#I know finding out your husband is IN LOVE with someone else must be a bitch but and all but 🤷🏻‍♀️ soz hun I'm team ivy lmao

[claramelooo]

CRIMSON REVERIE

Now it starts!

Love it <3

Pairing: Dark!Witch Wanda x Reader

MINORS DO NOT MUST INTERACT

Warnings: +18

Summary: You don't understand why Professor Maximoff watches you so much, apparently, neither does she

Read here: Prologue | ENVY | MULTIVERSAL ANCHOR

FUEL

The awakening was abrupt but not uncomfortable. Wanda blinked slowly, adjusting to the dimness of the room. The hand resting on her waist was large, familiar, but rough—different from the softness she had expected. For a moment, she wished for something else, but as she turned, she found Vision, his calm, usual expression still present as he slept.

Wanda's chest tightened. It was like a reverse dream—something desired yet distant. She slid out of bed carefully, trying not to wake him, but memories began flooding her mind, blending with the conflicting emotions pulsating in her chest.

In the hallway, she encountered Tommy and Billy, still sleepy, one chasing the other with muffled giggles that warmed her heart. For a moment, she almost forgot she didn’t belong there. Almost.

Even with them there, even with Vision by her side, something was missing. Something she couldn’t ignore.

Wanda took a deep breath, heading to the kitchen and pouring herself a cup of coffee. The memories of this universe began to align, filling gaps. She was a teacher, a respected and feared figure on campus. Vision was her husband. Her children, healthy and happy. Everything seemed perfect, but the emptiness persisted, like a hole she couldn’t fill.

The emptiness had an oblique face and a delicate shape. Sharp eyes, yet kind. Her heart burned—for something, for someone. But Wanda didn’t understand. Something was wrong.

Vision entered the room, his presence methodical and precise as always. “You’re up early again,” he remarked, his yellow eyes analyzing her with customary objectivity.

“I didn’t sleep well,” Wanda replied, closing the book without looking at him.

Vision tilted his head, the gesture almost human, but something was missing—emotion, spontaneity.

“Is something on your mind? Can I help?”

The question was logical, a rational attempt at a solution. But that was always what was missing: human warmth, the living flame

Wanda felt should be there.

“No, Vision. It’s not something you can fix.”

He frowned, as if trying to understand.

“I detect a change in your behavioral patterns since this morning. There seems to be an increase in emotional tension. Are you feeling dissatisfied?”

Wanda looked at him and, for a moment, tried to find the same spark that had drawn her to him in another time, another place. But it wasn’t there. Vision was precise, methodical, and though kind, he lacked passion. He never had it.

“I’m just... confused,” she admitted, resting her chin in her hands.

Vision moved closer, sitting beside her with carefully calculated motions. He took her hand, like a rehearsed gesture.

“Wanda, you have everything you ever wanted. Me, the boys, a respectable career. What more do you need?”

The words hit like a punch.

“Everything I ever wanted,” she repeated bitterly. “Yes, of course. That should be enough.”

Vision tilted his head again, observing her with almost clinical curiosity.

“If there is something else you desire, we can recalibrate our environment to meet your needs.”

“Recalibrate?” She laughed without humor, pulling her hand away from his.

“You think this is about the environment, Vision? It’s not that simple.”

“Then what’s missing?” he pressed, the logic in his voice starting to irritate her.

Wanda remained silent for a moment, taking a deep breath.

“What’s missing… is life, Vision. You don’t understand because you don’t feel it. You’re… functional. Logical. Precise.”

Vision processed her words, but his response was direct, almost mechanical.

“My purpose is to ensure your well-being and that of the boys. If I’ve failed, I can correct it.”

“You haven’t failed,” she replied, tiredly. “I just... I don’t know. I don’t know.”

He stayed silent, perhaps trying to calculate an appropriate response. But Wanda knew it was futile. Vision couldn’t be what she needed. He wasn’t passionate about life. He didn’t understand it and never could.

She looked at him, trying not to feel guilty. He couldn’t grasp what it meant to be human, nor the emptiness she felt.

“You’re good, Vision. A good father to the boys. A good partner for... whoever you believe I am here,” Wanda murmured, standing.

“Wanda, you’re speaking as if you’re somewhere else,” he remarked, with his usual precision.

She paused at the door, not turning around.

“Maybe I’ve always been.”

And with that, Wanda walked away, leaving Vision alone in the room, silent and unchanged, as always.

[...]

Wanda’s heels echoed through the university hallways like a warning, and you felt your heart race even before lifting your eyes from the notebook. Professor Maximoff was coming.

She was the kind of woman who could stop time, who made others bow with just a glance. The rumors about how even the administration feared confronting her were not exaggerated. Wanda Maximoff wasn’t just a professor; she was a force of nature.

You’d never admit it out loud, but there was something about her that always left you on the edge. It wasn’t just her stunning beauty or the low, firm tone of her voice, but the way she seemed to see you differently. As if she knew more than she should. As if she could strip you bare with a simple raise of her brow.

She stopped directly in front of you. You looked up, meeting those emerald-green eyes fixed on you, and felt your throat go dry.

“Miss...” she began, her voice low and drawn out, as if considering whether it was even worth speaking to you.

“Y/L/N,” you quickly completed, trying to sound confident, but the hesitation in your voice betrayed you.

“I’m well aware of your name,” she replied, a hint of disdain in her voice. “Don’t think I forget my students.”

Wanda Maximoff hated you. Not with a simple, petty hatred, but with something more complex, more visceral. Every word you spoke in her classes, every glance you held, was an affront—not just to who she was but to what she had fought to build.

You didn’t seem to fear her like the others. You didn’t buckle under the weight of her presence, nor stumble over your words like so many other students when Wanda directed her penetrating gaze at them. Instead, you challenged her in ways she couldn’t ignore, even when she tried. It was in the details: the way you held her gaze a second too long, the faint curve of your lips suggesting that you knew something—something Wanda didn’t want anyone to know.

She hated you because you were a distorted mirror, reflecting the cracks in her flawless facade. Your audacity—subtle or otherwise—was an uncomfortable reminder that, no matter how much control she had over her world, there was something about you that eluded her grasp. It infuriated her, and at the same time, it ignited a fire she didn’t know how to extinguish.

Your face warmed, but you masked it by shifting your gaze to your notebook. “Of course, Professor.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment, and you felt her eyes boring into you, assessing, intimidating.

“You’re aware that your analysis of Blindness is overdue, aren’t you?” Wanda asked, leaning forward slightly, arms crossed over her chest.

You swallowed hard, trying not to get lost in her scent, which seemed to wrap around the air around you. “Yes, Professor. I... I’m finishing it; I just need one more day.”

“One more day,” she repeated, as if savoring the words, her lips curling into a half-smile that promised nothing good. “You always have an excuse, don’t you?”

“I don’t—” you started, but she raised an eyebrow, and the words died in your throat as she noticed the slight stiffening of your shoulders.

“Perfect,” she thought, feeling a cruel satisfaction. There was something almost addictive about watching you struggle to maintain your composure in front of her. It was a game Wanda hated playing, but one she couldn’t walk away from. Not when it came to you.

“Spare me, Miss Y/L/N. I’m tired of hearing excuses from students who think they can survive my course with mediocre effort.”

When your eyes finally gathered the courage to meet hers again, there was a palpable tension in the air, as if it had grown heavier. Wanda could feel the heat rising in her skin, but she attributed it to anger—it had to be anger.

You challenged her again, with that look that seemed to dare her: Go on, Maximoff. Break me, if you can.

It was unbearable. It was intoxicating.

Your heart was beating so fast you thought she could hear it. But instead of feeling ashamed, something else was coursing through you. Admiration? Desire? Maybe both.

“I promise I’ll deliver something worthy, Professor,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, though you knew she could detect your hesitation.

As you spoke, your voice filled with a sweet blend of hesitation and boldness, Wanda realized she wanted more than just to crush your defiance. She wanted to understand why you did this—why you dared to draw her attention at every turn in this place. Why she couldn’t keep you under her control. Every word you said was a conscious effort to maintain power, but the truth was, she also felt something close to fear—fear that, somehow, you were seeing more than you should.

More than anyone ever had.

Wanda tilted her head slightly, her eyes fixed on yours as if searching for something. “I hope so. It would be a shame to waste the talent you have on laziness.”

You almost smiled but held back. She had just complimented you, even if indirectly. That was rare coming from her.

“I won’t disappoint you,” you replied, your voice low, almost a whisper.

“We’ll see,” she murmured, straightening up and casting you one last look before turning to leave. “Don’t waste my time, Miss Y/L/N.”

You watched her walk away, her firm steps echoing until they faded. Only then did you release the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

As intimidating as Wanda Maximoff was, you knew you couldn’t avoid her. You didn’t want to. The truth was, there was something about her that made you want to be noticed, even if it was with a stern gaze.

And you were willing to do whatever it took to earn that gaze.

At the end of another exhausting class, you sat on the grass near the university entrance, laughing at the silly jokes Kate made about a professor who, apparently, fell asleep during his own lectures.

"I swear, he blinked so slowly he had his eyes closed for, like, three minutes!" Kate gestured dramatically, pulling hearty laughter from Yelena, who was munching on something crunchy and undoubtedly unhealthy.

"Maybe he was just meditating," Bucky suggested, biting into an apple with the nonchalance of someone who had seen it all.

"Or he died, and no one noticed," Yelena retorted, her mouth full, making Kate almost choke from laughing too hard.

"You guys are terrible!" you chuckled, trying to focus on finishing your report on your laptop.

"No, you're terrible," Kate said, pointing at your screen. "Still working on that? You know Professor Maximoff is just going to look at it, laugh in your face, and toss it in the trash, right?"

You made a face, and Bucky gave you a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Relax, you'll survive. Just don't look her in the eyes; rumor has it she can read souls."

"She already read mine and found it disappointing," you muttered, eliciting more laughter from Yelena and Kate.

Before the banter could continue, your phone buzzed. A notification flashed, summoning you to meet Wanda Maximoff in her office.

"Uh-oh," Kate teased, peering at the message. "Someone's in trouble!"

Yelena sighed dramatically. "Goodbye, my friend. It was nice knowing you."

"You're all horrible," you retorted, standing up with a knot in your stomach, trying not to let your growing nerves show.

“Come in,” her firm voice called out as soon as you knocked on the door.

With hesitant steps, you entered to find her seated behind the desk, her reading glasses perched on her nose and an open notebook in her hands. She didn’t even glance up as she began speaking.

"Do you know why you're here?"

"No, Professor," you replied nervously.

She closed the notebook with a sharp snap, finally lifting her piercing gaze to meet yours. "Let me clarify, then. This," she gestured toward a paper on the desk, "is unacceptable. Not only are you failing miserably in my subject, but you're also wasting my time and that of your peers."

"I can improve," you said quickly, the tension rising in your voice.

She tilted her head slightly, a cold smile tugging at her lips. "Improve? It's far too late for that. I’m failing you—preemptively. And understand this, darling, it’s not about me; it’s about you and your persistent inability to meet my expectations."

Heat flushed your face, and your hands trembled with adrenaline as you faced the weight of her authority. But you refused to back down so easily. "Maybe your expectations are too high," you shot back, crossing your arms defensively.

Wanda let out a low laugh, a sound that pierced your confidence like a dagger. She rose slowly, walking around the desk with calculated precision, as though she owned the room—and you.

"Do you really think you can challenge me here, in my office, after weeks of subpar performance?"

"I know I'm not perfect," you managed, your voice faltering slightly. "But that doesn’t give you the right to humiliate me like this."

She stopped just steps away from you, leaning in slightly so your faces were mere inches apart. Her emerald eyes seemed to strip away every fragment of pride you clung to.

"Oh, humiliate you? No, darling. You couldn’t even begin to comprehend what I’d do if I truly wanted to see you in a truly degrading position," she whispered, leaving your knees feeling like jelly.

Yet, there was something in her gaze—a blend of authority and something darker, more elusive—that stirred something within you. It wasn’t just anger or frustration; it was as though she was testing you, pushing you toward a boundary you didn’t know existed.

"Whatever you want," you said, your voice trembling with a mix of courage and vulnerability, "fail me. I won’t beg." You finished, pride laced in your tone.

Wanda’s lips curved into a smile that almost looked satisfied. "Such a brave little girl, aren’t you? And yet, here you are in my office, trying to justify this deplorable behavior."

She circled you like a predator stalking its prey, each step echoing as a reminder of who held the power. "But you know as well as I do that the fall of the proud from their pedestal is always glorious to watch."

"Then maybe you’ll fall along with me," you snapped in a moment of reckless defiance, instantly regretting the words.

But instead of anger, you heard a low, vibrating sound—Wanda’s deep, rich laugh. You swallowed hard, feeling your heart hammering against your ribs.

When Wanda stopped behind you, her presence was almost suffocating, the heat of her proximity wrapping around you like a smothering cloak. Her voice was a low whisper, heavy with a nearly physical weight.

"Tell me, Miss Y/L/N, just how far are you willing to go to save your scholarship? To avoid tarnishing your already fragile reputation?"

Her words struck you like a blow. Your heart raced, and tears welled in your eyes.

"Please," you began, your voice breaking. "I can’t fail. I’ll lose my scholarship. I… I can’t afford to stay in school if that happens."

Wanda arched a brow, as if dissecting you with pure disdain. Slowly, she leaned against the edge of the desk, her posture radiating dominance.

"Oh… so now you’re willing to beg? Where’s all that courage now?"

You nodded quickly, the lump in your throat making it hard to form words.

"Beg," she commanded, the word sharp and cutting.

"I… what?" you asked, lifting your head in shock.

"Beg," she repeated, slicing through the silence. "Show me that you understand your place. That you grasp what it takes to redeem yourself."

The knot in your throat tightened as your pride warred with the growing urge to yield. But deep down, you knew Wanda would always win. She always did, with a precision that was both terrifying and mesmerizing.

"Please," you whispered, barely audible.

She tilted her head, feigning that she hadn’t heard you. "Louder. Make it worth my attention."

Tears spilled freely now, and your hands clenched in your lap, struggling to hold back sobs. "Please, Professor. I’ll do anything. Just don’t fail me. I—I'm trying, really trying to do better…" you stammered, the words crumbling in your throat.

"Trying," she repeated with a smirk, standing and approaching slowly. Her measured steps were like a drumbeat of inevitability. "Trying isn’t good enough. Do you think I’m here to entertain mediocre excuses? To tolerate justifications from a student who can’t even meet my gaze as she speaks?"

Your heart pounded as her intense stare bore into you. You tried to speak, but your words refused to come.

Wanda took another step, so close now you could feel the heat radiating from her. "Look at me when I’m talking to you," she ordered, her voice low and cutting.

You obeyed, your tear-filled eyes meeting hers.

"I… I’m sorry," you managed to whisper, your voice shaking.

"Sorry doesn’t fix anything," she countered, leaning in close, her whisper brushing against your ear. "Do you think you have the right to waste my time?"

Wanda watched you from above, her eyes fixed on you as her mind oscillated between anger and a cruel pleasure she couldn’t fully comprehend. The humiliation you exuded, the vulnerability manifesting in every tear streaming down your face and the tremble in your voice, seemed to fuel something dark within her.

For a moment, Wanda felt as if something in her soul was awakening. An ancient warmth, a spark of long-dormant power, began stirring in her chest. It was as if parts of herself she barely understood in this universe were reacting directly to your submission and the palpable fear emanating from you.

When she noticed the warm liquid trickling down your legs, the realization of what you had done struck her like a wave. And in that moment, satisfaction coursed through her so intensely that her eyes glimmered with faint, red sparks.

The weight of Wanda’s psychological dominance was crushing, like an invisible hand tightening around your throat. It wasn’t just the fear she inspired; it was the way she dismantled every layer of your defenses, exposing parts of yourself you didn’t even know existed. She had a cruel talent for finding the cracks in your emotional armor, carving a direct path to the core of your vulnerability.

“Are you really this fragile?” Wanda asked, her voice laced with a soft disdain that was anything but accidental. She tilted her head, studying you like a predator sizing up its prey. “I haven’t even done anything to you yet, Dekta. It’s just... words. Just me.”

Her gaze was so piercing it felt like she was invading your mind, pulling out your innermost thoughts and laying them bare in the open. It was terrifying, but there was also something inexplicably captivating about the way she wielded power—not just over the room, but directly over you.

As she stepped closer again, her movements were slow, deliberate, as if savoring the moment. Wanda stopped just in front of you, leaning slightly so her eyes were level with yours. Her smile was almost gentle, but her eyes—those hauntingly captivating crimson eyes—betrayed the intensity that burned within.

“Do you know what I find fascinating?�� she murmured, her voice now soft, almost seductive. “How you try to resist, try to hold on to some semblance of dignity and pride... but I see. I see exactly what’s happening here.”

There was something hypnotic in the way she spoke, as if every word was a sweet spell, wrapping around you and tightening with each syllable. Your body reacted before your mind could process it—cold sweat on your skin, a slight tremor in your muscles that you couldn’t control.

“I think you know I could destroy you with a snap of my fingers,” Wanda continued, the tip of her fingers brushing your face in a gesture that was almost tender. “But that would be too easy. Too quick. No, I prefer this... I prefer watching you break, piece by piece, knowing you’ll never be a match for me. Because you know I’m already in your head.”

Wanda stepped back slowly, an almost imperceptible smile curving her lips. “Pathetic,” she murmured, though there was something else in her voice—a dark satisfaction.

With your face flushed red with shame and your hands trembling, you stammered, “Please, professor. Forgive me. I won’t fail again.”

She tilted her head, as though assessing your sincerity, and finally allowed a small smile, a glint of satisfaction in her eyes.

“Perhaps you can be useful after all,” Wanda said, making a great effort to move away from you and your pleading eyes “But don’t think of this as a favor. You will work for me. As my assistant. That means you’ll be in my office every day after class, doing exactly what I tell you. Understood?”

“Yes, professor,” you replied, quickly wiping away the tears.

“Good girl,” she murmured, returning to her desk and resuming her paperwork. “Now leave. And don’t make me regret being generous.”

You left hastily, your face burning with embarrassment and your mind still reeling from everything that had just transpired. Deep down, a small part of you knew this second chance came at a high cost—but you also knew you had no choice.

Later, sitting on the central lawn with Kate, Yelena, and Bucky, the group’s usual chaos surrounded you. Yelena was stealing fries from Bucky’s lunch while Kate lamented a presentation she had to give.

“So, what’s the big news?” Yelena asked, her mouth full, noticing your troubled expression.

You hesitated before blurting it out. “I’m going to be Professor Maximoff’s assistant.”

The trio froze.

“What?!” Kate choked on her soda. “Professor Maximoff? The one who looks like she walked out of a gothic horror movie and makes the board of directors quake in their boots?”

“The very same,” you admitted, bracing for their reactions.

“No, this isn’t just weird; it’s a death sentence,” Bucky said, crossing his arms and giving you a serious look. “What did you do to deserve that?”

“She was going to fail me. I begged her not to, and this was the deal.”

Yelena burst into incredulous laughter. “So she made you grovel and now she’s turning you into her butler? I already like this woman.”

“It’s not funny!” you snapped, crossing your arms.

“It’s hilarious,” Yelena replied with a mischievous grin. “But seriously, do you need help? Should we start a student revolution for your freedom?”

“Or sabotage her office,” Kate suggested.

Bucky sighed. “You two are terrible advisors. Look, it might not be so bad. You’re smart. You’ll survive. Maybe even learn something… other than how to be terrified.”

You gave him a weak smile. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Buck.”

That evening in the dorm, you sat on your bed hugging a pillow, while Darcy worked on her laptop at the desk nearby. She wore an old t-shirt and shorts, her hair tied up haphazardly in a way that somehow made her even more stunning to you.

“So, what happened today?” Darcy asked without looking up from her screen.

“I got ‘promoted’ to Professor Maximoff’s assistant,” you said, your voice heavy with defeat.

Darcy chuckled and finally turned to you. “Seriously? That woman’s terrifying. How did you manage that?”

“It’s not like I wanted to,” you muttered.

She walked over and sat beside you, leaning in casually but close enough for you to catch her scent. “I think you must be special to her. She doesn’t seem like the type to do favors.”

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment,” you said, trying to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks.

Darcy met your eyes, hers sparkling with a mixture of amusement and something more subtle, almost predatory. “You look so good today.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“Just sayin’,” she teased, laughing lightly, though her tone carried an edge of something deeper.

You knew Darcy enjoyed toying with you, pushing your limits. It felt like she understood how you felt and used it to keep you on edge, perpetually yearning.

“It’ll be fine with Maximoff,” Darcy said, squeezing your shoulder lightly. “And if she’s too mean, just call me. I’ll protect you.”

“I think you’d be the one needing protection,” you joked, trying to mask how much her touch affected you.

“Maybe,” Darcy replied with a playful smirk, giving you a wink before returning to her laptop as if nothing had happened.

And there you sat, watching her, caught between hope and frustration—an impossible tug-of-war Darcy seemed to enjoy orchestrating.

[...]

You sat in an uncomfortably stiff chair in Professor Maximoff's office. The space was pristine—shelves lined with worn-spined books, meticulously organized as if by military precision. Sunlight streamed through the large window, casting a warm glow on the polished wood of her desk.

Your gaze, however, was fixated on a silver frame atop the desk. Inside was a photo of Wanda beside a tall, elegant man—Vision, the name you'd heard whispered through the hallways—and two smiling children, Tommy and Billy. The image radiated serene, stable happiness, the kind that felt utterly unattainable to you.

Your chest tightened. That was her life: perfect and orderly, with a loving husband, happy kids, and a flawless career. In contrast, you felt like an intruder, someone scrambling to hold it together while navigating college and life.

“You’re not allowed to snoop.” Wanda’s sharp voice cut through the air behind you, making your shoulders stiffen.

You turned in the chair, wide eyes meeting hers. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

“Sorry,” you muttered, quickly averting your gaze.

“You always have something to apologize for, don’t you?” Wanda’s voice was calm but laced with disdain as she walked toward you, her heels clicking against the hardwood, each sound amplifying the tension. “Do you know what happens to little girls who break the rules?”

“I didn’t mean to; I just…”

She raised a hand, silencing you immediately.

“I don’t want excuses. If you’re going to work here, you’ll learn to follow the rules. Rule number one: my personal life is none of your business. Rule number two: what happens in this office stays in this office. Understood?”

You swallowed hard, shame warming your face. “Yes, Professor Maximoff.”

“Good.” She leaned in slightly, her face only inches from yours. “Do you know what else I expect from you?”

“I… I don’t know,” you stammered, your voice faltering under her piercing gaze.

“Excellence,” she murmured, the word a threat and a promise all at once. “Nothing less. And if I sense you’re not giving your best…”

She didn’t finish the sentence, but the look in her eyes said enough.

You nodded quickly, the weight of shame and insecurity pressing heavily on your shoulders. “I’ll do my best.”

“I hope so,” Wanda replied, straightening her posture and smoothing her blazer with a decisive gesture. “Now, organize these papers and make sure my desk is spotless. You have thirty minutes.”

You quickly rose to comply, trying to ignore the persistent tightness in your chest as you passed the desk again. The photo still sat there, smiling at you like a cruel reminder of everything you’d never have.

As you began sorting through the papers, Wanda stood nearby, her eyes fixed on you. At first, it seemed she was merely ensuring you were doing the task correctly.

But then something shifted.

It was subtle at first, almost imperceptible. Wanda’s jaw relaxed slightly, her breathing became deeper, less controlled. Her eyes, sharp and calculating moments before, began to wander over the movements of your body. They lingered longer than they should have—on your legs, where the hem of your uniform skirt rode up slightly more than intended when you leaned forward.

Something inside her stirred, a spark kindling deep in her chest.

Wanda blinked, once, twice, as if trying to clear her thoughts, but the sensation persisted. It wasn’t just your presence that unnerved her, but the vulnerability radiating from your every gesture. The way your fingers trembled as you handled the papers, the flush on your cheeks, the faint hitch in your breath when you felt her gaze. It was intoxicating, feeding a part of her she had long suppressed.

Her fingers twitched at her sides, the faintest glimmer of red flashing at her fingertips before she reined it in. It was enough to make her close her eyes for a moment, battling the power threatening to surface.

“Control yourself,” she muttered under her breath, the words so soft they were almost inaudible.

But it wasn’t so simple. The abyss within her was widening, and the Scarlet Witch—the part of her she had locked away in chains—was straining against its binds.

She tried to look away, but her thoughts were already spiraling. Blurred memories surfaced like waves, unrelenting: warmth, the soft sound of breathless gasps, the damp heat of skin pressed against skin. Her mouth went dry, and a familiar heat spread through her chest.

“You really don’t know how to be appropriate, do you?” her voice came out harsher than she intended, though it carried an unspoken weight she couldn’t hide.

You froze, your hands pausing mid-motion. “What did I do now?” you asked hesitantly, your voice trembling.

“That skirt,” Wanda pointed, her expression deliberately neutral as she fought to maintain control. “Do you think it’s suitable for a professional environment? Or are you just trying to distract everyone?”

Your face flushed immediately, and you tugged at the hem of your skirt instinctively. “It’s the college uniform… I don’t choose the length.”

Wanda took a step closer, her presence suddenly overwhelming. “You don’t choose, but you certainly enjoy the attention, don’t you?”

“No, I swear I don’t…” your voice cracked, and you dropped your gaze, discomfort radiating from you.

Wanda leaned in, her words brushing past your ear with a mix of reproach and something else you couldn’t quite name. “I don’t like distractions, especially the ones coming from you. So if you want to stay here, learn to be invisible.”

You nodded quickly, unable to respond as the weight of her gaze bore down on you.

Wanda stepped back, straightening and exhaling softly, as though trying to smother the heat coursing through her. She knew it was wrong—knew she should stop—but the power and control she felt in reducing you to submission were addictive.

“Finish this and leave,” she said, turning toward the window, as if the view outside might cleanse her thoughts. “And next time… be more mindful of what you wear.”

You continued organizing the papers, her words echoing in your mind. That tone—a mix of scolding and something unnameable—sent shivers down your spine.

“Distractions, especially the ones coming from you.”

You weren’t sure why, but the idea of destabilizing someone as composed as Wanda Maximoff—even slightly—sent your heart racing. She was practically untouchable, the most feared and respected figure on campus, and yet… something in her gaze, in the faint tremor of her voice, ignited a spark in you.

You glanced at Wanda, who now stood with her back to you, her posture rigid, hands clasped behind her. Deliberately this time, you leaned forward slightly, letting the skirt ride up just enough to test the waters.

“Leave,” she commanded, her tone clipped, without even looking at you. But there was something strained about her voice, something forced.

You obeyed but couldn’t resist one last glance before walking out. Her face remained calm, but the tension in her shoulders and the way her fingers gripped the edge of the desk betrayed her.

Maybe you weren’t as invisible as she wanted you to be.

[...]

The first time Wanda saw you, something inside her stirred. It wasn’t hatred, nor was it passion. It was a pulsating, inexplicable irritation, like an itch she couldn’t quite reach. You weren’t particularly remarkable—at least, you shouldn’t have been. Just an ordinary student, dressed simply, with an attitude that oscillated between nervousness and boldness. But there was something about you, something Wanda couldn’t ignore.

Your clumsy, awkward demeanor seemed tailor-made to test her. That first day, when you rushed into class late, cheeks flushed, stumbling over your own feet and nearly dropping your backpack, Wanda couldn’t help but roll her eyes. A strange, unjustifiable anger bubbled in her chest, as if your mere presence was a personal affront.

But it wasn’t just that. As she watched you shrink under her sharp gaze, something else began to stir beneath the surface—a familiar energy she had long since forgotten. Her body reacted before her mind could catch up. Her fingers tingled, and the air around her seemed to hum faintly.

“Do you think you can waltz into my class late and just take your seat as if nothing happened?” Wanda’s voice was as sharp as a blade.

You mumbled an apology, stammering, and Wanda saw the blush on your face deepen. Your vulnerability should have soothed her irritation, but instead, it only fueled it. There was something deeply satisfying about seeing you so submissive, so intimidated.

In the days that followed, Wanda began noticing small details that annoyed her even more. The way you chewed on the tip of your pen while trying to grasp her explanations. The muffled sound of your whispers to classmates, though you clearly lacked the courage to challenge her openly. Your almost naive persistence in trying to please her, even when she deliberately ignored your efforts, made her grit her teeth—and feel something else. A thrill that defied logic.

And then there was that moment when you raised your hand to answer a question, hesitant but resolute. Your eyes met hers, and Wanda felt a pulse of something deep within her. Your presence was like a crooked mirror, reflecting parts of herself she didn’t want to see, parts she preferred to keep buried.

She didn’t understand why her powers—dormant for years, stifled by a “perfect” and mundane life—seemed to stir every time you were near. Perhaps it was the way you appeared so fragile and yet so impossible to ignore. Or maybe it was something deeper, something Wanda didn’t want to name, because to do so would mean admitting that you, in some way, held power over her.

And Wanda Maximoff couldn’t bear the thought of not being in control.

Now, as the room lights were dim, and classical music played softly in the background, Vision was attentive as always, delicately tracing the contours of Wanda’s body with steady hands. Yet her mind was elsewhere.

She tried to focus on the man’s hands caressing her skin, tried to feel the heat, the passion that once united them. But every touch of his felt pale, distant, almost lifeless. As if something essential was missing.

It came suddenly, like a raw and uncontrollable wave: the image of you. Not the “you” who was both docile and irreverent, always striving to please her, but the “you” who was desperate, tear-eyed, and begging for a forgiveness she had denied.

The muffled sound of your pleading echoed in her memory, and Wanda felt the warmth Vision was trying to rekindle explode with an almost painful intensity. The memory of the tremor in your voice, the way you begged, submitted, and allowed her to hold power over you until you wet yourself, tears streaming down your face as she crushed you emotionally…

A heat surged through her body. Her heart raced, and she felt a sharp tingling in her hands and her own core. Unknowingly, red energy began to spark around her fingers.

Vision noticed, tilting his head slightly but misunderstanding. “Is everything alright, my love?” he asked, his voice as gentle as ever.

“Yes,” Wanda lied, though her breathing was heavy, almost ragged. She closed her eyes, trying to push away the guilt beginning to surface. But the pleasure was far more real now.

The image of you lingered, growing stronger. The way your short skirt revealed just enough of your backside to make her crave more, your legs trembling with nervousness, the blush that painted your face as you shrank under her gaze. It was wrong, but Wanda couldn’t stop. You were fragile, so easy to break, and the thought awakened something ancient and primal within her.

She bit her lower lip hard, stifling a moan that wasn’t meant for him. No, it was for the vulnerability she had seen in you. For the way your submission made her feel something she hadn’t felt in years: raw, palpable, and absolute power.

Wanda longed to have you begging for her, but in a different way now. She wanted to press your pretty face between her thighs, smothering you until you turned purple from her suffocation. Wanda wanted to shove her fingers into your mouth, making you drench them with your saliva—so it’d be easier to slide them inside you.

Could you be a virgin? Pure?

At that moment, Wanda only wanted to wear a strap-on and take you from behind, punishing you for wearing that tiny skirt and for having such a sharp tongue. She’d thrust into you so hard that the only thing you’d be able to scream would be her name, like a sacred and solitary mantra—as if she were a goddess needing prayers to grow stronger. You’d offer her your sweet little cunt.

Wanda wanted to pour herself into you, to leave her seed inside you... she wanted… Wanda wanted...

“Wanda, your magic…” Vision stepped back slightly, puzzled.

The heat within her grew, fueled by the energy now visibly pulsing in waves around her hands. Scarlet hues filled the room, and the woman nearly floated.

She opened her eyes, realizing the lights in the room flickered and the bed trembled faintly. “I… I’m fine. Just keep going…” she insisted, gently pushing him.

“Perhaps you should rest, my dear,” Vision suggested, ever logical.

Wanda nodded, wanting to end the moment before he noticed anything more. He left the room, respecting her space as he always did. As soon as the door closed, Wanda collapsed onto the bed, panting.

The realization hit her like a punch. She had nearly climaxed thinking about you—not Vision, the perfect husband, the father of her children, but you, a pathetic and insignificant student. Her soul twisted with hatred at the truth, but hatred was a fuel. It ignited her.

“Little bitch,” Wanda whispered to herself, her words heavy with a rage that seemed endless. She got up abruptly, her bare feet meeting the cold floor.

She walked to the large mirror in the corner of the room, staring at her reflection with eyes glowing redder than they should. “What’s wrong with me?” she murmured, though she knew the answer. It wasn’t a mistake. It was a desire so primal it eroded her reason, leaving only instinct in its place.

She closed her eyes again, trying to banish the image, but it was useless. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, anger boiling under her skin. “I don’t want this,” she said louder, as if speaking the words aloud could undo the knot of desire and hatred tightening around her.

But the Scarlet Witch within her smiled. It wasn’t about wanting or not wanting. It was about giving in. About realizing that the control Wanda prided herself on was slipping through her fingers when it came to you—as if she couldn’t control you.

She hated what had just happened, but she hated even more how much she enjoyed it.

When Vision murmured something as he reentered the room, Wanda turned to look at him. There was a calmness on his face that brutally contrasted with the storm inside her. He loved her. He would do anything for her.

And yet, it was you that Wanda wanted to crush. It was you she wanted on your knees, sobbing, begging.

And it was you who, somehow, made her feel alive again.

For the first time in a long time, the Witch within her desired something.

~*~

As the great philosopher Selena Gomez once said: If you wanna, come and get it

Tag list <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @trindad2k

@indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher

@idkwhatever580 @valentine585

@reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good

@imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqzl @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp

@lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @sheriffswan-blog @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000

[i-love-ptv]

Stacy’s Mom Has Got It Goin’ On ˚̣̣ ᵕ̣̣̣̣̣̣

Pairing: Husband!Rafe Cameron x Soccer-mom!Wife!Reader

It’s not easy being a soccer-mom, especially when dads hit on you at every game as if you’re not married to Rafe.

Wc: 1,596

Fluff, Protective Rafe making an appearance, kinda pushy guy (idk what to say)

An: I’ve really wanted to write a fic based on this song, and this idea randomly popped into my head so! Am I using the names I wanna name my kids? Yes, yes I am.

Not proofread tbh

Feedback always appreciated lovelies!! xx

“I’ll be back, ‘mkay doll?”

You hum in acknowledgement, eyes peering back at the field after looking up.

Your husband, Rafe, leant down and places a firm kiss on your forehead.

“Yeahhh, Daddy’s gonna be back, baby.” Rafe coos at your two year old, who was sitting on your lap, babbling freely while peering at him with her big doe eyes.

Rafe walks off the bleachers in search of the concession stand to buy food for the three of you.

You brush your hand over your young daughter’s head, making sure her somewhat oversized hat is still covering her head entirely. Her hand wraps around your index finger.

It was oddly humid today, if you continued moving, you’d break a slight sweat. You can't even imagine what your daughter—Stacy must be feeling, running around on the large grassy field under the beaming bright sun.

You were proud of your baby girl though, nonetheless. And so was Rafe, of course.

You shout loudly when you notice the game is about to start, bellowing out a “Go Stacy!”

Stacy’s eyes easily found yours, for you and Rafe would always sit in the same spot on the bleachers.

Her eyes were slightly wide due to your shout, despite you and Rafe always cheering for her during her games.

She’s motioning for you to ‘shh’, putting her fingers to her lips before getting into her position.

“Which one’s yours?” You hear to the left of you, the unknown voice makes you tear your eyes away from the field.

You smile shortly at the unfamiliar man next to you, “Number 22.”

You can’t help but notice how he’s rather scruffy looking, an odd contrast to your upkept husband with his neatly buzzed hair.

“Mine’s number 13.” He says, flashing his teeth at you.

You gasp and shoot up a little, making you look down at your daughter on your lap. “Valerie’s yours? Oh she’s just the sweetest!”

The man chuckles, looking deeply in your eyes. This makes your eyebrows raise, slightly in confusion, but mostly in discomfort.

He hadn’t done anything out of the norm, you’d randomly talk to the other moms around too, but something about him made you uncomfortable.

“My name's Brandon, and yours?”

You introduce yourself briefly, before turning back towards the game.

His eyes dart to your left hand, looking for a ring, for any indication that you belong to someone else. He smiles sharply when he finds your fingers bare. This goes unnoticed by you.

Little does he know, you do have your ring on, just around your neck.

Your biggest fear was your youngest accidentally pulling off your ring, resulting in you losing it. Or, even worse: it pokes her eye or something of that nature.

You suppose you could be considered a ‘Helicopter-mom’ at times, simply going to the extremes to make sure your kids are happy and healthy at every point in time.

Rafe is the exact same way, maybe even a little worse. But you knew he was just protective, he loves this life that he has with you, since he had no idea the two of you would’ve been together for so long.

You had started dating Rafe when you were 18 and he was 19. It was good for the first few months, disregarding the few arguments that you had. But then, you had caught Rafe doing cocaine.

You don’t think you’ll ever be able to shake the look on his face from your memory.

You weren’t supposed to be at the party, you said you were busy filling out college applications.

So when he was mid-line, and he saw you standing there all dolled up, watching him with glossy eyes, he felt his heart shatter into pieces.

You weren’t supposed to find out, he wanted to keep this away from you, to keep you close to him.

He promised that he would try and stay sober for you, but eventually he’d give in every time the opportunity was in front of him. This resulted in several arguments, and surprisingly, a break up.

But things are different now. You both are in your 30’s, you got married, and of course, had two beautiful babies together.

Rafe knew he’d be crazy to fuck things up now, when he has the perfect life right in front of him.

Speaking of which; you’re really starting to wonder what the hell is taking him so long just to get some goddamn hotdogs and drinks.

You’re bouncing your knee anxiously, which makes your daughter giggle. You wish she wasn’t finding this amusing, but you know she can’t help it.

“Well who’s this cute girl, huh?” The man coos, tickling your daughter’s side.

“Her name is Noelle.” You huff, your mood quickly shifting due to this stranger touching your daughter.

He lets out another chuckle, you wish you never had to hear it again. “Sounds like you’re quoting Teenage Dirtbag to me.”

You give him a pointed look, you’re really getting sick of his pestering. “That’s where I got it from.”

Abruptly, the crowd starts cheering madly. You look around and see Stacy's team celebrating briefly; they had just scored a goal.

You cheer and clap, grabbing Noelle’s chubby hands and making her raise her arms wildly while giggling with her.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinking. Maybe we could-” Before Brandon could finish his sentence, none other than Rafe Cameron comes stomping up the bleachers, huffing and puffing angrily.

He sits down and sighs, “God, I’m sorry babe. The line was so long! I swear I’m going grey right now.”

“And I missed the goddamn play!” Rafe exclaims. He looks over at you and immediately goes quiet once he sees those wide baby eyes that look at him curiously.

“Da?” Noelle mutters, reaching her tiny hands towards Rafe’s larger ones.

“Yeah. Da’s here babygirl, do you want your food? Huh sweet girl?”

Rafe hands you your food, setting his food aside so he can put Noelle in his lap. He begins to split half his hotdog in pieces for her.

You glance to the left, you notice Brandon looking like a fish out of water.

Rafe is the CEO of one of, if not the biggest business company around. And Brandon had just borderline harassed his wife, who was holding his child.

Brandon sneers at the two of you in silence while the game continues, nearly boiling at the fact that he couldn’t have you.

Your head is laying on Rafe’s shoulders, you’re rubbing circles on Noelle’s shoulder as she settles down.

“Everything alright babe?” Rafe asks, trying to peer down at your face.

You untuck your necklace with your wedding ring from your shirt, fiddling with it. “Yeah, now that you’re here Ray.”

There’s silence between the two of you for a few seconds.

“…What does that mean?”

You hesitate to answer, but you do regardless, “Nothing! It’s just uh..That guy next to me, was kinda like hassling me I guess.”

This makes Rafe straighten his back.

“He do somethin’ to you doll?” Rafe questions in a whisper. You know you have about 30 seconds to try and calm him down before he’s banned from every soccer game left in the season.

“No, okay? I’m fine, it’s cool. I need you to calm down Ray.”

Rafe’s nose is flaring, “What about Ellie? Did he touch her?”

You feel your throat closing up, your heart is damn near pounding out of your chest.

You don’t say anything to Rafe, but that look in your eyes tells him everything he needs to know.

You grab his bicep, trying to keep him grounded. Even though he’s changed, some parts of him haven’t.

Rafe speaks lowly in your ear, but not too much to frighten you in any way. “I’ll take care of it, okay? Don’t worry y’pretty little head about it.”

Rafe presses a firm kiss against your cheek, then presses a softer one to your lips.

After 30 more minutes, and 2 more goals, Stacy’s team wins.

You and Rafe cheer loudly, letting out “That’s our baby girl!”

You meet Stacy at the bottom of the bleachers, holding Noelle in your hand as the littlest claps her hands between Stacy’s face.

You’re too busy congratulating your daughter to notice Rafe pulling Brandon aside while his daughter, Valerie is off talking to her friends.

Rafe puts a firm hand on his shoulder, “Hey man.”

Brandon lets out a nervous laugh, “Hey there, Rafe Cameron, right?”

“Yeah, let’s keep this short. I better not see or hear you talking to my wife again, do you hear me? I don’t give a shit what happened.”

Rafe continues shortly, “And keep your fucking hands to yourself, if I find out you touched my either of my daughters again, I swear to God himself I’ll put you under.”

The two men are holding eye contact, one looks with confidence and borderline rage, while the other looks with fear.

Rafe walks down the bleachers, meeting you and your girls.

“You were amazing out there sweetheart!” Rafe smiles while pulling Stacy into a bear hug.

“Jesus dad, you’re crushing me!” Stacy laughs with a slight wheeze.

Rafe ruffles her hair and puts his arm around your neck.

“All good to go?”

You nod your head, and with that, the four of you begin to walk to Rafe’s parked car.

Rafe realizes that this isn’t the first time you’ve been hit on at a soccer game, or anywhere in fact. And this definitely won’t be the last.

Cause everybody’s in love with Stacy’s mom.

[allpiesforourown]

Superstar Luo Binghe au. All the directors beg him to be in their movies because his fame will immediately assure success for anything they make. He’s handsome, charming, dedicated, and most of all, extremely talented. He even does his own stunts!! Women love him, and men who say they hate him will still watch his movies so they can figure out how to be more like him. 

The only weird thing about Binghe as an actor is that he refuses to star in romantic films. He won’t kiss anyone, won’t pretend to date someone on screen, won’t even let another actor take over his role for the scenes he doesn’t want to do. His reason? He’s completely loyal to his husband.

Everyone thinks it’s stupid, obviously. You aren’t “cheating” by pretending to love someone else, it’s literally your job! Luo Binghe still refuses and says even he’s not good enough an actor to make anyone believe he could ever love someone other than Yuan-ge.

His fans hate this mysterious Yuan-ge. Because of his (probably insecure and jealous) spouse, all of Binghe’s fangirls cant see him sweep some y/n character off their feet. It’s even worse because they don’t know anything about this guy. Whenever someone asks to see or learn about Binghe’s husband, the star says he’ll never reveal Yuan-ge to the public, because he’s too beautiful and he doesn’t want everyone falling in love with him. 

People kind of run with the idea that obviously this guy must be a total weirdo who Binghe is embarrassed to be seen with. That has to be the explanation, because no matter how perfect someone is, how can they have such a chokehold on THE LUO BINGHE??

Then, one day, years after Luo Binghe’s initial rise to fame…. He goes on a talkshow. With his husband Shen Yuan. 

Obviously EVERYONE tunes in. No one uses TVs anymore bc of the internet, but just for this show, viewer ratings are the highest theyve ever been. Everyone wants to know what the fuss is all about with this guy to have Luo Binghe so down horrible. 

And Shen Yuan isn’t a weirdo. He’s also not some pretty yesman. He makes jokes that make the audience burst into laughter. He’s opinionated, which is really refreshing when every other celebrity stays neutral on every topic to avoid losing fans. He’s polite, but he’s not a pushover. He’s likeable, but he’s not a try-hard about it. Referencing memes makes him an instant hit with the younger generations, and the calm gentle way he talks makes him a hit with the older ones. All of a sudden everyone is going, okay we see why Luo Binghe is obsessed with him. 

Except… while shen yuan was making jokes and charming everyone, Luo Binghe was at his side, pathetically pawing at his husband for attention. The actor keeps whining every two minutes to be reassured yuan-ge still likes him. Whenever Shen Yuan compliments the host, Binghe looks like he’s about to cry. Whenever Luo Binghe jealously wraps his arms around shen Yuan everyone watching just rolls their eyes. Seeing them together people realize… shen yuan is the one that’s out of Luo Binghe’s league.

In just one hour public opinion goes from ‘no one can be worth binghe acting like that for’ to ‘luo binghe is so annoying, let shen yuan talk!!’ 

The next day someone finds shen yuan’s twitter and it blows up. He has his own fan pages now. There’s no pictures of him online other than the footage from the talkshow, so the fan accounts just post that over and over again. Shen yuan retweets a post about him with the caption “i never realized she was holding a plate of corn in this scene” and everyone loses their mind. Everything he says immediately goes viral bc that’s luo binghe’s attic wife.

People start nagging Binghe to post about Shen Yuan bc theyre so attached after his one and only publicized appearance. Binghe is super possessive, but yuan-ge tells him not to worry, so he relents and posts pictures of him and shen yuan on vacation. They’re together, holding hands… but shen yuan’s face and body are blurred out. It’s HORRIFYING. He looks like an eldritch monster bc luo binghe refuses to let anyone look at his yuan-ge in a swim suit, go away you perverts!! His instragram is now just full of pics of shen yuan where his eyes are blacked out so noone else can see how pretty they are. It’s nightmare fuel

Shen Yuan is unfortunately too unbothered to post pictures of himself. Everyone’s tired of Luo Binghe for “hogging shen yuan all to himself” when Shen Yuan is practically an internet celebrity now. 

People go to watch movies and their theatre conversations sound like this:

“Oh, Luo Binghe’s in this one!”

“Who?”

“You know Shen Yuan’s annoying husband?”

“OH THAT GUY..”

[aemcndtargaryen]

HE'S COMING TO TAKE AEGONS WIFE

me @ daemon: don't you dare, don't you fucking dare

Now I’m Covered In You [Chapter 7: Sundials]

Series summary: Aemond is a prince of England. You are married to his brother. The Wars of the Roses are about to begin, and you have failed to fulfill your one crucial responsibility: to give the Greens a line of legitimate heirs. Will you survive the demands of your family back in Navarre, the schemes of the Duke of Hightower, the scandals of your dissolute husband, the growing animosity of Daemon Targaryen…and your own realization of a forbidden love?

Series title is a lyric from: Ivy by Taylor Swift.

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+), dubious consent, miscarriage, pregnancy, childbirth, violence, warfare, murder, alcoholism, sexism, infidelity, illness, death, only vaguely historically accurate, lots of horses!

Word count: 6.0k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @borikenlove @myspotofcraziness @teenagecriminalmastermind​ @quartzs-posts​ @tclegane​ @poohxlove​ @narwhal-swimmingintheocean​ @chainsawsangel​ @itsabby15​ @padfooteyes​ @arcielee​ @travelingmypassion​ @what-is-originality​ @burningcoffeetimetravel​ @randomdragonfires​ @anditsmywholeheart​ @aemcndtargaryen​ @jvpit3rs​ @sarcastic-halfling-princess​ @flowerpotmage​ @ladylannisterxo​ @thelittleswanao3​ @elsolario​ @tinykryptonitewerewolf​ @girlwith-thepearlearring​ @minttea07​ @trifoliumviridi​ @deltamoon666​ @mariahossain​ @darkenchantress​ @doingfondue​ @atherverybest​ @namelesslosers​ @skythighs​ @moonlightfoxx​ @partypoison00​ @bellameshipper​ @coffedraven​

Keep reading

[lemonlover1110]

𝐀 𝐃𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃

Pairing: Trueform!Sukuna x f!Reader

Summary: Your husband usually calls for you to join him during his bath.

Warnings: MDNI, mentions of Sukuna killing people, rough pregnancy, Sukuna being fluffy (so slightly ooc), reader is mean to Sukuna

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Ever since you shared the news of your pregnancy with your husband, Sukuna has become more loving. The man who’d talk to you however he wanted, now makes sure to soften his voice when talking to you. He wants to see you every hour of the day, even when you don’t want to see him. Sukuna is seeing how you’re struggling with your pregnancy, and he wants to check up on you constantly.

You’re not too far along that you both know of, yet you’re huge. He grows worried that his selfish want of a child will cause you harm. There’s one person that Sukuna would die for, and it’s you. If something were to happen to you because of himself then he’d– He doesn’t want to think of it.

Lately he’s been asking to take baths with you. At the end of the day, a servant walks into your chambers and informs you, “Lord Sukuna requests for you to join him in his bath, mistress.”

She bows her head to not look at you, scared that she’ll end up like the last servant that dared to look you in the eye. It was Sukuna’s doing because how dare someone look his wife in the eye? You sigh before telling her, “I’ll be there in a second.” 

She stands in the entrance of your room, given orders to not leave without you. Sure, Sukuna requests to see you but it’s an order from him. You don’t have much of an option. 

You follow behind her, and she excuses herself when you’re finally with him. Sukuna lays comfortably in the water, patiently waiting for you to get undressed and join him in the water. He watches as you take off all your garments and walk over to him when you’re completely bare. 

“You need to start leaving me alone, you’re starting to annoy me.” You tell him as you get in the water. Sukuna chuckles, finding it amusing how you’ve completely stopped fearing him. One of his hands caresses you from your breasts to your bump, resting there.

“Now, why are you getting mad at me? I thought you wanted a loving husband?” Sukuna comments, kissing the top of your head. Your hand rests on top of his, lightly squeezing it.

“I wanted one before he got me pregnant. I swear I must be carrying twins– Or the baby also has four arms. I don’t know, I’m just miserable.” You confess, and Sukuna kisses the top of your head again. He really shouldn’t have expected it to be any different. Sukuna’s huge, why would his baby be any different?

“It’s just one and done then?” He asks, and you hum in response. Maybe your answer will be different in a few years, but for now it’s that. He feels a tug on his heartstrings, seeing how much you’re struggling. He’s worried. “Are you holding up okay, though?”

“Not like we could do anything if I wasn’t.” You answer. He’s definitely much softer than your usual husband, and you would’ve loved it if you weren’t carrying a monster child. His hand remains on your stomach, and he feels as his baby kicks while you moan in pain. Sukuna shushes you, feeling as his baby moves.

“I’m trying to feel him! Shut up, woman!” He raises his voice, and you slightly turn to glare at him. A look that would surely kill you if you were anyone else.

“How does me making noise correlate with you feeling the baby! Think, Sukuna! Use your fucking brain.” You’re definitely bolder than usual, which makes him laugh. 

“You’re so beautiful when you’re yelling at me.” He says, grabbing your hand and bringing it up to his lips so he can kiss it. “I love seeing you demanding and mean. It shows the effect I have on you.”

“Really?” You answer, and he hums in response. There’s no better time to bring up what’s been bugging you than now. “I hate that new servant you took in. Kick her out.”

“And why is that?” He asks. 

“She was looking at you funny.” You respond.

“In the sense?”

“She has the hots for you, and I don’t like it.”

“Hmm… What if I was looking for–” He begins and you glare at him. He doesn’t have much of a sense of humor, but he guesses that’s something that’s off limits when he tries to joke. “Don’t you want me to do more?”

“Like what?” You question, even though you should know your husband better than anyone.

“Kill her.” He answers. 

“Hmm… Up to you.” You reply. You lay comfortably on his chest, feeling as his finger traces lazy circles on your belly. You change the topic, “Why do you think it’s a boy?”

“I can’t see myself with a daughter.”

[maximoff-pan]

the ultimate deception | benedict bridgerton (part one)

summary: you are a well known artist who paints under a pseudonym. What happens when Lady Whistledown comes to know of your identity? How will your relationship with Benedict evolve?

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!(artist)reader

word count: 4k

warning(s): poor writing and dialogue (sue me, I'm rusty lol), very unedited so if there are mistakes, I apologize, misogyny, penelope aka Lady Whistledown's biggest defender

a/n: this is definitely going to be more than one part, but I wanted to post something after so many months. Let me know how you like it (or don't like it haha)...comments and feedback are much appreciated <3

• • • • • •

“I wish I possessed merely an ounce of your talent.” 

Benedict’s gaze seems to be wholly absorbing your latest painting, a depiction of the botanical wonders of London’s Royal Kew Gardens. 

You puff out a breath, blowing on the feathery end of one of your writing quills. In your haste, it had gotten loose, tickling your face irritatingly. Tucking it back behind your ear, you wave him off. “You have much more talent than you give yourself credit for.” You admit through squinted eyes, scanning your work. “You simply lack conviction. And you worry far too much about what others think of you.”

Benedict smiles, receiving your words as the highest of praise. He reaches out to take a better look at the piece of art before him. “You flatter me.” He mumbles in awe. “But I suppose there’s a chance you could be right.”

Chuckling at his words, you grin knowingly. You’re right. It’s more than a chance…you just are. He knows it too. 

You both continue to steadily eye the painting, you out of critical evaluation of your work, and him in sheer admiration of it. 

Benedict’s favourite part remains the beautifully bloomed magnolias that are scattered across the canvas. He’d been sure to tell you numerous times of their elegance while you’d been working on it, eagerly awaiting the finished product. As you’ve come to realize, Benedict loves watching you work. It’s one of the prices you’ve had to pay for his allowance of your workstation being at Bridgerton House, if you could even call it that.  

You are grateful, truly. You wouldn’t be able to make your own living without his kindness. And you certainly wouldn’t be able to keep to yourself in the way you prefer to. 

“When will Augustus Leighton be displaying his latest work of perfection?” Benedict’s question reminds you of your fate as an artist. 

Augustus Leighton is the pseudonym you paint under. Using his name, you have become a well known artist among the ton, even going so far as to have a painting hung at Buckingham Palace. It’s difficult, you must admit, pretending to be someone else. But it’s a necessary evil.

Painting as a woman would get you nowhere. Especially as a woman with no money (particularly at the time you began), no status, and no husband. 

Your mother is a seamstress with little to her name and your father was a servant to Violet and Edmund Bridgerton, before his heart became too weak. He passed away when you were thirteen, only a few years after the Bridgerton children had lost their own father. You’d grown up with little money, but Violet had been kind to both you and your mother, seeing how close you’d become with her children. 

You were raised alongside them, Benedict and Eloise becoming your closest of friends. At three and twenty, there are five years between you and the two siblings in either direction, with Eloise being freshly eighteen, and Benedict having turned twenty eight. To this day, they remain two of only three people who know of your true identity, outside of Penelope Featherington. 

You hadn’t exactly meant for Eloise or Penelope to find out about it, but once they had, it became comforting to have more than just Benedict to speak to about your predicament. Especially considering, although Benedict has been wonderfully supportive, he could never understand the struggle a woman must endure in a male dominated world.  

“Likely never. This one is a gift for Lady Danbury.” You answer Benedict’s inquiry after a bout of silence. “She’s spoken about her love of these gardens quite regularly, so I thought, why not have Mr. Leighton recreate it for her?” 

“How will you get it to her?” He questions. 

A smile pulls at the corners of your lips. “I have my ways, lest you worry about it.”

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

The next few days are interesting to say the least. You’d somehow managed to get the painting delivered to Lady Danbury, and as far as Violet had been willing to speak of her latest visit with the formidable aforementioned woman, you have been made aware that she adores it. 

You’d also heard more about it from Benedict, who’d mentioned something about her being at a loss for words, an ultimate shock to both him and his mother. They’d never seen her look so bewildered. 

According to Eloise, Lady Danbury had been surprised to receive such a gift, especially of something so near and dear to her heart. She’d said it reminded her of her time with the Queen, telling the young Bridgerton woman about the months just after her husband had passed, when a new independent lifestyle began to bloom for her. 

The painting itself reminded her that women like her could be free, and one day, they would be. That sort of metaphorical mindset had definitely appealed to Eloise’s sense of social justice. She’d been more than excited to tell you about the older woman’s reaction to your art, claiming it to be a wonderful revelation. 

Today though, as you sit in the Bridgerton’s common living room, the opposite representation of said female autonomy rests in your hands. The paper feels rough against your skin as you pass it to Eloise who’s propped excitedly to the left of you. You’ve never been a fan of Lady Whistledown’s gossip column, although you can admire her unabashed confidence. But despite her strong will as an author, which could be seen as an inherently empowering trait, you are of the impression that she goes about it in an entirely backward way. 

Women don’t need to put each other down to build themselves up. It accomplishes nothing, consequently acting as a source of nourishment for the patriarchy you find yourself trapped in. 

“You’re not going to read it?” Eloise asks as she takes the pamphlet from you. 

“I never do.” Is your instant reply. 

Penelope perks up at the mention of the column, eyes trained curiously on you. If you had known better, you’d say she was a little too interested. 

But at this moment you shrug it off, listening with no suspicion as she asks a simple, “Why?”

You don’t have the hindsight to understand why your stomach turns at her question, but you respond anyway. “I tend to think of Lady Whistledown as a poison.” It’s the first time you’ve voiced such an opinion. 

Penelope and Eloise turn to you in surprise. “Come again?” Penelope’s soft voice cuts through. 

“She is a poison.” You repeat before explaining yourself. “Do not get me wrong, I hold admiration for her bravado, but her words, the things she writes, they cause nothing but pain and conflict for those she chooses to sink her teeth into.”

“But she’s an independent woman.” Eloise interjects. “One who is doing more than any of us could dream of. She is making a name for herself!”

You try to think about your next words carefully, but your mouth makes quick work of a reply. “A name which she hides behind, casting stones through the guise and safety of anonymity.” 

Penelope lets out a scoff from beside you. She’s always been one to defend the infamous gossip columnist. “At least she does not hide herself behind the mask of a man.” That feels like a shot. “The people know full well of her gender, despite her true identity remaining a secret.”

You hear the implication on her tongue. The same cannot be said for you. 

And she’s not wrong. You do hide yourself behind the mask of a man. You’d never once denied that.

You sigh. “I know you must think of me as a hypocrite.” 

Eloise agrees hesitantly. “Only a little.” She admits. “It’s just that you do the same as Mr. Leighton.”

You soften at her honesty. Truthfully, you understand where she’s coming from, but you can’t help the urge you feel to defend yourself.

“I disguise myself as Augutus because I know that no artist or art critic alike will take me seriously as I am. I want to share my work with the world, that is simply all I want. It’s all I have ever wanted.”

“Does that not make you a coward?” Penelope inquires, although it feels less like a question and more like an opinion. This is what she believes. And she's entitled to that. 

“Perhaps.” You nod in acknowledgment. “But it has also made me uniquely successful. And I take great pride knowing that my work is highly regarded, in spite of the fact that I have to be someone else to succeed.” 

“Does that ever bother you?” Eloise persists. “Knowing that no one will know you for the work you have done?”

Before you can respond, Penelope chimes in with a query of her own. “Does it ever make you feel guilty, lying as you do?” This feels like a challenge. 

You turn to Eloise, answering her first. “No, I feel quite unbothered. I like the privacy it provides me.” Your gaze flicks between the two girls, a fire in your eyes as you speak. 

You answer Penelope’s question next. “Guilt is one of the last feelings to cross my mind.” You feel content with it. “Because of Augustus, I have my own money, my own independence. I do not need a man to survive or to be happy. I have choices. And that's a facet of my life I never dreamed could have existed. If there is anything more empowering for a woman than that, I cannot think of it.”

Eloise listens to your words carefully, absorbing them, reveling in them. She hadn’t thought of it like that, but you’re right. Independence is a sign of true equality. And you have that. Not because of the name you hide behind, but because you’d used the insecurities of men to your advantage. You’d played the game and won. 

“I suppose I have been quite short sighted.” There’s much less arrogance in her tone. Eloise sounds humbled. “You’ve given me a new perspective to think about.”

Penelope does not enjoy the direction this conversation has headed. “Surely you cannot think yourself above someone such as Lady Whistledown.”

Your face scrunches in thought. “Above?” You stipulate. “I do not think myself above anyone, gender aside. But I do think I have a much higher sense of self respect than she does.”

“And how could that possibly be?” Penelope has to bite her tongue. She wants to say more, defend herself more. But she cannot. 

Eloise cuts in. “Lady Whistledown has the utmost confidence in herself. I dare say more than all the women in London combined. As much as I have come to see your side, I cannot agree with that.”

“One’s high level of confidence is of little concern here.” You deliver. “Often, in matters regarding the human condition, such as these, it can act as a detriment.” Your eyes narrow as you speak. “Self respect and self confidence can coincide, but they are not the same.”

Eloise laughs out of confusion. She’s not used to being this clueless. “I don’t understand.” She says.

“Ah,” you decide to stop tiptoeing around the subject. “I merely think that no self-respecting woman would use the pain and suffering of other women, or any other person for that matter, for their own profit and entertainment.” 

Eloise’s smile drops. “Oh.” Again, she hadn’t thought of it that way. But what resonates with her most is that you’re not wrong. 

“Is that what you truly think of Lady Whistledown?” Penelope’s voice is calm and collected for the first time this afternoon. It almost scares you. 

“Yes.” You say, before voicing, “However, I mean no offense to either of you. I know how much you girls adore her column. I just want more for you than what she does. A life of gossip is dangerous, and you deserve so much more.”

If you had known you’d been talking to Lady Whistledown herself, maybe you would have kept those opinions to yourself. But little did you know how much your life was about to change, how dangerously you’d walked the line, and how much vengeance rests in Penelope Featherington’s soul.

Future note to self, do not play with fire if one does not wish to get burnt.  

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

“(Y/n), I think you need to see this.” Benedict holds up the newest edition of London’s famous gossip column. 

Your heart sinks at the look in his eyes. I’m sorry they seem to say. 

You haven’t even read it and you already know it’s bad. Handing it to you, Benedict looks hesitant, almost in preparation of what's to come. As you take it from him, you glance down at the ink on the paper, her handwriting etched in your brain. 

You swallow the lump in your throat as you begin to read:

Dearest Gentle Reader,

It has come to this author’s attention that a certain individual is playing an unforgivable game of deception within the world of classical art that this ton so highly regards. This artisan has gone to great lengths to keep their true identity from you, painting under a well recognized pseudonym. 

By now you may have guessed, this artist is a woman. One who has tricked you and lied to you by passing her work off as that of a man’s. What a horrid crime it is to keep such a secret from you, and a desperate one, I must admit. A woman so foul as to seek such attention for her art, far too greedy to be content with the life so many of the wonderful women of the ton lead. Instead, she parades around disguising herself so she can live a life she feels entitled to. 

This author asks you to consider the arrogance of it all. But the question remains, as I am sure you are desperate to uncover: who is the serpent who remains among us?

And so it is with great sorrow that I announce the once beloved Augustus Leighton is a fraud. A man never seen in the public setting, has given us a reason why. He is a woman.

And her name, ladies and gentleman of London, is (Y/n) (L/n). 

As I am sure you, gentle reader, are shocked at this revelation, I will take a moment to address the woman this particular entry concerns.

May I remind you Miss (L/n), I have ears and eyes everywhere. Or did you forget? It would do you a world of good to remember that the next time you think about besmirching me. And, as I write this, I must say, this warning goes for all. Heed it, live by it, breathe by it. I am not a woman you want to cross. 

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown

Panic crawls through your body. You want to cry, scream, maybe even simply die from the anxiety you’re feeling. 

“What am I going to do?” 

Your voice cracks, it sounds like glass breaking. Shattered, ragged, and tired, and Benedict can do nothing but hold you. 

Again, as your body shakes and caves into the pressure you think, what am I going to do?

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

The moment Eloise enters the room with Anthony at her side, your mind is sent ablaze. Only three people had known about Augustus. Only three people could have possibly let it slip, and you know for a fact it wasn’t Benedict.

As much as you want to believe Eloise would never do something like that to you, you can’t help but feel like she might have offhandedly mentioned it to someone. Her mouth had always worked much faster than her brain.  

Benedict’s gaze meets yours in understanding. He hopes his sister hasn’t done this; he’ll be furious if she has. 

You’re about to say something when a certain eldest Bridgerton catches you off guard. Anthony smiles when he sees you, eyes twinkling uncharacteristically so. 

“I had no idea you could paint like that.” He says. “I must admit, I’m quite proud of you.”

You blink rapidly in confusion. Proud? In all the years you’ve known Anthony, he’s never told you he’s proud of you. 

“So you’ve read the column then?” Your head hangs in shame. Everyone in London has probably read it by now. 

“Everyone has.” Eloise pipes in timidly, confirming your suspicions. 

She’s nervous, understandably so, fingers fiddling with the hem of her dress. You assume when you finally catch her gaze that she’ll avert it quickly, but instead, she holds it well. 

We need to talk. 

Benedict, reading the room perfectly, coughs in apprehension. “Brother, how about we let these ladies be for a moment? I’m certain they have some things to discuss.”

“Of course.” Anthony nods with a smile, not before reminding you how proud he is of you.

If anything good can come of this, it might just be that. 

Once alone, Eloise is eager to assure you of her innocence. “I spoke to no one.” She promises. “Blood be forgotten, you’re my sister (Y/n). I would never betray you like that.”

The look on her face is one of pure panic; she needs you to believe her. And despite everything, you do. It almost makes you feel guilty that you questioned her. 

“It’s alright.” You assure her. “I know you wouldn’t.”

But that only leaves one person…

“I think Penelope is Lady Whistledown.” You're taken aback by Eloise’s words, like a stab to the chest. Twisting the knife in further, she corrects, “I know she is.”

Moments of silence pass before you can collect your thoughts. “How long have you known?”

This is where Eloise loses her composure. Pure shame is etched upon her features. “I caught her a few weeks ago.”

A few weeks. A few weeks… A FEW WEEKS?

“Oh.” Your murmur is dejected and weak.

Eloise had known you’d been slandering Lady Whistledown in front of Lady Whistledown, and she’d done nothing to stop you, except defend her best friend’s honour. No wonder she’d been so reluctant to agree with you. 

“I wanted to say something.” Eloise stammers. “But I couldn’t. Penelope doesn’t know that I know.”

You inhale a staggered breath of air, face falling to your palms. “I’ve been such a fool. How could I have been so stupid?”

“You have not.” The girl beside you opposes before continuing, “Trust me, I am furious with Penelope. The things she’s done and said about me, about the people I care about, I’m not sure I can forgive her for it.”

You scoff lightly. Trust her? How are you supposed to do that?

Sure, Eloise has certainly been burned by Lady Whistledown before, but she’s always had her name to fall back on. “You have no idea what it’s like, Eloise.”

“I’m sorry.” She slumps in apology, shrinking in on herself. Eloise likes to think she can understand where you’re coming from. She’s a woman, same as you, one who has the same struggles against the patriarchy, and yet, hers are much different.  

“Don’t.” You dismiss her apology in frustration. It feels harsh but necessary. “You always speak about feminism and the difficulties of being a woman. How it is impossible for you to hold title and rank, or to be recognized for your accomplishments. But you are a Bridgerton Eloise, and that comes with more privilege, more title, more rank, and more acknowledgment in society than you seem to understand.”

Eloise’s brow furrows. “More often than not, that name is a burden, something you could not possibly grasp.”

“And I should not have to.” Your lips pull into a thin line. This isn’t a competition, but you feel it necessary to defend your point wholly. “I am the daughter of a servant and a seamstress. I have no money, no control, and no future if I am not to marry. Since the day I was born, I belonged to someone else. You talk of struggle, but you have no idea what it truly means.”

Eloise doesn’t like what you’re implying. “You think I live a life of luxury? That I am a stranger to the adversities life has to offer? I can assure you, I know much more about the struggles of which you speak. My mother has prepared me for the purpose of my future; finding a husband is imperative.”

“You plan to remain unmarried, correct?” You ask her seriously.

“With every fiber in my being.” Is her scathing reply. And it only serves to prove your point. But you can see her side of things too. 

“El, you defy your mother with your distaste for society. And while I applaud your determination to fight for equality, your fault remains in your failure to recognize the entitlement that has been bestowed upon you simply by having that choice. Unlike so many women, you can choose to live your life as a spinster. For you, those options exist. For me, I have not one choice besides finding a well suited, at best, middle class husband, because that is all I am suited for.”

In this moment, her heart shatters for you. Is that really what you think of yourself? “You cannot possibly mean that.” 

“It’s how it has to be.” You affirm. 

“It’s not.” She disagrees. “There’s so much more for you than a husband.”

Both your defenses are down, walls have collapsed, and you’re starting to get through to each other. She’s starting to grasp the gravity of what this means for you. Your career is more than likely over, as is the steady source of income you’d managed to build. Except where before you’d had less than no money to your name, you now had a healthy dowry (that you’d earned no less) to find a more comfortable suitor. 

Eloise sees it now. What Penelope has done is monumentally life changing. 

However, as emotional as this circumstance is, you still feel the need to reach out. She’s your sister after all. 

“Eloise,” your eyes search hers. They tread in a sea of empathy. “I never meant to imply you have lived a life without misfortunes. I’m not trying to diminish your hurt. But I thought if you heard my side, you might come to understand mine.”

She softens at your admission, having gotten carried away in defending herself. Nodding, she smiles gently. “I do.” She says. “And while you may not bear the Bridgerton surname, you do have us. Every Bridgerton will stand behind you, always.”

Against every fibre in your being, you believe her. Somehow you’ll always have this little family of yours, somehow you hope you’ll be okay…

[divinesolas]

Hi, could you do an Aemond one shot where he and Reader (Rhaenyra's bastard daughter) are husband and wife and she and Aemond are married, based on the first episode of season 2 where instead of killing Aegon's son, kill the reader's son and aemond

a.n: hi hi ty for the request 🫶 i had a little too much fun writing this, this probably isnt what you wanted this is not a happy fic but i still hope you enjoy regardless 🫶🫶 slightly inspired by the events of ep two

Despite the halls of the keep being pure chaos everyone swiftly moved out of the way for the one eyed prince who rushed through the halls seeking out the one who he knew needed him.

They had been in his room. They wanted him. But they must have left his room when they knew he was not there and stumbled their way into the nursery which was attached to his room where his son had been. His son. his only child. and he was furious.

The door to the council room slams open and otto swiftly turns to look and stand before him, “where have you been-“ otto is shoved out of his way as he goes to kneel next to his sobbing wife on the floor who was clutching a blanket on the floor.

You look at him with red eyes and choke out his name, he grabs your face in his hands and looks upon you for a moment before you throw yourself into his arms. Shoving your head in his neck to breathe in his scent, to feel his pulse, make sure he’s real.

“they killed our son.” your words come out choked in between your sobs and he strokes up and down your back, “i tried to offer them anything, gold, myself, but they only wanted him aemond only him.” he shushes you and pressed a kiss against your temple, speaking into your ear. “Im sorry my love im sorry.”

He will return the pain they have brought to not only himself but worst of all to his wife and he will pay it tenfold. A lone tear streaks down his face as you say nothing more merely continue to sob into him while the other faces in the room can only merely watch with sorrow.

He picks you up, making sure to keep the blanket firmly in your grasp as he turns to leave the room ignoring the voices calling after him. They must want to discuss what they plan to do now but he wants no part in it, only wanting to comfort his wife.

“they were saying they want to blame my mother.” You had calmed down at some point, still delirious with grief but you had stopped crying, merely staring blankly up at the ceiling as aemond kept you firmly next to him. “she would never do a thing like this. my mother loves me, why would she send someone out for my son.”

Aemond is quiet and his hand on your back falters for a moment, “she wishes to punish me.” you say nothing but he notices how you shift ever so slightly.

With the way you two were right now nobody could tell the two of you have not spoken in those fourteen days since his return when he broke the news to the court. When he broke the news to you. Your own brother murdered in cold blood.

You could never forgive him despite his attempts to talk to you after, you swiftly dismissed him and his words would fall on deaf ears. Your baby brother was everything to you, you remember growing up side by aide and he was teary eyed the day you permanently moved to the keep.

despite your hatred for him and your hatred for your mothers usurpation you cannot go home. The people here watch you like a hawk you cannot even send a letter out to her but alicent is free to beg and plead to her like a pathetic dog. you hate them. Yet you allow him to comfort you because you know you will get no comfort from anyone else here.

“they wish to flaunt me around like a prized lamb. ‘gain sympathy from the houses.’ he says.” You ignore his words and continue to speak. “I will not allow it.” you shrug mindlessly and sit up, he stays laying down. His eye patch off and hair down from its usually prime and perfect state, he had thrown his shirt off at some point too.

You can see it, the hurt that laces his eye and his face, his hand finds yours and you want to rip it away but you cant, the warmth on your skin bringing you a small sense of comfort.

“i had thought we would work. That you would finally move on and forgive grievances of the past. But i hate you just as you hate me aemond,” “i do not hate you. i love you.” you shake your head as he says it, sitting up and gripping your arms tightly, trying to hold your gaze as he says it again.

“i will never forgive you. I will hate you for as long as a breathe.”

“i did not mean to i lost my temper that day.”

“you feeling sorry means nothing to me you know that. how would you feel if the men who murdered our son came in here and said they were sorry., that they didn’t mean to.”

He says your name and his grip tightens on your arms but you continue to merely stare off mindlessly.

“i will repent for the rest of my life. our son will be brought justice.”

he will kill every man in the keep if he has to, slay every man in all of westeros if they cannot figure out who had done it. For you. for his son.

“i love you.” the words come out strained as he begs and pleads to anyone who is willing to listen to him for you to say something else anything to him.

you do. you finally look at him. a look devoid of any love you had once had for him. and it kills him.

“you’re pathetic.”

[ppssession]

Brain Transplant Project

Adam and Dean are a gay couple who have been living together for 10 years, since they graduated from high school.

Sadly, Dean's death from a terminal illness was a huge blow to Adam, but luckily Adam and Dean were involved in a secret project to transplant a brain into a new body by extracting the brain seeds from the deceased's body. Now, Adam has Dean's brain seeds.

While Adam is trying to find a new body for Dean, he has to help out at a commercial shoot when he finds the body that suits Dean the most: Dew's body.

Dew is a famous actor. Whenever Dew is the presenter for any advertisement, it will definitely be successful.

Adam saw that this was the perfect body for his boyfriend, so he helped arrange a poolside photoshoot. Luckily, the ad was for a supplement that looked exactly like Brain Seeds.

When the opportunity arose, Adam switched supplements with brain seeds. If you don't look closely, brain seeds are very much like supplements.

A lot of the early part of the commercial was the shooting of Dew's body. It made Adam feel really good knowing that this would become his Boyfriend body.

In the last part of the shoot, Dew was eating breakfast and taking supplements. When Dew slowly finished eating, the image of Dew eating brain seeds instead of supplements made Adam smile and smile happily until he couldn't hide it. But Adam had to stay calm. He had to wait until the brain seeds grew and took over Dew's body first.

Several weeks later at Dew's luxurious home, he had a severe stomachache. He thought it was the food he had eaten a few days ago. He chose to rest at home. After taking a nap for a while, Dew felt a strange pain. When he opened his eyes, he found something inside his body, on his chest.

When it went up to his neck, Dew tried to block it with his hands, but he couldn't control his arms as if someone else was controlling it for him.

As something moved up his neck, it moved up to his face. Eventually, his head seemed to fight Dew's brain. Dew's body convulsed and his muscles tensed up. In no time, Dew's body slowly vomited out his brain and he lost consciousness for about five hours. Not long after, Dew's body slowly stood up and used his hands to rub different parts of his body to check it before Dew picked up his phone to call someone.

Adam got a call from Dew to come to his house. He arrived and met Dew at the pool. Hello, my love, Dew said.

Dean, is that you? Adam said with gratitude. Yes, dear, look at me. How handsome is my new body? Dean, who had already taken over Dew's body, said proudly.

The two slowly kissed passionately, their lips meeting each other lustfully.

Dean carried Adam onto the bed in the bedroom before pulling down his pants to reveal his large, erect penis. Dean pulled down Adam's pants as well and placed the tip of his cock at Adam's asshole. Let me try out my new cock, I want to see if it can make my little husband happy.

No sooner had Adam spoken than Dean's thick rod entered Adam's hole, thrusting in and out of Adam's hole without stopping, causing him to gasp for air. Their moans filled the house.

Shit, it still feels good. Dew's voice came out of her throat. Thank you for the new body, my love, before thrusting into her one last time.

Fuck, when Dean groaned for the last time, the semen flowed out of his penis. Dean slowly weakened, looking at Adam's face, who took every drop of him until he fell asleep.

Dean lets Adam sleep and he sleeps too.

When Adam woke up, he went down to the pool and met Dean. Dean turned to him and thanked him again for giving me a new body, my love.

Adam, no need to thank me, Dean. No, I should call you Dew because you're my handsome actor now.

They kissed again. Okay, let's do it again before I have to go film the movie. The schedule saved on my phone told me I had several more hours.

Sure, dear, take as much as you want, Adam agreed before kissing Dean passionately. Make good use of your new body, my love.

Finally, I must confess that I finished writing it a few hours ago, but accidentally deleted it, so I had to rewrite it. Luckily, I still remember most of the content, but I forgot some words, so I had to edit it. It's okay, if you want to change it, it's okay. Haha, I hope you like it. See you in the next story. Bye bye.

[entitled-fangirl]

I'll find you.

Cregan Stark x wife!reader

Summary: the high Septon visits Winterfell, and Cregan would rather do anything else with his time than spend it with the priest.

Warnings: religious trauma, bad theology, blood, fighting, vulgar words and name-calling

Masterlist

.......................................................

"I don't want him near her."

"My lord, please. You and the Lady must greet him most welcomingly. He's an important ally."

Cregan gritted his teeth. "He's a fucking fiend. I'll not have him anywhere near her. I'll greet him myself."

The maester sighed, "You cannot keep her away from him the entire time. It raises suspicion."

"I find myself hardly caring."

"Speak to her on it, my lord. Perhaps you'll come to an arrangement."

…

"You're worried about a septon?" She asked in a confused manner.

"You've ever had your gut wrench at the thought of someone?" He asked.

She leaned against the back of her chair with her head tilted in thought, "I suppose so."

"Septon Garren has no regard for life itself. I'd make a better priest than him."

She rolled her eyes, "We're his hosts. We still make the rules here, Cregan."

He sighed and sipped his ale. "I know that. Still, I'll not have him disrespect you."

"I'll stay at your side. How does that sound?"

He let out a long breath, "You won't wander?"

"I won't."

"Fine. Fine."

…

Septon Garren exited his carriage with a scowl that looked like it was permanently marred to his face.

He looked around at Winterfell with a look that screamed he was unimpressed.

Cregan stepped forward, keeping Y/n behind him, "Septon. How wonderful to have you join us."

He grimaced, "Yes. Yes. Very well."

Cregan had to hold back a sigh, "I've not seen you since I was young. Might I…" He paused, forcing himself to continue, "Might I introduce my Lady Stark?"

Garren's eyebrows shot up at that.

Cregan reluctantly pulled her in front of him, his hands never leaving the woman's body.

She smiled and held out her hand, "A pleasure, Septon Garren."

Garren stared at her hand with an unimpressed stare.

She awkwardly lowered her hand and leaned back into Cregan. 

Garren finally spoke, "'Tis colder than I imagined."

Cregan gritted his teeth in frustration, "Yes, well. You did decide to visit at the beginning of winter. So, I imagine it's much colder than King's Landing."

Y/n felt the tension, "Might we go inside? You must be weary from your travel."

Garren's eyes wandered over her slowly, as if seeing something that she didn't. "Yes. That would be fine."

Cregan sighed and pulled Y/n along with him, leading them into Winterfell.

…

"He doesn't seem that terrible, Cregan."

"You've no idea, my love. He's like a spider."

She scoffed lightly, "C'mon. He's unpleasant, yes. But you make him seem like a demon."

"He's the closest you'll find."

She sighed in frustration. "I am going to fetch my book from the library. When I return, I expect you to have pieced yourself back together."

…

She picked up the book she had abandoned in the library, turning around and jumping in surprise.

Septon Garren stood in the doorway.

Just staring. 

She held the book to her chest, feeling exposed for some reason. "Septon. Forgive me. I didn't hear you."

He grunted, continuing his stare. 

She was unsure of what to do but stare back. He was in the door way. What else was she to do?

She made herself walk the various shelves, pretending to scan for a book. 

He continued his stare. 

She finally sighed, "My husband told me you've been the high septon for three kings now."

Garren grunted, studying her. 

She looked around, very uncomfortable. "I'm sorry. I should return to Cregan."

He moved one step to the side and grumbled under his breath, "Flee from me, Eve."

Her brow furrowed, "Hmm? I'm sorry?"

He stared with a glare now.

She quickly made it back to Cregan.

…

Cregan had decided to give the man a single chance due to his wife's words.

So he sat over his dinner, trying his hardest to converse with the man. 

"My friends in the south tell me the weather has been fairing nicely this season."

Garren grumbled, "Aye. A fair amount of rain."

Cregan nodded and sipped his wine, "I see. We're all snow. I understand the feeling of rain."

Y/n leaned forward with an intent to speak, "Tell me exactly what it is you do?"

Garren's brows furrow, "I'm the high septon."

She bit her lip, "Yes. But… what exactly does a septon do?"

He frowned, "Girl does not know the jobs of a septon?"

Cregan's chest puffed out on instinct.

"No, I'm afraid I don't. Please tell me." She tried to reason.

"I… I communicate with the Seven, and relay the message to the people. I perform exorcisms and offer sacrifices to our gods, old and new, to please them."

She hummed, "Oh… is that all?"

Cregan held back a chuckle.

Garren frowned but said nothing. 

…

Late that night, she sat up from the bed, unable to sleep.

Cregan snoozed loudly as he always did.

It seemed to be the only time he was in a state of pure relaxation, so she never dared to interrupt it.

She pushed herself from the bed and ran a hand through her messy hair in an attempt to calm it. 

After throwing a robe on over her small clothes, she left the room to spend her time in the library until morning. It was a common routine for her to do so, and none of the servants ever batted an eye when she did. 

But when she walked into the library, she froze to see Septon Garren there. She let out a soft gasp that caught his attention.

He turned, a new look in his eye, "Come. Sit."

She held her arms over herself, "No, I couldn't. I'm hardly appropriately dressed. I… I did not expect anyone else up at this hour."

He titled his head, "It does not bother me, my child. Sit."

She forced herself to talk slow steps to him, sitting down on the sofa next to him. 

He watched her closely, letting his eyes wander over her. 

"Couldn't sleep, I suppose?" She asked awkwardly.

He stared at her, debating something. 

He leaned towards her, grabbing her wrists and pulling her arms away from her body, making her expose herself more to him. 

She watched him in freight as he took her in more. 

He finally spoke, "'Tis a shame."

"W…What is?"

"The curse of women."

She let out a breath, "I… I'm sorry."

"You believed you could seduce a high septon? You're certainly a bold one."

She lightly scoffed as her hands began to shake, "W.. What?"

He grinned a sick smile, "You've succumb to your nature, girl. Don't play the fool when your septon discovers so."

She tried to pull her hands out of his, to no avail, "Stop."

He bit his smile back from growing wider. "I bet you've fooled the Stark lord." He leaned in, "No man but a holy one can outwit the dealings of an evil cunt."

"Let me go."

He stands, pulling her up with him, "On the contrary, girl. I believe I know just what to do with you- something Cregan Stark doesn't have the guts to do."

Her eyes welled up with tears, "I haven't done anything… I haven't… I haven't done anything."

One of his hands moved up to her hair, gripping the strands at the back of her neck harshly. "Let's go, Eve."

She could only comply as he began to drag her by her hair with no remorse.

He pulled her from the library and began to pull her down the corridor.

She began to cry, "Stop… please… pl… stop."

He laughed, "Now Eve uses her tears to plead for forgiveness. It's typical."

She tried her hardest to pry his fingers from her.

"You see, every woman is a reincarnate of Eve, sent by Satan to test us all. It's a man's job to keep her evil at bay." He leaned into her ear, "And yours has done a poor job of it, it seems."

She misstepped, tripping herself and falling to her feet. 

He reaffirmed his grip on her hair and tugged her up harshly. 

She let out a loud shriek in pain. 

He pulled her the rest of the way up, letting her go and slapping her across the face so hard, she fell again. 

She cried at the pain that throbbed in her face and head. "I didn't… I… Creg… please."

Garren grabbed her by the hair again, "Don't worry. I'll beat it out of you, girl."

She hiccuped, desperate for breath through her panic and tears as he continued to drag her down the corridor. 

"Please stop… I… I'll do anything… let.. let me go."

He gripped her chin tightly to pull her face to him, "You'll feel better after a proper beating, I assure you."

She felt the smallest but of determination, and she spit in his face.

He let out a grunt and took a step back. His anger grew tenfold suddenly, and he let out a full swing on her. 

She screamed at the pain as she fell to the floor another time.

Blood seeped from her nose profusely.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!" Cregan's voice boomed from down the hall. 

He stood in his usual cloak, no doubt thrown over his small clothes. 

She hiccuped but made no effort to move from the ground in worry of having him see the blood.

"My lord," Garren began, "Your wretch attempted to seduce me in the dead of the night! You've not done your duty!"

Cregan's eyes widened in pure anger. A fire was lit behind the pupils. "My what?"

"Your wretch."

Cregan immediately began swinging, throwing a series of punches at the man.

She sat herself up, looking down at her shift and robe that now were stained with her blood. She let a small whine at the uncomfortable feeling of the liquid running from her nose. 

She let out a grunt and pushed herself up on shaky legs, immediately leaving as quickly as she could.

…

"Let me in."

She turned to look at the door, pausing the patting of the wet cloth to her nose.

She couldn't let him in like this.

"Leave this for the morrow, Cregan. Please."

She heard his feet shuffle.

"I'm not leaving this door until I'm done with the conversation."

"Well, I do not wish to converse."

"Let me in, or I'll break it down now."

She quickly got up, moving to it and unlocking it. But just as quickly as she had gotten up, she moved back to the vanity.

Cregan stepped in, assessing the room before his gaze settled on her, "My gods."

She turned her head to him, immediately beginning a sudden sob at the look in his eyes. 

He took a step towards her, but she shook her head, "Stop… d… don't please."

He paused, "You've got to let me see."

She shook her head more, "Don't come near me."

Cregan felt offended, "Love, why not?"

"I… I'm… nothing. I don't… I can't take more today… please."

His eyes softened, "What?'

She sniffled, "I can't take another beating, please, my lord."

He felt his stomach drop. "I… I'm not gonna hurt you, my girl."

Hot tears continued down her face, "I didn't mean to. I didn't know he was there…"

He nodded, "I never doubted you. I never did." He took a slow step forward, "Can I look at you?"

She studied him in deep thought before nodding. 

He let out a breath of relief and knelt in front of her, taking her face in his hands gently. 

"Nasty hit, huh?"

She scoffed, "That's all you've to say?"

He grimaced, "I have much to say, trust me, pretty."

When her snivels multiplied with the promise of more tears, he quickly corrected himself, "I'm not angered with you."

She looked at him through a blur of tears, "You're not?"

His brows came together, "How could you think that? Of course not. A man beat my wife, and you think I'm mad at you?"

"If you believe him.."

"About what?" He asked incredulously. "You know the horrid things I'll do to that man for what he said?"

She sniffled, "I'm sorry."

He shook his head, "Stop that."

She nodded, "Yes, my lord."

He let out a frustrated sigh, "No. Don't say that."

"What do you wish for me to say?"

"Doesn't matter. You're to call me whatever you wish. You know that." He paused, "Has he brain washed you so easily?"

Another tear fell down her cheek, "I'm just lost."

He nodded and wiped the tear, "I'll find you then. How's that?"

She let out a shaky breath. "Please."

He took the cloth from her hand and tilted her head up as he began to dabble the cloth across her nose.

She spoke after a while, "You can't kill him. He's the high septon."

"He touched you. I'll do whatever I wish with him."

"You'll make an enemy of King's Landing."

"Don't care."

She sniffled, "No?"

"Do you think I'm a formidable opponent because of my worry of making enemies? No." He rubbed a tender spot and apologized, "I'm a formidable enemy because I don't stop until I get what I want."

"And what do you want?"

"His head on a spike and you in my arms."

She smiled, "You have one of those things already."

He chuckled and threw the cloth onto the vanity, "Indeed, I do."

She gasped when he picked her up and took her to the bed.

"In the morning, I'll have them both. Until then, I'll enjoy what I have."

...................................................

Cregan Stark taglist: @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @callsignwidow, @8812-342, @nyxbranwenn

[rensblade]

𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐃.

⟢ warnings/notes: husband! jing yuan x gender neutral! reader. toothrotting fluff, cute domestic banter tbh. husband yuan nation, please rise. not proofread, we die like tingyun. might be ooc. pls lmk if i got any of the hsr terminology wrong.. appreciate any type of feedback & please please pleaseee send me reqs if u have any ✩

“beloved, am i really that bad of a general?”

the all too familiar baritone of your husband’s voice fills in your ears, as you raise your gaze from the distance, only to watch him sulk from where he was sat upon the seat of divine foresight.

to anyone that squints, would be graced upon a phenomenon all too odd— jing yuan, one of seven arbiter generals, pouting.

“and what.. exactly makes you think so, ‘yuan?” you already knew the answer, but you still entertained the fact he was pouting, almost comically the same way yanqing does, when you deny him from making impulsive sword purchases.. or the same way mimi, your household lion, scrunches up her face and paws at your clothes when you tell her that she won't get any more snacks for the night.

said man sits up from where he's at, and abruptly makes his way down to where you're seated— at his desk. sorting through some of the things unattended earlier during his earlier escapade to fyxestroll garden.

“well.. you know.” he deadpans, staring down at you. you have to keep in a giggle, finding the way he waited so patiently for you to finish with the work at your side, almost akin to your precious lion who does the same.

you heave a sigh, but in an amused way, as you stack the last documents into a neat pile and turn in your chair, and upon being graced with your attention; your lover nearly falls dramatically into your arms.

“i can't help but think i should just hand over my resignation early. you know what, fu xuan probably saw this coming,” he fake-wails, as you caress his hair, cooing at the man who was currently at your feet.

eventually, he relents, when you tug a little hard on his fluffy white mane. “darling.. is this about cirrus?” the mere mention of the heliobus makes jing yuan glower, and you practically have to bite back your laughter at the expression, opting to clear your throat instead.

he stays silent for a second, then scrunches his face. “..absolutely not,” he retaliates in a serious tone. then, he slumps forward again, almost nuzzling into your lap as he tries to hypothesize. “it's just. i need some constructive criticism, before i actually hand over my position to someone else, you know,” he reasons, but you know better.

“right, why of course.” you humor him a little bit longer. pushing the general’s buttons has always been your favorite past time activity.

he pulls away, getting on his feet before he gathers your hands into his and gives you a solemn look. “you get me, my love. this is why we're married.”

that makes you crack a smile. jing yuan only raises a brow, but returns the smile nevertheless, a little hesitant. “yuan, i love you, but. you mean solid constructive criticism like.. i don't know, maybe it's about time you retired and took a big fat cat nap?” you suggest with a snort, and jing yuan simply huffs. (yeah, mimi definitely got the attitude from her dad).

you shake your head, dragging him to sit next to you as you elaborated. “in all seriousness.. you're not a bad general. not a bad mentor, father or husband, jing yuan. don't let that silly heliobi’s words get to your head.” the tall man, lets you cup his face, squishing his cheeks as you pepper kisses across them, as if to prove your point.

he simply gathers your form up into his arms, holding you tightly and you can't help but relax into the warmth he emits. he's truly a big cat. “you know, i’m starting to think this must be how birds that nest in your hair must feel.” you point out with a false-huff, after a minute of silence.

jing yuan chuckles at that, purposely tugging you by the waist; flush closer against his torso as he nuzzles into you— pale locks of his hair cloud your vision. “why, of course. a wise, little sparrow, you are.” he snuggles against you, golden eyes softening as they examine your reactions. “in fact, my favorite.” the baritone of his words send a pleasant wave of warmth through your body, you can feel him smile against your skin as he litters little kisses here and there.

to be fair, if you were held prisoner in his gentle yet steady hold forever, you were more than willing to be reduced to a mere bird, for eternity. okay, and maybe you would miss making snarky rebuttals at the general, but that's about it.

as you're resting yourself against him, a thought crosses your mind, and you'd bask in the silent affection but your loud thoughts cut you short. “and for the record, you still should've let me kick cirrus’s butt.” as expected, a hearty laugh booms from the man’s chest, the vibrations making your body tingle.

“i love you.” he says, practically purring, as the gigantic man nuzzles even further into the crevice of your neck, pressing yet another kiss to the spot he loves. his hair tickles your neck, but you love the familiarity of it all.

what a heavenly life you live, as the general’s personal songbird.

rensblade, 2023. please do not steal my writings or headers, i put a lot of effort into this. reblogs & comments are appreciated! pls send me asks/reqs, i write for most genshin or hsr or jjk characters as of now. thank u once again <3

[joonsytip]

Withering for You || Seungcheol- Part 3

Pairings: Seungcheol x Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut, CEO! Seungcheol au, Husband! Seungcheol au, Wife! Reader au, Music Teacher! Reader au, Arranged Marriage au, College Sweetheart au, Exes to Lovers au

Synopsis: When you are arranged married to the man, whose heart you had broken years ago, even dreaming about mending things seems next to impossible when he has been holding grudge for all these only to return it to you tenfold.

Warnings (specific to this part): suggestive, crying, profanities, love blooms, mentions of infidelity (doesn't happen to though), mention of alcohol consumption, betrayal, rock bottom, italics represents occurrences in past

Word Count: 6.4k

TAGLIST FOR THIS SERIES IS CLOSED!

Banner credits to my baby @hoeforhao <3

[ SVT Masterlist ] [ SVT Flick - Fic Masterlist ]

Teaser | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Epilogue

Seungcheol is distressed. He thinks something is wrong with you. Though he had dismissed all the previous occurrences, he can't do it anymore. You're distant nowadays. You don't kiss him goodbyes. You don't say the 'I love you's. You're always ditching him at any chance given. You don't let him sneak into your sheets.

The inseparable godly campus couple are barely seen together nowadays. The rumours are being spread. Some are worried, some are happy. Though you both had no secrets, Seungcheol still thinks you must have your own reasons if you're keeping something upto yourself. He tries his best to be patient and waits for you to come back because he trusts you.

Seungcheol is an enigma. He's sculpted, he's hella smart, he's hella rich. The girls lined up outside the dorm just to catch a glimpse of him. The guys hogged out his dorm room just to know how can someone be a full package.

He knew people would either love him for his looks or mostly for his money. He had no hope of making genuine friends until he came across Wonwoo, a scholarship student, who was aloof and coincidentally his assigned roommate.

If Seungcheol thought he was good at pushing people away, he was amazed to see Wonwoo. Sharing the dorm room with him was almost living alone. Seungcheol couldn't pinpoint why but he knew Wonwoo hated him. So one day after gathering courage and confronting him, Seungcheol comes to know about his cautiousness against rich people in general. Then one talk lead to two, two lead to three and that's how Seungcheol and Wonwoo became friends.

He was sure he wouldn't find love until you came in the picture.

A hard slap comes against Seungcheol's cheek and the whole campus becomes eerily silent.

"How dare you submit my assignment in your name?", you are fuming in rage and raise your hand to slap him again when he holds your hand mid air.

"What the hell are you talking about?", he hisses through his teeth.

You scoff, "The audacity to pretend, Mr. Choi Seungcheol. Just because you have looks and money which you have no contribution in, you think you've conquered the world.", you free your arm from his grip, "Come to the professor's cabin at 2 or else I'll skin you alive. Pathetic loser."

You walk away but Seungcheol has his head spinning. He doesn't get why he got slapped out of nowhere and why the hell would he submit your assignment in his name when he doesn't even know you.

Then the lightbulb in his head goes off.

He immediately corners Jiah.

"What have you done?", he asks angrily.

Jiah is sweating, when she had assured Seungcheol that she would take care of the assignment because he had to aid his father with some business work and would be out of the country for two weeks, she didn't foresee herself completely forgetting about it.

So when she saw a binder kept on a desk, she silently took it and attached Seungcheol's name and details on it, tearing away the original owner's details.

Confident that even if someone caught onto it, they would let it slide just to get on Seungcheol's good side, she never thought it would backfire so bad.

Hence, Seungcheol is currently standing in the professor's cabin admitting to the wrong, head hung low.

You stand straight, head high also glaring at the professor, "What if he had not admitted to doing it? You'd have my whole work credited to him. Next time if something like this happens under my watch, I'll report it to the committee."

The professor gulps nervously and you are walking out not sparing another second.

That's where it all begun. Him knowing your name from the professor and chasing you down to apologise. You unabashedly giving him lectures on authenticity and ethics whenever he approached you.

You frequently get to see him, coincidentally or not. Him trying to make small talks, you ending his approach with an one word answer and moving ahead.

"Are you stalking me?", comes your sudden question one day.

"No, but I do look forward to seeing you, talking to you.", comes his honest answer.

He notices, you also like to keep your circle small. You're seen everywhere with the same two people. Now it's your turn to be amused when one day Mingyu insists on bringing Seungcheol to the musical, the one in which you've contributed to the background score. You're left embarrassed when at the end of the show he yells your name and applauds the loudest because he is mesmerized. That night he treats the whole team to dinner.

"I think Seungcheol likes you.", Eunsoo tells you one day.

"The almighty Choi Seungcheol?", you are laughing, "Soo, I don't match his social status. Have you seen those plastic heiress chasing him? I had even slapped him infront of the whole campus."

"Look, we have become good friends but I do know he approached me because of you.", Mingyu admits, "He definitely likes you."

"Do you like him?", Eunsoo asks you.

"Why would I like him?", you ponder.

Wonwoo is an observer. And with his special skill he deducts that his friend must have had his heart taken.

"So who's the one?", he asks one night when they're both getting ready for bed.

"Who's who?", Seungcheol asks confused.

"The one you like."

"Am I that obvious?"

"Yes. Please it be anyone except for Jiah, I can't tolerate her. Anyways, I know it wouldn't be her...", then Wonwoo goes on about how he spends less time in the dorm room nowadays. How he's always wandering around in the campus which he never did before. How he's consistent in attending the same two specific lectures.

"It's Y/N.", he says shyly, hiding his face behind his palms.

"No wonder, you're a masochist.", Wonwoo lays down on bed, "You like the girl who slapped you."

Seungcheol gasps, utterly embarassed, "Stop blabbering nonsense!"

When he asks you out, instead of being taken out to a fancy restaurant as initially planned you request him to go on a movie date.

It took you five dates to make him know you.

"We don't belong to the same class, Seungcheol."

"I'm not looking for anything temporary, Seungcheol."

"I don't enjoy the luxuries, I'd rather achieve everything on my own, Cheol."

"I like to keep my circle small amd private. Nothing extravagant."

"I like you too but would you accept me after knowing all this?"

The response from him comes as strong as a whirlwind in the form a deep kiss. You might have been hesitant at start but he has always been sure.

Things have gotten better since your birthday. Seungcheol's hostility towards you has decreased and though you want to question him about this certain change, those take a backseat just to not lose what you have at this moment.

He snarks at you less. Listens if you have something to say. Checks upon you occassionally. Wears the attire you choose for him, you both have breakfast & dinner together. But you still sleep in separate rooms but after intimate nights he doesn't leave, rather sleeps in nowadays.

"You should never trust him.", says Chan from the other end.

"What if he's really changed?", you tell him, "Maybe he has finally got that all this revenge agenda is worthless if you can be with the person you love."

"Just ask him.", Chan insists, "You need to understand that being in denial would only hurt you so confront him."

"Okay, if you insist."

Wonwoo is suspicious of Seungcheol. He too like Chan isn't convinced that Seungcheol could change overnight. So he secretly keeps the tabs on him. The fact which disturbs him is Jiah is happy nowadays. If your relationship with Seungcheol improves then Jiah would be anything but happy which leaves him skeptical.

"Don't do anything you'd regret later.", he warns Seungcheol one day. The latter just shrugs off.

Seungcheol was escatic when he started first. It was fun for him to watch how you'd easily trust him. A piece of calk to make you a fool he thought.

He acts as a considering husband in front of you but schemes your downfall behind your back.

"One of those busy days?", he asks one day when he sees you returning from the academy late. It totally catches you off guard but that simple gesture makes you visibily beam as well which doesn't go unnoticed by your husband. He then proceeds to fake concern and show interest when you talk it out.

"How about we go to watch a movie?", he asks one night when you both finish having dinner.

"Will you be able to make time for that?", you ask concerned.

Next, he's grabbing your hand and dragging you out.

"We're in our pyjamas, we can't go out like this, Seungcheol!", you yell in panic when you get his motive.

He doesn't lend you an ear throughout the ride while he's driving you both to the theatre, having it entirely booked to his name.

You can't say much about the movie because Seungcheol's good at distracting you. His dirty whispers, lingering touches and sly looks lead to something unspeakable. Movie long forgotten you're basking in afterglow against your husband's bare chest, in his warm embrace.

"Remember when we were taken out of the theatre by the security after getting caught while making out?"

You laugh at the memory, "We did some real crazy things back then. I could never forget how you walked into the class only in underpants after loosing a bet to me."

Seungcheol response comes out as a scowl as he pinches your sides making you squeal.

You watch him for some moments in silence before mustering the courage and ask him, "Are you really willing to forgive me? Because after what I have done to you, I know it would take a lot more to forgive me."

Seungcheol freezes but gains his compusre quickly and lies through his teeth, "I pondered a lot upon it. You know my mom said the exact thing as you about marriages. So maybe it's a good idea to start anew."

"I-I promise I'll make it up to all the hurt and pain you've been in because of me. I'm so ashamed for treating you like that back then, wish I could take it all back.", your voice cracks, tears pooling in the corner of your eyes, "We'll be happy Seungcheol."

He doesn't believe you. But you do.

Then this goes on. He tries to slip into your life, your circle, your family casually so that when he hits later, the blow catastrophes you.

"I'm currently working on a piece.", you reveal to him one night, "And I'm planning to release the composition, it's midway.", a sigh escapes your lips as you snuggle closer in your husband's arms, "You're the first one to know."

Seungcheol mirrors your smile, pressing a feather kiss on your head, "I'm honoured. And I'm so proud of you.", he laughs when he says, "I wonder how Seungkwan's gonna react when he comes to know that he wasn't the first one to know."

"Oh God, he's gonna be a bitch about it.", you exclaim about it.

He surprises you with gifts, visits you in the academy and takes you to dates. All of it just to keep tabs on you, make you slip out crucial information about anything.

"When are you going to take her down?", Jiah ask impatiently, "You're unnecessarily stalling time."

"I do have gotten something crucial on her. But the more I dwell into this act, the more she'll be hurt.", Seungcheol assures, "Just do what you've been told to and don't act so obvious, specially around Wonwoo, I don't know why but he has been lately saying stuffs. Seems he has grown closer to Y/N and her circle."

Though he wasn't interested at all, but for the sake of fooling you again, he attends the competition you & Seungkwan had taken part in.

Though he would never admit, he was intrigued as he watched you perform again, the nostalgia had hit him hard. He still isn't sure if the loudest claps those came from him were just for eyewash or out of genuinity.

Though he didn't want to spend his birthday with you, somehow it ended up being the most memorable one. When you had wished him dot at midnight and gathered his family and beloved people for a private party where you played him a romantic piece which you had composed just for him as a birthday present, in front of everyone, he wonders if love laced aura radiating from you was real. He wonders if the swell in his chest was just not because of you.

Every time he thinks he's slipping, he reminds himself of the heart burns, the trauma and again he's back to his agenda.

There's a fine line between pretense and reality. And that line is starting to blur for Seungcheol. The worst part, he hasn't even realised it yet.

So when he makes time to visit your academy, he thinks he's acting out according to his plan. But he doesn't realise he goes there just to watch you teach.

He doesn't realise that when plans those dates he actually looks forward to spending time with you.

When you were down with fever, he took you to the doctor not to look good to you but out of genuine worry.

He now shares his bedroom with you. All your belongings have shifted from your room to his. He doesn't like it when he finds the other side of the empty in the mornings. He doesn't let you go if he catches you while you try to sneak off, he whispers sweet nothings in your ear.

He knows about your schedules and nowadays he frees his schedule when you ask him to come and watch you perform. He anticipates your performance until you're on the stage, still claps the loudest and rushes to the backstage with a bouquet just to hug and tell how proud he is of you.

He doesn't fuck you and he might yet not be aware but makes love to you.

"Cherry!", he calls out one day when the two of you were goofing around and both of you freeze instantly. It was a name you both called each other when you both dated and were so in love. And now, that's what falls back to your lips. Like the good old days.

"You have changed.", Jiah says with disappointment, "Do you really not want revenge?"

"What rubbish.", Seungcheol laughs, "It's all just acting.", but the assertiveness in his voice fluctuates.

"So when are you gonna do the needful?", she raises her voice and Seungcheol glares at her.

"I'll decide when to do what.", he snarks, "Doesn't concern you, so stop being pushy."

And Jiah is sure that Seungcheol isn't determined anymore, that his feelings are resurfacing and interfering with the plan.

So she decides to take the matter into her hands once again, like she did years ago.

"Tell me you're joking.", Seungcheol laughs as his gaze sweeps at the faces, "Ok fine you guys got me. Good try."

There's an eerie silence clogging the room.

"Guys, I said y'all got me!", Seungcheol says this time a bit anxious, "You won! Now can we stop all this drama?"

You roll your eyes, as if unbothered, "There's no prank going on here. What I said was true."

You step closer to him, "I'll say it again so listen carefully. You were just a bet to me.", you say unapologetically, "Those guys", your index points at Mingyu and Eunsoo, "gave me a bet to make you, 'the enigmatic Choi Seungcheol'", a mocking laugh follows, "who nobody could bag yet", you're now objectifying him, "make fall in you love with me."

Seungcheol just listens. But he refuses to believe.

You are laughing again. Your hands grab his face moving it side to side, "I was so skeptical because you seemed scary. I mean you do have looks, money and power. But who could guess that you'd be so easy."

You circle around him, "All I had to do was create this image of aloof, private kind of girl and bam! you were circling around me like a puppy. I must admit, I was surprised at my own acting. Never made you have a doubt any second."

The first tear rolls down his cheek, when Seungcheol says, "Was none of it real for you, all the time we spent together?"

"Are you not getting it?", you ask annoyed, "No. None of it was real."

Seungcheol rushes to Mingyu and grabs his collar, "Gyu, please tell me it's all a lie. Just say it and I'd believe it in a blink."

Mingyu stays quiet, eyes lowered.

He then grabs Eunsoo, "Soo, I know you're the most rational one among us, so please please I'm begging you to tell. Tell me whatever she's telling is not true."

Eunsoo refuses to meet his gaze, she stays silent as well.

Seungcheol frees her and stands motionless for moments. He processes everything that he has heard since the moment he stepped into the room. He thinks over but he still doesn't want to believe.

Because he loves you to much to let you go. So he decides to be irrational just one time.

Seungcheol wipes the tears and walks upto you. When you look at him, your heart twists within your chest.

"Y/N", he looks at you so tenderly, "But none of it matters.", his hands travel up to caress your face, "Because all of it was true from my side. I love you, Y/N. Love you so much that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. It's you or no one.", he says so sincerely, "It was wrong to start off as a bet but I want to forget all this."

He then kneels on his knees, "Y/N, let's start this relationship afresh, on the right foot."

You panic because this was not you had expected. You had expected him to throw tantrum, say mean things, even slap you. But none of that happens.

"I don't love you, Seungcheol --"

"Then let me court you. Let me try my luck. Let's see if I could make you fall for me?", he's radiating so much love and grief that it suffocates all the three of you.

This won't do, you think, your plan is failing.

"I have been sleeping with people behind your back the whole time we dated.", you say unabashedly, "I have climbed beds and you never got to know."

Mingyu gasps, Eunsoo freezes at your words.

"It's okay", Seungcheol assures, "Because we weren't real. But now--"

"What makes you think I wouldn't do the same even after being an actual thing with you?", you scoff, "I might actually cheat on you this time. I would have you, your money, the luxuries. I might also see other people and like now, you'd never know.

Seungcheol feels like you've stabbed his heart and twisted the knife. There's an unfathomable bleeding.

"But you never used me, nor my money, none of the luxuries to get something. If you wanted, you could have, have it all.", he argues, "It might have started as an act but at some point it must have become real. Or why would you make me aware of this stupid bet if you didn't have feelings for me?"

"Stop being a sucker.", you snark at him, "It's not like you won't girls. Why are you acting like a loser when you know I don't, I won't reciprocate your feelings?"

Seungcheol gets up, with shaky hands and bloodshot eyes.

"Because even if you didn't, I have loved you honestly.", comes Seungcheol's response.

"I won the bet and lost interest in you.", you look at him condescendingly, "I felt bad for you, so right now I'm letting you know the truth. So just leave, forget about all this and carry on with your life. You were nothing but another notch on my bedpost. I would admit, I had fun. Thanks for that."

Seungcheol gets up and thinks about how he made a fool of himself. Thinks about how right he was about people taking advantage of him because of the baggage that comes with him. Thinks about how wrong it was of him to let his guard down.

"Well played, y'all.", he claps and chuckles bitterly with eyes pooling with tears, "Well played.", he then throws a glare at you which sends down a shiver down your & your friends' spine.

"Make sure to not cross paths with me again. Or I'll make you regret your existance."

And you made sure that's the last time he saw you.

"I have to be overseas for an important deal.", Seungcheol says laying back on his office chair, "It will be a one week trip and the connectivity is so bad, I'd probably lose touch with everyone while I'll be there."

You go over to his side and stand behind to rub his shoulders making your husband groan in relief, "Tell me about it, happens with Chan as well. When are you leaving?"

Seungcheol takes your hand and pulls you to make you sit on his lap when he says, "Month end. Y/N, I was thinking that...", he pauses to look at you before continuing, "If you could make some time and come with me. We didn't have our honeymoon yet so maybe we could make a good use of this trip."

You smile softly at him, "I'd love to but remember I had told you about working on a composition, it's release is set on by the month end."

"Oh right!", Seungcheol exclaims as he recollects, "God, I'm sorry it skipped my mind.", he instantly sullens, "But I don't think I'd be able to postpone this trip. I'm sorry I couldn't be there with you."

You peck his pouty lips and trace them with your thumb softly, "I can guess how important it would be, so don't worry. Anyways our first anniversary is coming as well, we can plan something later."

"Woah, we're getting through it?", Seungcheol laughs, "I can't believe, we made it."

"All because of you.", your mood shifts when you say, "Just because you had it in you to give me a second chance. That alone was enough."

"I had loved you back then", Seungcheol exhales sharply because of what he's going to say now. He smiles when he realises his feelings, realises that without hesitation he's ready to say it again. Gently holding your face he confesses, "I think I'm falling for you again."

You go absolutely stiff in his hold.

Seungcheol carefully searches your face for any signs of discomfort or uneasiness but he finds none.

"Am I dreaming?", you ask him animatedly, "Can you pinch me? No..", you shake your head, "Would you say it again?"

His eyes turn into crescent moons, as he flashes you the adorable teethy smile.

"I've fallen for you again.", he admits.

"I-I... Seungcheol.. I--", you stutter unable to wrap your mind around your husband's confession.

It was so hard to let you go. It killed to break your heart. Only if I could turn back time, only if I could tell how much I loved you as well.

The thoughts inside your head become louder making you so overwhelmed that now you are sobbing. It's uncontrollable and it makes Seungcheol have to rock you gently side to side while downing your face on his shoulder.

"I-I can't believe this is happening.", you don't face him, saying the words with your face still perched, while wrapping your arms around him tighter, "I love you so much, I know it'd be hard for you to believe but please just trust me on this."

Seungcheol doesn't speak, but he knows that he wants to believe you. Because love is about taking chances, so he might take it as well.

Once you calm down in his embrace, he watches you. He watches the gear in your head turning so he does what he could do to take your mind off of things.

He calls Wonwoo and says, "Don't let anyone into my cabin until you get another call from me. Also, don't connect anyone to the telecom."

Then he's flipping the phone somewhere and he gives you that one look which is enough to melt you into a puddle before his lips, tongue and hands start to work on your whole body.

"Congratulations!", Chan says hugging you, "I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks for making time and coming to the event. Also, the inspiration comes from you all", you say pulling away, "Credit goes to you too."

"Bluff.", Seungkwan comes to pitch in, "The theme is love, then clearly inspiration must be someone named  'Choi Seungcheol'."

You roll eyes hitting him on the arm but laugh nonetheless.

"Look she isn't even denying!", Mingyu joins in to throw a banter, "But I must say you're okay compared to Eunsoo, she's hopeless."

Chan quirks brow at the statement and asks, "Am I missing something?"

You hook your arm into his, saying, "Eunsoo had an itty bitty crush on Wonwoo at uni days which gradually got away. But now that he's back and into our circle, looking like a four course meal according to her, she thinks her crush is relapsing."

"You make it sound like it's cancer.", Eunsoo finally quips in, "Anyways doesn't matter, there's no scope, I must move on. Good thing Seungcheol took Wonwoo with him, out of sight, out of mind."

"I miss my husband. He didn't even wanna leave for the trip to be with me.", you sigh, leaning on your brother's shoulder, "I can't even contact him. Three more days, ugh sounds like an eternity."

"Oh god, I might puke at the lovesickness.", Seungkwan fake gags, "Disgusting."

"It's good to see that you're happy.", Chan whispers just to you while others indulge in several topics to tease one another, "It's such a relief. I would like to talk to Seungcheol once he's back. If he really loves you and makes you feel like home then I'm ready to mend things as well."

You just nod and let the moment sink in. Your pupils dilate as you see the smiles on your friends' faces who have been there with you through thick and thin. Your mind lingers back the proud expression on your parents face. The heartiest congratulations that you received from your in-laws. You tilt your head to look at your brother who always has been your anchor, your biggest supporter. All of them have been present at the composition release event and now they are present at your home to extend the celebration. The parents take leave after sometime to let the peers have fun.

Your home, as you say it proudly now, a place you share with your loving husband, who has forgiven you for the scarred past and shares companionship with you.

Everything is falling back to place and you wish it stays the same. Your eyes fall heavy and you drift off.

The sleep must have been good because it's 10 in the morning when you wake up to see yourself tucked in sheets in your bedroom. The hall is empty and you immediately understand that your brother must have taken it upon himself to drive away your lovely but clingy-when-drunk friends from your house.

You try to call Seungcheol but as usual he's unreachable, so is Wonwoo, so is everyone who has gone to the trip. Dejected, you leave him a series of undelivered texts in hope it somehow reaches him and decide to take a bath which involves you to be away from your phone, just relaxing music and another round of sleep in the bathtub with your favourite bath bombs.

Not sure how long you've fallen asleep but you're woken up by loud voices from the other side of the door. Quickly freshening up you get ready as your phone keeps ringing or dinging because of notifications. Ignoring that you get out of your bedroom to find very distressed Chan and Seungkwan waiting for you.

"What happened guys?", you ask in concern.

Chan makes you sit and you see the two exchanging nervous glances which in turn makes you nervous as well.

"Y/N..", Seungkwan starts off, he exhales sharply and says, "Your work is being accused of plagiarism."

The ground beneath you slips. You look at Seungkwan and then at Chan.

Chan sounds pissed when he says, "Apparently a local artist has already released the composition five days ago, meaning four days before your release event."

You are panicking, shaking, tears are streaming down your face, "I-I didn't steal anyone's work. I-I have composed them, they're my work. Trust me guys, please..I--"

"We trust you, Y/N.", Seungkwan runs to you and rubs your arms, "I have been with you through it. I have seen it all."

"I was studying it with Kwan before coming here, everything is same. Every piece, every insertion, every note.", Chan says, "It looks like someone wholly copied your work.

Seungkwan sighs, "I feel so ashamed but all I can think of is somefrom the academy doing so."

"That's possible.", Chan asks, "But from what I know no one knew about this except you both. Even the event was announced just before a day or two to the people of academy."

Seungkwan asserts, "Everything was done remotely. Y/N do you recollect telling anyone else about this at any stage apart from Seungcheol?"

"Seungcheol knew?", Chan quips surprised and you are shaking your head.

"No. Leave him out of this, he wouldn't have done anything.", you warn your brother.

"I'm sorry Y/N, but I can't leave anyone out of this.", Chan says, "Someone is trying to harm you and I would see through the end of it. Be it anyone."

Eunsoo and Mingyu are stumbling upon while crossing the threshold. Seungkwan briefs them about what have been deducted till now and they decide to stick by your side while Chan and Seungkwan rushes out to the field to gather evidence and facts.

"I have already talked to my father.", Mingyu informs you, "He himself will aid with any legal advice. Don't worry everything will be sorted out."

"I had a talk with my mother. She also ensured that we'd broadcast only the solid proofs that pertains to the truth. We have faith in you, it'll get over soon.", Eunsoo ensures you, "Infact we have had our reporters dig in the matter as well."

Soon after your parents arrive followed by your in-laws. Your phone keeps ringing and no one allows you to hold it. Eventually, the device is turned off and kept somewhere, out of your reach.

Among all of the ominous thoughts involving losing your career, unable to pursue your passion anymore, being deemed as a thief, outcasted by the society and all others, the one that prevails is would Seungcheol believe you?

Two days go by and there's not much progress. You strike continuously as the most trending person on the internet, on news papers, in some tabloids boldly called out as a thief, the others focused more on why there's no statement from your own company or the Choi's themselves. The only thing that keeps you at bay is Seungcheol's return tomorrow.

You are flabbergasted at how can the two pieces of work be exact same unless someone copied it. You decide to visit the academy and search for any leads. Just as you are about to drive off your phone buzzes.

I have some information that would benefit you. Meet me at The Ritz at 11.

The text was from Jiah and you're instantly drawn to how Jiah could be the one involved in this.

"Let's skip the formalities.", Jiah smiles as she places some documents and an usb drive in front of you.

There's a laptop kept on the table, the screen displaying an audio ready to be played.

"Aren't you eager to know what's happening and why it's happening to you?", Jiah asks with a cunning smile which irks you.

"Stop wasting my time and reveal if you know something.", you snark back, "And don't think I'd believe a word you say without any proof because I don't trust you a bit."

"Seungcheol--"

"Don't you dare bring my husband into this, Jiah!"

Your heart shrinks because of the look Jiah gives you. No way your husband would be involved into all this, no way he'd go as far as to ruin your career.

"I have done it. I have paid a staff in your academy to steal your work, made it release before your event and hence you're being charged with plagiarism.", Jiah confesses and before you could charge her she drops the bomb, "Your husband, Choi Seungcheol is the mastermind behind it."

"I'll cut your tongue for speaking rubbish--"

"How do you think I knew about all this? Who else apart from Seungcheol knew about this?", Jiah asks. Her gaze falls on the laptop and she gestures you to play it.

"Y/N is working on a composition and is planning to release it sometime later. We should use this opportunity to bring her down."

The audio stops and you recognise the voice as your husband's. The jab hits hard, hard enough to make you loose your footing. Jiah is quick to hold you and make you sit on the chair.

"Have a look at these papers."

Your hands are shaky when you pick up the papers. You freeze on reading the heading. Your hands fall to the sides once you finish reading it whole. Those bunch of papers were about transferring your shares of the academy under the Choi's name.

Jiah doesn't give you time to settle as she plays another recording.

"Are the papers ready? What will happen if I take her lifeline away from her?"

"When are you going to take her down? You're unnecessarily stalling time."

"The more I dwell into this act, the more she'll be hurt. Just do what you've been told to and don't act so obvious, specially around Wonwoo, I don't know why but he has been lately saying stuffs. Seems he has grown closer to Y/N and her circle."

You sit there motionless. The person you considered your world was the one planning to stab you.

"You can get these recordings examined.", Jiah tells you, "To be sure that I haven't manipulated or tampered with the recordings."

She takes a sit beside you and observes you carefully. The triumphant smile that graces her lips on seeing you getting trampled, makes her believe that now's the time when she could spew any lies and you'd believe it. She knows she has won over.

"The plan was to take advantage of your helplessness and make you transfer the shares in the disguise of helping you clearing your name.", Jiah leans in closer to your face, "Why do you think Seungcheol is out of country out of all the time? He's trying to build up the urgency so that as soon as he walks in you'd be at his feet asking for help."

Jiah has accepted that she would never have Seungcheol to herself, so not at fear of loosing anything she's going all out as for to separate you two.

"The Choi's are so powerful that no matter how much you try, there's no way you could prove your innocence.", Jiah says as her sinisteric gaze falls on you again, "You can take all these proofs, additionally, I'll even provide the details pertaining to the person who stole your work and make them confess."

"W-Why are you helping me?"

"Either way it breaks you two apart and that's the motive. Knowing the truth would hurt you the most."

Her heels clank loudly as she walks out, leaving you behind, defeated and devastated.

How foolish of you to believe that Seungcheol would forgive you easily? How naive of you that you fell for his act of a doting husband.

You wonder if this is how he had felt after being betrayed by you. You run your hands over your chest to soothe the ache. You scream, throw down anything you could grab, stomp over the place but nothing helps you in calming down.

Three hours have passed and you're still in that damned conference room. Scathed, scrotched and scattered.

You inhale, exhale and repeat. Then you're calling your brother.

"Chan, arrange for a press conference tomorrow evening. Also stop looking further into the case. I have evidence to prove that I'm innocent.", you say into the phone, "Gather everyone at the academy, none of the Choi's though. Ask Eunsoo if they would broadcast it on their network. Tell Mingyu to have Mr. Kim free some time for me this week if possible. Make the checks now, we can't delay it further."

Seungcheol's boarding the plane back home when he comes to know of the situation. He feels sick to stomach when all that's happening feels too known to him. Though he might have wanted this to happen once but now he can't even fantom the thought of doing something so viscious to you.

He calls you but you don't pick up. He calls others, makes Wonwoo call them too but it's fruitless.

He's anxious throughout the way, worried sick, feels guilty for not being by your side when you're going through so much. He hopes you're not beating your much, wants to hold, wants to assure you that everything will be fine, that you have him.

Wonwoo is running through all the red lights equally anxious. He wants to go inside and check upon you but he steps aside as he watches Seungcheol rushing into the house, hoping you'll be okay.

Seungcheol rustles through the corridor and slam opens the door, hurriedly making a sprint inside the house.

It's afternoon but the house, entire hallway is dimly lit. Suddenly the lights go on and he spots you.

Something about you is different, it's almost eerie. The black dress you're wearing, the cold gaze your throwing is unsettling.

"Baby--", you hold out your hand when Seungcheol starts to walk towards you.

Seungcheol halts, he feels the grimness in your aura.

"Welcome back, Seungcheol. I have been waiting for you.", you say apathetically, "Take a seat, I have some things to discuss with you, before I leave for the press conference."

That's when Seungcheol notices your finger void of the wedding ring.

→ Do not copy, re-post, translate, or share any of my works on other platforms! All stories are copyrighted, joonsytip. ©️

[reveluving]

SHY WIFE AND PRICE....ARE YOU FREAKIN KIDDING ME!!!!!Imagine this Adonis of a man spoiling her from the first date and even her being shy, the 141(plus Kate) KNOW who's the boss( he ALWAYS have a photo and a story about Mrs.Price and it's just the cutest thing how his eyes light up that they also love her)

CUUUUUUTE AAAAAA!! GNAWING ON MY BARS RN!! And thank you for specifying the Adonis of a man bit! Can't forget about that!! ☝🏼😌💗

Includes: tooth-rotting fluff!

COD x shy!wife thots closed! Thank you, everyone, for your time & amazing minds! I sincerely hope I can do this again with y'all soon! 💌

Come & check out my COD m.list!

In any case of our beloved shy!wife fics, especially with his line of work, just expect your husband to have a polaroid or five of you ready.

And John is no different.

You must be a special one if you managed to catch the eyes of the captain, and to clarify, you are!

John knew there was no going back to his mundane yet chaotic lifestyle the second he asked you out. It took everything in him not to chuckle at your look of disbelief, your lips parting just a tad bit. He didn’t want you to think he was making fun of you, you were genuinely adorable with your expressiveness. And though had told him you were open to anything, even specifying that you wouldn’t mind anything small and simple, he didn’t let you.

He took you out to dinner on your first date, nothing too fancy, though that couldn’t be said the same on the later dates, gifted you a small but beautiful bouquet and the rest was history. 

And amazingly, he gets even better at spoiling you after he puts a ring on your finger. As if he wasn't already good since your first date!

Kisses or cakes, hugs or huge bouquets, he'll always find a way to spoil you. Because you—your smiles, giggles and laughs, your time and your love for him means so much.

More than you can imagine.

A sweetheart, a gentleman. You couldn’t ask for a better man to fall for you, though, like him, you were mind-blown to even think a man, no, a hunk like him showed interest in you. Made you feel wanted, special—someone he wanted to be with with zero hesitation. 

He wouldn’t be able to forget your shy smile, how you’d mindlessly trail your fingers across the table or your lap out of embarrassment, how your fingers curled around his hand, despite averting your gaze from his cheeky smile many dates later.

And though the wedding was small, to him, it felt like a sweet fairytale.

To finally be able to call you Mrs Price.

Laswell had the privilege to meet you first before everyone else. She enjoys the sisterly moments you’d have, a breath of fresh air from the craziness, to say the least, that she has to witness in her lifetime. Always appreciates you checking in on her via messages or if she’s lucky, a quick call. And it becomes a tradition of hers to jokingly remind John to take care of you and not to drive you crazy.

And then, there were the boys.

Johnny was the one who asked about you, catching the man looking at one of the polaroids of you with nothing but love in his eyes. Longing to get it over with and come home to you. Johnny didn’t think he’d be willing to talk about you at all, let alone more than a few sentences, i.e. privacy reasons or he just prefers to be on his own. Take in the quiet moment before any hell breaks loose later on.

Understandable, so imagine not only his surprise but also the rest of the 141 when he talks about you. First, with pure endearment in his tone, then the story gets romantic, cheesier even, but all three of them listened to his stories like no other (read: a father telling his kids how he met their mother), even if they acted like they were just casually fixing their weapons or thinking to themselves.

C’mon, he knows them!

Like John, you treat the boys like your very own. If Johnny, Kyle or Simon wanted to be doted over—to be cared for, something they haven’t felt in a while even if some of them wouldn’t want to admit it, then you’d give them millions! Even something as little as a handwritten message or passing them a few words i.e. take care and good luck via John.

Visiting the Price’s house now feels like a family thing. Again, it’s cheesy, it’s corny, and maybe even childish to some, for a bunch of men to be looking forward to these visits like a child being away from their parents at a dorm during college, none of you cared. Not you. Not John. And most importantly, not his boys.

None of them could have imagined your words to stick in their minds in dire times. A little motivation to return safely. Back to the base, for John, and back the Price’s home, for you.

“Johnny, I’m out of a few things in the kitchen. Could you drop by the store and get these for me, please?” “Can do!”

“Simon, have you seen John’s car keys? I can’t find them anywhere.” “I can help look for it w’you.”

“Kyle, I told you I can handle the fireplace.” “S’not that hard. Don’t worry!”

Home.

Bonus: A lil’ story I’m still working on with the COD men + dogs includes John with an American Akita. Similar to Phillip and Kai, John’s gigantic pupper tends to prefer listening to you to him.

His intolerance for certain people or animals drops in an instant the second he sees you, turning into a baby (your baby, might John add) but he also knows when duty calls. Ears tilting back and growling at a stranger who doesn’t know, or worse; ignores that you're taken.

And in John’s words: good boy.

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

[holylulusworld]

Indifferent (1)

Summary: Your father wanted a bond between you and the Barnes Empire. No matter what.

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Warnings: arranged marriage, angst, mentions of impotence, arguments, mafia au, hand around throat (no choking/non-sexual), strong reader, mentions of cheating/attempted cheating?

Indifferent Masterlist

He glares at you from across the dining table. His upper lip curls when you dig into the too-dry chicken his new cook prepared for you and your not-so-lovely husband.

“I’m not satisfied—” he leaves open what crawled up his ass today, but you know, it’s not the food. James Buchanan Barnes is bad at hiding he despises you when you are alone.

“You are not satisfied?” You chuckle dryly and drop the fork onto the table with a loud clank. “Why don’t you ask me how I feel?” You get up, chair scarping loudly over the expensive parquet.

His eyes darken when you dare to walk toward the end of the huge table. “What is it that bugs you, love?” He spats the last word as if it burned his tongue.

“You!” You throw your hands up. “This marriage is a farce. If I could, I’d be out and about in the blink of an eye. Everything is better than living with an indifferent, moody, and impotent man!”

“IMPOTENT?” Bucky rises from his seat. He squares his jaw and clenches his metal fist. For a second, you’re scared to the bones, but you brush it off.

“YES! If not I wouldn’t ride a pillow every night,” you spat in his face. “Just you know, I’m going to look for a lover first thing today. And I won’t be subtle about it. Everyone knows by now that this marriage is a bad joke. I refuse to be the butt of the joke, though.”

“You won’t ruin the union of our empires over selfish reasons.” You gasp when you end up pressed into the wall, Bucky’s metal hand wrapped around your throat. He leans closer to brush his nose over your cheek. “Even though, I don’t think you’ll find a lover anytime soon. Who would go for you if they can have some other girl? I’d go for someone else too if only I could…”

He drops his hand from your throat and smirks. Bucky steps away, flashes you a smile, and storms out of the dining room.

You stand there, shell-shocked at his outburst as you rub your throat. His words hurt like hell. You drop your eyes to look down at your body. It’s been a while since you felt this kind of hurt. 

Maybe it’s you. Maybe Bucky isn’t interested in being with you because of your looks.

“Hurry the fuck up,” Bucky barks outside your shared bedroom. “Woman, I don’t have all day. My parents want to have lunch with the two of us. Just put a smile on and come here.”

You walk out of the bedroom with an armful of your clothes. “I think it’s for the best to not keep the act up. We are married, but this doesn’t mean I must spend time with your father.”

Bucky watches you walk toward the west wing of the mansion. He follows you hot on your heels, all the while throwing questions at you. 

“Where are you going? What are you up to? Y/N, answer me!”

“I’ll stay at the west wing from now on. Annie will help me bring my belongings to the west wing. You can do whatever you want to at your wing. Just stay out of my sight.”

You walk away, leaving Bucky stunned and angry. He grits his teeth and calls you names as you slam the heavy door parting the west wing from the entrance hall shut.

“What the fuck!” He mutters under his breath. So far, you suffered in silence ignoring his unbearable behavior, and the openly shown hatred towards you and your marriage. Now you riot and he doesn’t handle it well.

“Where’s your lovely wife?” George cocks his head as his son sits down on their table. “I thought you said she’ll be here too.”

“She’s not feeling well today,” Bucky lies straight into his father’s face. What else can he do? How shall he explain that the bond your parents forced upon the both of you lies in ruins after not even six months into marriage?

“Ah, she finally snapped,” Winnifred remarks while studying the menu. She smiles to herself, while her husband and Bucky turn their heads toward her. “Good for her. I was rooting for Y/N.”

She slowly closes the menu and lies it down on the table. Winnifred doesn’t give away more. She orders her food and a glass of white wine. Your mother-in-law is in the mood to celebrate.

It wasn’t a lie. She was rooting for you to take matters into your own hands. It took you longer than she liked but now, she’ll lean back and watch her son grovel.

“What do you mean?” Bucky and George say in unison. They are surprised at Winnifred’s answer.

“You forced that lovely woman into marriage and didn’t even try to make her feel welcome. Did you at least give her orgasms?” She chuckles. Bucky’s face turns red, he swallows thickly, and uncomfortably shifts in his seat. “I see. The poor woman suffers in silence.” She sighs now. “Alright, I’ll give her the number of our gardener. He’s got a son who will gladly help Y/N take care of her secret garden.”

“What?” George is at a loss for words while his son tries to forget that his mother was asking him about your non-existent sex life. “Mother!”

“What? I’m a red-blooded woman, just like Y/N. If you don’t find satisfaction with your husband, you must look elsewhere. Men do it all the time.” She shrugs before taking a sip of her white wine. “Y/N is a beautiful woman in her best years. Her sexual drive must be over the top after six months of not getting any attention.”

“Winni, stop saying things like that in public,” George snarls. “You are making a scene.”

“I’m not making a scene,” Winnifred bites back. “I try to make our son see that his wife will turn toward someone else in no time if he doesn’t take care of her every whim soon. You’ll weaken our bond, and this will shatter both of our empires. Is that what you want, son?”

Is that what you want? His mother’s words echoed in his mind the whole way back home. Of course, he doesn’t want to weaken your empires. 

The only purpose of your marriage was to strengthen not only his father’s empire but your father’s empire too.

If you turn toward someone else, an enemy maybe to get back at Bucky, the empires could crumble and fall only because he’s too stubborn to let you inside his life.

Bucky enters the mansion, a grim expression coloring his features. If only you weren’t so infuriating and stubborn he could’ve easily settled for you.

But no.

Y/N Y/L/N is the most annoying and bratty woman he ever met.

Sometimes Bucky believes you’re riling him up on purpose.

“Wait—” he stops in his tracks. Bucky furrows his brows as he tries to recall all of your little fights. “Is she doing it on purpose? Maybe she wants me to lose control and just…”

“Where are you going?” Bucky follows you out of the mansion. “Y/N stop being a brat. I asked you a question and I expect you to answer my damn question!”

“Out,” you glance over your shoulder at Bucky. “Your mother sent me something interesting and now, I want to find out if it’s for me.”

“She did what?” Bucky looks like he’s about to have a heart attack. He pants heavily and clutches his fists to his sides. “You won’t leave the ground for the time being.”

You huff. “Try me.”

He closes the distance between the two of you with three long steps to grab your arm. “Don’t tempt me to throw you over my shoulder! You’ll go back inside and listen to what I have to say.”

You laugh in his face. “Make me!”

Part 2

Tags in reblog.

[floatyflowers]

Dark Atticus Finch x Reader

You tried to pack your bags in the dead of night, hands trembling as you shoved clothes into your suitcase as quietly as possible.

Every creak of the floorboards felt like a scream in the silence of the house.

And you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, even though you’d made sure Atticus was asleep in the other room.

The past few months had been suffocating; his calm, reassuring demeanor had shifted into something far darker.

His insistence on knowing where you were at all times, who you spoke to, and why you needed anyone else besides him.

What had started as a protective concern had grown into chains, locking you into a life that wasn’t yours.

He’d always framed his possessiveness as love, but you could see the cracks now, the way his soft words carried unspoken threats of what will happen if you leave, the way his sharp eyes followed you even in the most mundane of moments.

As you zipped the suitcase, you felt a shadow fall over you.

Your breath caught in your throat as you turned to see Atticus standing in the doorway, his face obscured by the dim light, but his voice calm and terrifyingly composed.

“Going somewhere?” he asked, his voice laced with quiet authority that sent chills down your spine.

His presence filled the room, and suddenly, you realized how futile this attempt was.

You weren’t just leaving a house, you were trying to escape a man who saw you as his world, and he wasn’t going to let that world slip away so easily.

"I have made my decision, I'm going to leave."

"And the children?" Atticus asks.

"I will visit them...you are a good father, a good honourable lawyer, but you are not a good husband to me, Atticus."

He stood there, silent for a long moment, his piercing gaze fixed on you, calculating.

The faint glimmer of sadness in his eyes was overshadowed by something else, something darker.

“You’ve thought this through,” he said finally, his voice even and measured, as if discussing a client’s case.

But the way he stepped closer, his broad frame blocking the doorway, made your heart race with unease.

“I understand your grievances. Truly, I do. But have you thought about what this would mean? For Scout and Jem? For the family we’ve built? For you?”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, even as your knees felt weak.

“I’ve thought of everything, Atticus. I’ve endured everything, this isn’t a decision I’ve made lightly.” Your voice wavered, but you pressed on.

“The children will adjust, and so will you, this isn’t healthy, Ican’t live like this anymore.”

He tilted his head slightly, his hands resting in his pockets with a deceptive casualness.

“And what do you think is waiting for you out there?” he asked, his voice low but laced with something chilling.

“Do you think the world is kinder than me? Safer? Do you think you’ll find someone who knows you as I do, someone who will fight for you, protect you, love you as I do?”

His words, though spoken softly, struck with the weight of a hammer, and you felt a lump rising in your throat.

“This isn’t love, Atticus,” you said, forcing the words out.

“It’s control and it's suffocating.”

For a moment, his mask slipped, and you saw the raw desperation beneath.

But just as quickly, the mask was back. He stepped closer still, his shadow looming over you, his voice dropping to an almost whisper.

“You think you can leave me, but you underestimate me, darling?"

He whispers out the question.

"You see, I’ve already made my decision too. You can be upset, you can cry, you can hate me if you must, but you’re not going anywhere.”

His hand reached out, gentle yet powerful, as he brushed a stray hair from your face.

“You are my wife. And I will not let you ruin this family. Not for yourself. Not for anyone else.”

[myownwholewildworld]

requiescat in pace (a "per aspera ad astra" drabble)

main masterlist | series masterlist | read on ao3 pairing: marcus acacius x emperor's daughter!reader. summary: you learn of marcus' son's death. a/n: welp... yea. can what i say, i enjoy making these two suffer c: apologies for the brief passenger's lyrics references. i appreciate comments and reblogs, they make me happy knowing that people enjoy my writing <3 take care x warnings: 18+, mdni. angst (what a surprise). mentions of death. marcus says "my lady" and i think that should be a warning. let's just assume that this whole series is pure angst, alright? w/c: 2.1k

“Did you offer your condolences to General Acacius, filia mea (my daughter)?”

Your father’s question broke the trance you had sunk into, the bronze spoon falling from your trembling fingers onto the porcelain plate set in front of you.

Leaning back, you looked at your father as if he had spoken a different language. Surely you misheard him — your mind still numb with grief, unable to process anything since you received the news of your husband’s demise.

It had been three days and the gaping hole in your heart had only gotten bigger. Like an umbra lurking in the shadows, you had stayed in your shared bedroom, crying your sorrow onto Resius’ breastplate, hugging the last piece of him you would ever hold. You grieved for your love but also for the life you would never spend with him, for all those precious moments that would remain in your memory as what if’s gnawing at the confines of your mind.

But now, right now, your pain lessened for a second, your brain focusing on something else.

“What do you mean, Caesar?” you whispered, voice cracking in the last inflexion.

The Emperor eyed you from across the dining table, silence lingering and stretching in the space between you. Your heartbeat picked up its pace, the wait almost forcing you up to stand on your feet.

“General Acacius lost his heir at the battle of Sarmizegetusa. He has asked to return to Dacia to retrieve the body of his son and bring him back home for proper burial,” he explained with caution, watching your every expression.

Your heart had now climbed up your throat, the pulse wild in your eardrums. You hadn’t misheard, your father had said Acacius very clearly, dragging the word out.

Mind racing, you fidgeted with your hands on your lap, twisting them in despair as you tried to recall your conversation with him a few days ago. “He’s resting now,” he had said when you asked about Augustus.

Resting. You had assumed he meant that his son was back at his villa, resting from the extraneous physical toll a battle would take on the body. Not for one second had you considered that Marcus actually meant resting in peace.

You had been so blind, letting your own grief consume you, you had not noticed the tells in the General’s behaviour. The feeble smile, the downcast almost solemn expression, the stiffened nod he gave you, the brevity of his response. It all made sense now, and you couldn’t help but feel… selfish. So drowned in your sorrow, Acacius had kept it together so you could cry your loss in his embrace.

Your stomach churned at the thought — the General had no one left by his side. No wife and no son waiting for his return, not even his best friend. How would he have felt in the emptiness of his home with no one there to console him? You at least had your family and closest friends, who had checked on you from time to time to ensure you were safe.

Had someone checked on the General?

“May I take my leave, pater (father)?” you requested with your gaze averted, a sudden need to find General Acacius, your hands twisting uncontrollably.

You needed to know he was… okay. Alive? He had talked to someone at least, asked to go back to Dacia to get his only son back home. You could only imagine his heartbreak, the hell he must be going through. The thought of him dealing with all of it alone… it fractured a piece of your soul.

The Emperor watched you attentively, eyes lingering on the full plate in front of you. There was something about his wary demeanor that didn’t click right away — and right now you were too preoccupied with something else to be paying attention to politics.

“You may go, but tread carefully, filia mea,” was his veiled answer.

With no time to waste, you stood up and curtsied before disappearing from the dining hall.

Marcus’ body was controlled by another being — a non-sentient one. He got up, attended his duties to the Empire, paid a visit to the barracks in the outskirts to train with his army, and then got back to an empty home.

It all felt like a sick loop, one he could not break from. His feelings had deserted him, leaving him be a hollow carcass of who he once was. There was no joy, no incentive to even pretend there was.

It took him a couple of days to finally let the dam crack in the solace of his villa. It all came to be because of something as simple as Augustus’ toy gladius. The one that Marcus himself had forged for his son’s tenth birthday. Little Augustus had been so excited, he had almost hit his head against the edge of the dining table while running around wielding his new toy. That memory had resurfaced unexpectedly and the smile that came with it quickly mutated into a sad grimace.

He longed for something that that was safe and warm, but all he had was all that was gone. Marcus felt as helpless and as hopeless as a feather on the Tiber. And the river was wide, so much he was scared he wouldn’t make it to the other side. And what would he find on the opposite shore? Did he really want to cross?

Marcus couldn’t, at least not yet. He needed closure before he could carry on with his life, if that was even a possibility. Augustus belonged in the family’s mausoleum next to his mother, so they could both be laid to rest in peace together. With Dacia under the iron fist of the Romans, he could retrace his steps and get his heir back home.

His leave had been approved that same afternoon. In a hurry, he had packed the bare necessities he would need for the long trip and headed towards the barracks once more. In the stables his stallion was awaiting, all prepped by one of the ostlers.

He was ensuring that the saddle was properly on when a gentle voice called his name.

“General Acacius,” as soon as you spoke, he recognised your delicate accent.

Marcus turned around, his back bending immediately at your presence.

“My lady,” he whispered, eyes fixed on the straw splayed across the dirt on the floor.

What brought you here, he wondered. The horses belonging to Traianus’ family were kept elsewhere, away from the mediocrity of the reminders of war. This was no place for someone of noble birth like you. It reeked of the musky scents of nature to which he was immune now, but you sure weren’t.

Your hand found the way to his shoulder, a light tap to silently ask him to straighten out his posture. He obliged, his brown orbs showing his confusion at finding you here. And you seemed unbothered about the mess surrounding you.

“How may I be of service?” his question was a trained response, the only reason for you being here was that you required something of him.

Perhaps you needed to know how everything unfolded so you also got closure. Perhaps you required details, something more than just a “General Atticus perished at the mercy of a Dacian sword” — had he been too concise in his explanation, too General-y? Or perhaps you were after the reassurance of a life well lived with your husband, a reminder that there had been light amongst the darkness.

The Gods knew he felt that way sometimes too.

“That is not why I am here, General,” you hummed with a broken smile, your hand dropping off his shoulder like the last needle-like leaves clinging onto a toppling, decaying cypress after a wildfire.

Your admission took him aback, unsure now of what else you could need of him. What else would he have to give for Rome to appease the Emperor — was his heir not enough? But you weren’t your father; Resius would always say you were too kind of a soul, would only speak high praise of you. But was not that what a husband was supposed to say about his spouse, especially Traianus’ daughter?

So perhaps he was mistaken in that regard, although he couldn’t know. Marcus had interacted with you multiple times, in serious and more relaxed settings, but the barrier was always there — he was just a General you graced with your presence because of Resius. You participated in conversation, laughed at Resius’ and his jokes and offered words of wisdom to Augustus like the mother he never had.

But despite all of that, he didn’t really know you. Knew your persona, the way you portrayed yourself to the crowds, but it was fair to wonder how much of it was just a front.

That was, at least, until three sunsets ago, when you cried your loss with him — something he had not expected. How your façade tumbled the moment his perhaps-not-so-carefully-delivered words furrowed through your mind until they took root. How he tried to console you in spite of his own sorrow.

The crease between his brows accentuated slightly, a small tell of his confusion.

“I heard,” you only said, a whisper that made his skin crawl with anguish, his throat squeeze.

The softness of your eyes left no room for misinterpretation, an unmistakable mist in them. About your son’s death, was the bit you did not pronounce out loud.

His chest tightened as his gaze drifted down, catching a glimpse of your fidgety hands, twisting nervously.

Did you feel guilty? Was that the purpose of your unexpected visit?

“My son lived and died for the glory of Rome, Your Highness. Honourable to the end, he gladly gave his life for the Emperor and the cause. A warrior’s death, I couldn’t be any more proud of his sacrifice,” he attempted to put your mind at ease, tone steady repeating the words he had been saying every time someone approached him with empty condolences.

Your hands paused wriggling, your expression shadowed by his automatic reply.

“Oh, Marcus,” you whispered, taking a step forward but stopping yourself before you reached for his forearm. “You don’t need to— to pretend this is okay. It’s not,” your trembling fingers played with the golden bracelet adorning your wrist. “War is a disease, an ailment to mankind, to ourselves and our loved ones. I regret to know that you have given so much for Rome’s thirst. You shouldn’t have to. My father… he asks too much of his people,” you added, the mist in your eyes developing into a single tear falling off your bottom lashes. “Far too much.”

Pain stirred within him, lost for words he was. What you just said was a good outline of his own feelings — thoughts he couldn’t put into words, because they would sound treacherous. Did you really mean it?

“I… thank you, Domina mea. I appreciate your sentiment,” he accepted with a stiff nod, his voice raspier than usual. But he wouldn’t let emotion overcome him.

“I was informed you have taken leave to bring Augustus back home. I came to see if you would accept a few soldiers of my own personal guard to escort you,” you offered, your tone gentle and delicate.

Marcus was moved by your offer, one he didn’t expect. Were you worried for his safe return? That the journey back with his dead son in tow would break him, his resolution? Because he was worried too.

“I am touched, my lady, truly. But it’s not necessary. Some of my men will be accompanying me,” he assured you.

Marcus was lucky to have loyal fighting men under his banner. People he could blindly trust in battle, and outside of it.

“Please, send for me upon your return, General. I would like to attend Augustus’ wake. Unless you want it to be private, in which case I completely understand,” you almost stumbled with your own words towards the end, lips pursed with nervousness.

Resius was right. You were too kind of a soul, worrying for him when you had your own demons to deal with. The dull ache blanketing his heart lifted ever so slightly, your petition soothing and a reminder that he was not alone in grief. You would understand.

So Marcus nodded, his throat tighter.

“I will, Augusta (Imperial Princess),” a promise he would keep.

“Safe travels, General. May Salus watch over you.”

[azrakaban]

Mattheo Riddle Headcanons

Just a few little headcanons I have about my husband, loml, Mattheo Thomas Riddle <3 Sidenote: if you're confused, Tom Riddle is fancasted as the son of Voldemort rather than as voldemort himself, because he is too fit to be a noseless vampire xx

...

- his favourite colour is gray. The reason behind this is he used to know this really sweet smoke coloured cat when he was little and he used to play with her, so isnce then he finds the colour relaxing

- him and Theodore Nott have been friends since they were really young. Like 3 or something.

- when he was younger, he found a copy of peter pan in a bin somewhere, picked it up and read it. He knew his father would kill him if he found out he was keeping a muggle book, so he hid it and it became his favourite book after reading

- when he was really young, Bellatrix (his mother) taught him and Tom occlumency, to be able to hide secrets from their father. She thought it was important for them to have some kind of privacy.

- he would be an arctic monkeys fan (yes I am aware they were not formed at the time he was at Hogwarts, but if he was gen z he'd love them.)

- he's a cat person, due to being bitten by a dog when he was little (no he does not have rabies and no he is not a furry) but he has a soft spot for bernese mountain dogs because Theo Nott has one)

- when I say he has only got eyes for you, I mean it. This man would rather gauge his eyes out than look at any other girl, he is so incredibly loyal.

- He believed Rodolphus Lestrange was his father up until he saw Rodolphus yell at Bellatrix when he was 11 about him not being his son. It broke him, as up until then he had been Mattheo Lestrange. From then on, he went by Mattheo Riddle.

- love language is physical touch, always with an arm around your waist, fiddling with your hair, kissing your cheek, forehead, temple, nose, lips, anywhere he can reach.

- possessive, but not in a controlling way. He has a fear of abandonment, so he likes to know that you're still his. Seeing other guys/girls look at you worries him a little, but he can't blame them because you are literally gorgeous. (and tbh, I don't think he's ever gonna have a problem with you looking at someone else, because he's perfection.)

- would give up anything for you, and gave up smoking immediately after starting to like you.

- absolutely in love with you. I cannot stress this enough, but this man is head over heels, for you, and only you.

- has a soft spot for you. When you first met/saw him, you thought he seemed emotionally unavailable (which he was, besides joking with friends tbh) but that changed for you, he was kind, and even vunerable when he asked you out, although still prefers to keep his emotions to himself.

- just a lil thing, but th Riddle family is RICH RICH so he is always buying you gifts even if you insist he shouldn't spend so much on you.

- when I say this guy would get a dog for you, I must make you understand how HUGE this is. He HATES dogs, so this is a huge thing for him. PLEASE APPRECIATE IT!!!

- would get into fights all the time (check out previous one shot No More Fights pleeeease x) over you, for you, and with you. If you got into a fight he'd be at the sidelines cheering you on like the supportive love he is >>>>

- nicknames. Oh my god, he has so many for you, muggle references are a speciality of his for some reason. Boojiboo, Darling, Angel, Princess, baby, and his person favourite: LOVE. Love this, love that, he uses it more than your actual name.

- he has reading glasses. he absolutely hates them, but you think they make him look cute and kinda smart (which he does, picture it, trust me)

- he reads a lot. Back at his house his room is next to their library so he can have easier access to it.

- he loves astrology. He knows all the constellations, the planets, and takes you on stargazing dates

- he smells like pinewood and fire. Just a really relaxing, wintery scent

- He HATES Summer. absolutely loves winter and autumn, but summer is just horrible to him. he hates the heat and bugs mostly, but he also hates the holidays because he's away from you and his friends

- went to a lot of pureblood balls/dances when he was young and is a very good dancer.

- doesn't have the closest relationship with Tom, who is two years older than him (same year as the Weasley twins), but he can go to Tom if he needs help with anything, whether it be homework to planned Arson :)

- he has a gorgeous morning voice. all gravely but still sounds beautiful

- he loves pretending to be asleep infront of you, and deliberately pretends to say your name in his sleep to see you smile when he "wakes up" and you tell him

- he's an early bird other than when he's really tired. If you wake up before him, you're not getting out of bed for hours, he's keeping you right there with him, hugging you tightly to him to prevent your escape. (not that you'd want to)

- if he sees you're nervous, he gives you his hand to fiddle with and you play with his fingers. if it doesn't help, he takes your hands in his and squeezes them gently.

- makes really good pancakes and waffles. He had them first at Theodore's house, and Theo's mum taught him how to make them.

- he's very good with kids, surprisingly. You once managed to snap a photo of him wearing a plastic tiara and now use it as leverage in arguments ;)

- he has big brother energy, and a lot of it. After the battle of Hogwarts, when Delphini was very little, he helped raise her to the best he could with help from Tom, the other Slytherins and Narcissa Malfoy. If you were comfortable with it, Delphini would be really close with you and see you as a big sister/brother/sibling <3 you guys would look after her and raise her to not carry out the events written in the cursed child.

- continuing with big brother stuff, he helps out the first years with homework and stuff when they need it.

- if people aren't listening when he's talking, he doesn't yell, just stops talking

- he's not agressive while drunk, like ever. Infact, total opposite. It. Is. Hilarious. He loosens up entirely. Trying to get you to ballroom dance with him, tripping over his feet. He'll go full on Shakira until you have to drag him out of the room. One time you gave him a hug while drunk but he didn't recognise you so he said "sorry, I have a girlfriend/boyfriend/partner" 😭 then realised it was you and pulled you back into the hug.

- he loves scary movies, naturally, but he's actually a sucker for a good rom com if it's actually good. I'm not talking boring predictable ones, genuinely good ones.

- if he was gen Z, he would be a huge marvel fan. don't try to convince me otherwise. not collecting merch and stuff, but seeing every movie within the week it comes out.

- before you two started dating he kept listening to Conan Gray (yes I'm a huge Conan fan so may be a little biased and I know conan was not singing then but anywayyyyy) his favourite song was Heather, because he didn't know if you reciprocated his feelings, but when you got together, he gave you his sweater on the third of December. I'm so proud of him.

- he's more of a cooker than a baker to be honest, he'd bake with you, but other than that he'd steer clear of sweet treats.

- he's fluent in French, Spanish and Italian as well as English. He wanted to learn Latin as well when he was younger, but didn't have time so is learning it now.

- he wears converse a lot. don't even argue with me please, I am right. (you can quote me on that to your family if needed guys)

- he loves photography and taking long walks in nature to get photos. If you were comfortable with it, he'd use you as his muse, styling you into his photos and capturing your beauty perfectly.

- DIMPLES

- He can play guitar. Simping.

- loves spicy food, literally obsessed with it.

- his biggest fear is getting the dark mark. he doesn't want anything to do with his father, and only took the name Riddle so as not to be an insult to rodolphus.

- anytime you say "I'm proud of you" he silently pulls you into a hug. he hasn't heard those words enough, so the fact that you have said it just completes him.

- drops anything for you if you need him.

- man child. he needs your attention at least five times a day.

- big spoon. You will never ever be big spoon, it is his role, he has assigned it to himself and is very protective of it.