is one of the strongest addictions that runs through the sick and desperate, emptying them of their worries for a few seconds and taking the money from their wallets in exchange.

technically, gambling is prohibited both in japan and in many other places around the world: but pachinko, horse racing and speedboat racing, as well as casinos, exist through loopholes in the law. after all, everyone’s true god is money, and taking all of this off the market would shake the economy of the country that seems forgotten by any god in the eyes of toji.

he knows that spending a lot of money on bets is not the wisest decision to make, but he always has faith that he will win next time, when the next time never comes. however, he only has a percentage of his latest work. the rest was well sent where it would be safe: to you, who keeps the money safe and secure from a murderer addicted to gambling.

toji knows you want a lot. you want him to give up his life as the sorcerer killer, you want him to give up his stupid gambling habit, you want to settle down somewhere quiet and start a family. and he wants that too, even if his heart of stone doesn’t let him show it.

but, he hopes you understand that the mere fact that he lets you sleep next to him at night is a sign of trust. he trusts you not to open his throat with a knife while he sleeps, which says a lot about how he feels about you.

even though your relationship has lasted a long time by his standards, what scares toji is the fact that he doesn’t want to leave. he wants to stay, he wants to come back to you at the end of each mission. he wants to let you take care of his wounds, and he wants to dry your tears when you cry for him. in fact, he doesn’t even want you to cry unless it’s from happiness or pleasure.

which is strange.

he only knew love for one woman, and after her passing, he believed he would never again fall in love with anything other than the green notes that create his happiness and destroy his present simultaneously.

a dead wife and an abandoned child on his resume is not what any woman is looking for in a guy. his difficult personality, his history of lack of commitment, his disappearances for days and his addiction to gambling only make everything worse for him. women are drawn to toji like fish to a hook, but they don’t stay long. it lasts even less if they don’t have money or cut off this source of income from his life.

but when he hears the sounds and clicks of the surrounding machines, he can only think that he would stay with you even if you were living on an old mattress in a dark alley.

because love can be as intimidating as it is overwhelming. it can hit a man’s world with such force that it makes him rise from where he is. make him stop making bad choices and, little by little, improve to give you the life that the woman he loves wants. he looks at the nearest clock and sighs. one last game. one last time, he will spend some stupid change waiting for a prize that never comes.

and from there, who knows? and from there, who knows? stop this idiocy of gambling every last penny, work a little more so you can get by for a few months. maybe start a savings account so when you have kids things will be easier?

he waits, and stops. so many times he has seen the message of defeat on machines similar and different to this one. sorry, you lost. the most common phrase for someone who appreciates dopamine more than money in their pockets. but he is surprised when the winning pattern appears on the machine. a winning one.

toji immediately turns to an employee. okay, that was weird. he usually loses any and all bets. this is probably a sign that this is the right path. who knew, the advice of morally sensible people works. don’t use drugs (they don’t work in his system), don’t overindulge in alcohol (which also doesn’t do anything in his system), be responsible and have a stable job. he just needs to review what he achieves in that last part. sorcerer slaying is not exactly a stable job, which every wife dreams of having a husband working with.

wait, did he just mentally call you his wife? take it easy, clown. first, you have to get past your fifth dating anniversary.

but the idea is undeniably attractive. maybe if he gets some good, well-paying work beyond assassination, you can become a housewife. only if you want, of course. toji will drop dead before he forces you to do something you don’t want to do.

the idea is a little cute — really cute, actually. he loves seeing you coming home from work stressed. seeing you angry makes him strangely excited. it’s like getting turned on by playing with fire, and he just wants to make the flames burn hotter. however, he knows how to respect his space when things get serious. that’s one of the reasons he doesn’t want you in an office job.

reduced to a sad cubicle, an idiotic boss and customers as miserable as you, anxious for the time to leave or for him to pick you up. this is not the life he wants for you. okay, toji needs his own fucking car to pick you up from work. this goes on the list of what to start buying to have a responsible life.

as he changes the balls in the pachinko machine, he watches the prizes carefully. normally, it’s just junk that you sell in a random store to make real money. but there is a kind of golden pendant, a butterfly. he asks the employee and takes the item in his hands. he’s a bit of a muggle and extremely cheesy, in his vision, but it’s only fair that in his last bet, one of the few ones he wins, the prize goes to you.

you, the true angel that exists on earth. you, patient and caring, who accept his mistakes and didn’t abandon him when he gave you a thousand and one reasons to do so. you, who he would like to see at the altar and have children with. fixing his own life and making his life better, that’s what he must do now. for you.

waving to the employee who is already used to his presence — after all, toji doesn’t plan on seeing him again — he puts the pendant in his pocket and walks peacefully home, lost in thought. some idiot bumps into him in a hurry, but he’s so strangely happy he can’t even stay mad.

the guy in question looks like he’s on something, with his hands in his pockets as if he’s hiding a weapon and his pupils dilated. His paranoid face is looking in all directions, and Toji knows that look — he’s trying to run from trouble. probably fucked it up and attacked someone. toji shrugs.

well, it’s not his problem.

he just takes out his cell phone and presses the call button on your contact. toji wants to go directly home, but if you want some food or some other gift, he would like to know now. your profile picture is actually adorable, and he caught himself just a moment before smiling like a fool.

the nighttime streets of tokyo don’t stop as he presses the phone to his ear. cars go too fast, and night lights make the city seem more alive at night than in daylight. two rings, three. you don’t answer, and toji groans, checking the time before waiting a little longer. it is weird. usually you are the one who calls, or you are the one who answers almost immediately. and it’s too early, so you can’t be sleeping.

maybe you forgot your cell phone at home and went out to get something you forgot at the office. it would be just like you. he can already hear himself teasing you. airhead. he gives up calling when there is no answer after four tries. he doesn't want to look desperate.

his steps are lazy, light. he’s gotten used to walking quietly due to his line of work, but toji has his chest puffed out like someone who knows what he wants in life. this is a new and at the same time well-known occurrence. his second chance just fell into toji’s lap. not all men are that lucky. and he doesn’t intend to waste it, risk everything and lose everything again.

may his past have taught him the valuable lesson of staying close and protecting those you love.

that’s why, when he turns down the street and stops in front of your house (which has also been his house for almost two years), he freezes. there are some police cars parked in front of the door. okay, maybe some idiot tried to rob the house. are you okay? the idea of you getting hurt makes his blood boil.

but his heart sinks like a crushed animal when he sees the ambulance present. no. what the fuck is going on? he quickens his pace, not caring about the yellow tapes — oh, god, there shouldn’t be yellow ribbons. not here. not in your home, not in the safest and happiest place in the world. do not cross slaps him in the face, making his heartbeat increase. is that fear, in the back of his head?

he had goosebumps. not the good kind.

a police officer comes over to talk to him, explaining that he can’t be here, that this is a crime scene, sir. but toji is faster, his hand searching for the pendant he bought you through a stupid gambling game.

“sir, i’m going to have to ask you to leave—”

“this is my house, i live here with my girlfriend. what the fuck is going on?”

the police officer stops, as if he didn’t expect that kind of response. he checks something with another officer over the radio, and toji is about to punch everyone to go and look for you. what the hell is going on? he only left for three hours and about ten minutes. this shouldn’t be happening.

his green eyes stay focused on the ambulance, on the house that is being ransacked. your house, god, your wonderful house. he waits for you to come out from behind the ambulance, from one of the doors of the house, for you to come running and for him to hug you. but there is nothing like that. you don’t show up, and he suddenly feels like his throat is closing up.

the officer who owes him an explanation that keeps him calm and tells the truth at the same time — after all, a guy with the size of toji freaking out isn’t what anyone wants to face — gets his attention by gently clearing his throat. he looks like a newbie. excellent. you’re nowhere to be found, and toji is getting explanations from a damn newbie.

“you mentioned you live here with your girlfriend, sir—?” the man inquires, and toji crosses his arms, irritated. “can i ask where you were earlier tonight?”

“fushiguro. i’m fushiguro, yeah, and i live here for, two years now. i was out. buying stuff ‘nd all. why do you need to know?”

the officer sighs, his face sad. “you will need to make a statement later, mr. fushiguro. however, this doesn’t have to be immediately, we intend to respect your time with…”

“with?” toji grits his teeth, nearly snapping. “c’mon. i don’t have all night. where the hell is my girlfriend?”

there are some voices shouting instructions in the background, and toji doesn’t pay attention until something appears in the corner of his vision. he turns his face away more quickly than ever, giving the nervous policeman no time to warn him that he shouldn’t do that. and the sight before him makes him freeze.

the paramedics are zipping up a black bag and putting away the equipment they initially brought. toji is no stranger to blood and dead bodies—his body count is high in more ways than one—but he swears he’s never felt so sick. the butterfly pendant falls from his hands and clicks against the floor, with a slight *clink*.

it’s your body. they are putting your body inside a black bag. god, he only got a glimpse, a second, but he’s sure it’s you. pale, motionless. declared dead.

you, dead.

bile rises up his throat thinking about a million things. If he had arrived earlier, could he have helped? he definitely wouldn’t let that happen, what took him so long with the pachinko machine? Was this random, was this chosen? did they kill you because of him, because of him and his stupid career?

he wonders if you suffered. god, the thought of you scared and screaming as you fight to defend yourself makes toji almost go insane immediately. this is— real. and it is not a nightmare, where he’ll wake up besides you, on the bed. you would smile and comfort him out of his scared thoughts. but no. you won’t ever smile anymore.

never again.

he is so out of it for a moment, it’s as if nothing else exists. his ears won’t stop ringing, and it’s like his head is going to melt at any second. he turns to face the officer, who has been trying to get his attention for apparently five minutes.

“we’re sorry, mr. fushiguro. there was a complaint from the neighbors. we’re still not sure what happened, but it was certainly a homicide. maybe random. as it turned out, someone broke into the house and—”

“murdered my girlfriend.” he completes, his hands clenching into fists. toji excuses himself — and the poor officer can see the pain he’s trying to hide with anger.

he’ll probably get called out for a dozen things. identify your body. give a statement, be ruled out as a suspect, god. like he would even touch you like that. the idea is so disgusting he can’t even process it. but it does not matter. it does not matter anymore. his new, peaceful life? fuck that. you are dead.

and so is his heart. again.

toji walks away from the prying ears of the police, and he hates the fact that his hands are shaking as he calls shiu. and old friend and trustful dealer, he needs to ask two things.

“hey, shiu. when you hear this, give me a call as soon as you can. i am serious. i need another job, as quickly as possible, also.” he pauses, pinching the bridge of his nose, taking deep, angry breaths. “i need to ask a personal favor. investigate something for me, and i want the name and address of every person involved. alright?”

he wonders what will he use when he finds whoever did this. a gun? a knife? it doesn’t matter, nothing matters anymore. he steps on the butterfly pendant as he stares at the sky and wishes for blood to pay for yours being spilled.

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. THANK YOU FOR READING <3

[danmeiconfession]

My thoughts/rants aren't very coherent so just take it as me rambling instead lol .

 Although sj's treatment of lbh was awful, lbh is still sj's direct disciple and the matter of his discipline rests on sj, so it's awkward for outsiders to interfere. it's not right but hey neither is slavery or child marriage so them's the works.

LBH was free to leave Qing Jing Peak at any time - but perhaps not in his own mind. This is interesting bc imo him and sj never had a relationship where sj was gaslighting lbh into staying. in fact i'd say sj made it plenty clear he found lbh to be an eyesore but maybe in those years sj had some intermittent spots of mercy lbh latched onto and then just never gave up hope.

Unless, Well looking at SV canon and how the system didn't penalize sy for the medicine + carriage ride after sy explained his thought process, it wouldn't surprise me if those types of events happened with sj and lbg. if sj had to bring lbh out on a night hunt he prolly made sure lbh was patched up + looked presentable so he didn't ruin the cohesive aesthetic of his peak haha and well NYY is always a weak point. these things definitely wasn't usual but likely happened often -enough- for lbh to get his hopes up over and over .

As modern people, we of course abhor the way that LBH was treated and SQQ comes off as abusive and a slimy lecher. But by the standards of his own age, everything he's done is perfectly acceptable. In traditional Chinese philosophy, the teacher is like a father, and a father and a teacher can do whatever they want to their child / pupil. Even in modern China, teachers have been known to get away with beating their pupils. In the UK (where I'm from), it wasn't so long ago that teachers could cane their students and no one blinked an eye about parents beating their kids. Slavery, child marriage, selling your wife or daughter into prostitution, all of that was totally legal in ancient China.

I always thought it was strange that OG LBH fixated so much on SQQ that he tortured him so horribly, but there's no mention of him doing the same to everyone else who ever wronged him, no matter how small. I think being pushed into the Abyss the last straw but I also think the reason he so hard-wired to think of his Shizun as this unfeeling man and tortured him limbless is because He got rejected so many women like him but the one man he chased relentlessly for years for his eyes to even graze him he look the other way which is why I think his eye got taken out ?

After the loss of his mother, lbh expected to find a new family in qjp and a new parental figure in sj. The greater the expectation the greater the disappointment. obv jiumei is not in the right condition to play mother hen to anybody. | ಠ ∧ ಠ | but lil bingbing didn't know that and arguably maybe he understood his foster mother was treated bad bc she was a servant but he couldn't understand why sqq, an immortal cultivator, is so hellbent on bullying some unknown kid.

Also, why does it bug Binghe that much? Why was it brought up against SJ during his trial in Proud Immortal Demon Way? Maybe it's just critical research failure on Airplane's part, but in ancient China, visiting prostitutes was completely normal. Men could have multiples wives and concubines and sleep with their servants and go around to the local brothel. Visiting a prostitute was just a leisure activity.Like, t says something about Binghe's obsession with SQQ in PIDW that he's fixated on SQQ's alleged bedroom habits?

Of course we modern people and Luo Binghe have a right to be mad, but justice in ancient xianxia China is... putting it lightly, biased... This is a world that shrugs off almost any crime if your position is high enough.

100% LBH is right to be upset, but the problems run much deeper than SQQ, their whole world is rotten. Him being mad about SQQ yeeting him is kind of confusing, he's legit to be hurt about it but any Cultivator would have killed LBH on sight when he was revealed to be a demon, and a heavenly one at that.

Which is why i'm forgiving with Shen Jiu because why judge him from a lens from the modern viewpoint because on top of the shitty things that happened to his life him being an abusive teacher isn't really so damning when the entire Cultivation worls is corrupt??? In a way the original PIDW was a hypocritical abuse apologism story with the mentality that any abuse against the protag was unjust and wrong and any abuse he committed whether disproportionate or targeted at people who never did anything to him was righteous or deserved was a criticism of the stallion protags and that it was never equal to begin with Shen jiu never deserved such torture they were never on equal footings to begin with. Yeah, he was vicious but it hypocritical. I never took Shen Yuan being with Binghe as a reward but a punishment for being such a troll and idol-obsessed that he ended up with Bingmei dude. Sorry if ending up with a mentally ill man and one who sa him and only cared for his own needs during the act with no regard for their partner and i'm breaking yall illusion with this toxic ship.

Considering what went down with LQG and SJ when they where disciples it does seem like there is a lot of bullying. If PIDW is like other Xianxia novels, or even historical dramas then there is probably a lot of underhanded sabotage by students against one another. Many cultivation novels with sects have kids fight over food and resources and if you can't cut it then you leave or you languish. A peak like SQQs may well have such things as part of their education because it's a strategist and scholarly peak, any student who couldn't figure out how to sabotage rivals, curry favor with the right people, manipulate, info gather, and navigate dangerous political situations on top of doing well in normal studies wouldn't fair well in such a place. - I doubt this to be the case in canon as SQQ is supposed to be a scum villain but its fascinating to speculate.

In a way Binghe is weird he thinks more in terms of a modern person I guess in a meta way? Because... He isn't special .It always strikes me as funny that LBH apparently like, idk, despite also being native to the culture is upset by it? as if he wanted more from specifically from SQQ? bc he wanted SQQ to find him special? meta hand-of-god type stuff where LBH accidentally has a more modern attitude bc of the way he was written?

Hell, his 300 wives scream self-enforced heterosexuality. like some DEEP repression and distraction.Ur telling me this guy fought more powerful sect masters, demon lords, survived assassinations but the mean teacher deserved prolonged torment.

If only Shen jiu played up the role as a mother things wouldn't have escalated lol. Freud should study Binghe though cause damn his mother issues run deep. His father though he doesnt give a damn and is detached from him but when it comes about the jade pendant youre basically finished. feeling the hots for ssq was part of the mommy issues lbh had lmao

.

[lorimnnn]

hey babez :3 could u possibly write about how michael feels for a hyperfemme bimbo gf? like he never sees her without heels and lashes on X3 this is shamelessly a self insert lol

i have no excuses. this has been sitting in my inbox and stewing in my mind for way too long but here it is!!! i was so excited to put it out I have no idea what happened lol

hope you enjoy my love!!

p.s. remember to reblog and comment!!!

cw: swearing, canon-typical violence, suggestive themes

~

i feel like a lot of the people who say he wouldn't care because he's literally a psychopathic serial killer forget he was born in 1957. He was literally raised in the sixties--- he won't care BUT HE'S GOING TO NOTICE.

michael is a watcher. long before he approached you he has memorised your routine, developed favourites from your closet, salivated over the doe-eyed batting of your long lashes when something doesn't quite go your way. you will later learn that your missing makeup products and fraying clothes is because of this fucker playing with you.

he's intrigued by you. the way you prance around without a care in the world, legs exposed, everything exposed. it's so scandalous. it feels like a sin to look at you alone.

the confidence that you carry yourself with only arouses him even more. he can't even fully objectify you because you know your worth and have standards and therefore he finds himself wondering what you're like. your personality. everything in between.

it becomes obsessive

when he approaches you, it's to extinguish his desire over your body. over you.

if he lets it go any further he'll---

are you... are you flirting with him?

he doesn't know how to feel with you looking directly at him, flinging comments his way despite knowing, KNOWING who he is. you're not even mistaken, you're just going for it even though he still has a knife in his hand

he already can't resist you

when you start running your hands down his body, he's done. just done.

if you're a bimbo in the 1960s (idfk you time travelled), you're going to be an outsider yourself and it makes him feel closer to you. you're practically a power couple--- two outsiders doing whatever the fuck you want with your lives? marriage. now.

you make him feel like a filthy old man. michael was raised with ideas of a white-picket fence and a busy 9-5 with a pretty wife to come home to. all that jazz. while he isn't that traditional you're going to be uprooting everything he once thought he knew and you best believe that when he looks at you, there is not one clean thought in his head

he becomes possessive tenfold. it doesn't help that you're dead gorgeous. will try stop you from leaving the house. will lock you and isolate you in there if he knew it wouldn't draw attention. why the fuck did you have to be so popular?

so many guys asking after you are now dead. and they keep popping up like flies--- Michael gets annoyed by this really easily. it's probably the only part of your getup and lifestyle that he doesn't really like. since he's a pretty independent killer and likes to go and do his own thing, it sets him on edge knowing he can't leave you alone for a minute without having like, 500 men pile up on his hit list

you get a free scary dog now at least. yay! privileges! feel free to walk wherever you want at whatever time of day or night. Michael will take care of you and castrate any man dumbass enough to even look your way

michael is so obsessed it's not okay

his favourite part about this though is watching you get ready. then tearing it all off you and watching you have to start again. you'll be doing your makeup and his hands will just be running up and down your legs, squeezing your thighs and waist, bruises left in his wake.

you'll be constantly swatting him away because he can't help himself. his hand is always on an exposed part of your skin

he just thinks you're so gorgeous and not in a loving way, but an inquisitive way. he's genuinely affronted by how good you look and he doesn't understand it, that explosive, sensual vitality of yours that can never be snuffed out and is so, uniquely you. he wants to pull you apart and understand you because just like him, you're an anomaly of your time

he already has a staring problem... can you imagine him now? he's not looking away once. it'll quickly get uncomfortable because he just won't stop. doesn't even wanna close his eyes when you're sleeping. everything you do to him is just provoking him. push his face away? he's going to steel himself and lean into your touch. shove him? he's a brick wall and thinks you're feeling him up. yell at him about it? he's unimpressed--- don't you get it? you're literally the centre of his world. why would he look away?

michael is literally feral for you i don't make the rules

tell him you've got nothing to wear and he will go and pick an outfit he's lowkey been fantasising about for a good month, waiting for the opportunity. and it's actually pretty good. depending on how you react, this will become his love language for you--- acts of service.

definitely starts targeting other bimbos and stealing from their closet to give you clothes.

i have a very clear image in my head of The Shape himself, prowling down the streets of Haddonfield and surveying the empty streets of the night, utterly ferocious as he hunts his next kill---

completely softening when his bimbo s/o, previously clinging to his arm like they're on a nightly stroll, trips over nothing.

if your feet ever start to hurt from the heels, he will happily carry you. but not in a cute way. as in a 'I want you around but you're holding me up. I'm going to sweep you off your feet now. Don't fall."

decorate his mask with lip prints

I dare you

you'd think he would hate it but it's been like a few weeks and the lip prints are still there. you know he loves it. he knows he loves it. he will always pretend to be indifferent though and it will surprise you every time. michael can care less about how scary he looks. even with his s/o making him look like a besotten college boyfriend, looking scary is the last of his worries when he's literally a famed killer.

since he's following you anyway, use his pockets. mechanics overalls have so many pockets. and he'll encourage you. if you ever end up walking around at night with him and start complaining that you forgot your lipgloss at home, he's going to suddenly be holding out his hand--- he's a walking, non-talking, portable storage bin and be grateful because this is his only way of showing non-physical affection lmao. i fully suggest you take advantage of this. he doesn't need his pockets anyway, he holds his knife. so feel free to stock him up and rummage around as much as you like

but be warned. if you touch him in the slightest when retrieving your lipgloss from one of his pockets, he's going to think you're sending signals.

holds all your specialists at knife point so you can get your stuff done for free. if you don't like that, just tell him. but he thinks he's helping you lmfao. your poor nail girl is pissing herself trying to glue on your acrylics

just give him lots of kisses to fuel up for the day and he's good (he will stand there and act unresponsive and neutral, but if you don't give him his daily dose of affection he's going to continue to stand there, blocking your path until you do)

and don't be fooled, either. Michael may be soft on you but he is not a soft man

definitely takes sick pleasure in seeing his bruises peeking out of your skimpy clothes, his marks on full display on your neck. it's just so territorial and it's one of the few things that is able to send a rush through him--- knowing that everyone wants you and that you're walking prey, but you've already been claimed

is like an animal around you. give him one signal and you will definitely be devoured--- i hope you don't spend a lot of money on clothes because you're going to find a lot of it destroyed. better learn how to sew

just think of him as your pet rabid dog. full stop.

otherwise i actually think Michael loves his hyperfemme bimbo gf. not that he'll admit it, but you know. he's horrible at hiding it but it has a lot to do with the fact he doesn't try. just stay out of trouble and he won't wreck havoc on your life <3

Michael has always been an outsider.

It had nothing to do with the fact that he'd become a killer as a kid, although that was the first and most obvious sign. Growing up in the sanitarium had only conditioned him into believing he could never be anything else and that his only mercy would be embracing it. Funny. Now he was rumoured to be the devil incarnate: the ultimate outsider.

But that wasn't the point.

Even if Michael weren't a killer, he'd always been different. A flimsy grasp on emotions and even clumsier responses to things that were supposed to inspire sympathy. Sadness. Pity. The in-between emotions that weren't quite happy but weren't quite sad or angry or scared. But he'd just been slow in development, right? One day it would end and he would wake up and be like the rest of them. It had been a naive thought--- it had gotten Judith killed.

The sanitarium also taught Michael other things, other than the fact that he would never belong in society as anything more than a menace and disruption. He learned that he was a rarity. Some sort of unexplainable anomaly that they had to contain because they couldn't understand, and because he didn't care about changing that, he would never be free. The sanitarium had taught Michael that people feared him because there weren't many of him. So he gave them something real to fear.

He never really came across someone like him. It wouldn't have really changed things, but it would have added bredth to perspective. But Michael would soon find out that anomalies like him came in all shapes and sizes. Anomalies, like you, were just as strange, even if you fit in much better than he did.

You.

He didn't know what to make of you.

"Hey sexy!" A drunkard's voice floated over the heads over the bar and stabbed right into your back. You only wrinkled your nose.

"Um, ew!"

"Aw, don't be like that. You don't mean that." His eyes raked over you. "Looking for anybody, hey? I can save you the time you spend searching."

You look like you're about to gag. "No. Like, never. In a kajillion years."

"Bitch."

"What's the word again?" You frowned. "The men with no dicks?"

"... Eunuchs?"

"Yeah!" You beamed. "That's you. 'Cause you have no balls."

His friends roared in laughter as red crawled over the man's face. You were satisfied enough by then to move on. You knew he wasn't done. He'd probably try follow you home. That made you smirk.

You had a little magic trick up your sleeve for little diseases like them. A magic trick you weren't even sure knew that you knew he existed: Michael fucking Myers.

Michael didn't understand what it was about you that stuck out so much. You were here at the bar for what every other person was there for. Talk. Drink. Fuck, maybe, if you got lucky that was. You were all dolled up like every other woman in the room but it was like the spotlight was naturally attracted to you and he couldn't look away. Was it that tiny little skirt? Your tits pressed up towards your chin by a tight little top? You were so scandalously dressed and hid nothing. Your intentions were clear and yet somehow that repelled people the same way it drew them in.

Michael could tell you were like him. You couldn't relate to the conversations. The difference was that you tried to. They'd just laugh at you and walk away--- another dead tonight.

How long has it been, now? Since he'd started stalking you? A few days? Weeks? Months?

It had never occurred to him that you could be doing it on purpose. Changing with your blinds wide open, bending over when you caught a glimpse of him standing there in your mirror. But the obsession had gripped him. There was no escaping.

And it was distracting him horribly.

You would die tonight, he decided. These... Feelings would die with you.

It all happens in moments.

Him, following you home.

Him, raising the knife above his head.

You, turning before it could meet home, pressing your body against his.

"I knew you'd say hi one day."

Michael stops. Tilts his head.

"Not like this, though." You pout. You run your finger down the cheek of his mask and along the zipper of his mechanic's overalls. Your touch is electric and he can nearly feel it against his skin, the thrills exploding at the slightest pressure. "I'm honestly kind of hurt."

He could kill you now.

Maybe give you a chance to run?

Having you see him and speak directly to him, though, is a dizzying feeling he can't quite seem to recover from. But from the outside he looks stoic. He looks like he's humouring you before your inevitable death, which you inwardly frantically hope against.

"Michael, right?" You taste the word, curiously finding your way around it. "Mikey."

He stares at you impassively.

"I thought you had a crush on me." You draw circles into his chest with your finger and tilt your head back to look at him. "Did I get it wrong?"

Er... Not really.

You were either really dumb or maybe just---

Maybe a little weird like him.

Michael slowly lowers the knife. You take it as an olive branch and push yourself further against him, hard enough to feel the contours of his toned stomach and the rippling valleys of his body. Muscular. Well, he was a serial killer. You could put that thought away for now, though.

"I've been dying for you to talk to me all week. What took you so long?" You bite your lip. "I almost went and talked to you myself. Oh. Oooh. Maybe I should have. I think you're more excited than I am that we're finally talking."

Experimentally, his hand comes up to take hold of your throat. He inspects you--- your long, fake lashes framing filthy doe eyes, the sparkling smear of eyeshadow across your lid that matches your abnormally long and sharp nails. The confidence in which you hold yourself despite being at the mercy of The Shape himself. Genuine.

You're being genuine.

And Michael is... Feeling things. A lot of things. It's almost overwhelming, the onslaught of arousal, the heightened obsession, the near-desperate desire to possess you right there and then---

Mine, he thinks, and he almost says it out loud. Mine.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Down to the Meadow

When Skies Are Gray, Chapter 3

Series Masterlist             Next Chapter

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader 

summary: Frank’s life has reached a crossroads: he can either continue to seclude himself and pursue a dark, lonely future, or he can open himself up to connecting with someone again and maybe achieve happiness. Being the grump that he is, Frank has already committed to the lonely path, but his curious new neighbor might just turn that around. 

warnings: swearing, descriptions of depression, descriptions of violence/gore (canon typical), more of Frank being concerned about what reader is eating (very vague ED references)

a/n: AHHHHH I AM SO SORRY THIS IS LATE! A huge thank you to the anon who reminded me that it was Monday LOL. I am so glad that someone else enjoys this story because I love writing it. This chapter delves into Franks trauma and mental state and I hope you all enjoy!

w/c: 5.5k

The dream evolved after the first iteration. Each time he closed his eyes, a new horror cemented itself into the sentient nightmare that was slowly consuming his entire life. 

As with the first dream, it started with you joining Maria in his standard nightmares. Your beautiful figure sitting on the carousel alongside his late wife and kids as those assholes gunned you down. A patch of red slowly spreading across your pretty white dress as your smile morphed into a face of horror. 

The weird thing was, his subconscious laced the nightmares with gorgeous, peaceful images of you. Like his mind was desperately trying to remind him that good things are easily ruined. 

You pulling cookies out of the oven. Then, you being blown to bits in front of him in the field. You laughing at a joke he didn’t mean to make. Followed quickly by your screams as the life drains from your face. 

You picking flowers in a sun kissed field, before a large black mass overtakes you, swallowing you whole. 

Though his resting mind was eager to pry him away from you, to spare you a terrible fate, his waking mind was yearning to let him wrap himself around your finger. The fine line he was treading started to look more like a noose—and he was weaving it himself. 

A cold, squishy object nudged Frank’s outstretched hand deliberately. Groaning, the Marine retracted his hand into the cocoon of sheets he had created in his uneasy sleep. A pitiful whine shattered the early morning silence and sent a white-hot strike of pain through his skull. 

Pressing the heel of his hands into his eyes, his throat twisted in a silent cry of pain. Prying his eyes open, he was blinded by the daylight, searing an imprint into his eyelids. 

Nausea burned in his gut as he contemplated opening his eyes again. He wanted nothing more than to lie here and rot all day, but Max clearly needed to go out. The thought of bringing Max outside the apartment right now was enough to make a gag rise in his throat. An idea rattled around in his skull, the pain of his hangover too intense for him to even remember that Frank Castle never asked for help unless he was on his death bed. Braving the sun’s unintentional inferno, he let his eyes slide open again. 

A hiss of pain escaped his lips and he drew a hand up to block the rays as best he could while he took in his surroundings. He had fallen asleep on his couch after making a mess of his apartment, but his phone sat prominently displayed on the coffee table amid a smattering of empty bottles. Grasping it for dear life, he sent a message as quickly as possible before shutting it off and letting his head fall back to the pillows. 

Frank: I hate to ask this but could you take Max out for me? I’ve got a bad headache. 

A vibration let him know that you’d responded, prompt as always. 

You: I’m sorry you’re not feeling well ☹️ I’ll be right over. 

Breathing deeply, Frank heaved himself off the couch, stumbling to the door to unlock it before retreating to his created sanctuary. 

Frank: You can let yourself in. Door’s open. 

Drifting in and out of a painful consciousness, Frank hazily remembered the door opening, a cool hand on his face, the same gentle palm offering him some extra strength painkillers and a glass of water, before all signs of other life disappeared from his apartment. 

When he woke again, you were returning with Max in tow—your ethereal form outlined by a halo of golden light as you crouched in front of him. Frank was vexed by the sight of the skirt of your beautiful dress pooling on the floor.

“Hey, big guy. Feeling any better?” Your voice was soft as your dainty fingers stroked his arm with a featherlight touch. 

Frank grunted in affirmation, not trusting himself to look at your dazzling eyes and risk seeing honest concern. There was no way his fatigue riddled mind could resist you, it was too dangerous. 

You gave him a small smile. “Well I took Max for a walk to and around Central Park, so he should be a happy camper for a while. Did you want me to stay?” 

Blood rushed to Frank’s ears. This is exactly what he was afraid of. Do not say yes. Do not say yes. Do not— “Please.” His voice cracked around the word, making him cringe. You fucking asshole. You piece of shit. 

“Hey, I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours, but tell it to quiet down. It doesn’t seem to be helping.” Your knuckles brushed over his cheek and he leaned into the touch, weakening your worried frown. 

“I just…I ain’t good company, sunshine. I shouldn’t let you stay, I can’t ask that of you.” Your pinched expression intensified as you listened to his deep grumble crack on the pet name he used for you. Cupping his cheek tenderly, a small smile slipped through as you reassured him. 

“You don’t need to be good company for me to enjoy being with you, Frank.” You shuffled closer to the couch, hand moving to scratch lightly at his scalp which made him groan in appreciation, eyes falling closed. 

Frank sighed, a strong sense of guilt ballooning in his chest “I don’t deserve you.” 

“Oh stop. You deserve to be happy. Whatever and whoever helps you get there, yah?” Your voice was definitive, almost stern, which made the corners of his lips twitch up in a smirk. 

“So bossy.” He murmured, his smirk growing as you gave his hair a small tug in retaliation.

“Can I sit?” You jerked your head to his couch and he nodded, sitting up to make room for you.

Ignoring his desire to let you care for him, he rested his arms across the back of the couch. The ghost of your body heat dancing over his exposed skin in an almost comforting waltz. It wasn’t a great placebo for your gentle touches, but it would have to do. 

You were quiet for a moment, worriedly glancing around the apartment. Empty beer and liquor bottles littered the coffee table. While you wouldn’t dare call Frank’s place “messy,” your rigid, grouchy neighbor was never less than meticulous. He’d mentioned his military background to you once, which would explain his precision and attention to detail. And that was why the litter seemed so out of place, you supposed. 

Preoccupied with brainstorming a way to assist, Frank nearly made you jump when he broke the silence. 

“Sorry I ain’t much fun.” 

You chuckled, poking his shoulder. “I already told you, tough guy, you don’t have to be fun. You can sleep more if you want.” 

“Nah.” Frank’s face contorted with a grimace making you giggle.

“Ok, have you eaten yet?” You tilted your head at him, darling smile persisting even though his place was a mess and he was a disaster. His doubt began churning again. She deserves better. Send her away. 

Frank just shook his head, both to clear it of the whirling thoughts and to answer your question, so you continued. “How does an incredibly greasy burger sound?”

The Marine groaned, “Like fuckin’ heaven.” 

Giggling, you took his hand. “I know a good diner not far from here. Join me for lunch?” 

“Sounds like a plan, sunshine.” Frank allowed you to pull him from the couch, appreciative that you took care not to jostle him too much. Armed with more painkillers and a pair of sunglasses, the two of you headed out for a meal. 

The amount of care you took, in the short walk between his apartment and your destination, to ensure his comfort on the bustling NYC streets was honestly outrageous. How someone could give two shits about a man that massacred people without trying was beyond him, but he was grateful nonetheless. Keeping a tender hold of his hand, you led him around the other New Yorkers with immense grace, your sweet face bright with a smile the entire time. Thinking it would be best for his pounding head, you refrained from making conversation, simply turning around to grin at him every once in a while. 

As you reached the diner, you pulled open the door for him before his outstretched free hand could touch the handle. Frank was always so chivalrous around you, it was time for him to get a taste of his own medicine. Smiling sweetly, you bit back a laugh at his narrowing eyes as he skeptically accepted your action. 

“Thanks, sunshine.” 

“Why of course, sweetheart.” You coated your voice with honey and Frank grumbled, furrow above his brow deepening. Bringing his calloused hand up to your lips, you placed a kiss on his knuckles before brushing over them with your thumb. “Relax, Frank. Let someone else care for you this time, hmm?” 

The tension on his face ebbed before evaporating. Poking his cheek, that was now dusted with a rosy blush, you giggled, pulling him towards an empty booth. 

Sitting across from you, Frank slid his sunglasses off to fully appreciate your appearance today while you read over the laminated menu. Dolled up in one of your signature floral sundresses, your hair was styled differently—pulled away from your face, revealing more of you to him. Natural light poured in from the window framing your booth, highlighting your slender hands and neckline that plunged deeper than normal. Frank found his eyes tracing the line of fabric down into the valley of your visible cleavage until your sudden movement spooked him from the trance. 

“Ooooo the red onion and goat cheese burger looks good. That must be new or I would have tried it before. What are you going to get?” You beamed at him, blissfully unaware of the way his thoughts lingered on your skin. Stuck in his own head, he wondered if your melodic voice would respond to his touches the way he wished it would. What would you sound like if he ran a hand over your thighs? Would you get louder once it became his tongue?

“Frank?” You took hold of his arm that was resting on the dull plastic table, startling him. Your pretty brow pinched, eyes running over his face for any sign of distress. “Are you ok? Is it too loud or bright in here?” 

“I’m a’right, sunshine. Jus’ lookin’ at ya, is all.” He grumbled, picking up his own menu as heat rushed to your face. 

“Oh, well, er—everything is good, so whatever you choose will be, um, good.” You stumbled through the sentence, trying not to dwell on Frank’s consistent compliments. 

A waitress eventually approached the two of you to take your order. Taking your cues from Frank, you ordered a strawberry milkshake with your burger while he requested a chocolate one—Frank seemed more than pleased about the addition to your meal and you weren’t quite sure why. 

While waiting for your food, you and Frank were looking out at the flow of people through the window beside you. You happily commented on their outfits, and what jobs you thought they held. Though it was clear you were being overly goofy to lighten his mood, he encouraged it—asking you to describe their personality and voice along with their job. 

Letting your lilting tone wash over him, he focused on the way your fingers fit so perfectly in his. Your thumb continued drawing patterns across his knuckles, even though your focus was outside. 

While you were giving a ridiculous impression of a man in a full suit that clearly thought he was tough shit, Frank felt a confession bubbling up in his throat. 

“Friday is my daughter's birthday. She would have been 18.”

“Oh, Frank…” The devastation in his statement made emotion well up in your own chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thought I owed ya an explanation. F’r the mess.” His hand circled towards himself lamely. 

“You don’t owe me anything. Not one single thing, sweetheart. I’m here for whatever you need, explanation or not.” You squeezed his hand again, looking at him with concern, but not pity. 

“I meant what I said earlier. You deserve better.” Keeping his eyes downcast, his heart plunged when your fingers stilled over the back of his hand before slipping out of his hold entirely. 

Closing his eyes in disappointment, he assumed he’d rightfully lost your support until he felt a burst of heat settle against his side as you wrapped him in an embrace. Your hand buried itself in his hair and he let you pull him into your neck. 

“You are exactly the kind of man I deserve, Frank. You’re allowed to grieve, and, honestly, if you showed no emotion that would be a huge red flag. It’s ok to struggle and it’s ok to ask for help. I am always always a door away if you need company or someone to talk to. I know I tend to dominate the conversation, but I have been told that I’m occasionally a good listener.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek, stroking over the spot of impact gently when he subconsciously leaned into the contact. 

“I don’t doubt it, sunshine.” He idled in your hold before drawing back, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he moved away. “Her name was Lisa. She, um, she died in a shootout. Along with my wife and son.” 

Before he could continue, your waitress returned to your table. Thanking her briefly for the food, you positioned Frank’s food in front of him, picking up a fry. Watching you turn to him expectantly, he found himself telling you everything. For the first time in his life, he understood why Red felt so strongly about his religion. Confessing his sins to you lifted a burden that he had lived with for so long, he had previously assumed it was a permanent piece of him. He’d found a new altar to kneel at, and he wouldn’t give that up, he couldn’t. 

He talked for what felt like hours. Telling you about Maria, their meeting, their love, their marriage. He told you about Lisa and Frankie, how he felt like he had failed Frankie more so than anyone else because of the responsibility he’d unknowingly placed on the boy’s shoulders. While he didn’t go into detail about their deaths, he spoke about things that had haunted him silently. The pieces of his relationships with his wife and children that he kept so close to his chest, Curtis didn’t even know about them. 

By the time he’d picked his plate clean, he was exhausted. Revealing his fears to you was relieving, but it took so much energy. Running a palm over his face roughly, he drained the last of his milkshake. 

“I’m sorry, sunshine. That was…a lot.” 

“Don’t be sorry. I appreciate you trusting me with this.” Your words were genuine. “Let me finish my burger and then we can go home.” 

His heart fluttered at the small implication that his apartment was your home as well. You may not have intended it, but it’s warmed his chest nonetheless. As you worked your way through the rest of your food, you remained tucked into Frank’s side with his arm around your shoulders. 

Letting his arm fall to your waist, he stroked a thumb over your hip gently, making you smile. Popping the last bit of sandwich into your mouth, you fell more firmly into his hold. Studying his face with a small smile, you brushed a few strands of hair off of his face, eyes landing on his lips for a moment before you looked away. 

Flagging down your waitress, you started to hand over your card but Frank’s large hand settled over yours. Passing the waitress his card instead, his lips twitched in a tiny smile. 

“I got this one, sunshine. Could she get the rest of that shake to go?” 

You grinned at him, pressing another kiss to his cheek. 

Frank was sure he hadn’t smiled this much in years. The pair of you traipsed along the city streets, under the impression that the sunlight would do you both some good. Of course, he’d needed to persuade you and your adorably furrowed brow that his headache had faded and could withstand the bright lights and urban ambiance. You’d once again woven your fingers with his as you ambled along, this time threading your arms together too. The heat of your skin pressed to his was a drug unlike any other. He was infuriatingly drunk on you and his heart refused to do anything about it. 

Because it was you, with your brilliant smile and silvery laugh. He’d been constructing walls around himself for years, and you’d strode up with a basket of pastries, walking straight into his life and tidying it up like you had always been there. 

Stuck in his own mind, Frank failed to see the teenager sprinting down the sidewalk. His growing daydream of you cementing yourself into his life was shattered as your hand was abruptly tugged from his grasp, your body falling to the cement under the weight of the gangly teen who’d toppled you. 

“Oh gosh, are you alright, ma’am? I am so sorry! I didn’t see—“ 

“The hell?” Frank snapped at the kid, who turned white as a sheet as he stared up at the towering man. 

Kneeling beside you, Frank felt his heart constrict seeing the crimson-tinged scrapes on your elbows, small trickles of blood spreading from them across your pristine skin. Not to mention, your beautiful dress was splattered with the remnants of your milkshake, the styrofoam crushed against your chest. 

Snarling, Frank turned back to the boy, still crouched beside you, arm outstretched so you could pull yourself up. “Jesus, did ya even look where you were goin’? Or did ya just feel like injuring her and ruining her pretty dress.” 

The kid’s adams apple bobbed as he gulped in terror, wide eyes watching Frank’s movements as he backed away in surrender. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve been paying attention.” 

“Yah. Ya should’ve. Fat lot of good that does us now, though.” Frank spoke tersely, feeling a hand rest on his bicep. 

Sitting up, you gave him a pointed look before smiling at the teen. “It’s quite alright, I just got scraped up, is all. Don’t worry about him, he’s a little protective. Are you ok?” 

Only you would be able to experience a mess like that and worry about the idiot that caused it. The kid nodded, breathlessly running his hands through curly, brown hair. 

“I’m fine, ma’am. I am so sorry, again, did you need help—“ Bravely (or stupidly), the boy stepped towards you with an arm held out, offering to help you up. Fists clenching, a low growl left Frank, scaring the kid back into his senses. 

“Sorry, er, have a good day!” The kid chirped fearfully, dashing away. You giggled, craning your neck to watch him disappear into the masses. Grabbing Frank’s hand with your own sugar-stained fingers, you allowed him to help you stand, brushing a knuckle over his cheek when you saw his fierce scowl. 

“I’m ok, tough guy. He didn’t mean it.” Giving him an earnest look, you withdrew your hand from his face, giggling when he slid forward on his toes to follow the warmth of your touch. Gently sliding your palm against his nape, you scratched at his hair—earning a deep, pleased rumble from him—and tugged him back into a moderate pace. “I would love to get this dress washed so it doesn’t stain, though. Let’s get home.”

Tense scowl easing, Frank gratefully let you guide him back to your building. 

“Frank, really, I’m ok! You don’t need to—“ You pleaded, watching the man pace around his apartment, grabbing various first aid supplies to tend to your shallow wounds. 

Frank ignored your bargaining tone, shuffling through his depleted kits for the supplies he sought.  Armed with bandages, saline, and cotton pads, he kneeled before your seated form on his couch. “Course I don’t need to. I want to. That bother ya?”

Sitting before him in a cotton shirt and pajama pants, he felt his heart clench as he studied your soft figure. You shook your head at his inquiry, looking at him with eyes filled with an unrecognizable emotion. Had he upset you? Was he being too pushy?

“No, it’s just…” You trailed off, eyes avoiding his own as you worried your bottom lip between your teeth. His stomach tightened, waiting for you to reveal that he’d pushed you away, but the sentiment never came. “I don’t want to be any trouble, Frankie.” 

Oh. Oh. It’s not defensiveness, it’s doubt. Guilt. He’d been so wrapped up in his own insecurities that he had forgotten you were fully capable of falling prey to your own. Setting the supplies aside, he took your hands, looking firmly into your eyes. 

“Ain’t no trouble. Not to me. Not when it’s you.” His words were honest and the short, strangled gasp that escaped you told him you weren’t expecting it. A hint of a smile ghosted over your lips, making his mouth twitch in tandem. 

Silently, he pushed up your sleeve and rotated your arm to expose the torn skin. Dampening a cotton pad with saline, he swiped over the injury as tenderly as he could, terrified of seeing you wince. Holding still, you smiled at him, free hand coming to rub circles over his back as he worked. 

Focusing his eyes intently on the wound, he ignored the growing warmth in his chest, expanding with your continued touches. Though he was staring at your ravaged skin, his thoughts were elsewhere—leading him to put too much pressure on the wound. Your hand gave a barely noticeable twitch of pain, but he cursed his existence anyway. 

“Shit, ‘m sorry darlin’.” Loosening his hold on you, he bandaged up the shallow cuts. You just smiled at him, tracing a finger over his chin. 

“No need to be sorry, Frankie. Thanks for taking care of me.” He blushed, grumbling out a dismissive response and returning to his work. 

Though the day had already worn him out, long strings of words spilled out his mouth. Stories pulled from him by your sheer magnetism. You gave reassuring touches and encouraging nods as he once again told you everything. How he’d been a trouble maker as a kid and ended up enlisting, the brotherhood he’d found in Curtis and Billy. There was no way your perceptive eyes missed the flinch he gave when mentioning his former best friend, so he moved on quickly. He spoke about coming home to Maria and the kids, dealing with the shenanigans of two elementary schoolers while struggling with PTSD, the way he’d grown to appreciate the quiet and the way he hated it now. 

While you were more than comfortable carrying a conversation, he’d never found more solace in letting someone listen to him. You remained quiet, but present enough to stoke the embers of his energy as he rambled, squeezing his arm when he stuttered and smiling softly at the anecdotes. With a sigh, he placed the final bandage on your skin and pulled your sleeve to cover it. You were silent for a moment, studying the fabric of your top before his doubt got the better of him. 

“I’m sorry, you can leave if you want. I didn’t mean—“ 

“Oh Frank,” Chuckling softly, you pulled him into a hug. While the gesture was unexpected, he was overwhelmed with gratitude as he melted into the embrace. Pulling back slightly, you pressed your forehead to his. “What on earth gave you the impression that I didn’t want to be here with you?” 

Snorting at his own lack of control over his fears, he nudged his marred, crooked nose against your pristine one. “Wanted to give you a route to escape, is all.” 

“Don’t want one.” You whispered, growing breathless as he ran his fingers along the soft skin of your cheeks. 

The two of you sat there, slowly melding together, for what felt like hours. A cloud of hesitation and want steadily growing around both of you as you desperately sorted out whether or not to make a move. Before either of you could act on your desires, a shrill alarm rung out—startling you so intensely you shrieked, nearly toppling off the couch. 

“Shit, sorry, honey that’s me.” Large thumbs fumbling over the screen of his crappy phone, he shut off the horrific noise and chucked the device across the coffee table. “You ok?” 

You were panting, on the edge of giggles at your clumsiness, but you nodded. “Something wrong?” 

“No, sunshine, nothin’ like that. My friend, Curt, he’s hostin’ group today. Asked me to come.” Frank wallowed in the disappointment of the ruined moment, cursing his own rotten luck for pushing you away. 

“Oh, I can get out of your hair. Sorry to keep you!” Standing from the couch, you made to straighten the fabric bunched around your waist but a hand shot out to wrap around your wrist. 

“It’s not for a couple a’ hours, if you wanna stay.” Frank’s dark eyes flitted over your face, scanning for any sign of required affection. Luckily, it didn’t take long for you to break into your signature dazzling smile and perch on the edge of his seat, practically sitting in his lap. 

“Course I’ll stay. I could make something for you to bring, if you’d like?” 

“Somethin’ like those addictive cookies?” Frank asked, raising a brow teasingly. 

Leaning in close, your murmur danced across his chin as you grinned up at him. “Tell you what, I’ll teach you the recipe, then you can bring them whenever you’d like. You have to be careful though, these are dangerous secrets I’m revealing to you, sir.”

Frank laughed, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I’ll take ‘em to the grave, sunshine.” 

Scrolling through your phone, you sighed as you switched apps yet again. Nothing was holding your attention and the boredom of it all was eating you alive. 

Biting your lip hopefully, you flicked your screen to your message inbox, heart sinking when you saw there were no new messages. 

You’d spent damn near 8 hours with Frank, yet you couldn’t help but mourn his absence this evening. It was well-known both to you and your loved ones that you were quick to get attached to people, especially if they were brooding or lonely. Leo always referred to this as your “penchant for strays” given your obsession with pitbulls and black cats in addition to society’s lone wolves. But there was so much more to Frank than his soft grumpiness. 

Frank was sweet and protective, and his actions were proof that cared for you deeply despite only knowing you a few weeks. Your face felt clammy just thinking about the way he patched up your minor scrapes earlier today. You wondered if his tender first aid skills were developed during his short time with his wife and children. 

It was no surprise to learn about Frank’s tragic backstory. Though you had done your best to keep his life private, you’d managed to piece together the key points of his service, his loss, and his downfall. Your conversations today had simply filled the gaps, and fueled your existing desire to learn more about him. 

Despite your unassuming, feminine nature, you couldn’t help but empathize with Frank and his violent past. His actions didn’t scare you, revenge was something you’d dealt with intimately throughout your life, and you couldn’t help but feel grateful that so many dangerous individuals were no longer around to terrorize your beloved city. 

Learning more about his past had only drawn you to Frank even more, as if learning about each segment of his being only strengthened the invisible current that washed you repeatedly against his rocky cliff side. His violence wasn’t unnerving to you, simply more evidence that this man was exactly as passionate as you’d interpreted him to be. 

“The Punisher” they called him. The name was brutal, absolute. It wasn’t the image of the vigilante that you’d settled on. Yours was complicated, human. Just a man who loved his family so deeply that he was willing to bring hell to the people who took them away. His journey was one you couldn’t fathom, yet you understood. 

So you continued to pursue a friendship, maybe allowing it to blossom past traditional platonic boundaries, but how could you resist. Spending time with him meant time flying past, sharing bubbling laughs and stupid jokes with a man who looked at you like you hung the moon. When Frank was with you, his attention was deliberate and profound. He was focused on you and only you, even when surrounded by a myriad of other people and stimuli. You basked in the intensity of his gaze, letting it warm you from the inside out like a bright flame on a dark night. Did the world really expect you to not stoke those embers? 

As if your thoughts had summoned him, the unique text tone you’d assigned to Frank’s number sounded, igniting a bright smile on your face. 

Frank: You might have created a problem for me, sunshine. These guys want me to bring cookies every week now. 

You: All good things come at a price, sweetheart. Did you really think that you didn’t need to sell a piece of your soul to make cookies that good?

Frank: Pretty evil of you not to warn me. I’m starting to think this was your plan all along. 

You: Damn! You found me out. What can I do to make it up to you?

Frank: Do me a favor? 

You: What’s the favor?

A firm knock on your door startled you, making you drop your phone. Tilting your head quizzically, you shuffled over to peek out the peephole, grinning when you saw who had knocked. Pulling the door open, a very stern looking Frank—contrasted by the wiggling, excited pitbull at his feet—stood before you. 

“Hey there, sweethearts! C'mon in!” Beckoning the pair into your apartment, you led them to the couch, happily letting Max jump into your lap. 

“You’re spoilin’ him. He’s gonna think any furniture is fair game.” Frank’s gruff voice held a tinge of amusement but his face held a whirlwind of emotions you couldn’t quite decipher. Clearly, he was avoiding something. 

“He’s the bestest boy, Frankie! He deserves to sit on the couch with me!” Squishing the pit’s face, you gave Max a kiss before looking at Frank expectantly. “Sooo…you needed a favor?” 

Looking away from you, Frank sighed, rubbing at his nape. “Yah, shit, I hate to ask this, sunshine. I, uh, I was hopin’ you’d be willin’ to watch Max for a few days for me?” 

Your heart pounded, body flooding with concern, and slight excitement. “Of course, Frank. Everything ok?” 

He nodded, slouching forward so that his elbows rested on his knees, still refusing to make eye contact. “Yah, just a business trip, nothin’ crazy. I just wasn’t expectin’ it and couldn’t get him into his usual place. If you don’t wanna do it—“

“Frank,” You placed your hand on his forearm, stroking his skin softly as you tried to encourage him to relax. “Of course I’ll watch him. That’s not an issue. I’m just worried about you is all.” 

Frank snorted quietly, letting you take his hand and pressing a delicate kiss to your knuckles. “No need to worry, sunshine. I can handle myself.”

Sliding out from under Max, you strode over to the broad man on your couch and knelt before him, taking his other hand. “Never said you couldn’t, sweetheart—but I’m going to worry about you anyway. Anybody going with you on this job?” 

“Nah, just me. Why, you gettin’ jealous on me, darlin’?” Frank smirked at you and you shoved his knee, trying to ignore the fluttering in your chest at the new nickname. 

“You wish, Castiglione. I’m cool as a cucumber.” Mirroring his tender affection, you pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “Just don’t want you to forget about me while you’re out galavanting, is all.” 

“Don’t think that’s possible, sunshine. I can’t stop thinkin’ about ya.” Frank murmured, finally meeting your eyes. The two of you hovered mere inches apart, tension growing around you in a thick fog before Frank cleared his throat, dissipating it. 

“Anyway, I can leave a key with ya, if that’s not too weird…” 

“Yah, yah.” You let go of his hands, standing up to brush off your dress. “That works, Frankie. When do you leave?” 

“Well, uh, now. If you’re truly ok watching Max?” 

“I’d be honored. Just…promise me you’ll drive safe, sweetheart.” 

Frank’s gaze was fervent, drawing you in and pushing everything else away.

“I promise, sunshine.” 

Thank you for reading!! Comments and reblogs are incredibly appreciated!

Taglist: @cheshirecat484@xxdrixx@smhnxdiii@mattmurdocksstarlight

[girlinthetardis04]

LIVE WISDOM SAGA REACTION!!!!!!!

I'm finally free!!!! Penelope and Telemachus I'm coming!

Legendary

Telemachus, you haven't even spoken yet and I already love you.

"Open Arms" callback??????

"Full Speed Ahead" callback??????

Athena!!!!

Hey, neat "Monster" reference.

I want to give him cookies and a pat on the back.

Wait wait wait, that's the same melody as "where is he? Where is he? Keep your head down he's aiming for the torches!"

Bitch! Is that Antinous?

EXCUSE ME?????

TRAMP????

TRAMP??????

★I'll be honest, at the beginning of the song I thought it was right after Thunder Bringer, I didn't realize we already skipped ahead. And the irony of him singing about all the things his dad had to get through to get back to him? Ugh!★

Little Wolf

Bold words from someone who has barely three years on Telemachus.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ATHENA'S BACK ATHENA'S BACK ATHENA'S BACK

"Uppercut him. 😐" DID NOT HESITATE LMAO

"Let's try this again" is she talking about the fight moves or about having a protege/Warrior of the Mind? Eh? Eeh?

Bwahawaha the "ooh, maybe I pushed him a bit to hard 😬" "ow 🤕" hahahaha. Reminds me of the training scene in Disney's Hercules.

★I genuinely was not expecting this song to be as uplifting as it was based on the preview snippets. The parts with Athena made me actually laugh out loud, which is new considering how much of a straight man she is Act 1★

We'll Be Fine

★This is actually one of two songs of this saga I actually haven't heard anything from, I don't even know what it's about or who sings it!★

A FRIEND! A FRIEND! SHE CALLED ODYSSEUS A FRIEND!

I know this melody. Why do I know this melody? Curse non musically inclined brain!

Hold it. Are those kalimbas in the back? Polites's instrument? Am I just delusional?

Telemachus, baby, you gotta raise your standards here.

★DA FEELS!★

Love in Paradise

★This is the other song I heard nothing about. I assume it's the one with Calypso★

THE TIME DIVE!

OH MY GOODNESS IT'S NOT JUST THE INSTRUMENTALS HERE!!! IT'S GOT THE ACTUAL LYRICS!!! AAAAAH THAT'S SO GOOD SO MUCH BETTER OH MY GOSH AND LISTEN LISTEN ANY AMOUNT OF STEVEN RODRIGUEZ'S VOICE IS WELCOME HERE PLEASE SING MORE!!!!!

It's like going on the shuffle on my playlist!

Wait, wait, wait, the preview didn't have "Different Beasts", "Scylla" and "Thunder Bringer"!!!!!!!!!

"She's my wife" "....😶....anyways 😊"

Oh, a twist on a classic! Is Jay contractually obligated to reference "Just a Man" every three songs or something?

Poor Ody sounds traumatized...like "not again!" The difference:

Circe: >:]

Calypso: >:3

Hey, Jay, ypu didn't have to do this. It wasn't written down anywhere. The doctor didn't prescribe it.

HEY! HEY! NO. Bad songwriter, Jay, bad! *pretend there's a spray bottle emoji here* you don't get to reference "Open Arms" like THAT

Oh, and now you actually have Polites's voice here! 🔨 *bonk go to time out jail*

★okay I'm gonna take a couole of minutes so I don't physically explode when I listen to God Games★

God Games

★We're gonna hear Apollo and Hephaestus and oh my god hahahaha★

ASAFDAGFAHDSIJE NOT A DRILL PEOPLE NOT A DRILL READY FOR ME TO BE ABSOLUTELY INSUFFERABLE FOR FIVE MINUTES AND NINETEEN SECONDS?

YES YES IT'S REAL WE'RE ACTUALLY HERE PEOPLE!

🫰🫰🫰 hmmm, Luke Holt's voice mmmhmm, and the way he pronounces the names??? He really sounds like a video game annoucer!

Also wait, wait wait, did- did Apollo's voice sound different? That's hehe totally not me freaking out hahahahaha. Justhitplayjusthitplayjusthitplay

Hera has a new voice????? Velvety!

I physically collapsed on my bed here, it's worth noting.

I was not expecting that motivation for Apollo! Interesting!

Oh, okay so that's why Apollo was Level 1.

I was kinda hoping he'd sing for longer but okay 🥲

Hephaestus! My... fourth favorite god! (After Hestia, Hermes, and Hades. Just the H ones)

Is that...Jay? No, it can't be, right?

AND NOW THE PART I'VE HAD ON LOOP FOR MONTHS!

Lol, I'm sorry for laughing but in the demo Athena sounded so much more pained and here she's like "dammit why are you interrupting me I'm in the middle of something!"

AH THE "WARRIOR OF THE MIND" REPRISE!!!!?

Oooh, okay Hera's new voice! I like it, velvety, it's very high class. Though I also loved the demo version because she sounded so JUDGY.

BOSS BATTLE!

Dadada dada dadaa... That's Thunder Bringer in the background!

Hold on, I'm gonna lower my volume a bit because I get the feeling my ears are gonna suffer otherwise.

Oh yeah, I made a good call. Though that voice control dayum!

BWAHAHA I CAN'T TELL IF IT'S ARES OR HEPHAESTUS WHO ASKED THAT BUT EITHER WAY, HILARIOUS! (That's really what it do be like after your siblings fight with your parents - I say as a only child)

*deep inhale* the piano version of "Warrior of the Mind"? Really?

No clue what the visuals are supposed to be here, but according to the music I should be happy.

[lightlycareless]

I dont know if im doing this right or where im supposed to send this but ✨ lol

just want some smut from naoya' s perspective bahaha 🙃

Heya anon!

Sorry I took a while to respond, I'm still not used to writing smut so it's harder for me to write it. Nonetheless, I hope you're able to enjoy what I've prepared 😈 I'm so not used to writing Naoya's perspective, I feel like he can be very... difficult to write lol He's very very mean.

Anyways, this takes part during their honeymoon (referring to this fic here hehe to my non-followers) an example of what was going on when they were away for the rest of the world.

I must say that it's not nice, it's straight up non-con explicit content. So minors, please do not interact.

Now, without further ado.... happy (as much as you can I guess lol) reading!

“What are you doing standing all the way over there, my love?” Naoya would say upon noticing your figure just by the corner of his eye, stopping his training set just to acknowledge you.

A smile parts his lips at the peculiar sight of you just standing there, silently staring at him with those big round eyes of yours he always loved to stare at, and finding it a bit humorous how you were all the way to other side of the training grounds, appearing  shy to be in his presence—adorable really, as if the two hadn’t done more than enough at that point to remove all… formalities.

It doesn’t take much to put Naoya right in the mood, and your unwitting gestures would be the perfect example.

“C’mere” he orders, but even then, you don’t respond, continuing to look at him in complete silence, and perhaps… reproach?

A sentiment that Naoya catches all too quickly, pausing his amusement and replacing it with irritation.

“I said—come here.”

Your husband never liked being rough with you, outside of bed that is. It was undeserving of the one he considered to be the love of his life; but his family did well in telling him that a woman of your background needed to be heavily worked on if she was to become of his standards.

He can’t be too disappointed though, for while there was still a bit of resistance on your side, after he was done with you the first night, you’ve become much more compliant to his requests.

Just like this one, which as soon as he enunciated those words, Naoya would find you making your way to him, stopping just a few inches away—quickly closed when he decides to grasp you by the arm, swiftly pull you into his chest, and encase you with his arms.

Beaming for the closeness of his wife, a wide grin appears on his lips as he now glances down to you, hoping to get a better look of that cute face he adores—but when he notices that your gaze is anywhere but on his, his frustration returns, quickly remediated by moving his hand up to your face, grabbing your cheeks and forcing you back to him.

“Why are you so shy out of the sudden? It’s not like I bite or something.” He frowns, before chuckling. “Not that hard anyways.”

You don’t respond, rarely do as a matter of fact, but he doesn’t mind, not when he just wants to hear the sound of his voice alongside your occasional agreements.

“I missed you today, you know?” he murmurs, resting his hands just below your waist. “It’s unbearable when you’re not around—why can’t you just stay here?”

Silence. Naoya sighs. Maybe he did want a bit more than just a nod for this occasion.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” he says.

You swallow.

“No” you quietly respond “Obviously not…”

“Then answer, princess. You make me feel like I’m interrogating you, you know?” He likes the chase, but now that the two are married, is there anything else to chase?

“I didn’t want to… bother you” you whisper. “You seemed busy.”

“Is that so?” He grins, undeniably pleased by your supposed consideration, ignorant to the fact that you were actually trying to look for a way to contact your family during your 2-week stay at his family ryokan, solely returning when one of the staff members blatantly lied at your face by saying that the phone was unavailable (after she used it) and rapidly redirected you back to your husband’s location.

Naoya would later hear about this but would fail to play out the appropriate consequences due to his preference of indulging in the vast, seemingly interrupted time he’d have with his wife—any wrongdoings could be dealt with back at the estate.

This was his honeymoon, after all.

“How sweet” Naoya says, pulling you impossibly closer to him—you whine at the harshness of his movement and the unwanted closeness, placing your hands over his chest in hopes to push him away, but his strength keeps you where he wants before leaning down to peck your lips. “My adorable wife looking out for me! What a lucky man I am.”

Naoya means half of those words, perhaps even lesser, given they were made in the same venomous, demeaning manner he always spoke to you. Truly, this marriage was only made with the benefit of one in mind.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m not upset by your absence” he says, his hands trailing down even further, making you flinch when he stops by your ass, harshly gripping it. “How are you going to make it up to me, hm?”

Is a question that wasn’t intended to be answered, or more like you didn’t have the opportunity to do so, for he already made up his mind and was only being nice.

“Strip”

“He—here?” you breathe, frightened eyes looking up to him. Naoya notes how you don’t question his actions anymore, just the timing if anything, and this advancement makes his cock stir—truly, you’re slowly being tamed into the perfect wife. “But—but someone is going to see—"

One he just can’t wait to devour.

“It’s not like they haven’t heard us before” Naoya responds, God knows the many, many times he’s bumped into flustered servants after being done with you, clearly embarrassed for overhearing the way he ravaged you.

Doesn’t mean he’ll want them to see you like that, but he won’t deny that the thought of it did something to him, or how you can’t do anything to stop him.

Naoya insists one last time.

“Strip” And in a trembling manner, you quickly begin to undo your obi, the layers of your kimono subsequently to the ground and revealing your bare body to him, nothing underneath, just as he’d ordered you to be for easier access, even when it was cold—a sight that yet again, stir’s Naoya’s cock harder, a tent in his pants now protruding against you, desperate to seek release, instinctively rubbing it against you.

Naoya then accommodates you by turning you around, placing your back to his chest while one of his hands scurries to take a hold of one of your breasts, the other finding comfort in the hotness of your cunt.

“Na—Naoya—!” you whimper, struggling between stopping his incessant attack on your nipples, hardened and far more sensitive due to the cold weather, or the squelching sounds your pussy made as he fingered you as roughly and deeply as possible. “Naoya—st-stop!”

“Already this wet for me?” He teases as he curls his fingers inside you, making you release a louder and obscener moan from your lip, hold on his arms briefly hindering—sign that he’s found that one spot that always make you come undone, proud that he’d done so in record time; as expected from the many, many times he’s claimed you by now.

“Fuck—you just keep getting wetter and tighter—how’s that even possible?!” He laughs, finding great enjoyment in the way he’s struggling to move his fingers inside your cunt, to which you could only respond with a whimper, tightly closing your eyes and pressing your lips together to avoid releasing any more moans, failing when he attacks your sweet spot again. “Oh, you liked that, didn’t you?”

You attempt to shake your head in rejection, but when he graces it again, your mind goes blank, a hot jolt of pleasure washing over your body, unwittingly tightening against his fingers, making you grasp his arms for support, release soon approaching.

“I barely even touched you, and you’re already cumming?!” He says when noticing these all too familiar signs, pride filling him as he continues to tease your cunt. “I really am lucky…”

The way he begins to rut against your ass, as if seeking his own release, as well as continuously fingering your velvety walls makes you clench around his digits one last time—Naoya can feel your heartbeat quickening, your gasps becoming shorter and louder, and he just knows you’re almost there.

So, he continues moving his fingers, as quickly and roughly as possible, stretching your cunt as wide as possible before pushing them further and further, almost as if he were trying to see how far he could reach.

Your orgasm is hanging on a thread by now, the briefest of graces in your sweet spot and you’ll come undone, but it only happens when Naoya decides to toy with your clit, pressing his thumb against it and rubbing it in such painfully delicious way that finally has you cumming.

Naoya feels your walls twitching for a quick second before your orgasm finally comes clamping down on his fingers, your eyes rolling to the back, mouth falling agape, allowing moans to escape as you take in on the dizzying, numbing orgasm your husband has given you for the nth time that week. You hold onto his arms for a bit longer before going limp.

Luckily for you, Naoya was there to grab you, all whilst feeling the subtle clenches of your cunt, remnants of your sweet release. Your velvety walls milked his fingers in such a way that almost made him regret not shoving his cock instead.

However, he wouldn’t have to wait long for that, for once you eventually quieted down and overcame your orgasm, Naoya would take the next step—not without humiliating you, of course.

“Look at this!” he jested once removing his fingers from your insides, admiring the slick coating his fingers as if it were a delicacy. “It’s like you wanted them to drown or something—you vixen.”

You try your best to look away from the embarrassing sight before you, of the way they glistened against the light or how he’d play with it, as if testing it’s… texture.

It was disgusting, hot, and humiliating—but that would be nothing compared to what Naoya did next.

“And sweet too” he’d say, and then, plunges his fingers inside his mouth, savoring your flavor before grinning.

After Naoya considered you well teased, he decides to release your breast from his hold and grab your face once again to turn it towards him. It’s obvious what he wants now, given the way he licks his lips and slightly pouts, so knowing better than to fight him you move your face closer to his and kiss him.

It was always surprising to see Naoya capable of softness, tenderly moving his lips alongside yours as if he were afraid of hurting you, but of course, it wouldn’t take long before his greediness took a hold of him, tongue quickly fighting its way past your lips and into your mouth, where he’d roam as freely as he wanted, touching each and every single crevice inside, whilst giving you a combination of his taste and yours.

You instinctively winced out of disgust and the frightening way he continues to kiss you, it’s almost like he’d want to eat you alive.

Salvation only comes when air becomes scarce between the two, and with one last push, your hands finally manage to separate him from you.

It takes a moment for Naoya to come back to the present, given the way his groggy eyes (almost if drunk by your presence) stare through you, but once out of it, he kisses you one last time before continuing.

“Get on the floor” he says, placing his hands over your waist. “On four”

There’s no time for questioning, but even if you knew the arrangement between the two, you couldn’t help but protest.

“Naoya—”

“What is it now?” He rolls his eyes, tired of your seemingly incessant complaints, the two have done this thousands of times at this point, so what’s the issue now?

His aggressive response makes you quiet down for a bit, and he sees you hesitate for a bit, but he knows he doesn’t have anything to worry about, more so when the bane of your existence turned out to be something, well, silly in his own words.

“I don’t… want to get… dirty” you quietly add, and Naoya chuckles.

“That’s what you’re worried about?” he smirks “We’re only going to get dirtier from here onwards, princess. You know that, right?”

Well, if he supposes it’s such a bother to have him fuck you on the ground… he guesses he can compromise.

“I know what we can do” Naoya says after quick thinking, a position he already had in mind for a while now. “Let me see… I have to do this first—”

He doesn’t even ask for permission before he’s already grasping your left leg, hand behind your knee, and lifting it just above his arm. It’s a position that exposes your intimacy completely, rightfully startling you and having you grab his shoulders for support.

“Naoya—!” You attempt to fight against his hold, end this humiliating position before anyone incidentally barges into the training grounds, but (un)fortunately for you, the moment the nearby staff knew you were there, steered clear of the premises. “N—no! Not like this!”

Naoya doesn’t care to react, per usual, not when he knows he’s just a few moments away from entering you, already aligning his cock to your soaked slit.

“Have to do this first” he says, as if you were asking for an explanation. Well, at least your husband had the decency to somewhat prepare you for what’s to come. “Hold me”

“Wha—”

“Hold me, unless you want to fall” he urges again, desperate to get inside your sticky walls and drown in pleasure. Any other moment he would’ve not cared and just moved on, but you’re not any other person, you’re his wife, and he cares enough for you to not get hurt…

But if you don’t act fast, he’ll just might skip that over too.

“Or not—I don’t really care.”

Not like you were given much choice, because the moment he rubs against your cunt, dampening his cock, for better entrance, and begins to press past your folds and inside, you instinctively wrap your arms around your shoulders, whining as he inches deeper and deeper into your cunt, until the head finally nestles just by your cervix.

Naoya hisses, savoring the tightness and warmth of your cunt for a moment, enough to sway him away from what he was supposed to do, but he quickly composes himself, snaking his other hand underneath your right thigh, and with unparallel swiftness, pulls your body up, making you hold him even tighter.

His heart skips a bit when finding your actions to be surprisingly adorable, cooing at the intimacy in such a way that would make any man marry you on the spot.

Luckily for him, you were already his.

“Hold on tight” he breathes against your ear, giving one last adjustment to his hold on you. “Wouldn’t want you to fall.”

And then, he promptly begins to jump you over his cock, roughly slamming your hips onto his as he now seeks that pleasure he could never abstain himself from.

It’s an addiction, the way your pussy grips his cock so, so tightly, how it always seems to milk it dry, makes him never want to leave. Never want to pull away, back into the cold and lonely closure of his pants, wanting to spend all day, every day, inside the comfort of your sticky walls, instead, dreaming of the moment he’d get to be by your side and do just that.

But he guesses he’ll do with what he has, making up for his disappointment by instead fucking you in any way and place possible, just as he’d been doing since arriving to the estate, having started by the bedroom, the bathroom, the dining hall, and now… the training grounds.

His mission will always be to make a mess of you every single time, and today will not be an exception, soon finding your sensitive spot and relentlessly attacking it once again, making you whimper whenever grazing it.

“You—you like that, don’t you” Naoya snicker, getting a better hold of your ass to continue harshly plunging you against him. The tip of his cock bruises your cunt in a way that only lets you moan in response, but he wants words this time. “Answer me, princess, do you—do you like that?”

“Hmmnnngh!! N—Nnn!!” you whimper, pressing your lips as tightly as possible to avoid responding, but one particularly harsh thrust has you opening your mouth wide, releasing an obnoxiously loud moan—and you swear you could feel him grow bigger. “N—no!”

“Don’t lie to me, slut” He chastised, marking his fingers on your skin in retaliation. “I can feel you tightly clenching on my cock—So, I’ll—I’ll ask you again”

It’s evident that he isn’t thinking of anything but the warmth of your walls and the blood rushing to his cock, seeking that thread of pleasure and how to get to it fast enough—and one of his favorite to-go thing for that is your voice letting him know how much of a mess he’s making out of you.

It’s like a reward for a job well done. Your squirms, whines, moans and babbles, all stirred something inside him that pushed him to want more, and more.

He damns the day he met you but doesn’t regret it at all.

“You like that, don’t—you?” He breathes as he continues plunging deep into your core. “You were all shy, but—but this is what you wanted all along!”

“Nao—Naoya” you squirm, holding tightly against him, and your gesture puts him to the moon, confusing it with submission to his pleasure instead of embarrassment, believing you wanting to be as close to him as he makes you unravel.

And he loves it.

“Yeah—you love that, don’t you?” Naoya grins “Of course you do, I made you like that after all. I knew that once you have my cock you wouldn’t be able to let it go—!”

How he manages to swiftly thrust deep into your core with this position is something that surprises even himself, if not make proud, more so when he’s able to keep a continuous pace that was sure to make him finish soon enough.

Either way his goal is clear, and as he keeps getting closer and closer to his release, his thrust becomes sloppy, making his hold falter on you for a quick second, before regaining his momentum. It doesn’t take much longer for that familiar jolt of pleasure to invade his senses, thrusting faster into you before keeping you still, forcing you down on his cock while it twitches, and then, releases his hot seed inside you.

He groans when he feels his cock begin to fill your cunt, pushing closer to you as an attempt to reach as deep as possible and completely coat your walls—he bites his lips, resting his head against your shoulder as you can’t do anything else but hold him, eyes closed tight as you wait for him to finish.

After a few seconds of having you in this position, feeling sated for what would be the first orgasm of the day, Naoya then looks back at you. It’s only for a brief moment that his eyes lock with yours, because he’d then look at your lips, lick his, and capture them in a heated kiss to seal his high.

It’s just as intense as before, if not a bit sloppy, given the seemingly reckless way he moves alongside you, but that doesn’t stop him, going on like that, cock still inside you, for a bit longer and only leaving when the bliss of his orgasm calms down, enough to clear his mind, and the need of air proved too much to keep ignoring.

“Y/N” He breathes, unsheathing his cock from your tight walls and invertedly unplugging his seed from inside you. A drop manages to slide down your thigh, other to the ground, and the sight of it makes Naoya mad with desire.

He knows he’s given the staff more than enough evidence that he’s keeping up with his marital duties, more than enough work to clean after—and no matter how many times he’s done this, nor the incessant ways you’ve complained to him to at least keep things clean, he still gets the same rush at the first time.

It kind of saddens him to see his seed being discarded so easily, guess he has to “make up” for the spill, now.

“Y/N” He says again, almost in trance as the bliss on his eyes begins to diminish “You can do better than that, can’t you?”

His words could only signify the beginning of a long afternoon, where his cock would find it’s way back into you—and it did, various times.

The way he’d take you wouldn’t be him holding you up, he’d instead would follow through his initial request, placing you on the floor and on all fours, still indifferent of the complaints you given him, and take you from behind.

This position, while simple, was one of his favorite for he could be far more relentless, harsher if you must, and lewder too— it gave him endless possibilities, such as using his hands to knead any part of your body he could get a hold of, either from moving your hips to the pace he wanted, landing his palm on your ass, enjoying the way you’d squeal whenever his skin would touch yours, growing harder when seeing the redness forming on it.

And of course, the vulgar way his hips would sound against you, sometimes, it’s all he ever hears.

Or he’d have you ride him, letting you do all the work as he sits back, relax, and enjoys the way your tits bounce before him, occasionally raising his hands to twist and pinch your hardened nipples, or even taking them in his mouth, letting tongue do the teasing while forcing you to stay there by wrapping his arms around you, rolling your hips against him as your cunt softly clenches around his cock.

The day would only end when he’s found himself rightfully sated by spilling his seed inside you countless times, to the point where it would dribble down your legs and to the floor, such a disgusting view you opted to not look at it this point anymore, knowing well that no matter how many times you ask him to not make a further mess, he would just incite you more.

His fingers would find his way inside you, teasing and stretching your walls to give you that nauseous jolt of pleasure once more, making his seed and your slick gush when you cum and splattering on the ground.

Naoya found immense pleasure in the way his seed would slide out your hole, a satisfaction that reassured him he had officially marked you—far from any legal paper, or the acknowledgement of anyone else, this was his way to tell the world you were his.

Mark you. Scent you.

You were his woman, no one else’s.

But you never felt the same, ever, especially when you’d turn to your side, away from him gaze and begin to cry.

Naoya has seen you cry before, mainly during the act, but this time felt almost… eerie. Your tears weren’t of pleasure, overwhelmed by his gestures, and it makes him confused.

Well, at least he’s still able to admit that he doesn’t like the way you’re silently sobbing to yourself, further and further inching away from him as you do so.

Thus, your husband is quick to close the space between the two, wrapping his arms around you and ignoring the way you tense up against him before continuing.

“Why are you crying?” He asks, he couldn’t be any less invested, but he guesses he could care. You’re his wife, after all.

You don’t respond for the first insistence, nor for the second, and at this point Naoya grows a bit more concerned.

Not a whole lot, perhaps not genuinely, but he doesn’t like how you keep going on like this—it presents a hindrance to his plans, after all.

“Tell me” he persists “Why are you crying, my love?”

And you don’t know what it is that motivates you to answer, perhaps falling victim to his unusually soft words, confused by the numbing sensations he’s given you, but in between hiccups and sobs, you concede to tell him.

“I want to go home—!”

And the revelation… squeezes Naoya’s heart, forcing a smile out of him. But of course, it’s not because he feels empathy towards your feelings, nor understands what you actually mean with those words.

His twisted mindset could only perceive this as a false eagerness to start your new life with him—settle down as his wife, the future lady of the Zen’in estate, and live out the rest of your days with him.

“Aww, my love…” He says with a grin, nuzzling against your ear—you’re too deep into your emotions to even acknowledge him “We’ll be home soon—let’s enjoy this time for ourselves, without anyone else… just the two of us, ok?”

“I want—I want to go home…” you continue to say, attempting to retreat further and further into yourself but your husband simply does not allow it. He doesn’t want you to, not when your words have awoken something else in him once more…

“Just—stay like this” he says, aligning the tip of his cock onto your slit, holding you right there as he pushes past your folds and inches slowly inside you, the way your walls envelop his member is agonizingly delicious, he dares not ruin it by pushing through in one swift movement.

He was insatiable.

Naoya had just used you in all ways possible, marked you however possible.

And he still wanted more.

“Just—do this for me, my love” He breathes, hips starting to rut against you. You continue to cry. “And I’ll give you—everything. Anything you want—it’s yours.”

It wouldn’t take long before Naoya finds the right pace and focuses on solely seeking his pleasure, doing whatever he could to find that spot that always made you clench, hold onto his cock as if the mere thought of being empty was enough to drive you mad, and subsequently push him over the edge.

His hand snakes down to your clit, relentlessly rubbing and pinching the bud until you soon begin to see white, softly pleading him to stop, as you attempt to push back the inevitable—Naoya doesn’t concede, if anything, his fingers just work faster, teasing it as if it were his own personal toy and finally—makes you cum.

You whine as the familiar wave of pleasure overwhelmed your senses, softly moaning as Naoya grabs you tighter and harshly plunges against you, his member reaching the deepest part of your core and spilling his burning seed inside you.

He instinctively ruts again you a few more times, attempting to plug his cum inside you while lamenting (not so much) that some of it had managed to escape your rim, although the sight it offered was far more alluring than anything else, making his cock twitch as he continues to empty himself in you.

Naoya had long lost count of how many times he’d finished inside you, but he can say it was enough for the day. He was exhausted, possibly far more than any training could’ve given him, at least that was made up for—however, he never felt this sense of intimacy when done with his workout, quick to seek reassurance by turning you around and getting a good look at your flustered face, slightly parted lips, and teary eyes as you tried to regain your breath.

He stares at you for a few more seconds, admiring the result of his work before leaning down to kiss you.

And the gesture, perhaps an effect of his post-orgasm bliss, makes him say:

“I love you.”

Whether he knows the true meaning of those words, or not, it doesn’t really matter. It was what came out of him at that moment, what he wanted to tell you. And even if you didn’t return them, he didn’t care much for it.

Not when he had the rest of his life to hear them, countless future opportunities opening before him, for this was only the beginning of his marriage.

[gaillardia-fields]

Hi. I have a question for you and I hope I'm not making you uncomfortable or anything, but I really need to ask this. 💗. Do you think that being a ‘housewife' or ‘wife'/‘mother' is only for pretty girls who fit the stereotype: white, with blonde hair and green, blue or lighter colored eyes? It's just that I feel very insecure about that, since I'm a short girl (5'1). I have jet black hair and my skin is brown. I come from a third world country (Mexico). And I have been bullied since I was in kindergarten. (Even from my family.) (My brother tells me that I will never get married because of my appearance, I'm not very pretty, let's say. (I have suffered a lot because of that.) I am very afraid of giving up my dream of being a housewife, mother and wife. It's so scary how men nowadays prefer girls like that: American, European or Asian. That scares me so much. 🥲💔. Sorry if I went too far off topic, sorry.

I do not fit the stereotype of a beautiful girl

I am average height but well above average weight, I have bad skin and frizzy hair, I had braces for years and have worn classes since I was about 5 years old. I have been bullied for my appearance for many years and even now I get negative comments regarding how I look.

But my husband loves me. He thinks I am beautiful, and he always says he hopes our kids look just like me. We are from different countries, and I do not fit the beauty standard in his home country at all lol.

Love is not defined by beauty standards, and you can be a housewife no matter your appearance.

[destinyc1020]

Sunday confessions

This is the tweet that sparked it off for me:

https://twitter.com/carolinerenard_/status/1772686529527160858?t=bIg9VXTGmPmGs9Cr7EYaiw&s=19

This is going to be a silly confession because I genuinely feel this topic is a dead horse, but my concern is of the mental health of stans in this aprt of the Internet, so here it goes. Some solo Tom fans are not really fans of who he is, but what they want him to be.

There is a blog who I dont want to mention cause I feel that they are entitled to their opinions, who seem very frustrated that Tom is allegedly doing SM4 and that fans aren't outraged with the fact his career isn't being steamrolled into prestige cinema outside the machine of MCU.

These fans are similar to CE fans, no shade.

I can understand the frustration cause Chris Evans fans also were in annoyance with the state of his career, post MCU. Chris Evans fans also hate his wife too so there's that, lol. Some Tom fans dislike the fact that he is just with Z and has no identity outside of it other than being a bf. Valid to some degree.

Now, let's bring some reality back into this. Stans need to understand that they don't know what Tom doing behind the scenes. They don't know what's in his head or his personal feelings. That tweet I linked was a very good observation in Stan culture cause some fans genuinely believe that Tom's accomplishments and actions are linked to them. It's a scary position to be cause now you are on the Internet spewing negativity towards tomdayas or anyone who celebrates their relationship and are in bubble cause you all lack nuance.

To be fair, Tom isn't taken seriously as an actor. Him doing a play is the best way to be taken seriously cause the theatre is the actors medium. He signed to do a 4th film for the MCU. You can't blame anyone but him for that. He's grown and is gonna do what he wants. If you don't like it, unstan. There are plenty of yt male actors who are doing prestigious films and Oscar buzz films to stan. The thing is you can't cause let's be honest we all love Tom and there's something about him that you can't help but root for.

He likes pics of Z, he even likes pics where he's just the photographer for Z. He lives tomdayas pics. He personally loves that role.

You have to meet ppl where they are at not what you want them to be. You have these high standards for a stranger, I can only imagine what you expect for ppl in your everyday life. Probably more leniency.

Pls stan culture is meant to be fun!!! Don't internalise or jump into conclusions or conspiracy due to what you don't know. Judge want you actually know through facts. And get help if you need it.💜

Thanks Anon for your confession. 😊

Usually, I would not say much and just appreciate your honest thoughts on this topic, but you brought up so many interesting things that I just have to comment longer on this lol... Hope you have a comfortable chair! 😅

My response below:

👇👇

First of all...Whew! Those tweets! WOW! Can I say? Completely, 100% agree. 👏🏾 This is what is at the crux of stan culture and social media addiction, and celebrity obsession.

Some solo Tom fans are not really fans of who he is, but what they want him to be.

I agree. I think there are SOME fans of Tom who are truly genuinely fans of his, but they want his career to look a different way, or to be what THEY want it to be, instead of just letting go of control, being a passive fan, and allowing his career to be whatever it's going to be.

One thing about me is that I'm usually a passive fan of whoever I'm a fan of. While I would love my faves to do certain roles, I'm not out here getting angry or upset if they aren't doing roles that I personally would love to see them do. I just go with the flow. I'm happy whenever I hear of a new project announcement for one of my faves, and I let things go!

There is a blog who I dont want to mention cause I feel that they are entitled to their opinions, who seem very frustrated that Tom is allegedly doing SM4 and that fans aren't outraged with the fact his career isn't being steamrolled into prestige cinema outside the machine of MCU.

First off, everyone is entitled to their own opinions.... With that said, maybe Tom has already done "prestigious cinema" as a younger guy, and now he wants to do more of a variety of roles. Did that thought ever occur to people?

I can understand the frustration cause Chris Evans fans also were in annoyance with the state of his career, post MCU. Chris Evans fans also hate his wife too so there's that, lol.

Hey now....not ALL of us Chris Evans fans out here are hating on him and his career, or hate on his wife lol. 😅 I, for one, would like to see him get out of the "Marvel Bubble" and have more substantial roles in the future, but I'm not upset with the work that he's BEEN getting during and post-Marvel. I just enjoy seeing him in whatever new venture/project that he has coming out?? 😅

Also, Idk much about Alba, but aside from the age gap and the fact that she looks like a KID lol, I AM actually very happy for Chris and Alba and their marriage. She seems very sweet, and she seems to make him very happy. 🥰 I love that for him! ❤️ Everyone deserves love. 🥰

Some Tom fans dislike the fact that he is just with Z and has no identity outside of it other than being a bf. Valid to some degree.

I do think there's some validity to this...as I've mentioned this before myself.

Stans need to understand that they don't know what Tom doing behind the scenes. They don't know what's in his head or his personal feelings.

Exactly! I agree with this 100%.

He's grown and is gonna do what he wants. If you don't like it, unstan

There are plenty of yt male actors who are doing prestigious films and Oscar buzz films to stan. The thing is you can't cause let's be honest we all love Tom and there's something about him that you can't help but root for. He likes pics of Z, he even likes pics where he's just the photographer for Z. He lives tomdayas pics. He personally loves that role.

Okay.... I'm sorry, but I have to vent here for a second.

Whew...Where do I begin?

Don't get me wrong, I think it's cute, adorable, and lovely that Tom is so supportive of Z, and some of the cute things they do in their relationship is just really adorable and makes us all believe in love again. 🥰

The PROBLEM that I'm seeing though is that Tom isn't autonomous from his relationship and his career. It's cool that fans want to stan Tom because of his cute "boyfriend" behaviors, but Tom is first and FOREMOST an A-C-T-O-R. An actor should be admired for their career and their WORK, NOT their relationship. The relationship is just the icing on the cake (imo). 🤷🏾‍♀️

I think the problem is that some stans are mainly associating Tom with his relationship, and aren't really giving credit to his career and his work. That's demoralizing imo. Any actor that you are a fan of should be admired primarily because of their work. Who they are as a person, and any "boyfriend" behavior is like secondary and just icing on the cake imo. Granted, you're not going to be a "stan" over every good actor out here, and I get it. But Tom isn't some "TV Personality" or "reality star" or "influencer". So his relationship shouldn't be taking precedence over his acting career imo. He's an ACTOR first and foremost. Jmho. 🤷🏾‍♀️

To be fair, Tom isn't taken seriously as an actor. Him doing a play is the best way to be taken seriously cause the theatre is the actors medium

I'm sorry, but I wholeheartedly disagree with this. Tom IS taken seriously in the industry as an actor. He wouldn't have gotten the role in "Cherry", "TCR", "TDATT", Romeo & Juliet, or be considered by Sam Mendes for "1917" if he weren't taken seriously as an actor in Hollywood. He wouldn't have been nominated for a Critic's Choice Award this year if he weren't.

Please don't take this the wrong way, but some of you all really need to get off of FilmBro Twitter and come back to reality.

Pls stan culture is meant to be fun!!! Don't internalise or jump into conclusions or conspiracy due to what you don't know. Judge want you actually know through facts. And get help if you need it.💜

I agree. 😊

Being a fan of someone should be fun! If it's not, then you either need to reevaluate who you're stanning, OR, make adjustments to your viewing habits or expectations of said actor. Jmho

[throwawayasoiafaccount]

Op… you make a lot of interesting claims in this post. To get the facts straight before I go on a rant… 1) George claims that Rhaegar was a love struck prince 2) the books don’t mention anything about any marriages being annulled/anyone being set aside 3) seems like Dorne has no issue with Rhaegar and 4) Ned literally never thinks anything bad about Rhaegar… but thinks ill of Robert.

First off, a man trapped in a duty bound marriage and finding love outside that marriage is completely different from a whoremonger shouting about his love while visiting brothels whenever he could. And guess what… Ned straight up thinks that Rhaegar didn’t seem like someone who’d visit brothels. Robert and Rhaegar couldn’t be any more different.

And when did Lyanna want to be wild and free? When is it ever said that Rhaegar locked her in the tower of joy and that Lyanna was a prisoner?

Ned never even alludes to there being any truth in any of these claims. What we do know is that Lyanna greatly resembles Arya in looks and personality… and Arya wants to be a high septon and kings counselor, meaning Arya wants to have a position of power and not be reduced to a baby making machine. Going off of that… it seems like Lyanna didn’t want to be “wild and free,” she just wanted to be treated with respect. The only reason Arya is even treated like she’s wild is because she doesn’t conform to the Westerosi standards for highborn women.

And of course she’d feel miserable when she heard Aerys killed her brother and father. Aerys. Not Rhaegar. I wouldn’t even be surprised if she felt guilt about what happened, but in the end it was Aerys who brutally killed them. And then Rhaegar goes to protect his family and dies, and then Rhaegar’s family is brutally killed and then Lyanna dies. George did claim that the greatest love stories are the tragedies (i may be misremembering but i know he said something along the lines of that lmao).

Op, you claim that Rhaelyas love would’ve died after getting news of the Starks deaths, and then you try to suggest that Rhaegar may have been keeping Lyanna isolated from news in Dorne… like please pick a story to go with! And Rhaelyas love dying or Lyanna not being kept updated on what was going on outside of Dorne just doesn’t seem to be true. When reading Neds chapters, it seems like Lyanna was fully aware of what happened to Rhaegar’s children and Elia… as Lyanna pleaded with Ned like how Sansa pleaded with Ned to not kill Lady (hope i’m not misremembering here lol). And Rhaegar dying with a woman’s name on his lips (likely Lyanna’s name) and Lyanna clutching a winter rose (this may just be symbolism for baby Jon tbh) until she passed away seems to contradict your belief that their love died.

Also, where are you getting the “Rhaegar would suggest to set aside his kids and wife to marry Lyanna” from? The show? You mention how Lyanna would not be okay with this, and I agree that Lyanna would never be fine with setting Elia and Elia’s children aside. But even thinking that Rhaegar would ever even suggest setting aside Elia and his children is bonkers. Like seriously… there was so much tension between Aerys and Rhaegar that the Royal court was said to have begun looking like the situation before the Dance of the Dragons. And Dorne was Rhaegar’s greatest support! Why would it make any sense for him to annul his marriage with Elia? And please remember that during the sack Rhaenys hid under her fathers bed. The text supports him loving his kids/his child who wasn’t a baby seeking to be protected by him so why would he endanger them and their positions? (and no, disappearing with Lyanna for awhile isn’t him endangering his family. Aerys was the one who endangered his family (hot take brandon was the one who endangered the starks like wth was he thinking???). and tbh it seems like Aerys knew exactly where to find Rhaegar so did Rhaegar and Lyanna even disappear? or were they just keeping their location a secret from the rebels? the rebels who ended up killing Rhaegar’s family?)

I will say that how op first started to characterize Lyanna is something I agree with, her being principled, noble, honorable, and just with a sensitive side seems to be true, but then op goes on to continue to claim that Lyanna was wild and that she had little regard as to how other people perceived her. There’s no reason for us to believe that she didn’t care about what others thought of her or that she was wild and wanted freedom more than anything, it just seems like she dared to tread away from what was expected of Westerosi highborn women and that she didn’t want to be married to Robert. And guess what… Robert ended up being an abuser! *gasp* Lyanna dear… you clocked Robert right away.

And seriously… how does any of what op mentioned back up their claim that Lyanna would never resign herself to the position of a mistress? Is being a mistress/paramour really that bad? Does it truly seem like Lyanna would look down on those women? Her mini me Arya doesn’t look down on the courtesans of Braavos who occupy a similar position as mistresses in society. And it seems like plenty of noblewomen have been mistresses in the past and they are still as respected as a woman can be in Westerosi society. Missy Blackwood and Elaena Targaryen are right there. And Op, if Lyanna was Rhaegar’s mistress, why would you think that Lyanna couldn’t have been happy? Are we going to doubt Ellarias happiness and her love of Oberyn because they weren’t married? Should I doubt Rhaenyra and Harwins happiness because Rhaenyra was married to Laenor? Rhaegar and Elias marriage was not a love match. And if Rhaegar and Lyanna did marry… ever wonder if polygamy was introduced as a Valyrian practice by George to hint at Rhaegar taking a second wife? Should I now doubt Rhaenys and Aegons happiness and love because Rhaenys was Aegons second wife?

Now can we please stop acting like two people married due to duty have any reason to love each other? Nedcat seems to be an exception in Westeros. Lyanna and Rhaegar falling in love isn’t ruining Elia and Rhaegar’s marriage when love wasn’t there in the first place.

haha my whole post is a bit messy i just wanted to get my thoughts out :)

fuckkkk i want to tag more (my tags are a mess lmao no i’ve not gone through them and no they will not make any sense)

[sneakyboymerlin]

Hello! Would you happen to have any non-Merthur Merlin fanfic recs? Preferably with Gwen in them?

So sick of most fics just inserting Merthur in even when it’s not tagged that way 🤦🏽‍♀️

I’m pulling straight from my bookmarks for this one (filtered to include Gwen 💜❤️🧡)

Before Excalibur - Madlady2

Gwen comes home to her father, Tom the Blacksmith, working late. He is making Excalibur. This is just a scene between a proud father and an empathetic daughter.

Short little ficlet (330 words) showing one very significant day in the life of Gwen and Tom.

The Once & Future Besties - whitecrossgirl

Arthur and Merlin may be two sides of the same coin however there was one relationship that Merlin had in Camelot that was more important than that. His friendship with Gwen.

5 chapter, 5k word friendship/adventure fic. What more could anyone ask for?

Company - ArienElensar

“There, now you have some company whilst we’re gone,” Elyan said.

Elyan gets Gwen the greatest gift of all. (No, it’s not the friends we made along the way.) Another oneshot, only 565 words, but super sweet.

My All The World - Signy1

Arthur had forgiven the magic. He'd forgiven the lies. He'd forgiven the mistakes. He'd forgiven the unintended consequences of actions taken with the best of intentions and the worst of outcomes. But this... this was beyond forgiveness.

A longer one, at 4 chapters and nearly 10k words. Very grim and dramatic, with a bittersweet conclusion. I remember Gwen being fairly prominent in this, stuck in a difficult position as Merlin’s friend and Arthur’s wife while the two are at odds. TWs in fic tags.

The Ballad of Arthur and Gwaine - rbrgl

A quest for some mysterious object rendered mysterious by its sheer mysteriousness, for example, was enough to justify any lethally foolish adventure.

This one’s just hit 10 years old (and maybe it’s just me, but you can tell, lol). Classic Arthur vs. Gwaine story, told primarily from Gwen’s POV. About 11,700 words.

some have called thee mighty and dreadful - stanzas

En route to the kingdom of Nemeth, Camelot's party is attacked. Gwen and Merlin are separated from the rest of their traveling party. Merlin is gravely wounded, leaving them with the last dredges of hope that they will catch up with Arthur and the others at Nemeth's border.

Some 5.5k words of Gwen getting to show off and be the hero. @stanzas never lets us down.

Aaaaaand if I may be so bold…

I’ve written a couple fics myself that might meet your standards. They’re predominantly merwaine-focused since it is my agenda, but when you wanna write Gwen, you wanna write Gwen. So I wrote Gwen. I’ll rec you Empty Words and A Change For The Better (both comedies) and The Other Side (NOT a comedy—heed the trigger warnings before reading).

Hope you enjoy :D