#Seating Arrangement Controversy

[rightnewshindi]

हिसार में अमित शाह के दौरे का अनोखा नजारा: मंच पर सीटों की अफरा-तफरी, जानें पूरा मामला!

Hisar News: सोमवार, 31 मार्च 2025 को केंद्रीय गृहमंत्री अमित शाह हरियाणा के हिसार जिले में अग्रोहा मेडिकल कॉलेज पहुंचे। इस दौरान उन्होंने महाराजा अग्रसेन की भव्य प्रतिमा का अनावरण किया, नवनिर्मित आईसीयू का उद्घाटन किया और पीजी हॉस्टल की आधारशिला रखी। लेकिन इस आयोजन की शुरुआत में मंच पर कुछ ऐसा हुआ, जिसने सभी का ध्यान खींच लिया। सीटिंग व्यवस्था को लेकर मची अफरा-तफरी ने इस कार्यक्रम को चर्चा का…

[kooyabooya]

HIERARCHY

dahyun x m reader

9k words

(shoutout to @passingnotions for allowing me to adapt this idea <3)

“I have her here waiting at the desk if you’re ready to see her, sir.” 

“Perfect. Send her up.” 

It’s peculiar for these kinds of rumors to circulate given her status - and even when the sounds of her heels click off against the polished tiles and get gradually louder; until she steps past the open door and into the oval office, you still can’t put together why she’s a controversial topic in the first place. 

“I’m glad that we can finally have this arrangement,” you say, glancing over the more she makes her presence known, “Overseer.”  

-

It’s as simple as it sounds: 

She’s the regulator. You’re the higher-up. It’s your job to assess, determine, and take action. 

And the roles exist for a reason, and every system has its necessary balance. Nobody gets out of line, and nobody ever questions the orders that come from the superiors. Everything feels right in its place, between the people and where this institution stands, but there’s one catch that you’ve sought yourself to see out personally, after hearing some peculiar commentary building up with various faculty members.

This very woman standing in your quarters exudes this infectious aura that sweeps up the whole room. In the case of the students, it would send a chill down their spine, get a few beads of sweat to form in the palms of their hands and foreheads - a quick breath beneath their lips as they tense up because despite not being the main person in trouble, and she makes them feel that way regardless. 

“I would like to know why you asked to see me in the first place,” she says, face stoic as she settles into the seat, gaze locked with yours, “Hopefully this isn’t about what we discussed the other time, is it?” 

Something in the way that she sits, and how the two-piece set of her dress rests along the line of her shoulders, how her eyes dart through yours when you’ve caught yourself staring a bit longer than expected. Make the goosebumps along your arms stand up underneath the sleeves. 

“It’s partly that,” you answer, pinching the edge of your cuff, hoping to divert the attention of death staring in your direction. “Among other things.” 

“Meaning what, sir?” 

Breaking eye contact, the formality alone snaps some composure into you. To recap: you’ve been in and out of meetings all day, talking about future plans to implement amongst the student body and faculty; then there was some discrepancies that was dealt with from past incidents brought to your desk, but the common thread from these accounts all pointed to the same thing: 

“It’s about your recent-” the pause alone of the intended word hanging between your lips makes the Overseer puzzled about this discussion (though with the implications through the reports sitting on your desk, tell a different tale). 

“-modes of conduct.” You tell her, which only earns a quirked eyebrow and a nod, signaling that you’re right. “I’m sure you’ve heard what’s been going around between the other staff members and what not, Dahyun.” 

Even the name alone sometimes sends chills to your body. Overseer Kim Dahyun: the academy’s best instructor. Lead figure when it comes to dishing out disciplinary measures to those who were stupid enough to go against the rules. Once she has someone that’s out of order, it’s automatically assured that there won’t be any further incidents coming from them moving on. You’ve looked at the written reports, noticed that there’s nothing worth putting against someone like her with the reputation that she carries, but no one ever really stays perfect for this long. 

“So tell me, Superior,” Dahyun begins, one leg over the other in her chair while you continue with the glacial pacing around the office, “What is it that you have heard about me, circling around with the other staff in the past weeks?” 

“I guess it’s mainly the latter, the ‘forms’ of discipline you’ve been committing with various students.” 

“What about them?” 

“That's the reason why I’m having this discussion with you in the first place.” 

Dahyun tilts her head down, eyes wandering the opposite direction, reflecting almost as her mind tries to piece the different shards of information rummaging about in her head. She’s one to not leave anything unchecked - down to the minute detail possible. Intricate in the way that she does her line of work, and meticulous with how she wants things to be done. She also gets along well with others to which they speak highly of her. You wouldn’t want to call these accounts ‘accusations’; not yet, until you’ve seen both ends of the scope before drawing up a solid conclusion. 

She turns her head around to see you at the tray table next to the door, tending to the two glasses of water before a wave to the keypad locks the deadbolt into place, to ensure privacy and know that someone will eventually knock without even going to the front desk in the first place. “This is a first for me, especially coming from you, questioning my methods.” 

“I don’t see what you mean,” you tell her, making peace with the glass in your left hand to which she accepts, “I’m only aware of the stories that were told in recent weeks.” Dahyun acknowledges with a sip, eyes still trained on you now on the other side of your desk, “Let this be a simple conversation between you and I, please.” 

“Okay then,” she remarks, handing back the empty glass once she’s done with it, “I’ll ask this again: What is it that you’ve heard about me that caused this whole debacle in the first place?” 

Her look shifts up, maintaining her posture, hands resting on her lap. There’s a few strands in her hair that look out of place, but most of it is neatly tied up in the bun hanging low behind her head. She knows that she holds this sort of entitlement, this status - even from the glances alone in all sorts of seriousness tell you not to mess with a woman like her if you were a student. 

But you’re not. 

The lift from her eyebrows, above the upper rims of her glasses, prompting you to answer. It’s all in your head, right there, the only problem is how the delivery is going to hit her. You have every right to feel bad to be the bearer of not-so-good news, but it’s the part of the job, and the more you stand there in silence with her looking up waiting for a reply, adds on the slow building tension in the room. 

You’re reminded however, of the actions she committed. 

“We have an issue, technically it’s not really an issue, yet.” Dahyun’s gaze twists at that, but it isn’t a look of clear confusion, moreso thrown off at the very topic of discussion. She scoffs, slightly amused, and you can’t blame her for giving that reaction. “Though it’s been brought to my attention in the past few days.” 

And in terms of issues, there’s hardly any throughout the academy; thanks to the dedication towards molding the best and brightest students into civilized beings for the real world. Most of these incidents come at a scarce occurrence alone - but it still happens even if it’s an ordinary day throughout the week. 

She blinks twice, maybe thrice, turns her head away, fixated on the edge of the desk still. Her hands mold together with a small unease, but she still looks empathetic with how her eyelids flutter in the small lines of breaking light past the windows. 

“So say it then,” she says, tone flat - like in her lectures or when having a one-on-one conversation with a troubled student outside the hallways, “since you’re always so on top of the loop with the faculty here.” 

The prompting. It’s so on brand for her to be like this - to set someone else up as a way for them to keep their attention, carrying on with the conversation till she finally has that satisfaction with the answer. There’s some admiration for her, in the way that she doesn’t back down from a disagreement, because she’ll always see it through no matter what the circumstance may be. It’s her strength, and also her weakness, but she’s good enough to not let it show on her face. 

At some point you were afraid of her, something that you can admit to yourself from a long while ago. Not a lot of people at the academy even really liked her because she’s extremely intimidating, and that still seems to be the case now. Though, with all of the different events spread out across the place, some of the roses were given in her effort to come out of her shell which she takes your encouragement. It’s in those rare moments where she laughs or smiles, like a blue moon passing in the night sky. 

You remember the task at hand, what needs to be done. 

“It’s about the students,” you tell her, air slipping through your upper lip as a way of preparation, “I’ve been told by a few individuals that you’ve been having an affair with one of them.” 

“What!?” 

“This is all just speculation,” you say, settling into your chair as Dahyun keeps her posture upright and composed, “Hence you being here to tell me your side of the story so that we can try to line up the two different perspectives together.” 

“That’s what this is about?” 

“Dahyun.” That sense of professionalism has to be cared for. An eye to the desk to the few different reports that insinuate a wrongful framing; some of them were just verbal accounts and had to be on the record, but the whistleblower tip in the form of a post-it note already caused quite a stir around the teachers lounge. 

“All of this is unbelievable.” She plucks her glasses away from her face, catching a few wisps fall out from their spot on the top of her head, clearly irritated. “I have- I have not. In no way those accusations are true.” 

You pull your lips inward, trying to be sympathetic as much as possible in addition to being transparent. Her eyes darted back at yours, fully interested as to what you might say next. She expects an answer, and you’ll give it to her, but all you do is raise an eyebrow to where she scrunches her eyes in response. 

“Are you sure?” To that, Dahyun rolls her eyes. You notice a quick pull from one of the corners of her lip, shuffling the small stack of files off to the side, leaning closer with both elbows on the wood. “I hope you realize that if you are withholding information from me, it can lead to harsher consequences.” 

Dahyun clasps her hand to a fist, face still as stone as you watch her eyes sweep across the floor. A heavy bundle of air leaves your chest, keeping your gaze locked to her, waiting for an answer within the next moments or so. She knows that she can’t shy away from this, and she knows that the only direction to take is the one where truth is the sole passage. It’s also very interesting the way she doesn’t falter, sheltering her emotions inside. You’ve only seen her be the opposite of that - only once, a spell ago, and you were convinced that it was only a one time thing. The silence seems to get louder in the room, and she finally shifts her eyes back to you. 

“Well?” you ask, to break the tension a bit, “You’re not my enemy here. I just want you to be as open and honest as possible.” 

You can see the slightest clench at the bottom of her jaw, gritting her teeth behind her lips. There’s that thought of clear common sense, telling you that what she did was wrong, but that’s just one side of the story. Sure, that someone who created the rumor might’ve done it out of spite, or maybe they wanted to see Dahyun in a state of panic just for the fun of it. Some will say one thing, and others will say another. The only way that you’ll know for sure to make all of this go away is the personal statement directly from her. 

“Overseer.” You huff, sighing out of pure annoyance.

Her brows crunch in response to the title. 

“I need to know. That’s all I’m requesting of you right now.” 

She sets herself square on the seat, facing you; she’s matching your height now in a sitting position, but despite the lack in length is replaced with the demeanor that she carries. There’s been some sort of competition thrown around by the students, talking about how Dahyun’s figure comes second to none with the likes of Jihyo or Mina to name a few. Gawking at the fellow staff members who caught wind of the conversation is what you give them, and it would take a metric fuck-ton of persuading to spill an answer out of your lips. 

Still no answer from her as of this second. 

“Overseer Dahyun,” voice now in a much lower register than usual to punctuate the gravity of the situation, “We don’t have all day; so either you fess up now, or I’ll carry on this conversation tomorrow if I’m not going to get it out of you today.” 

Running her upper lip inward, you carry on with the scattered paperworks spread across the desk as she contemplates, unwilling to make eye contact with her while she keeps her eyes focused on you. By all expectations, you were hoping that this meeting would be quick and easy; just get the required information before writing up a report and be on your way. Still, you can’t help but think as to why she’s being so reluctant about saving her status let alone her job - all because she didn't do something that had very little significance to her and became such a big deal. 

“Fine,” you say, slapping the pen lightly on the desk before beginning to stand up from the chair, “Just forget that I asked and you can-” 

“One.” she finally says, after what felt like an eternity it seems. And then again, “One.” 

“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere,” you start, falling back onto the seat; Dahyun collects herself with the subtle rise and fall of her chest, breathing carefully. That crucial first step was already taken, and the plan in your mind to diminish this whole controversy is slowly scaffolding into place. “So I’ll ask this once again in a different way: Are you having an affair with one of the students in the academy?” 

“Yes.” 

“Is it…just the one?” 

“Just the one.” 

Despite how this information may be shocking to a degree, composure has to be kept from this point on. You’re just simply doing your job as the superior, and if this doesn’t get solved quickly, there’s more people in higher places than you that will do what you couldn’t. 

“So,” you set yourself up for the next connecting inquiry, “I want a full explanation for this, as to when and how all of this came to be.” 

Dahyun licks her lips, unsure if what she’ll say next will either be her saving grace or a shortsighted opportunity breeding on disappointment. You can easily tell that she’s uneasy, and it’s very impressive at how she’s able to keep an expressionless face for an instance like this. Put anyone else that works here in her seat and situation, they’d all panic or break a sweat pleading for an appeal to save their own skin. To hell with the fading wish for an interesting day every few weeks or so - because this potential scandal might make the whole week or even the whole year. 

“Alright,” she relaxes, finally letting her body release all of the tension while she flutters her eyes back to you, “For the record, he came to me. It was-” a quick look to the side before subduing the sudden impulse coursing through her neck, “It was supposed to be a simple form of disciplinary action. A one time thing. Had him serve the correction and be on his way. Though, you’re very familiar with, well- you know, the methodology.” 

“I see, and it took you that long to tell your side of the story??” Swallowing the small lump in your throat growing as her eyes fail to leave yours. “But let me guess, he-” 

“He wanted to see me. Actually, he wanted to keep seeing me. I asked him as to why one day, and he was just fascinated with the approach that I do; he just wanted the pleasure for himself and as for me, I reveled in the satisfaction of taking advantage of him.” 

“And you found it to be completely appropriate for this little entanglement to keep on happening?” 

Dahyun then leans forward, and thank Christ you managed to save your wandering eyes from leering a second too late at the overflowing swarm of pale thighs ballooning on the cushion as more and more skin is revealed at the help of that tight light blue dress getting hiked up with the press of her legs. The inquisitive angle of her head at the given question, letting a stray wisp of her hair fall from the side before she drags it back behind the cuff of her ear. “So what are you saying?”

“Well, I’m the one who asked you first,” you answer, twiddling the pen around your fingers, maintaining eye contact with her. “Besides, I’m also not the one stuck in the middle of this debacle in the first place anyway.” 

She sighs, head cocked back, almost vexed that this meeting has gone way longer than intended. You could’ve waited until after hours once all of the students had left the campus, but this was also the best possible convenient time because of the gap in her schedule during the regular day. Her lips stay shut, the soft tick of the clock mounted on the wall keeps on going. Maybe raising a white flag in the means of things might be better for today, and you’ll pick up where you left off tomorrow. 

Most days don’t often go this way. Aside from the usual responsibilities throughout the typical day whether it would be out your desk or out and about peeping in different classrooms, you’re slightly ecstatic for the sudden change in pace around these halls. “I digress,” you say, leaning forward before finally carrying on,  “So as your superior, Overseer, I’ll leave it off with this. Do you have anything else left to say before I draft up a report for all of the parties affected?” 

Dahyun crosses her left leg over the other, clutching the glasses in her hand, her head tilts at that same right angle as earlier. The gaze she has is unchanging, staring at you right in the face while you’re quickly examining the two sheets of paper placed next to each other on the desk, sliding them away into the pile as you stand up off the chair. You’ll take this meeting as a win, at least some of the information was suitable enough to your liking for now. With all that done and over with–

“Still no answer?” You ask, fingers dancing along the button of your cuff, carefully threading it through the small slit, “Don’t make me ask this again–” 

“No.” 

“No?” 

“I told you. No.” 

“Really now?” 

“I have already made my case with you, sir. There’s nothing else left for me to say for the time being.” she answers with a shrug to her shoulders. 

Dahyun’s throat tenses when she sees the once needling eyes from you become quickly disinterested with her return. Incompetence was a sheer rarity with the way you operate your role, let alone a hindrance that you see in other people. Like the rest, it wouldn’t be long for everyone to get whipped into the ‘new regime’ all those years ago; some stimulating commentary at the time, but everyone understood once the policies were put into place. 

Though, this meeting has gone long enough, and keeping her here wouldn’t really do anyone good at this point. 

“Consider this conversation to be over, then,” you say, turning your body to the window panes set behind your desk, looking out at the moving trees in the breeze. “You’ll hear from me within the next few days so, carry on until you’re notified.” 

She then stands too, hand clasping to her wrist, subjectively giving you a nod with your back turned, seeing  her out of your peripheral vision. The emotionless look that’s her only mask, unimpressed and cold, as if nothing ever phases her in the tiniest of mishaps. You know that she’s just like the rest, despite wearing that facade like if life were to depend on it, part of you wants to break her- to tear up that infuriating fray of nothingness, spark some kind of fear into her core that would have her screaming, beg for a twinge of mercy. 

Reading those accounts of what she did with that student, wasn’t supposed to make you interested, but it is. A worthy head-scratcher for someone like her to have a few screws loose every now and then. It just didn't add up, for her to treat this so pointlessly. 

Even when she starts to bundle her feet together, swiveling them across the tile, she still carries this peculiar gracefulness in her step as her profile sweeps out of the picture - her back coming into view. She’s put up with that facade against you for so long, you know that it’ll be easy for her to comply in her case because it’s not in her nature for her to defy orders. 

A turn of the head signifies a chance out of desperation; a lifeline, and you’ll give her the luxury of deciding her fate. 

“And one more thing,” you setup, rolling the sleeves of your shirt to the elbow, to where Dahyun turns her body the long way round, hands behind her back, waiting for the next thing to leave your lips, “I’ll be perfectly blunt with you because I know that you clearly know better.”

Her forehead twitches at the cause of her brows bridging against each other. You see the small nick of her head that also shows the acknowledgement she’s willing to give you, both ears and eyes trained on you once the spread of your fingertips rest on the polished bark. 

“You’re aware of this academy’s policies when it comes to relationships among peers, it’s basically frowned upon,” you tell her lowly, “Let alone of the fact that you’ve been having this intolerable amount of behavior out of the false guise of indignancy.” She starts to internalize this short reproachment you’re dishing out on her, watching as her eyes expand by the passing second, “Now, I’ve could’ve let this be handled by the high council, but they’ve gave the chance to me in order to see if I can get this incident resolved without having any further escalating conflicts.” 

She parts her lips, wanting to take the opportunity at clearing her name, but she holds back since there’s that hanging impression of ‘what’s there left to be said once everything is put on the table?’ And even so, would anything serve to be better in the good graces of innocence for her case?

So she says nothing. Forever holding her peace while you audibly scoff at her. “I expected better from you, Overseer, I really did.” 

It takes the next few seconds to re-organize your workstation, she hangs herself in limbo, gathering her thoughts as the window to save herself starts to close smaller and smaller, and she finally takes the sealed fate into her hands. 

“If I may,” she says, diverting your attention from the desk back to her - hesitant to the point where you can rightfully assume that she’s eager to finally set everything straight: “I’d like to formally tender my resignation here at the Academy.” 

A bold move, Overseer, but a surprise one too- 

“On what grounds?” you ask, clearly taken aback with the sudden course of action by her own admission. “I don’t really see to understand while you would go to such lengths for this little incident-” 

“Because I will admit to you, Superior, that I saw that student out of my own volition. I’ve made the effort to set time aside from my schedule so that he and I could have our private meetings in my office; for the sake of his pleasure and for my sake of being able to satisfy those kinds of requests for him.” 

This tidbit of honesty coming out serves as a great reaction to your scolding, and not a lot of people get the credit they deserve trying to convince a person like Dahyun, but luckily you’re the one - if not the only one to have that ability in advising her. You always believed that she’d come around in some way or another, considering that this was the very first big fuck up from her too. 

“Superior.” The name alone brings you back. “Please, consider my resignation. And I’ll make all of this go away.” 

“I can’t do that.” 

“Why can’t you?” Her voice is strained, a fist at the side of her thigh, nails deep into her palm enough to draw blood, “I have to do this. I need to do this, sir. Please, let me-” 

You can see the desperation start to break through the cracks of her stoic persona, inching closer to where you want her to be. She can play the cool, level-headed teacher all she wants, but you know that this whole fiasco was her doing; like anyone else, they’ll do anything to make things right, no matter the cost. Then the getting ahead starts to seep through your frontal lobe: what she’ll start asking for next, the kinds of lengths she’ll commit to if you’re not the one to throw the figurative lifeline at her. 

Not just yet, guiding her into the right mindset will fall into place if you let the inner workings of panic do their thing. 

“Overseer Kim.” You slowly navigate closer to her, rounding the desk with every moving step across the room. “Even if you were to leave, you can’t. I’ve taken the liberty of locking the door here because I knew that this would happen: the way that you’re acting, we can’t have this.” 

It’s amazing at how she’s at ease, despite having the mini breakdown just an instant before. 

Because her act is rapidly deteriorating. 

“Sir, I don’t follow-” 

“Dahyun.” With a hand to her shoulder, her face freezes right when she flashes a look of suspicion, tensing up at the touch before she locks eyes with you again, the unsureness diminishing with a singular eyebrow raise. “I’m giving you an opportunity to have all of this resolved without any loose repercussions.” You can feel the heart rate within her start to calm down the way her breathing stabilizes, tension along the line of her shoulders releasing with every pass of air, “There would be no need to resign, and we would find a workaround to prevent this from ever happening again.”

“And how would you suggest that, Superior?” 

“By granting you amnesty. Without the word from anyone else but me.” 

You can see that same sweep of her eyes moving left and right, unable to meet yours. The offer alone is taking her a significant amount of time to consider, a mistake that she’s willing to undo. She then looks up with a wistful gaze, the small spark dashing through her irises - as if she had just made the discovery of fire. Her mind starts to work and it’s so easy to tell, reflecting on this potential choice that she’s able to make. “You don’t mean-”

“Mean what?” Letting a sly grin break through your lips. 

“By amnesty,” she adds, tilting her chin up, bearing your arms across your chest, “What would I have to do in order to achieve this?” 

She has a general idea of the term itself, and maybe you think she’s also heard of the many things thrown around with this specific practice or policy of yours. This occurrence has happened a few times, whipping up a few notable individuals into shape - some much more needed than others, but the commonality between all of them: they’d always submit themselves to you. 

“Do you admit and accept the responsibilities of your actions, Overseer?” You formally request with hands reaching to the fine creases of her dress to which she accepts. 

There’s a brief pause of consideration again, and you’re watching her eyes never leave yours, thinking about the whole reason that you two are in this position in the first place. It may be a little hard to believe still; knowing what Dahyun will do not only for herself, but for the academy. Then there’s the logged report from your desk, in detail of what she did with that student, makes you realize that she’s got a screw loose in her head. 

“Yes, sir.” She answers, looking up with a delighted smile, fully realizing the opportunity and taking it with no regret. “I do.” 

“Good.” With a sigh of relief,  a hand escalates to the back of her neck. “Because your punishment begins now.” And she’s in awe of the shimmer in your eyes, slowly grinning when you’re dipping your head down lower, minimizing the distance. It lights a fire within you, a motive of what will entail from this point going forward. 

This is what amnesty is, Dahyun would think, be oh- she has no idea what she just got herself into. 

You learn that she’s receptive, the way that she takes your lips with hers so well, hands flying freely, breath clashing with yours. It’s messy, the way more slick starts so spread on the lower half of both of your faces, wanting more. Her tongue weaves its way past your mouth, a leg hiked up that you greatly take the hint for, channeling the hum of approval coming from her down your throat. She grips tight on the back of your shirt, adamant on taking this chance to build a clean slate, a perfect rush of gasps followed with even more kissing. Her hands are well into your hair when you pull away, a pause to probably call a stop and- 

“So it is true,” she admits against your cheek, “About this little policy?” 

You lift an eyebrow unimpressed at her. 

“What do- you don’t even know what you’re talking about.” you mumble, grip getting tighter on the fine part of her ass, chest heaving slightly, breaths getting uneven. 

“I thought it was just some legend here, around these halls.” Dahyun answers, letting her wrists relax while swooping under her legs, instinctively wrapping them around the small of your back. “Maybe you can show me if that’s actually a real thing.” 

She doesn’t see the flared nostrils you’re giving her, “I’d like to thank you, Overseer,” setting her on the desk nicely when the clack of her heels fall onto the floor, echoing the room as she removes the top piece of her dress, tossing it over to the chair she was previously sitting at, “For reminding me what I was doing.” 

“And that is?” She asks, naively. 

There’s a bit of a shock when you force her body to the desk, a flushed reaction covered with a gasp when you have one hand fastened to her wrist, the other lightly on her neck with the grip on the fingers getting delicately tighter. She tries to read your expression, map out the crinkles falling towards a cross or a devilish smile, feeling your breath graze along the line of her neck in these soft hitches. 

“Allow me to show you,” you whisper, flipping her small body to where her back is facing the ceiling, toe tips nearly grazing the floor but just barely. The same hand to her wrist is now shifted to her back, the other set flat; searching for something to take hold, she peeks over her shoulder, watching you study the way her dress hugs along the shape of her waist and hips. 

Doing this kind of practice was no surprise to you, and it doesn’t happen as often as you would’ve liked. Ryujin took three tries before she’d agree to not be a bother to you, Haewon probably took a few days or more to finally come around, and even Mina just recently. This revolving door into your office and form of chastising was the last resort of necessary actions for your fellow colleagues, some willing to challenge your authority, others were willing to submit. 

“What do you think this treatment entails?” you ask vaguely, raising the lower part of her dress to reveal more and more of her ass into the light, taking note of the noticeable choice of lace as she hikes it up with her free hand. “I sure hope that this should help you learn a thing or two. Though, it’s entirely up to you.” 

Dahyun’s side profile is amazingly flawless to see when you’re gently kneading her soft ass with your hand, palm moving graciously along the fine skin, fluttering her eyes shut, her breathing begins to become irregular, a small tremble to her hips as you press down lightly on the waistband, tugging on the elastic before letting go. The potential is right there at your hips - at your fingertips, to ruin, break skin, a perfect canvas for you to mutilate in any way you see fit. 

You laugh and admittedly, out of spite. “I’m sorry, if this meeting didn’t occur, you were going to invite him over for another one of your private sessions?” 

She seethes, but in anticipation, drawing a sharp inhale of air when your hand slides up her back. Part of you wants to put her back onto the wood, but you let it slide when she lifts herself off to meet your cheek, getting a bit selfish when she’s refusing to pull away. Her swollen lips and lidded eyes are too tempting to stop yourself- as if she’s the one pulling you into her spell. 

“Had I not been found out, I would’ve,” she murmurs, clutching onto a bit more of her hiked up dress, revealing her bare ass to the open air, unveiling a strike point. 

A fast hand tends to hers, placing it with her other hand still pressed behind her back. She writhes at the uncomfortable position but the tension passes through her body once you adjust. 

“You know what I would say to that, Overseer?” 

“What-” 

Nothing is said, but all is shown with a harsh slap to her ass. A statement. 

Strike one. 

Dahyun quietly yelps at the sudden hit to her backside, everything from the waist down clenching from the contact. The rough palm on your hand stings to the point where you’d have to flick your wrist a bit to subdue the burn. Her breathing starts to become irregular, wiggling her legs hanging from the side of the desk. 

“Superior, ah-” 

“I should’ve also mentioned that I’m permitting you to use expletives, but you’re already ahead of the curve as it is,” you tell her, massaging the crimson mark now apparent across the breadth of her ass, feeling the bits of heat emulating across the rough creases of your palm. “You’re now free to speak your mind.” 

“God, f-fuck. I can’t bel-” 

Another rough hit cracks an echo in the room. Earning a high-pitched whine from her. Strike two. 

“Choose your words more carefully.” Fighting the urge to smile at the sight this woman splayed across the table, letting out these heaves of desperation, body tightening and untightening on the surface as she’s hiding her face from you. “I don’t plan on easing up after what you did.” 

“Sir, please. I just need to-” 

You press her deeper into the table, hike up more of that insanely tight dress to her waist, letting her struggle under your grasp. The sounds leaving her pretty little lips would drive anyone else drastically crazy, watching as this uncrowned beauty crack under the weight of your touches with a third slap. Strike three.  

What sets Dahyun apart from the rest that has gone under your specified practices of treatment is the appeal she possesses. At least everyone from the faculty to the students have shared their thoughts about her: few envying and others fantasizing. You’re somewhere between the two, impossible to really tell for yourself, but what’s rest assured: 

There's more than a boatload of things to discover with Dahyun that’s already a list growing by the second. Dragging your fingertips along her thighs, pressing and pinching in spots where you’re trying to assess how nimble she can get, the way you can twist and mangle her limbs into a plethora of ways that’s drawing up with the imagination running through your head. How she shudders when you’re pulling on the elastic of her panties down her luscious legs, drinking in the sight of her glistening pussy lips hanging off the rim of your desk, clearly having an enjoyable time with the slick soaking her undergarments as well. 

“Have we had enough? Or are you willing to take more?” you ask, letting Dahyun keep her own hands behind her back with yours fastened over the curve of her hips, sliding down to her red cheeks, handprints visible as you're soothing the damage. “I definitely think that you can handle more, shall we continue?” 

She shivers, the slightest grasp to her ass gives another hitched breath, caressing it briefly as you’re plotting the next move in your head. 

“You can answer me, Dahyun,” you tell her, leaning down over her back, nose tangling within the threads of her hair, brushing the cuff of her ear before planting a kiss right below it, “But from these sounds I’m hearing tells me that you’re enjoying it.” 

A small twist from her singular eyebrow, lids still sewn shut, “You’re ecstatic, that I m-misbehaved.” 

“Can you tell?” Another slap to her ass and a tug to the soft skin. 

“Y-yes sir, I-” 

And another. 

“I’m not convinced yet.” 

Then another strike. 

“F-fuck sir-” 

One more hit to bring the tally up to seven. 

“Makes me wonder what you were going to do with that poor student if this carried on without my interference.” And at this point her ass has morphed into this ruby shade with every strike that follows. Her shoulders roll back, you’re keeping her in place, wrists still stacked on top of each other, hands opening and closing in response to the pain the more slaps you dish out.  

Dahyun struggles to keep her breathing stable, one firm grab to her asscheek as you’re planting a few scattered kisses down the column of her throat, teetering along the bridge of her collarbone. “Tell me, would this be on your mind with him also?” 

She doesn’t open her voice to tell, but a simple nod is all she gives. “My, my, Overseer. You really are something.” 

You could be satisfied with the way things transpired in this very room, content with the message sent and the warning laced between the lines. A momentary pause, hushing her whimpers, tending to the red tint of her ass, easing the ache of pain mixed with pleasure. Her eyes are scrunched along with the bridge of her nose, gnawing on her bottom lip as your fingertips continue to dance along the sensitive skin. 

“Are you ready for the next part?” you murmur into her ear as your hand trails down to the space between her legs, dragging a pointer finger across the warmth of her leaking slit, listening to the sharp breath passing through her lips again. 

“Mmmm…” Her legs buck against the drawers, dipping the two pads into her walls. The corner of her lip wobbles as she throbs around your fingers, dragging and sliding in a form of trial and error; seeing what she likes and what doesn’t, the light in her eyes filling with lust. “Sir, please, yes, God-” 

She sees another idea spark in your irises, drawing away from the warmth of her pussy temporarily, hands fast to undo the belt around your waist. Dahyun could only watch as you’ve got the leather wrapped around, creating a loose hoop at the end before lightly placing it across the two divots in her back resting above her ass. 

You test the pliancy of the looped belt on your other hand, ensuring that the article rebounds nicely across your palm. “I’ve got one more thing to do, consider this to be a test of some sorts.” 

“What do you mean, Superio–” 

Her voice screeches when you strike the leather in the same spot where your hand hit on her ass cheek; entire body tensing from the sharp pain before breaking down into broken down sobs. She tries to resist by getting up, but you keep her in place as she whines, adamant in believing that she can’t handle it any more. 

“Oh no, we’re not through yet,” you hiss, not paying any attention to the stray heel hitting your thigh in retaliation. “Not until you tell me that this won’t happen again going forward.”

“Just for the record, sir,” Her hand grips the underside of your forearm at the same time your weight begins to stack along her back, furrowing her brows and gritting her teeth. “I wanted this.” 

“So are we going to have a problem like this again next time?” 

“Absolu-” 

The leather belt finds her ass again, the crack in the atmosphere strong enough to mistake for the clap of lightning. 

“No,” she pleads, twisting her head back and forth, sounding off another thwap to make a point. “No sir, we’re not going to have another problem with this ever again.” 

“Good,” you say, the formality alone shortly returning, hands hovering over to her wrists, slackening the belt as you begin to wrap it around her. You’re keeping focus, maintaining your thoughts meticulously, fighting your cock that’s beginning to ache in your trousers. “I’m gonna take good care of you now.” 

Once you’ve got the leather fastened around her wrists, there’s another fill to be satisfied when you slip your fingers back into her cunt, throbbing at the way you curl them inside, earning a few harmonious sounds as her back arches to the touch. She’s melting by the second, “Yes, yes, please sir, I want-” 

“Speak up,” you breathe, sinking down to your knees, hands resting at the rise of her hips, glistening lips into view. Everything about her is a new learning curve, and the way her lower half is still hung over the edge, ankles neatly crossed together like her bound wrists, you almost feel bad for enacting this onto her. 

Keyword almost, and you put your mouth on her other set of lips. Unsure, testing, getting those first savoring seconds up her wet cunt. Her whole body pulls inward, choking down a cry, and you realize, this woman is filled with surprises. 

But you didn’t want to get too ahead of yourself, the shivers she dishes out, the string of hums continue to leave her mouth. This wasn’t the time to keep the niceties - shoving your whole face and tongue into her pussy, tongue slipping through her opening in these strokes, body contracting and relaxing. The fingers also come into play, tapping along her clit and eventually dipping in to where your tongue can’t reach, the wetness soaking your fingers, the short grasps letting you know of that beautiful high fast approaching. 

“I’m gonna-” she says, voice peaking in a higher pitch than the last, the balls of her feet hitting your chest, holding her down at the bottom of her thigh and ass. “Sir, I’m gonna fucking-” 

“That fast?” you ask, gaze glassy, drunk on the sweet slick that’s all over your lips. Biting down the laugh from the top of your throat, “And here I thought you’d hold out a bit longer for me there.” 

She pulls her body up with what little strength she has while being tied up. Panting. Heaving. You’re content with the structured appearance of her face completely ruined, tense, letting her eyelids flutter when she feels your finger slip inside her once more, because another feeling like this wouldn’t really hurt anyone. 

“Final question. Are you going to be good for me from here on out?” 

There’s a silver lining with the sense of humiliation you’re giving her, nearly sympathetic when your knuckle finds its way deeper. It’s wrong, you think, to be like this, but you’ve learned with the years of experience of being in this place that people will only listen when backed to a corner with no other way out. Everyone here is aware of the rapport you have with others, the kind of power that shouldn’t be really shown until it’s a desperate call to make to ensure everyone’s on the same page as you. This time isn’t really different. 

But still, it’s a first with her, and you’ll take this grand opportunity to pressure her into not making another issue for the next time. 

“Dahyun,” you’re telling her again, because she’s just staring at you in awe. The way you’ve been handling her; professional at the surface level, finding a pressure point to the things that she’s been accused of committing, drawing that out of her by any means necessary, until you’ve managed to break her. “Answer me, darling.” 

She comes back to her senses when her body shifts more inward to the wood, resting right at the bending point of her hips, listening to the zip from your pants. The most evil thing she’s done all day: a sly smile breaking across her face, watching you tease the head of your cock along her wet lips. This will be a problem, but a welcome one. You’re hoping that you’ve done your part to the best of your ability. 

“Yes sir,” she answers, shimmying her hips to tease. “I’ll be really good for you. I promise.” 

“I hope so.” you retort, “I can be very convincing.” 

A slip inside, a slow push. It’s electric. Further. Deeper. Filling her cunt up, her walls leisurely stretch around you. The heat alone is euphoric, coming to you in a fast rush. You hold yourself in for as long as possible, but it’s futile; she may have a few screws loose in the head, but you’re not far off the mark as well. 

“God,” she mumurus again, and you drag yourself out slightly. Back in nicely, smoothly into that heat, until Dahyun nods her head in approval. She gasps again when you move past the previous spot your cock was inside her, nearly to the base. 

“Oh, my fucking-” 

A shared gluttal moan parts from your chest and hers, eyes fixated on the sight of your slicked up cock carefully impaling Dahyun, the friction becoming more and more addicting. The muscles in her back start to freeze up along with her clenched hands, fighting against the leather around them. You make it easier for her case, lifting her chest up at the breast, leaning down to seize her lips on yours, holding her steady, cock carving up her walls with every building thrust. 

Nose against her cheek, “This cunt,” you utter, pushing yourself deep as this girl is faltering moans with every hit your hips make with her sore, red ass, “I can’t believe how tight this grips me, god- fucking, no wonder he wanted to keep seeing you in the first place,” and you lean down the line of her back, letting her pussy clench around your cock, feeling the clutch of her walls, all wet and aching for more. 

The thrusting starts to pick up, unrestrained and unrelenting now. You’re not even sure what to do with your hands, alternating between holding at the endpoint of her waist where her hips meet or press her unbelievable thighs together, to make the press around your cock that much better. A premature call to make, in comparison to the other’s that have preceded Dahyun: her pussy takes it in so well, you could bury yourself inside her for what feels like forever. 

“Sir,” she groans out, the sentence being cut off with another slap to her ass, following up with the crash of your hips into hers, holding on to her binded wrists. “Please, please, please-” 

“Please what, hmm?” You can’t really conjure up the proper thoughts to put in conversation, heaving out scattered spells of air with every stroke into her. “You’ve gotta help me out here.” 

“Need more.” It’s a request for sure, and not a vague one. “Please keep fucking me.” 

You do give her more, and nothing less. With every passing second you dive deep into her cunt, the beating in your heart accelerates just that teeny bit faster. The thoughts are out the window at this point, the only thing keeping you from figuratively passing out is the sopping wetness of her cunt every time you pull out and drive back in. The pace gets a bit faster, then you dial it back, watch as her upper body convulses across the desk, mouth hung open for all the moans to be let out, getting louder, more higher, and needier. 

She gasps when you hold yourself inside, thrown off guard with the firm hit you give her, a moment to catch her breath. “Wait, no, fuck, why did you-” 

Dahyun had managed to do something to you that the others couldn’t in this short span of time: break you. Even after all this time, it’s really interesting how the very person you’ve been wanting to see out for an instance like this is the one that’s managed to make you go all out into setting them right. She’s spearheading this thing, and not you. When it should be the other way around. 

A fistful of her hair is grabbed, and her body is raised up, hips flush with hers. “If I hear another question leave your sultry lips, I’ll tape it up so that nobody can hear you screaming down the hallways.” 

She bites her wobbling bottom lip, assuring you that’s exactly what she wants to happen, and it will. Her half-open eyes sees your head go sideways, planting a kiss down her neck, inching your cock deeper into her cunt past the hilt and her body shudders at it. 

“Want me to fuck some sense into you now? Properly? Fuck this pretty little pussy that it’ll make you think right?” 

She nods desperately, “Yes sir. Please.” 

You bend her over across the desk again, hand still tangled into her hair with the other resting at her hips. The pace deliberate at first, savoring the sensation of how her body takes you, parting her folds with every inch of your shaft. She shivers when you tease her still, not going all the way, but making her earn it. 

Now wasn’t the time for easygoing now, the sight of her backside is an eighth wonder of the world to admire, sliding out and dragging your cock back into her, gradually increasing as the additional slaps to her ass again, fucking her deep. You eventually decided that she’s served her punishment long enough, untying the belt at her hands and discarding it somewhere in the office, putting her hands up to the other end of the desk for her to hold on as you mercilessly bury your cock into her. 

“Sir, I can’t keep- fuck!” she cries out, the litany of lovely whines and sounds the more you fill her up. She also takes the liberty of letting you take a breather, moving her hips back, bouncing her ass with you just standing there, watching as her perfect ass does this little ripple effect on the skin, jiggling with an endless movement. 

It was getting all too much, and Dahyun herself was enjoying it as well, smiling with every groan that rips from your throat, hand floating over her hips, piercing your cock roughly back into her again and again, unwilling to yield the remaining bits of pleasure before either you or her reach that point-

“I’m gonna fucking- god, sir, keep going, so close-” she strains, gripping your wrists and tight enough for her to rip them off. 

“Don’t fight me,” you spit, voice leaning towards something primal, “Cum all over this cock.” And she does. 

Your muscles should be spent at this rate, but they hold out long enough as your ears are picking up the endless babbles and whimpers, mixed in with the sloppy strokes of your hips hitting hers. The mind is overloaded with so much, but your hands find rest at her ass again, burying yourself deep. And then it hits you in a flash. 

One firm hit sheathing your cock into her cunt, and you pull out, cumming all over the fine plane of her ass. You’ll need to take a mental image to save for eternity - the way you’re painting in these lovely slashes with your release, all over her ass, her back - because you learn that she looks amazingly good like that. A fine figure, waiting to be defiled and tarnished, and it happens. 

“God, would you look at-” you’re also left in disbelief, the grip around your cock loosening, eyes on leaking pussy lips, she’s hung down, face off to the side, eyes closed, steadily breathing. The words coming out of her mouth are inconceivable, but she’s thankful, praising you, giving thanks. Judging from how content she looks, proves that your hard work is done.

“S-sir,” she tries to say, still left speechless. 

A kiss to the temple of her head, and a ruffle with your hand sliding down to her back. “So, are we satisfied with your conversation?” 

Dahyun takes a minute or two, maybe more, to process everything that’s happened just now. She’s still on your desk, and you’re getting right back to it, slipping on your slacks, picking up the tossed belt that you used as a makeshift rope. Your ears pick up on the heavy breathing from her as she slowly gets up, hands giving her support on the desk, dazed and astounded once things start returning back to normal. 

You fix up the rolled up sleeves of your shirt; Dahyun blankly stares out in space, fixing up her dress and placing some of the various items hit in the crossfire back in their right spot, off the floor and somewhere where you’ll fix soon. 

“Dahyun?” you ask again, watching as she starts to make her way out the door. “Overseer.” 

She turns at the title, realizing she left behind a vital piece to her appearance, dipping her head down in embarrassment, but you can already see the blush breaking through her cheeks. Her breathing is also irregular, but it’s a lot calmer than before. 

“Sorry,” she says, squaring her shoulders, a hand taking the heels in yours. “Thank you, for- uhm, the persuasion.” 

An inquisitive look is what you give her. Meeting your gaze, you notice a few stray strands out of place in her hair, take it upon yourself to use the tip of your pinky to move it away from her forehead. Not much is left said between the two of you, probably just small talk or the comfort of silence finally setting in like before. You can’t really seem to get over the wistful constellations behind the lenses in her eyes - and it’s something that you want to study more about. 

“Right,” you tell her, patting her shoulder before guiding her to the doorway, fingers fast to the touchpad and the quick clicks of the deadbolt finally opens it. “I’m happy enough to see you again, without the intent of correcting your little issue.” 

Dahyun nods in agreement, pulling both of her lips inward to force back the smile, but you see right through her. She begins to make her way out, bare feet on the floor, heels in her hand - a solid lasting impression after today.

“Before I forget Dahyun,” you’re calling out again, and she twists her head around to meet your eyes, “Let’s speak again sometime soon okay? My door will be open for you if needed.” 

She squints, smiling a bit to where you see the bottom bits of her teeth. You give her a nod to emphasize your point. “Count on it sir. I guess I’ll be coming around more often, then.” 

[moraxine]

Force of Nature [Gojo Satoru]

pairing: gojo satoru x reader

genre: angst

words: 6.1k

summary: when your relationship with Gojo Satoru takes a turn, you find yourself adrift in emotions you can no longer bear. in an attempt to move on, you choose a path that will forever change the way you see him. what follows is a confrontation filled with words left unsaid, feelings erased, and a heart left untouched. as the lines between love and loss blur, both of you are left to face the consequences of choices made and the price of silence.

i.

He’d always been there, Satoru.

A constant in your life—his presence as natural as the oxygen filling your lungs. From childhood to now, he’d been your best friend, your greatest tormentor, and at times something more, a part of an inexplicable feeling that pulled you closer and simultaneously pushed you far apart.

Pinching yourself never woke you up from the dream. Maybe it was never one. The shared looks of fondness and gentle touches, the way he seemed to be at peace next to you, the teasing, those foggy nights when you two engaged in something more than just mere friendship…

Satoru was quite victorious when it came to pulling you into his gravity like a force of nature, but it was hard to tell if it was real or just his usual antics. And how ironic, having spent so much time by his side yet still being unable to see through him, unable to enter past the cerulean gates of his eyes.

And thus, with the impact of such color on your psyche, you allowed yourself to be swept away by the wind without a second thought—and like the autumn leaves your traveled for a long time, hoping that one day you would find the confidence to be open about the feelings you developed for your best friend, knowing that they would be reciprocated.

Maybe you shouldn’t have spent so much time locked in your head. Besides, it is a human trait—or a curse—to overthink, to weave scenarios that fit our narrative or haunt our heart. To each their own, I suppose. Hope is a trap that can wrap around the soul and squeeze it until there is not a single drop left.

And you hoped. You hoped so much, that the own essence of hoping evaporated, replaced by assurance, confidence that your heart matched the beating of his, that it belonged to you.

Though, to give credit where it’s due, the lines were blurred between you. Those controversial moments shared played over and over again as you headed towards the bar where you’d arranged to meet your friends, including him. You felt particularly elated, brave even to finally find an opportunity to be open to Satoru about how you felt.

ii.

The car hummed quietly as it rolled to a stop in front of your house, the headlights casting a soft glow over the driveway. The night was cool, the streets around you dark and quiet late as it was. It had been a typical night with Shoko and Suguru, filled with laughter stupid jokes, but now, as you sat in the passenger seat, everything felt oddly different.

Satoru had been unusually quiet on the drive back, his teasing smile absent. You glanced over at him, seeing his hands gripping the wheel with a tension you hadn’t noticed before. It wasn’t much—just a subtle shift—yet you could feel it in your bones.

Silence settled between you. The distant sound of a dog barking echoed through the stillness outside, but inside the car, all you could hear was the rhythm of your breathing.

“Well,” you said, shifting in your seat, trying to shatter the awkwardness, “Thanks for the ride. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned slightly toward you, his gaze lingering a moment longer than usual.

“I really hope you do.”

You weren’t sure why, but tonight, for the first time in a long while, the usual casual goodbye didn’t feel right at all. Something in the atmosphere was different, charged even, as though something had shifted tremendously.

And then, without warning, Satoru’s hand reached over to the gearshift, but instead of grabbing it, his fingers brushed against yours. A light, accidental touch—or at least, that’s how it seemed at first. But the way his fingers lingered there, just a little longer than necessary, sent a shiver through your spine.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you looked up at him. His face was inches away, the faint glow from the streetlights casting shadows across his captivating features. His eyes were still focused ahead, but his jaw was tight, like he was holding something back.

As if hypnotized, your hand slowly moved a fraction, just until your fingers brushed against his again. His eyes flicked toward you, meeting yours for the briefest of moments.

Satoru was the one to shift in his seat now and for the length of a heartbeat, everything felt suspended. Then, almost imperceptibly, he leaned in just a little closer. It wasn’t a grand gesture, but it was enough. Enough for you to completely lose your mind.

Your heart thudded in your chest as you both sat there, a breath away from something more, from something you’ve been daydreaming about for a long time.

Neither of you spoke, but in the stillness of the car, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just this moment. His hand, still hovering over yours, seemed to be waiting for something. For you to make a move? Or for himself to?

And just as quickly as it began, Gojo pulled his hand back, sitting back in his seat, the moment slipping away in an instant like sand through your fingers. He didn’t say anything, but there was a darkness in his eyes now—a flicker of something you couldn’t place.

“Get some rest,” he simply said, his voice almost too casual. He didn’t wait for you to respond, just turned the car on again and gave you a small, almost hesitant smile.

Without a single word, you stepped out of the car, your legs feeling unsteady, the weight of the unspoken moment heavy on your shoulders. You closed the door behind you and turned to look back at him. He didn’t reciprocate.

iii.

Hope is the fuel that drives us forward, yet it has the power to burn us to ashes.

And tonight, you were bound to be burned.

He hadn’t mentioned her before. Not once. Not to you, not to anyone, apparently, as they all seemed to hold the same surprised expression as you did. The only difference was that yours contained a mixture of bitterness and betrayal, evident enough for an observant reader.

“Guys, this is Mei,” he had said nonchalantly, slinging an arm around the woman’s shoulders and giving her a quick kiss. “My girlfriend.”

Your world shifted on its axis. Every stone you placed to build your happily ever after castle collapsed in a blink of an eye.

At first, you convinced yourself it was temporary. Satoru never stuck around for long in relationships, right? He would realize soon enough that she just wasn’t for him. That you were the one who had been there all along. That he would rebuild your castle.

But weeks passed.

Then months.

Then, on his birthday, he made the announcement.

“We’re engaged.”

No castle. No happily ever afters.

And as laughter and cheers erupted in the room full of your closest friends, you couldn’t hear any of it over the rushing sound in your ears. You felt like you were being pulled down into the pit of the ocean, instantly drowning. The glass in your hand trembled and before anyone could notice the devastation on your face, you stormed out after sharing your congratulations.

You desperately needed an exit. Out of this hell on earth that embraced your soul and caged it.

Your legs buckled, the sudden realization that you’d lost him forever crashing over you like a tidal wave. You weren’t sure if you were shaking from the chilly breeze of the quiet night or from the raw ache tearing through your heart.

Eventually, you collapsed to your knees on the porch, your hands clutching the edge of the railing as if it could anchor you to something, anything. The tears began to flow like a faucet.

It haunted you already. His smile as he’d told everyone. The way she stood beside him, her hand resting on his arm, showing her ring. How easily he’d said it, like it was just another step in the natural flow of things. They’re getting married. As if it had always been that way. Like you were just a passing thought.

There was nothing you could do to stop it. You had no right to. You had to sit along with the shattering truth from now on: He wasn’t yours. He never had been. He never would be.

You felt guilty for allowing yourself to be carried away by signs that turned out to be a false alarm.

You wish you had been more aware, more careful, more…

Realistic.

If Satoru wanted to make a move on you he would’ve done so as soon as he realized he had developed feelings for you. He wasn’t the type of man to hide away or act all shy like a schoolboy.

There had never been something there, ever.

It had always been empty, not an ounce of what you expected.

And if at some point it had existed, it was all long gone now, leaving dust and pain behind it.

As you were about to think that at least nobody had noticed your awful exit, you heard the door behind you creak.

Suguru Geto wasn’t the type to miss things. The way your eyes were empty, the way you barely met anyone’s gaze—it unsettled him.

He made his way outside, the soft light from the house spilling onto the dark yard. It didn’t take long before he noticed you, crumpled on the porch, knees drawn to your chest, hot tears staining your cheeks. You looked utterly broken, a mess of emotions you were unable to hide anymore.

“Hey,” Suguru said softly, kneeling next to you. He reached out, gently pulling you up and into his arms. You didn’t resist, your body still trembling a bit against his. Your breath came in jagged sobs, but your face was hard, as if you were trying not to show how much it hurt.

“Shh,” he soothed, guiding you to sit on the bench nearby. “You don’t have to explain. I can see it. I know.” Suguru’s hand moved up and down on your upper back, offering the little comfort he could without invading your space too much. You both sat there until the tears started to dry, until the night breeze dried your tears and emptiness started to take over.

Until the door opened again.

Satoru stepped out onto the porch, his excitement still buzzing in the air. It was time to cut the cake.

“Alright, what the hell are you guys doing out here?” His voice was light, teasing, filled with his usual carefree energy. But the moment his eyes laid on you, sitting there with Suguru, something shifted.

His smile faltered as he took in the scene—your eyes red from crying, your posture stiff, distant. Without a second thought, he dropped his playful tone and rushed toward you. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” His voice cracked with concern, as he reached out, kneeling in front of you. His hands hovered uncertainly, unsure of what to do, his eyes searching yours for some kind of answer. But you didn’t dare to meet his.

You didn’t speak either. Not a single word came out. Your gaze was hollow, distant as you stared into nothingness, face pale and devoid of emotion. Satoru’s heart sank, the confusion and panic evident in his expression.

Suguru stood up, his face calm but laced with an underlying concern. “Her stomach feels a bit weird,” he said quietly, his gaze shifting between Satoru and you just to check if you’d react to his lie. “I’ll take her home to rest, you guys can cut the cake without me, it’s fine.”

Before Satoru could reply, Suguru started walking back inside.

“Y/n, be right back, going to grab my keys and your stuff.”

All you managed to do was nod as you both watched him disappear.

You slowly rose to your feet, your movements stiff and calculated. You still refused to make eye contact with Satoru, knowing it would break you all over again. You moved past him, your shoulders brushing for a brief moment as you started heading for the steps to leave.

Satoru’s heart raced, panic rising in his chest as he quickly reached out to grab your wrist. “Hey, y/n, please wait—”

The moment his fingers brushed against your skin, you pulled away as if your body was getting electrocuted. Your expression remained unreadable as your eyes fell on the floor, which suddenly seemed more like a safe space than your own best friend.

Gojo stood there, stunned for a second. He could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—“ He paused for a moment, trying to think of the right expression to use. Scared you? Startled you?

“Fuck, if something’s wrong, if there’s something going on, just tell me, please.”

You ignored his plea for answers.

“Look at me! Y/n please I need to know…”

The fact that he pretended to care—it gnawed at you, eating away at what was left of your patience. He had no idea how much he was hurting you and that was what pissed you off the most. He was so oblivious, so self-centred, acting as if everything was fine and you were the problem.

Your hands balled into fists at your sides as the anger began to rise, slow and steady, like a sandstorm, pulling you under.

But no, you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, you wouldn’t be the one to cause more of a scene and give the lovey dovey couple something to gossip about before they go to sleep at night.

“You never keep secrets from me,” you finally said. “Unless you know they’ll hurt me.”

Satoru fell silent.

“You knew, didn’t you?” you pushed, voice cracking. “You knew all along and despite that…”

His fingers curled at his sides. He opened his mouth, but no words came out at first.

“I don’t see you like that.” He admitted, voice careful, a bit too hesitant, too soft. But it was enough to shatter you once again.

“Then at least you should have had the fucking decency to tell me instead of making a joke out of me tonight!”

“I didn’t mean it to appear that way, y/n.”

Everything after that was a blur. You backing off, unable to believe your ears. Suguru gently guiding you to the car, Satoru apologizing over and over, crying once again in Suguru’s car, falling asleep on your bed with your outside clothes on.

Not to worry.

It would all start to fade completely with the first rays of the sun one month later.

iv.

The room was loud, buzzing with laughter and drunken teasing as you all gathered around in a circle to play a game of “Seven Minutes in Heaven.” The rules were simple: each person would take a turn drawing a slip of paper from a hat, and whoever’s name was written would have to go into the small closet for seven minutes with said person.

The air was thick with anticipation as the time passed. The dim lighting cast a warm glow over the scene, bottles of sake scattered across the table. Shoko was grinning behind her cigarette, Nanami had his arms crossed, looking like he was already regretting joining, and Suguru was laughing, thoroughly entertained.

“Alright, next up,” Utahime said, shaking the hat full of names. She reached in, pulled out a slip, and read it aloud. “Oh, this is gonna be good. Satoru.”

You rolled your eyes as he made a dramatic show of adjusting his sunglasses, grinning like he already owned the room.

“Obviously,” he said smugly, stretching his arms behind his head. “Alright, who’s the lucky—”

Utahime pulled the next name. Her grin widened. “Oh, this is good. It’s you,” she said, pointing at you.

The room exploded into laughter and catcalls.

Your stomach dropped. “Absolutely not.”

“Ohhh, come on!” Satoru clapped his hands together, his smirk practically glowing. “Don’t be shy, y/n, you know me more than anybody in here.”

You shot him a glare. “I’d rather die.”

“Seven minutes can’t kill you,” Shoko snickered.

“It can if it’s with him,” you shot back, crossing your arms.

Satoru placed a hand over his heart in mock hurt. “I’m wounded.” Then, before you could protest any further, he grabbed your wrist, already pulling you toward the closet. “C’mon, let’s get it over with.”

The door slammed shut behind you, and you were immediately swallowed by darkness, the only light slanting through the cracks. The air was thick, filled with the distant laughter of your friends and the suffocating closeness of him.

You backed up until your shoulder hit the wall. “You better not try anything.” You lied.

“Oh, please,” Satoru scoffed. “Like you’d be able to resist me.”

You barked out a laugh. “Resist what? Your giant ego?”

“You say that, but I’ve seen how you look at me.” His voice dropped slightly, and you could feel his smirk. That fucking asshole knew what he was doing.

You scoffed. “You wish I looked at you like that.”

Satoru took a slow step closer, the air shifting. “Do I?”

The silence stretched between you, charged with something you didn’t even dare to think about. You could smell his cologne, the faintest hint of something sweet under it—maybe the sake he’d been drinking.

Your jaw clenched. “You’re always doing this. Flirting, teasing, making everything a game. You don’t even take me seriously.” You regretted saying that as soon as you let the words out. That was a little too much information for someone like Satoru to know.

He tilted his head. “And that bothers you?”

“No!” you snapped.

“Then why are you getting so worked up?”

You absolutely hated how easily he could pull reactions from you. You wanted to push him away, wanted to shove that cocky smirk right off his face.

Instead, you did the next best thing—you shoved his shoulder. “I hate you.”

Satoru barely moved. He only grinned, his expression shifting, something dangerous sparking behind those blue eyes. “No, you don’t.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. His hand came up, fingers gently brushing your jaw. Your body betrayed you, a shiver running down your spine.

And then, before you could think about how sick and twisted of a man he is, before you could even breathe, Satoru grabbed you, yanking you forward, and his lips crashed against yours.

The kiss was nothing like you expected. It wasn’t slow, wasn’t teasing—it was hungry, desperate. His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him as your back hit the wall. His fingers dug into you like he was afraid you’d disappear.

You gasped against his mouth, but he didn’t give you a second to process. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, and suddenly, you were gripping his shirt, pulling him closer, like something inside you had snapped.

You were finally tasting him, after so much longing, after so much fear, after—

v.

“The procedure is straightforward, but I must emphasize that it is permanent.”

The words hang in the sterile air, cold and final. You grip the edge of your chair, fingers curling into the fabric of your coat.

“Upon completion, you will no longer experience romantic feelings toward him. Your memories will remain intact, but any emotional attachment of that nature will be severed. You will recall that you once loved him, but you will be incapable of feeling it again.”

Your throat tightens. “So I’ll just… see him and feel nothing?”

The doctor folds her hands on the desk, her gaze steady. “That is the intended outcome. No lingering pain, no unfulfilled longing—no more suffering.”

No more love.

The doctor regards you carefully. “You must be certain before proceeding. There is no way to reverse this. Once it is done, the possibility of romantic love for the person of interest will be permanently erased. You will not be able to recover it, even if you wish to.”

Permanent.

The word settles over you like a stone, heavy and immovable. Is this what you truly want? Or is it simply the only way to survive?

It doesn’t take long for you to decide.

“I’d like to sign the papers and schedule an appointment please,” you said, your voice steady—too steady. It felt like if you let even a single crack show, the whole thing would shatter.

The doctor nodded, sliding a clipboard toward you. “The soonest available appointment is next week. Does that work for you?”

You picked up the pen, pressing it to the paper. “Yes, thank you so much.”

The ink bled into the form, a quiet confirmation of the choice you had made. With each stroke, it became more real.

More permanent.

When you stepped out of the office, the cold air of the hallway hit you first—then it was Suguru’s waiting gaze. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his expression somewhere between impatient and concerned.

“How did it go?” he asked, pushing off the wall as you approached.

You hesitated for only a second. “Good. It’s done. I have an appointment next week.”

Suguru let out a slow breath, tilting his head slightly. “So you’re really going through with it?”

You nodded, gripping the strap of your bag and looking past him, down the empty hallway.

“I don’t see any other way.”

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “You’re making a mistake, y/n.”

Your jaw tightened. “No, I’m fixing one.”

Suguru scoffed. “By cutting out a part of yourself? By pretending he never meant anything?”

“I’m not pretending,” you shot back, your voice quieter now. “I’ll still remember. I just won’t… feel it.”

Suguru’s gaze softened, but there was something sharp underneath it. “And you think that’s better?”

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. “It has to be.”

If you did that, everyone would win.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck before looking at you again, this time more serious. “Feeling anything, even pain, is better than feeling nothing at all.”

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides. You appreciated his concern, you really did, but the last thing you needed right now was someone to plant second thoughts into your head. “I’m not shutting off everything, Suguru. It’s just one person.”

He studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. “And what if that one person is the one who made you feel the most alive?” he said finally, voice quieter now.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it. “Then I guess it’s a good thing I won’t remember what that felt like.”

Suguru exhaled, shaking his head as if he wanted to say more but knew it wouldn’t change anything. And maybe it wouldn’t.

Maybe, by next week, none of this would matter at all.

vi.

Satoru tried to be patient, understanding.

The first few days, he told himself you just needed space. That you’d cool off and things would go back to normal. He guessed that if you were the one to get married, he would feel a little bit uneasy as well. Well, actually no, he immediately brushed off these thoughts as a little unease would be an understatement. Why was he feeling that way?

Weeks went by and still nothing.

And for the first time in his life, he had no idea what was going on with you.

At first, his texts were casual, an attempt to smooth things over without addressing the weight of what had happened:

— Shoko said you haven’t been answering her either. You didn’t die, right?

— At least tell me if you’re alive. That’s basic human decency.

You left them all on read.

Then his messages changed.

— I really hate not talking to you.

— Is this really how you want things to be?

Still, nothing.

He stopped texting and tried to focus on his fiancée, on work, on anything that would keep him from checking his phone every ten minutes. He’d always thought you’d be there, that no matter what, he’d have you to joke with, to lean on.

But now there was silence, and it ate at him more than he wanted to admit.

So one evening, after work, more than a month after his birthday party, he finally gave up on waiting.

Before he could overthink it, he found himself at your doorstep, hand hovering over the doorbell.

It had been a long time since he’d come here without walking in like he owned the place.

The door opened, and there you were.

Satoru had played this moment over in his head a thousand times—how you’d react, what you’d say, if you’d slam the door in his face. But he definitely hadn’t expected this.

You looked… fine.

Not sad, not angry, just fine.

“Hey, stranger,” you said, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. There was no hesitation in your voice, no flicker of the storm he was used to seeing in your eyes when it came to him. “Long time no see.”

Satoru frowned, searching your face. “Hi, uh…Hi.”

There was something off about you, something he couldn’t put his finger on, and it was making his chest tighten.

“I tried to reach you,” he said carefully.

“I know,” you replied. “I saw the texts.”

His frown deepened. “And?”

“And I didn’t feel like answering back then. But it’s all good now.”

Something inside him twisted. You had never seemed this indifferent with him. Even when you were pissed, you felt things so deeply. But now… there was nothing.

“Can I come in?” he asked, eyeing you carefully.

You tilted your head, considering, before stepping aside. “Of course, make yourself comfortable.”

Satoru walked in, the familiar space somehow feeling foreign. It smelled the same, looked the same—yet it felt completely unfamiliar.

You walked ahead of him, hands in your pockets. “You want something to drink, or are you just here to stare at me like I kicked your puppy?”

He nodded, almost mechanically, and you poured him a glass of something strong, handing it to him without a word. He took it, but his eyes never left you. There was something different about you now, and it bothered him more than he cared to admit. Something in the way you moved, the way you spoke, the way you avoided his gaze—it was all off. He could feel the change, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“I’m sorry,” Satoru blurted, finally breaking the silence. “About that night, I should’ve told you first before I announced it to everyone. I just… I thought we were fine, you know? We’ve always had this understanding. You’ve always been there for me, and I guess… I guess I took it for granted.”

You watched him for a moment before responding, your expression soft. “There’s nothing to apologize for, Satoru,” you replied, “You wanted to get married to someone you love. That’s not something you need to be sorry for.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, his frustration visible. “I should’ve told you first, though. I always tell you everything. You’re the one closest to me. And I know there’s always been something… between us. We’ve never really talked about it, but it’s always been there, right? It’s like we both just… agreed that it was there, even if we never said it out loud.”

You looked at him then, but your gaze wasn’t filled with the usual warmth. It wasn’t filled with anything at all. “Maybe that was the case before,” you said, your voice even. “But after the procedure… on my end, at least, that doesn’t exist anymore.”

Satoru froze, confusion flashing in his eyes. “Procedure?” he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. “What procedure?”

You gave a short laugh, leaning back in your chair. “The procedure to erase my feelings for you. It’s… not as bad as it sounds, please don’t panic. I didn’t want to keep carrying around something that wasn’t going anywhere, especially when it was clear that you didn’t feel the same way.”

Satoru stood there, still as a statue, his mouth open in disbelief. “You… erased your feelings for me?” he repeated, his voice cracking, like the words were too hard to form. “Why? Why would you do that?”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “Because, Satoru, that night you made it clear you didn’t see me in that way, remember? I didn’t need you to spell it out for me to understand. You were, are in love with someone else.”

You looked at him, your expression unreadable. “I just wanted to be happy, and I didn’t want to hold onto feelings that weren’t being returned. It wasn’t about you or the wedding or anything else, it was just… about me. I couldn’t keep pretending like I didn’t care when I knew I did. It wasn’t fair to either of us, not fair to poor Mei as well.”

Satoru stood still, his eyes locked on yours, as if he couldn’t comprehend the gravity of what had just happened. The words he was about to say came out more urgently than he intended, as if they could somehow undo the decision you’d made.

“This was a mistake, y/n” he insisted, his voice cracking, desperation thickening it. “If I knew you were going to do this, I would’ve stopped you. I can’t… I can’t imagine a world where I don’t have your love. I need you. I—” He swallowed hard, looking at you as if you were the very air he breathed.

You sat there, the calmness in your demeanor almost haunting as you watched him fall apart before you. It should’ve hurt, seeing him so shaken, but it didn’t. Not a bit.

“That’s quite selfish of you to say, Satoru,” you replied, your voice steady, like you were telling him a simple fact of life. “You have someone who loves you. You’re getting married, for God’s sake. You don’t need me. You’ve already found someone who gives you everything you want, someone who’s going to be with you and love you..”

He looked at you in shock, his chest tightening as if the breath had been knocked out of him. “What are you talking about? I can’t just—” He shook his head as if trying to clear his thoughts, to find the right words. “You’re my person, y/n. No one else can replace you.”

“If you truly felt this way about me, Satoru,” you said, “you should’ve been honest with me from the start. You shouldn’t have waited until someone else was already involved. You shouldn’t have waited until you were about to marry her. You should’ve told me everything before you made that decision, before you put me in the position of being the one left behind. Look at yourself, you don’t even know what you want or what you truly feel.

“I want you, y/n,” he finally admitted, his voice raw with emotion, a trace of desperation in it that he hadn’t shown before. “I don’t know what I was doing before, but I know I want you. I always have. I can’t imagine a life without you…”

You took a deep breath, swallowing down the sting of his words. “No, Satoru,” you said, your voice firm, you had made your own peace with it. “You don’t get to say that now. You had your chance. You had all the time in the world to figure this out, but you didn’t. And now, it’s too late. It’s not about what you want anymore, because I’m not here for you like that. I can’t undo it.”

“You… you can’t possibly feel nothing anymore. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

“I do feel like I need to help my best friend organize his wedding because he’s an utter dumbass. Nothing has changed Satoru… Romantically speaking I’ll just never be there again, that’s what we both needed and that’s what’s right.”

Before Satoru could protest any further, the sound of a door clicking shut echoed through the room. The lock turned with a soft but decisive click, and before either of you could say another word, Suguru walked in, his usual calm demeanor in place. He was casually dressed, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, though there was a subtle tension in the way he looked between you and Satoru.

“Sorry, did I interrupt something?” Suguru’s voice was smooth, but there was a glint of curiosity in his eyes as he took in the scene, sensing the tension thick in the air.

Satoru turned sharply, the shock on his face still evident, though he tried to mask it. “Suguru,” he greeted, though the word sounded more like a question than a real greeting. “What are you—”

But Suguru didn’t wait for him to finish. His gaze flicked to you, a small smile tugging at his lips, but there was a quiet understanding in his eyes. “You two have been… talking, I see.”

“Oh, we haven’t had time to catch up about that, love,” you let out a laugh. “But we’ve been figuring things out.” You turned to Suguru with a calmness that felt like a weight lifting from your chest. “We started going out a few days ago.”

Satoru froze, his mouth going dry as his heart skipped a beat. The words felt like a punch in the gut, even though he had been trying so hard to convince himself that everything was okay. The idea of you being with Suguru—that way, romantically—was like a cruel joke he hadn’t expected.

Suguru, however, didn’t seem surprised. He glanced over at Satoru, his expression unreadable for a moment, before he gave a small, almost teasing shrug. “You took long enough to figure things out, didn’t you, Satoru?”

Satoru’s head snapped toward Suguru, his eyes wide. “Wait, you knew?” His voice was strained, like he was on the verge of losing control.

Suguru’s smile widened slightly, but it was devoid of any amusement. “I had a feeling,” he said, his gaze lingering on you. “But it’s not for me to explain. I didn’t interfere at all, if that’s what you’re thinking. You two have had your history, your own way of… handling things. But now, I think y/n has made her decision.”

“You really did it, didn’t you?” Satoru muttered under his breath, though it was almost more to himself than to anyone else in the room. He stared at you, trying to find any trace of the person you used to be, the person he once meant something to. But all he saw now was a calm, detached version of you, one that no longer felt the weight of the love that once existed between you two.

The anger, confusion, and disbelief were still swirling inside him, but it was replaced by something much crueler now—acceptance. A bitter, painful acceptance that he had messed up. That he had waited too long. That his indecision had cost him everything.

He looked at you one last time, but he found nothing familiar in your eyes. There was no warmth, no affection, no love. Just emptiness.

“You think you’ve moved on,” he said quietly, as if to convince himself. His voice cracked slightly, betraying the deep hurt that he was trying so desperately to suppress. “But maybe, deep down, you’ll always feel what we had. At least, I’ll always do.” He shook his head, almost like he was trying to clear his thoughts. “Maybe that’s the only thing left, huh? At least I didn’t chicken out and erase my fucking feelings.”

When all he received was silence, his shoulders slumped, and he let out a long, exhausted sigh. His gaze lingered on you one last time before he turned towards the door, his footsteps heavy as they echoed in the room.

“I’m sorry for everything,” Was all he managed to utter. “I hope you guys are happy.”

And then, without waiting for a response, he left. The door shut loudly behind him, and with that, Satoru Gojo walked out of your life for good.

There was a moment when you had everything and nothing at the same time.

And there was a moment when he had everything and nothing at the same time.

And at the end of that day, that’s what hurt the most.

[city-of-ladies]

Empress Sun (c. 1403–1462) was an ambitious and calculating woman who used her influence to shape the political events of her time.

The ambitious consort

Empress Sun’s father was an assistant magistrate in Yongcheng district. Her beauty and intelligence caught the attention of Lady Pengcheng, the mother of Crown Prince Zhu Gaochi’s wife, Lady Zhang.

Lady Zhang agreed to bring the young girl to the palace, where she received an education and earned the admiration of the palace women. In 1417, she became a consort of Zhu Zhanji, grandson of the Yongle Emperor. When Zhu Zhanji ascended the throne in 1425 as the Xuande Emperor, Sun was elevated to the highest consort rank, making her second only to the empress.

An empress falls, another rises

Consort Sun was known for her cunning and ambition. The empress, Hu Shanxiang, was in fragile health and had not given birth to a son—both factors that led her to fall out of favor with the emperor. In 1427, Sun gave birth to a son, Zhu Qizhen. However, some sources suggest the child may have been the son of a palace servant impregnated by the emperor, with Sun allegedly taking the baby as her own.

In 1429, in an unprecedented move, the Xuande Emperor deposed Empress Hu, granting her an honorific title. Sun was then elevated to the rank of empress. The decision was controversial. Empress Dowager Zhang sympathized with the deposed empress and often seated Hu in a place of honor during banquets—much to Sun’s displeasure.

As empress, Sun held court in her residence. She evaluated palace personnel, approved budgets, and arranged the marriages of princes and princesses. She also received visits from the other consorts and reported regularly to Empress Dowager Zhang.

Empress dowager

When the Xuande Emperor died in 1435, his son Zhu Qizhen was still a child. The ministers asked Empress Dowager Zhang to take charge of the regency, which she did unofficially, ushering in a period of peace and stability.

Empress Sun became empress dowager. In 1449, when the emperor was captured during a battle against the Mongols, Empress Sun ordered his half-brother, Zhu Qiyu, to take charge of state affairs. She tried to pay the emperor’s ransom without success but sent him warm furs and clothes during his captivity.

When Zhu Qizhen was finally released a year and a half later, his brother confined him to the palace and ruled in his place. Empress Sun was dissatisfied with the situation. In 1457, she played a key role in a coup that restored Zhu Qizhen to the throne—a turn of events that would not have happened without her influence and summons.

Empress Sun died of an illness in 1462.

If you enjoy this blog, consider supporting me on Ko-fi!

Further reading: 

Lin Yanqing, “Sun, Empress of the Xuande Emperor, Xuanzong, of Ming”, in: Lee Lily Xiao Hong, Wiles Sue (eds.), Biographical Dictionary of Chinese Women, Volume II: Tang Through Ming 618 - 1644

McMahon Keith, Celestial Women: Imperial Wives and Concubines in China from Song to Qing

[tinytennisskirt]

Behind Closed Doors

part one/part two

Summary: heavily based on the lyrics of behind closed doors by lana del rey, patrick zweig takes genuine interest in one of the 'matches' his parents have thrown at him to try and rope him back to high society. she takes him and herself by surprise, finding she's not all spoiled, perfect, and innocent. nobody is rooting for them, but they don't care. if it feels good. then it can't be bad. behind closed doors.

Part Two: On their second date, socialite good girl!reader finds herself navigating unfamiliar territory as Patrick Zweig sets the pace. He’s determined to coax her out of her carefully curated shell and bring to her to try something new, but the drinks only blur the lines further. Tension builds as desire grows harder to contain. Reader drops a personal detail that drives Patrick a little crazy.

warnings: talk of touch, making out, drinking, smoking

His car was parked outside, so there was no way to hide from your parents that you were going out again, but after all, they did make the arrangement with the Zweigs, so as long as they didn’t know about the cigarette, you’d be fine. You walked down the steps. He didn’t say where you were going so you dressed somewhat nicely. A pink skirt and a cream-coloured knit sweater and you were already drawing the line toward casual, so you topped it off with your Vivienne Westwood necklace. Your father was in his study and you said goodnight as you passed him and told him to tell your mom as well. You kindly dismissed yourself, putting on tasteful socks and mary janes.

His first thought, in jeans and a t-shirt, was that you really were a princess, as you emerged from the double doors to your pillared front entrance. He was never a second-date sort of guy, especially not with the women his parents threw his way, but you were something different and he knew it. He got you to smoke on the first day, part of him liked how it felt to have aided in something so controversial. Proper girls don’t smoke, but you, you took that chance. You walked over to the car, his window down. “Can I get in?”

“Yeah, of course,” he nodded. He moved his sunglasses from the seat next to him as you hopped up into his car. Your skirt, though pretty, was just a little short, he noted. Well, short for girls like you. Maybe it was a sign, he thought. “You ever been to a bar before?” He hid his smirk as he drove away before you had your seatbelt on. Your eyes widened, was the prettiest sight. He chuckled to himself.

The bar was one of his favourites. Not too trashy, but probably just trashy enough. You already looked out of place on the somehow wet asphalt outside, your arms folded, looking up at the sign above the door. “They’ll let me in? I’m not 21.” You reasoned, looking at him. His smile was wide and gorgeous, god, you hated how much a look from him could make your heart accelerate. You were a weak woman, you thought. Weak.

“They’ll let you in,” he nodded. “I know the guy who runs the place, you’re fine.”

You walked with him to the entrance and he held the door for you. You smiled a ‘thank you’ and with adjusting eyes, looked around the dimly lit bar. It was a little busy, a little bit bustling, but Patrick was greeted in seconds. You could only think to yourself, watching him interact with his friend, that he was carrying himself in a manner that he was not thinking about you. He was with you one second and gone the next and it wasn’t like he meant to, but he still did. You tucked your hair behind your ear.

The floor was sticky, you noted, following Patrick just a little. He had a seat at the bar and when you came over, he helped you up onto the stool next to him. Truth was, he could not stop thinking about that kiss the other night- not for one second. It was part of why he was here with you now, a second date, a second chance to kiss you again. It only occurred to him after three minutes that you were talking to him. “Patrick?” You questioned, just a little curious as to why he wasn’t blinking.

His eyes met yours, rising up from your lips. He couldn’t help the smirk that broke out. “Yeah?”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“You’re on campus next week,” he nodded. It was all he caught. You raised an eyebrow at him. He wasn’t listening. “I’m sorry,” he added at the moment of your expression. “Do you want a drink?” You could deduct he wasn’t all that sorry.

“I’m not 21,” you reminded him. He was older by a good amount, you remembered. “I can’t.”

“You can here, I cleared it with my friend when we came in. You’re 21 as far as he’s concerned.” He smirked, laying the bait. Could he get the girl in Mary Janes to take a shot with him? “You’ve drank before, right?”

You shook your head, “Only champagne, low percentage.”

“Without any pressure,” he leaned a little closer to you, his face just a little closer than it should be, his eyes flickering from your lips, back to your eyes, “Would you like to? Drink.”

He liked how flustered you got. He wondered if it was from him or the offer, but it was both. You blinked a few times and your nose got a little pink. “What would I…” You were taking the bait with such ease. He grinned. “No… But you can drink if you’d like, I don’t mind.”

“No?” He shrugged. Strong-willed girl. But he put his hand up to the bartender, “One Jaeger bomb and a pornstar?” He asked. The names made you blink extra hard. You flushed and turned away, he said pornstar so loud, everyone must have heard. It was… strange. It was embarrassing a little bit, but the bartender didn’t bat an eye, just started making drinks.

You turned back to him, a curious and quizzical expression on your face. “Is the second one for me?”

He nodded, “If you change your mind.”

“Alcohol is a gateway,” you told him.

“Who told you that?” He asked with a laugh as the bartender set the two drinks down. One was brown, the other was purple, which you guessed, was yours. “Weed is the gateway. Plus on the grand scale, nicotine is so much worse than a single drink.”

You twisted your mouth to the side. He was so hot. Every word out of his mouth was hot. You wished it was appropriate to kiss him right here and now, for no reason. “I’m not drinking that.”

“That’s fine. It’ll just sit there.” He smirked, taking the other drink and drinking half. “I know you have low tolerance, it’s not very strong. And you don’t have to.”

You looked at it, it looked good, honestly, garnished with a lime. “I feel like I wasted your money.” You leaned on your hand, your elbow on the bar.

Patrick shrugged, “So don’t waste it?”

“It’s alcohol,” you whispered. He chuckled at that. Only you would whisper about alcohol at a bar. It was cute. “I can’t drink it for another year.”

“Suit yourself, princess,” he said, finishing his drink. The nickname, again. You couldn’t hide the blush that took over your nose, your cheeks. He was a fan of it, how cute you looked when you couldn’t meet his eyes anymore. Princess. You were exactly that. And you got to talking more, genuinely, with sweet banter and stolen glances at lips when the other wasn’t paying attention and once you got into your music taste, Patrick was still sure you were a princess, but a different kind for sure. You weren’t like any upper-class girl he’d been forced to meet in his lifetime.

You liked some of the stuff he liked. Which was for sure not parent-approved. He found out you liked books and kept CDs under your floorboard, which was endearing. You said you got the idea from a show you liked. It was cute. He made a note to watch the show- which caught even him by surprise. His favourite thing was to uncover that you like eyeliner, but your father said it made you look like a whore, which was laughed at, instead of agreed with, (which you found refreshing). “I’d love to see it. No, kill to see it.”

“It’s not that special, but I feel so ugly without it, isn’t that weird?” You laughed. “I never wear it out. Ever. Only in my bedroom.”

“Yeah, it sounds hot,” he grinned, leaning forward. He was now two drinks in and your drink was still sitting there. He had pushed it a little closer and you’d be lying to say you weren’t tempted to drink it and to kiss him. “You should wear it out somewhere.”

“You asking me on another date?” Your turn to smirk. His eyebrows raised. Amongst all the surprising things he’d learned about you, this suggestion, this ask, took him most by surprised. It was more bold than he’d heard from you. He watched how your hand walked along the table, hesitating near the drink. He grinned.

“Might be.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow night.” He replied. You were a little flattered he wanted to see you again so soon. “If you’re free.”

“I’m free,” you nodded, pulling the drink slowly toward you. He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek smugly. “I pick, though.”

“Dangerous.”

“Safer than a bar.” You nodded, looking down at the drink. He could tell you were contemplating drinking it. You picked it up, holding the straw to your lips. So close… too close. His eyes fell on the plush of your lower lip, how the straw pressed against it. Maybe it was the three drinks, but he knew he wanted you more than anything. You noticed him watching you hold the drink and giggled a little, turning away. “I was going to drink it.”

“You should,” he nodded, eyes moving between your lips and your eyes, “Won’t hurt.”

“Promise?” You said a bit quieter than your other words, with innocence so strong it almost knocked him into you. Maybe it was the shot he’d just taken. Your eyes are wide and they’re evil. And you drink the martini and you scrunch your nose just a little and he wants you. And with your low tolerance and maybe trying a shot, and a few sips of what he was having, you were just a little tipsy and you want him. Banter is banter, he makes you laugh and under the grit, he’s so charming.

You stand up with intentions to move over to the dartboard, but you don't get far, his hand catches your wrist and with a calculated tug, he pulled you into him.

It felt good to be so airy and spinny and to kiss him. Kissing him, walking backward into the wall. It felt dirty, his hand on the back of your head, in your hair, your hands grabbing at the front of his t-shirt. You rolled against the wall, your hand falling behind you to press open the door to the girl’s bathrooms. No idea how you got so far, but there was nobody in there- the bar was filled mostly with men. He was so good at kissing, better than any boy who wore a sweater vest, better than anyone you’d ever kissed before. His hands slid under your sweater, surprised to find you weren’t wearing any sort of tank top, pleased to have his hands slide easily over the skin of your waist and back.

All of this, though it felt good, being picked up and put on the counter, it was dirty. It was dirty and it was wrong, it was bad. The sink wasn’t wet, but it was disgusting for sure. Though all you could think about was how good it felt to be pressed against him, legs at his hips, your skirt slipping upward. Oh god, your skirt was almost up to your hips, thank god you wore shorts.

Your hands stayed around his neck, the buzz of the alcohol making your ears ring. The only noise was the muffled music of the bar and the kissing along with the heavy breathing. His hot hands on your skin felt so good, his tongue in your mouth felt dizzying in itself. He kissed you like you were the last person he’d ever kiss and it felt natural, the way you kissed him just the same.

Goes without saying that he was into you, more than his usual girls. Something about knowing what you were taught to do and undoing it felt like a drug. Felt a little like revenge without actually causing any real harm. Your skin was as soft as silk and you tasted like lime when he kissed you, he’d take it, with a side of getting back at his parents. Aside from that, he was feeling his heart beat hard in his chest as he was clouded over by passion. Everything, every sense, all filled with you, you, you.

His hand slipped down your hip, over your leg, back up your thigh- god, your skin was so smooth. He moved just slightly, making space between the two of you, his hand sliding over your thigh toward the inside, toward where it mattered, but you stopped him. Tipsy or not, you stopped him abruptly, hand on his wrist, moving away from the kiss as well. “Patrick…”

“I should’ve asked.” He mumbled against your lips. A response you didn’t expect from Patrick, let alone Patrick with a few drinks in him. “Just assumed.”

You felt yourself flush pink, your heart accelerated beyond the pace it was already at. “I’ve never…” You started, but the embarrassment caught up to you.

“Never what?”

You were out of it and honest, too honest, “Been touched.”

“At all?”

“Only boobs,” you nodded, then cringed a slight bit.

Familiar heat in your cheeks, but it was like a fire ripped through Patrick’s body as your blatant statement was absorbed properly. It lit something up, bright. “You’re a virgin?”

Oh, this was so much better than he thought. A grin spread up his face unintentionally and somewhat evilly, though he was overwhelmed with some new emotion. A stronger one, close to lust but more motivated by the unattainable. You nodded, your eyes soft and the next words from his mouth fell out in a breathy slip, “Oh, fuck-” And those large hands of his grabbed your face and pulled you into a harder kiss, stronger than before, more potent than it had been.

You took it gladly, passionately, not caring about the way he was fucking up your hair or your makeup. Skirt slipping up, hands behind his head, in his hair. You’d made out with other guys, but all those little sessions seemed so empty. All those guys were afraid of you, of ruining your curls and ruffles. But not Patrick… Not Patrick. He kissed you like he meant it and yeah things were spun a little different with this much in your system but it was better than anything you’d ever experienced.

He kissed you right, kissed you until a biker woman came into the bathroom, eyeing the two of you wordlessly as she passed. Oh, she must have thought you were trash too, you realized. You felt your lips, just a little swollen as you laughed into his shoulder. “We have to go,” you sighed, the dizziness still making your head spin. He was wearing cologne, a nice one, unexpectedly. He smelled nice. “Can we go?”

“We can go,” he nodded with his gorgeous, dimpled grin. He reached over to the paper towel and grabbed a piece to wipe the lip gloss off his mouth. You pressed your fingertips to your forehead, trying not to laugh at anything. Patrick looked at you, your nose pink, hair a little messed up, still sitting up on the counter in your skirt and your sweater. Yeah, you were hot, you could kiss and your hand placement was perfect, but right now, a little tousled, you were pretty. Maybe it was the drinks. You were beautiful. “C’mon.” He gave you your hand and you slipped off the counter. He paid with bills and rusted coins, held the door for you on the way out, and with a hand on the small of your back, he helped you into the passenger seat.

It was weird to feel so spinny. It was like your body was static and floating at the same time. It was strange, but kind of warm. All you could think about was kissing in the bathroom, how close his hand had gotten. It was all you could think about, all you could feel. It was like his hand was still there.

Patrick watched you press those perfectly manicured fingers to the plush of your lower lip. The night was still early, still young, and you were tipsy. Smoking and drinking could easily be checked off, As much of an accomplishment it was, he still couldn’t bring you home like this. He’d never see you again. Part of him, just a small part of him, knew that was something he didn’t want to risk. He’d made plans with you for tomorrow already. Plus, he had you right now and he could not stop staring at you.

Your eyes seemed fixed on some random point, he wondered what was on your mind but if it was anything like the way he was thinking, he understood. He was zoned out on you, on your eyelashes, on the way some of your hair was a little messed up, honing in on the colour of your lips without the gloss. You were too beautiful for him and he knew that. He knew it. Everything about you was so- too beautiful. It was definitely weird to think so much about anyone. Especially someone his parents ‘chose’, but they had no idea what they were in for. And you were you, and you were here in his car right next to him and he was feeling things that he usually wouldn’t have to deal with. Maybe it was just because he wasn’t a second-date kind of guy. Maybe it was the fact that maybe he could genuinely like you. Maybe.

“You’re staring,” you said, meeting his eyes. He must have zoned out too far. It was the alcohol. You turned in your seat, your knees to the side, facing him. He chuckled, looking away. “Your eyelashes are pretty.” You noted, elbow on the middle console, your face leaning against your hand.

“Yeah?” He tried to smirk, but it was more of a smile.

“And I like your freckles,” you continued. “I’m too honest, this is weird. Like I can’t control what I’m saying.”

He nodded slightly, “Drinking does that.”

“I should shut up.”

“I think you should keep talking.”

“Why?”

He almost laughed. “Why not?”

You were quiet and that smile of yours fell just a little as you looked at him. It didn’t disappear, just settled to something small. You were cute, it was all he could think. On top of hot, on top of everything, right now you were cute. It was killing him. “I think you like the compliments.”

“Who wouldn’t?” He reached down and grabbed his pack of cigarettes. Those same ones. With that reach, his hand grazed your thigh. As if you weren’t thinking about his touch already, god it was worse. The touched pricked up every inch of your skin, spreading out from where he touched. Sensitive…

“Fair.” You met his eyes. Something, everything was charged. It felt like a volt of electricity. It felt like hot and cold at the same time. It felt dangerous and wild and you still felt floaty so maybe it was all of that and more. Maybe it was good, maybe it was horrible. It felt horrible. To think about it so much, to look at him and want but want what? You hardly knew him, he was just a family friend’s son and he was nothing like you’d expected and that was somehow better than knowing? When was not knowing ever better than knowing and how did he make smoking nicotine and drinking seem normal and even worse, how did he make it seem hot? Why did it make you want to kiss him so fucking badly? You’d think you’d had enough but no. Dark curls, blue eyes, freckles, dimples, rusty coins and crumpled bills. You broke, giggling just a little. “I was staring now, oh my god.”

Patrick couldn’t help the smile that kept on his face. You needed water for sure- water or coffee or something sobering. But you were cute. “Fair is fair.” He replied, holding up the cigarettes. You could still feel his hands on your body. It was electric. “Back outside the car?” He knew you’d both just gotten in, but a cigarette was a cigarette. And any moment like that kiss the other night, any moment to kiss you, really, without a centre console in the way, was something he craved the same way he craved the cigarette. Despite making out with you in the bathroom, he was thinking about that first kiss. Part of him knew he wouldn’t be able to smoke again without thinking about it. You. Which was stupid, he was not your boyfriend- he wouldn’t be. You were not his. But he was thinking about it, you, the kiss, the parking lot, your waist. Replaying every second of just… kissing. Which also was not much like him.

His tolerance was higher than yours. Obviously. So he was feeling a little out of it, but not too much. And he wanted to kiss you, but thinking about it, he felt just a little bad that he’d gotten you this fucked up. It was a small feeling, overpowered by the fact you were pretty and that you wanted him, and that you were a virgin… But it was there nonetheless. He looked at his hand, “You just stay here a minute actually.” He said gently. Your eyes met his, pretty eyelashes fluttering. And you nodded.

Patrick grabbed his lighter and a dart and hopped back out of the car, the paper between his lips. You sat in his car, leaning your head against the plastic bit by the edge of the window as the world felt so spinny around you. It was a lot of feeling- him, the way he made you feel. You felt like you were doing so much wrong, like you were breaking all the rules, but it felt freeing. It was too bad you weren’t much informed on the Sunday Scaries.

You hummed a song that played over the speakers in the bathroom just moments ago, dwelling on every part of his touch, every little brush, every little graze of his lips over yours between kisses. How could something so wrong feel so right? You shut your eyes to stop the spinning- you didn’t even drink that much. You were drunk and you just wanted to kiss him. And kiss him. And kiss him. And touch him and kiss him and probably kiss him again.

Little sparks of thought began to rise from the heat of your body. Ideas, wantings…. And you could see him reproaching the car through the windshield. So you sat up and tousled your hair.

my asks are always open!!! trying to post more.

part one/part two/ part three

[amethystarachnid]

Tony Stark x Fem!Reader. Exes Stuck Together. Tony and his controversially estranged ex (a superhero) are trapped in a small armored room while in the middle of a battle. They argue with each other at first, but eventually the atmosphere between them changes to something more gentle - Tony backs down because Reader was injured in the earlier battle. They both eventually admit that they can't escape each other. They escape the closet after arranging a coffee date. Their romance is later rekindled.

STUCK

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff, romance, some action

ᯓ★ Word count: 4k

ᯓ★ Part 2

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing I think?

ᯓ★ Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The moment you step into the SHIELD briefing room, you regret every single life choice that has led you here. Dim lighting, stale coffee stench, Fury standing at the head of the table like some one-eyed god of mischief—not the fun kind. And, of course, the cherry on this particular garbage sundae: Tony Stark, leaning back in his chair, boots kicked up on the table, twirling a pen between his fingers like he has all the time in the world.

You should have known. The universe is nothing if not a fan of sick jokes.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the ghost of Christmas past,” Tony drawls, not even looking up. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Wait, don’t tell me—court-ordered restraining order check-in?”

Your teeth grind so hard your dentist probably feels it in his sleep. “Tony.”

He glances up then, eyes sparking with something that looks a hell of a lot like amusement. “That’s my name. Don’t wear it out. Oh, wait—too late.”

Your fists clench, but before you can contemplate throwing a chair at his annoyingly perfect face, Fury clears his throat.

“Much as I’d love to watch this personal drama unfold like a bad soap opera, we’ve got work to do. So sit down, shut up, and listen.”

You drop into the seat as far from Tony as possible, though it doesn’t feel far enough. He smirks like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. You do your best to ignore it.

“Mission parameters,” Fury continues, tapping a tablet so the screen lights up with a dossier. “There’s a rogue arms dealer selling Stark-tech knockoffs to some very dangerous people. We need two agents who know the tech, the terrain, and, ideally, each other.”

You stiffen. You do know the tech—intimately. The terrain, sure. And Tony? Well.

Tony lets out a low whistle, crossing his arms. “So let me get this straight. You’re throwing me into a high-risk situation with my ex. The same ex who, might I remind you, has attempted to kill me at least twice—”

“Once,” you correct through gritted teeth. “And it was an accident.”

“Oh, of course. Just a little ‘whoopsie’ with a high-powered energy weapon. Happens to the best of us.”

Fury looks between you, unimpressed. “Am I gonna need to call in therapy dogs, or can you two act like professionals?”

Tony exhales, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, boss. I’m getting some real ‘knife in my ribs while I sleep’ vibes here.”

You glare at him. “If I wanted you dead, Stark, you’d be dead.”

“Flattering.” He winks. “Almost romantic, in a ‘Fatal Attraction’ kind of way.”

Fury rubs his temples. “I already hate this.”

“Yeah?” You lean back. “Try living it.”

“Alright, enough. You two have history. You don’t like each other. Boo-hoo. But this mission is bigger than whatever unresolved sexual tension—”

“There is no—”

“—that is painfully obvious to everyone in this room.”

Tony shoots you a smug grin. You resist the urge to throw something at him.

Fury ignores both of you and taps the screen again, pulling up images of a heavily fortified compound. “The seller, Vasili Markov, operates out of this facility. We need to shut him down, recover the stolen Stark-tech, and leave no trace.”

Tony strokes his chin in mock contemplation. “Hmm. Sounds like a lot of work. And let’s be real, I do my best work solo.”

Fury levels him with a look. “You’re not solo. You’re a team.”

You and Tony exchange glances. Neither of you speaks, but the message is clear.

This is going to be a disaster.

Tony clicks his tongue. “Fine. But if she shoots me, I expect hazard pay.”

You smile sweetly. “Oh, I wouldn’t waste a bullet.”

Fury sighs. “Get out of my sight.”

Tony pushes back his chair with an exaggerated groan. “Great. Road trip with my ex. Just what I always wanted.”

You stand, arms crossed. “Try to keep up, Stark.”

He grins, sharp and easy. “Oh, sweetheart, I was born ahead of the curve.”

You turn on your heel and walk out, knowing full well he’s watching you go.

This mission already sucks, and it hasn’t even started yet.

You adjust your tactical gear in the back of the Quinjet, pretending Tony Stark isn't watching you with that infuriating smirk.

"Y'know, you never used to be this quiet," he muses, leaning back against the wall, his arms crossed in a way that makes him look insufferably relaxed.

You double-check your weapons. "I learned the value of silence. Mostly from realizing you never shut up."

Tony clutches his chest dramatically. "Ouch. And here I thought you'd be happy to see me."

You finally glance up at him. "Happy isn’t the word I’d use."

"Mm, well, something is the word, though," he says, tilting his head. "Because you haven’t looked at me properly since we got on this jet, and I have to say, that stings a little."

You huff, strapping your holster to your thigh. "Maybe I’m just trying to focus."

"Right. Focus. That's exactly what you said that time we got locked in my penthouse during a blackout."

Your hands still for half a second before you force yourself to keep working. "Are you seriously bringing that up now?"

Tony grins. "Well, it’s relevant. We were stuck together, a little bit of danger, a little bit of unresolved tension—remind you of anything?"

You glare at him. "If you think this mission is anything like that night, you're delusional."

"Eh, maybe." He shrugs. "But in my defense, that night ended pretty well for me."

You tighten your holster strap with a little more force than necessary. "And ended badly for me."

Tony sighs dramatically. "Yes, yes, the great escape. You fled my apartment at 4 AM like I was a one-night stand you regretted. Not my proudest moment."

You glare at him. "And yet, you keep bringing it up."

Tony leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "That’s because I still don’t get it, sweetheart. One second, everything was fine, and the next, you were gone."

Before you can answer, the Quinjet's systems signal arrival. The autopilot activates stealth mode, and the mission briefing flashes across the display.

Saved by the mission.

You press a hand to your earpiece, switching into full focus mode. "We’re almost there. Keep it professional, Stark."

Tony watches you for a second longer, then nods. But there’s something in his eyes that says this conversation isn’t over.

And you’re not sure if you hate or want that.

It’s a disaster from the moment you enter the facility.

The alarms shouldn’t have gone off yet, but they do. The guards shouldn’t have been this prepared, but they are. Within minutes, the entire compound is in full lockdown.

"Well," Tony says, firing off a repulsor blast, "so much for a quiet mission."

You duck behind cover as bullets shred through the walls. "This was your plan!"

"Hey, statistically, at least 40% of my plans work out!"

"And the other 60%?"

"...are fun learning experiences."

You roll your eyes, taking out two guards in quick succession. But the numbers keep coming, and even with Tony's firepower, you're being backed into a corner.

"We need to get to the control room," you say. "If we can override the security, we can get out of here."

Tony scans the layout with his suit. "Way ahead of you. There’s a passage up ahead—"

Before he can finish, an explosion rocks the building. The floor crumbles beneath you.

You fall.

You hit the ground hard, dust and debris filling the air. Somewhere near you, Tony groans. The room is small, metal walls reinforced with no windows. One heavy door.

You’re trapped.

Again.

Tony’s voice filters through the dust. "You okay?"

You grit your teeth. "Peachy."

His suit whirs as he sits up. "Well, look at that. Trapped together in a tiny armored room. Just like old times."

You push yourself up, ignoring the sharp sting in your side. "This is nothing like old times."

Tony shrugs. "It’s got all the elements—tight space, unresolved sexual tension, the looming threat of death…"

You shoot him a glare and try to focus on the door. "Help me get this open."

Tony sighs, pressing a hand to his suit. "Bad news—systems are glitching from the blast. Can’t scan, can’t blast through yet."

You grit your teeth. "Of course."

"So," Tony says, crossing his arms. "Wanna fight or make out while we wait?"

You groan. "I hate you."

"See, that’s where you keep confusing me," he says, tilting his head. "Because if you really hated me, you wouldn’t look at me like that."

Your jaw clenches. "Like what?"

"Like you miss me."

Your breath catches for half a second before you shut it down. "You're delusional."

"Maybe," he says softly. "But I’m also right."

You shake your head, pressing a hand against the wall to steady yourself. The pain in your side flares up, and you bite back a wince.

Tony doesn't miss it.

His teasing fades instantly. "You're hurt."

"I'm fine."

"Don’t lie to me."

You exhale through your nose, turning away. "It's nothing."

Tony's voice is quieter now, but insistent. "How bad?"

You don’t answer.

That’s all he needs.

He steps closer, and you try to ignore the warmth of him near you. "Let me see."

"Tony—"

"Now."

You sigh, knowing he's not going to let this go. Reluctantly, you pull back your vest just enough for him to see the blood seeping through your undershirt. The wound isn't deep, but it's enough to make moving painful.

Tony’s jaw tightens. "You should've said something."

"It wasn’t the priority."

His eyes flicker to yours. "You are the priority."

Something in your chest tightens.

Neither of you speak for a long moment.

Then Tony exhales, shaking his head. "You always do this."

You frown. "Do what?"

"Shut me out. Pretend you're fine when you’re not." He looks at you, frustration and something softer in his eyes. "Was that why you left?"

You swallow hard. "Tony—"

"Just tell me the truth," he says, quieter now. "Why did you leave?"

You close your eyes for a second. The words sit heavy on your tongue.

Because I was scared. Because you made me feel too much. Because I didn’t know if I could survive losing you.

But you don’t say any of that.

Instead, you whisper, "Because I thought it would be easier."

Tony watches you for a long time. Then, finally, he nods.

"Was it?" His voice is barely above a whisper.

You meet his eyes. "No."

His expression softens. And for the first time in a long time, there's no sarcasm, no teasing. Just Tony. The man you once loved. The man you maybe still do.

"You know you can’t escape me, right?" he says, a small, tired smile on his lips.

You let out a breath of laughter. "Believe me, I’ve tried."

Tony smirks. "And yet, here we are. Again."

You shake your head, leaning back against the wall. "Yeah. Again."

For once, there’s no arguing. No sharp edges. Just the two of you, trapped together, unable to run.

And maybe, for the first time, you don’t want to.

Tony leans against the wall, watching you like he’s seeing something he wasn’t expecting. You hate that he still looks at you like that—like he knows you better than you know yourself. Like you haven’t spent all this time trying to put distance between you.

And yet, here you are. Again.

You exhale, shifting slightly to take pressure off your injury. He notices but doesn’t comment. Instead, he tilts his head and gives you that familiar smirk.

“So,” he says, “since we’ve already checked ‘almost dying together’ off the list, how about something a little more fun? Say, coffee?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you seriously asking me out right now?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, how often do you get life-threatening situations to reflect on past mistakes and make better choices?”

You roll your eyes. “A coffee date isn’t a better choice, Tony.”

He grins. “That sounds dangerously close to a ‘yes’.”

You sigh, pressing your fingers against the bridge of your nose. “This is ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously overdue? Agreed.”

You glance at him, and despite yourself, you feel a smile trying to break through. You fight it, but Tony sees it anyway.

“Look,” he says, a little softer now, “just one coffee. No explosions, no fights, no life-or-death stakes. Just us.”

You shake your head but don’t say no.

Tony nods, satisfied. “Good. That’s settled.”

A few more beats pass in silence. Then, you frown. “We do still need to get out of here.”

Tony stretches, rolling his shoulders. “Right, yeah. Almost forgot.”

You watch as he steps toward the control panel on the door. He places his hand against it, and with an easy flick of his wrist, the lock beeps and disengages.

The door slides open.

You stare at it. Then at him. Then back at the door.

Realization hits like a truck.

“You had the override this whole time?”

Tony smirks, stepping into the hallway. “What, you thought I couldn’t open it? Please. It’s me.”

You gape at him. “You—you kept us in there—”

“For a good cause.” He winks. “And, y’know, for my entertainment.”

You let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “Unbelievable.”

Tony gestures grandly. “And yet, so believable.”

You shake your head, muttering a curse under your breath as you follow him.

The mission isn’t over yet. There’s still security to deal with, hostiles to take out, and a very pissed-off arms dealer who is not happy that you’re taking back stolen Stark tech. But none of it really surprises you. It’s just another day, another mission, another ridiculous near-death experience.

You and Tony fight like you always have—seamless, despite everything. No matter how much time passes, you still know how to move around each other, still anticipate his next move before he makes it. It’s frustratingly natural, and you don’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed.

When the last threat is neutralized, the Quinjet arrives for extraction. As you step on board, Tony follows, settling into the seat beside you like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

You exhale, letting yourself relax for the first time in hours. The adrenaline fades, and exhaustion starts creeping in. But before you can fully unwind, Tony nudges you with his elbow.

“You’re not gonna hit me, are you?”

You turn your head slowly. He looks entirely too pleased with himself.

Without hesitation, you punch him in the shoulder—hard.

“Ow—”

“You locked me in a room just to get me to agree to coffee.”

Tony rubs his arm, grinning. “And it worked.”

You groan, shaking your head. “I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah. You say that, but I still have a date.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real heat behind it. He’s impossible. Infuriating.

And yet, somehow, you’re still not canceling.

The following week, you find yourself standing outside a quiet little café tucked away in a part of the city Tony Stark usually has no business being in. It’s charming, warm lights glowing from inside, a few people sitting at outdoor tables chatting over coffee. The kind of place you would’ve chosen for yourself—not Tony. And yet, when you step inside, he’s already there, sitting at a table near the window, tapping his fingers against a ceramic cup. No suit, no press, no Stark Industries entourage. Just him.

When he sees you, he grins like he’s won something. “You showed.”

You slide into the seat across from him. “I said I would.”

“Yeah, but you hate me, remember?”

You roll your eyes as the waitress approaches. You order your usual, and when she walks away, you notice Tony watching you carefully.

“So,” you say, crossing your arms. “This is weird.”

“Weird? Nah. Unexpected, sure. Suspicious? Maybe. But weird?” He shrugs. “I think it’s a step in the right direction.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “I don’t know what direction that is, but okay.”

Tony leans back, stretching his arms behind his head. “C’mon. It’s just coffee. Two totally normal people, drinking totally normal drinks, having totally normal conversations.”

You tilt your head. “Except one of those people is Tony Stark.”

He smirks. “Details.”

The conversation flows easier than you expect. Tony is Tony—sarcastic, charming, occasionally insufferable—but there’s something different about him too. Something quieter, less performative. When he asks about your latest assignments, he actually listens. When he teases you about your coffee choice, he’s grinning like he’s enjoying himself. And despite yourself, you relax.

An hour passes before you even realize it. When the check comes, Tony reaches for it, but you snatch it first.

“Oh, no,” you say. “You don’t get to lock me in a room, trick me into a date, and then pay for it. That’s too much power in your hands.”

Tony grins. “I like when you say it’s a date.”

You glare at him but hand your card to the waitress anyway. As she walks away, Tony drums his fingers against the table. “So, since this wasn’t that bad…”

You arch an eyebrow. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” he says, grinning. “How about another? No life-threatening situations this time, I promise.”

You pretend to consider. “Mm. I do enjoy not almost dying.”

“So, that’s a yes?”

You sigh, shaking your head with a small smile. “Fine. One more.”

One turns into two. Then three. Then you stop counting.

Each time, the excuses you give yourself get weaker. You tell yourself it’s just coffee, just catching up, just something casual between two people who used to know each other too well. But then coffee turns into lunch. Lunch turns into late-night drives when Tony shows up outside your place with two burgers and that damn smile.

“I was in the neighborhood,” he says.

“You don’t live in this neighborhood.”

“Well, I do now. Temporarily.”

You roll your eyes but open the door anyway.

And somewhere between all of it, things start to shift. The teasing never stops, but it gets softer. The conversations turn a little deeper. He stops deflecting every time you ask something real. And you stop pretending that being around him doesn’t feel… right.

It’s not dramatic, not some grand moment where everything clicks into place. It’s gradual, like slipping back into an old habit you forgot you loved.

And then, one night, you’re sitting next to him in his workshop, watching him tinker with something you don’t recognize. It’s quiet, comfortable. He tosses you a wrench without looking up.

“Hold this.”

You catch it. “Why?”

“Because I said so.”

You roll your eyes but don’t argue. The quiet stretches, but it’s the good kind. The kind that doesn’t feel like it needs filling.

Then, without thinking, you say, “Are we dating again?”

Tony pauses mid-turn of his screwdriver. He looks up, blinking at you. “Huh.”

“Huh?” You frown. “That’s all you have to say?”

“Well, I thought we were,” he says, setting his tools down. “Unless you’ve just been using me for my riveting company and excellent taste in burgers.”

You snort. “Excellent taste? You eat the same three things.”

He grins. “And yet, you keep eating them with me.”

You hesitate, then sigh. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

Tony watches you for a second longer, then nudges you lightly with his foot. “So? We making this official or what?”

You shake your head, but there’s no denying the warmth in your chest. “Guess we are.”

Tony smirks, victorious. “Knew it.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

And you do.

One second, you’re bantering; the next, your lips are on his, his hands framing your face like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You don’t pull away. You don’t even hesitate. You just kiss him back like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Because maybe it is.

The wrench you were holding clatters onto the workbench, forgotten. Tony pulls you closer, backing you against the edge of the table, and you let him. His hands slip down to your waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of your shirt like he’s relearning something he never meant to forget.

You break away just long enough to mutter, “This is a terrible idea.”

“Yep.” He kisses you again.

Your fingers tangle in his shirt, pulling him closer as the heat between you builds. There’s a hum of energy in the air, electric and inevitable, like a storm rolling in. He lifts you onto the workbench, knocking over a few stray tools, but neither of you cares. His lips find your neck, his breath hot against your skin, and you let your head tilt back, exhaling sharply.

“You taste like engine grease,” he murmurs, grinning against your jaw.

You laugh, breathless. “And whose fault is that?”

He doesn’t answer—just kisses you again, deeper this time, like he’s making up for lost time. Like this was always meant to happen. And maybe it was.

—

A few days later, you’re standing in a briefing room, arms crossed as you watch Fury pace back and forth in front of the holo-display. It’s the same as always—another mission, another classified objective, another dangerous situation that requires your skill set.

But something is different. And Fury notices.

He stops mid-sentence, narrowing his one good eye at the two of you. You glance at Tony, who is standing next to you, looking too relaxed. Suspiciously relaxed. He smirks at Fury like he knows exactly what’s going through his head.

Fury folds his arms. “Something’s different.”

You feign innocence. “Different how?”

He squints. “You tell me. You two normally bicker like an old married couple, but today…” He gestures between you and Tony. “There’s a thing happening.”

Tony tilts his head. “A thing?”

Fury glares. “A thing. A change. A shift in the atmosphere. And I don’t like it.”

You sigh. “Can we focus on the mission?”

“Oh, I am,” Fury says. “I’m just trying to determine whether or not I need to separate you two like misbehaving teenagers.”

Tony leans in slightly. “Technically, we are misbehaving.”

You elbow him in the ribs.

Fury groans, rubbing his temples. “I don’t have time for whatever this is. Just don’t let whatever this is get in the way of the mission.”

“No distractions,” you assure him.

“No making out in the middle of a gunfight,” he warns.

Tony gasps. “You think so little of me.”

Fury raises a brow.

“…Okay, fair,” Tony concedes.

Fury sighs, already exhausted. “Get out of my sight.”

As you and Tony leave the room, he nudges you. “So… does this mean we’re official-official?”

You roll your eyes but can’t fight the smile. “I guess so.”

Tony grins. “Knew it.”

[mercillery]

ADMIRALS AS TEACHERS

WARNINGS: GENDER NOT SPECIFIED + NOT PROOFREAD + MODERN AU???

CHARACTERS: Akainu + Kizaru + Aokiji

NOTES: This was has been sitting in my drafts for a while... Also, to whoever sent in requests yes I am working on them just give me time please <3

AKAINU

Honestly, Akainu would likely teach a subject that requires an unwavering commitment to discipline, structure, and a strong sense of justice. Subjects such as ethics, law, or history seem to be right up his alley. Specifically, I envision him as an Advanced Placement (AP) History teacher. His approach to teaching would be strict and authoritarian, instilling both respect and a sense of fear among his students. 99% of the students in his class are driven by fear of him rather than actual motivation to learn. That being said, the atmosphere in his classroom would be one of constant pressure and high expectations, which almost every student finds overwhelming and intimidating. 

Akainu would demand nothing short of absolute perfection. He would have zero tolerance for disobedience or laziness, expecting his students to show the same dedication and rigor that he himself embodies. Any form of attitude or defiance would be met with immediate consequences—Akainu would not hesitate to expel a disruptive student from his classroom without a second thought. Is spending time outside the classroom better than being stuck in his class? Probably. But your chances of failing his class have probably just increased by a lot, and he will absolutely catch on if you’re just being disobedient to skip his class. So don’t abuse this.

His primary focus would be on the material being taught rather than on his students' personal feelings or stress levels. To him, the importance of the subject matter would always trump any student's grievances or frustrations. He would expect his students to maintain a laser-sharp focus, regardless of how they feel about school on any given day—meaning that you’ve got to bring your A game to his class every day. It’s that or nothing. Even if you’re grieving or stressed like crazy, he expects you to give it your all, no matter what. Sorry! 

Akainu motivates his students through a combination of fear and respect rather than through encouragement or praise. He firmly believes that the fear of failure and its consequences is a powerful motivator, driving students to excel in their studies and adhere to his exacting standards. For students who are particularly afraid of failing or falling short of his expectations, Akainu's methods can be both terrifying and effective. The fear of disappointing him or not meeting his high standards often has students working themselves to the brink, sweating blood, and shedding tears to avoid his wrath. Despite the intense pressure, those who manage to channel their fear into diligence and hard work will find that they can succeed in his class! And yes, he does notice when his students are actually trying and putting in effort; he just isn’t the type to announce it to the whole school building out loud.

His classroom is orderly, with students seated in neat, precise rows. He enforces assigned seating, meticulously choosing who sits where. And this isn’t a random arrangement; Akainu deliberately separates friends, ensuring they sit far apart, while placing those who aren't close right next to each other. This strategic seating plan is just another layer of his strict control over the classroom environment, much to the students' frustration. Moreover, the walls of his class are adorned with military posters and detailed maps of various historical battles. This carefully curated setting, combined with his demanding teaching style, ensures that students understand the weight of their education under his watchful eyes… 👁️ 👁️

To conclude, Akainu’s teaching methods are definitely controversial, as most view his strictness as too harsh or oppressive. However, he believes that it is necessary to prepare his students for the harsh realities of the world they will eventually enter. He has good intentions, believe me. He’s just too strict and intense.

AOKIJI

After mulling it over for a while, I still can't pinpoint the exact subject he would teach. Environmental science, literature, or geography all come to mind, but I can't decide :( Regardless of the subject, though, one thing is certain: he’s a student favorite for a multitude of reasons. Despite his frequent tardiness—honestly, he’s late to his own class more often than not. Students and faculty alike wonder how he manages to keep his teaching position. But the truth is, no one really cares because Aokiji is simply adored by everyone—specifically the students. His laid-back attitude and approachable demeanor make him the most beloved and popular teacher in the entire school. It's almost as if his popularity grants him immunity from the usual rules and expectations. He’s the kind of teacher who leaves a lasting impression—the one students talk about long after they've graduated.

As I mentioned just now, Aokiji has a habit of arriving late to his own class, but his students don’t mind because that just means they get more time to chill. His tardiness has become a running joke among the students too. In fact, it’s almost a tradition at this point. Despite his late arrivals, Aokiji makes up for it by staying late to help students who need extra assistance. If you're wondering about his usual delay, it's typically just a few minutes. However, on Mondays, Thursdays, or any of those universally dreaded days, he can be 20–30 minutes late at best.

Unlike Akainu, Aokiji very much cares about his students' well-being, even if it’s not immediately apparent. Despite his tired and nonchalant appearance during class, he absolutely cares—trust me on this. If you’re struggling to focus on school because of other issues weighing on your mind, you can turn to Aokiji. He’s always ready to listen, and he’ll never dismiss your concerns. Whether you need to talk things through or just need some space, he’s there to support you. He might suggest signing you up for a guidance counselor or offering some time alone to collect your thoughts. Whatever you need to feel more comfortable and less stressed, Aokiji will do his best to accommodate. His students know they can rely on him, not just as a teacher but as a genuine source of support and understanding.

His class is... messy? Chaotic? Unorganized? Probably all three. Desks are scattered haphazardly around the room, with some areas having far more desks than others. Aokiji doesn’t care where his students sit as long as they aren’t too disruptive. He’s the kind of teacher who gives his students the freedom to arrange themselves. Some students take advantage of this by placing their desks close to his, eager to chat and interact with him since they absolutely enjoy talking with him. If Akainu ever walked into Aokiji’s class, he’d probably have a stroke. The disarray and lack of strict order would be too much for him to handle. But for Aokiji and his students, this chaotic setup works perfectly.

Aokiji is also known for his patience with his students. When one or a group of students become too disruptive, he lets it slide a few times, but with each incident, he becomes a bit more firm—not mean, just firm. He understands that students need a bit of leeway, and his relaxed approach reflects that. Despite his leniency, he rarely has to make students change their seats for being disruptive. His students usually get the message after a few warnings and straighten up, likely because they genuinely like and respect him as a teacher. However, if a student is being outright disrespectful or causing problems for him or another student, that's when Aokiji's demeanor changes. He becomes noticeably firm and directly addresses the issue. He’ll tell the student that they need to either chill out or take a walk around the school for a few minutes to cool off. When something like this happens, the entire class becomes captivated. It's almost as if every student suddenly has a bowl of popcorn, eagerly watching the situation unfold. They relish not only the chaos of the situation but also the rare moment of seeing Aokiji get serious, given his usual laid-back attitude.

In conclusion, Aokiji is one of the coolest teachers in the building. That’s about it. Everyone loves him and wishes to have him as their teacher for every class.

KIZARU

I'm definitely getting physics teacher vibes here... Yeah, Kizaru would be the perfect fit for teaching physics. Physics can be really complicated and confusing, but with his laid-back attitude, you'll feel much more at ease. His relaxed approach helps take the edge off, so you won’t find yourself too stressed out or panicking when grappling with the subject matter. And there’s an added bonus: Kizaru speaks incredibly slowly (like in the anime lol), which gives you plenty of time to process everything he’s saying. This means you can really take in the information and understand it better, rather than feeling overwhelmed by a barrage of fast-paced explanations. So, even if physics isn’t your strong suit, Kizaru’s teaching style makes it a lot more approachable for you.

Now, unlike other teachers, Kizaru actually goes out of his way to make his class entertaining and engaging. He understands that while some students can push through the boredom and focus solely on the material, others struggle with staying attentive. He completely gets it—he’d be bored too if his own class was dull. With this in mind, Kizaru uses everyday objects and interactive demonstrations to bring physics concepts to life. Whether he's using a simple toy car to explain inertia or demonstrating wave interference with water in a tub, he makes sure that the principles of physics are not only accessible but also enjoyable to learn. Additionally, Kizaru infuses his lessons with humor and a touch of sarcasm, making jokes that keep the class lively. His witty remarks and playful banter can quickly recapture the attention of his students if their minds start to wander. And just like that, in no time, he wins over his students, making physics a subject they look forward to rather than dread.

Kizaru is incredibly patient with his students. He never rushes them and always takes the time to ensure that everyone understands the material before moving on. If a student is struggling, he's always ready to offer one-on-one help. His supportive approach fosters a casual atmosphere where students feel comfortable asking questions and participating in discussions! For those who are too nervous to ask questions in front of the class, Kizaru has a special approach. He makes it a point to quietly check in with these students individually, asking if they have any questions or need further clarification. He understands that some students are just too shy or prefer not to speak up in a group setting, so he keeps a close eye on those who tend to be more reserved. This attentiveness ensures that everyone, even the quietest students, has their needs met. Kizaru’s ability to create a welcoming and supportive environment means that no one gets left behind!

Inside Kizaru's classroom, it's a hub of physics experiments and fascinating gadgets. From gyroscopes spinning on desks to pendulums swinging gracefully and intricate Rube Goldberg machines humming with activity, the room is alive with hands-on learning opportunities. The seating arrangement in Kizaru's class is designed to promote collaboration and lively discussions. Desks are often grouped in clusters, encouraging students to work together on projects and problem-solving exercises. What's more, Kizaru allows his students the freedom to choose their seating partners! However, he maintains a balance by gently addressing any disruptions that may arise. While students are generally free to sit where they please, he sets clear expectations for behavior. If there's occasional distraction, Kizaru might let it slide a couple of times, but he ensures that the focus remains on productive learning.

I feel like outside of just normal class, Kizaru leads or supports a physics club, where students can delve deeper into their interests, participate in science fairs, and engage in fun physics-related activities like building rockets or participating in robotics competitions.

Kizaru takes an understanding stance if he notices a student having difficulties because of personal problems like stress or other issues. He acknowledges the need for space and time to attend to personal problems and acknowledges that everyone encounters challenges occasionally. As a lenient and understanding teacher, Kizaru absolutely prioritizes the well-being of his students. If someone requires additional time to cope with personal challenges or simply needs a break to recharge, he's supportive and accommodating. Whether it's offering extensions on assignments, providing extra guidance, or simply lending a listening ear.

In summary, Kizaru's physics class is a dynamic blend of humor, creativity, and hands-on learning, transforming physics into an exciting and accessible subject for all his student!

[alicentflorent]

Teen Rhaena reminds me of young Alicent in a way. Besides both being Rhaenyra’s handmaidens and having bad fathers, Rhaena is never involved with the plans everyone’s making about her life like Alicent. People won’t see it this way because Luke was her age and it seems like they got along well but Rhaena (and Baela) was betrothed without her consent to further the ambitions of others for the throne. She wasn’t asked prior to the agreement by Rhaenyra and Rhaenys.

Their feelings are constantly disregarded by those around them because they don’t have dominant personalities. While the other kids/teens (minus Aemond) were being playful and joking around at the dinner table in S1Ep8, Rhaena was sat there very mature, ladylike and proper. When the fight broke out, Rhaena was breaking it up along with the adults. It just reminded me of Alicent’s dynamic with Rhaenyra when they were young. Alicent was always treated like one of the adults by the adults around her , while Rhaenyra was still called “a child” and got to act her age. Her immaturity is taken into account by writers and viewers.

Teen Alicent and teen Rhaena’s grief is minimized by the writers because their grief isn’t loud, angry or rebellious. Again they are mini adults, Alicent doesn’t get the same grace as Rhaenyra despite losing her mother very recently too and we see Baela speak about the loss of Rhaenys to multiple people throughout the episode. We even see Rhaenyra shed tears for Rhaenys (odd because neither woman really liked the other). We see Corlys grieve, we see the smallfolk grieve the damn Dragon. Only one brief scene is given to Rhaena and her grief and it’s not even the focal point of the scene.

Their grief takes the back seat to others and the grief of those others becomes more important than their own. The general audience isn’t going to give much thought to the impact of this loss on Rhaena, just like most of them forget that young Alicent lost her mother too.

Anon, how can you say something so controversial yet so brave?

I definitely see parallels between them. You've listed some perfect examples. I also think Rhaena and Young Alicent both have parallels with Sansa Stark. I sometimes think of Sansa as a character that breaks the cycle Alicent couldn't break and I think the key difference is that Sansa had a family who loved her and who cared about her as more than a political pawn. Her parents tried to save her from her situation in kingslanding. This is a key difference between Rhaena and Alicent too. Rhaena has a support system and a family that loved her she'd never get sold off to an old man to be raped and used as a broodmare and even if daemon tried to arrange a marriage like that Rhaenys and probably even Rhaenyra would likely try to stop it. Baela at her young age would probably kill someone before she allowed her sister to be married off into a horrible situation. Alicent had no one in her corner.

[the-fiction-witch]

House Of Christmas P2

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Aegon Targaryen Couple - None Rating - 12 (Mentions of Drug Use) Word Count - 1306

Fictional Advent Day Six

Aegon reclined on the weathered wooden table, gazing absently into the overcast sky filled with billowing grey clouds. Delicate snowflakes gently descended, landing on his body and hair, yet his snug green hoodie provided a cocoon of warmth. His headphones were firmly nestled in his ears, serving as a barrier against external sounds. Periodically, he raised a vape pen to his lips, exhaling sweet-scented vapour into the wintry air.

The door opened and Aemond, in his green jumper and button-down shirt came out though the backdoor and walked though the snow over to his brother. Standing tall with his hands behind his back waiting for Aegon to acknowledge him.

Aegon's eyes flickered to the side as Aemond approached. A slight smirk played on his lips as he pulled one of the headphones down, not bothering to take them off entirely. “Oh, looking for some brotherly bonding time were we?” Aegon quirked an eyebrow, sitting up on the table. He pulled his vape pen from his lips and gestured with it towards Aemond. “Care to join me? I was just appreciating the peaceful serenity of the snow falling.” His eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief.

Aemond rolled his eye, "Mummy wants you inside."

Aegon's expression soured at Aemond's words. His playful demeanour faded as irritation flickered in his eyes. He took a long drag from his vape pen before exhaling a cloud of sweet vapour into the cold air. “Mother can go fuck herself,” Aegon grumbled under his breath, eyes remaining fixed on the snowfall.

"Just because she's making you share your room,"

“Oh, you think you're funny don't you?” Aegon sighed, “But hey, at least we can keep each other warm at night little brother,” He winked,

"I am sure the five of us will be snug." Aemond sighed his own annoyance at the matter slipping in "But needless. Mummy wants you inside before... 'They' Arrive"

Aegon smirked, “I'm sure we'll find plenty of ways to entertain ourselves.” His eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small blue plastic container with a very familiar scent.

Aemond grew impatient with waiting and decided to take matters into his own hands. He firmly grasped Aegon by the hood of his hoodie and escorted him into the exquisitely adorned house. Upon entering the living room, one could easily mistake it for a scene from a picture-perfect Christmas magazine. Viserys and Otto were engaged in a spirited political discussion about the controversial "War on Christmas," while Gwayne assisted Alicent in arranging the dining table, which was adorned with an array of bowls and trays overflowing with delectable cookies and sweets, all in preparation for the evening's gingerbread house decorating. Meanwhile, Helaena was seated by the window, gazing at the snow outside as she conducted a tarot reading for herself, surrounded by plush cushions.

Aegon grunted in protest, his feet kicking against the snow-covered ground. He reached up, trying to pull the hood off Aemond's hand, but the younger boy held firm, determined to get his brother inside. “Jesus, Aemond! What the fuck? I was enjoying the view out here!” Aegon complained, his temper flaring as he was unceremoniously thrown inside, He glared up at his brother, his eyes blazing with irritation. “Alright, I'm inside.” Aegon grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared at Aemond. “Now put me the fuck down.”

Aemond let Aegon go, and immediately Aegon tried to grab at some Oreos on the table but Alicent slapped his hand

"No. They are for decorating the gingerbread houses," she said,

Aegon's hand instinctively flew to his face as Alicent's slap reverberated across his palm, a look of childish shock written across his features. “Aww, mommm! But I wa- Wanted one.” Aegon pouted, his bottom lip thrust out in a display of dramatic disappointment. “Fine.” He muttered, grabbing one of the neatly arranged gingerbread men and biting off its head making sure his mother saw.

Aemond sighed and sat down with Heleana,

Alicent rolled her eyes with far too much to do to worry over Aegon today continuing to set up the table. As she did she passed him and gave him a sniff and turned her full attention to him, "What is that?" she glared at the vape pen poking out of his pocket,

Aegon's eyes widened in panic He quickly tried to hide it behind his back, his cheeks flushing a deep shade of crimson as he stammered out an excuse. “Oh, uh... just some uhhh” He lied, his voice trembling slightly as he hoped his mother wouldn't notice the subtle scent of weed that seemed to permeate the air around him.

“Aegon, don't lie to me,” Alicent warned, her eyes narrowing as she took a step closer to her son, her voice low and dangerous.

"It's nothing, it's just some nice candy cane vape! lovely and seasonal." Aegon lied,

"Fine... is your room at least clean for your brothers and cousins?" Alicent asked him

Aegon's mind raced as he tried to come up with another excuse, another lie to make his mother believe him. His eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape, any way to get out of this conversation. “No, I didn't have time to clean.” He admitted, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he realized there was no way out of this.

"Go. Now." she barked,

Aegon did as he was told mostly to get out of the madness going on down there, climbing the stairs and heading all the way up to his attic bedroom, where two large kingsized beds and the sofa, his PC set up in the corner, His youngest brother Daeron sat already on the sofa with his laptop and guitar,

"Hey." Daeron greeted,

Aegon's eyes widened in surprise as he saw his younger brother Daeron sitting on the sofa, a smile spreading across his face. “Daero! I didn't know you were back already.” He exclaimed, grabbing his brother in a tight hug, his arms wrapped around him like a vice as he breathed in the familiar scent of his sibling.

“Hey, yeah got in with Uncle Gwayne this afternoon,” Daeron responded, patting his older brother on the back awkwardly as he tried to return the hug, a small smile on his face.

Aegon pulled back from the hug, a mischievous glint in his eye as he glanced over at the PC setup in the corner of the room. “Did your gear with you?” Aegon asked, a grin spreading across his face as he eagerly awaited his brother's response.

Daeron rolled his eyes "What you think I turned up to a family Christmas without enough game power to completely avoid all of you?" He said sarcastically,

Aegon threw his head back and laughed at his brother's sarcastic remark, clapping him on the back in celebration. “Then what are we waiting for?” Aegon grinned, already making his way over to the PC setup, his fingers twitching with anticipation as he eagerly awaited the chance to boot up one of their favourite games and start playing with his brother once again. Aegon took his pen out and gave it a small suggestive wave, "You gonna rat me out?"

Daeron looked up from his own laptop booting the games up, "...dude I'm in college. I don't give a shit, so long as I'm getting some."

Aegon smirked, twirling the pen between his fingers as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving Daeron's face. “That’s a deal,” he smirked tossing the pen to Daeron,

“God knows where gonna need it.”

“Hell yeah, I have no clue how Mom thinks she can shove this many people in the house and not have some kind of war.” Aegon sighed,

“Aegon! Daeron! Come down please family is arriving!” Alicent yelled up to them,

Both Daeron and Ageon groaned but had a quick go on the pen before gathering all their social battery together and heading down. 

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Perzys se Rūkla (Fire and Flowers) - Chapter Five

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x original female character (Melessa Tyrell) Warnings: Mentions of infidelity, angst, strong language, mentions of pregnancy. Word count: ~2k

Chapter summary: Daemon deals with the fallout of Melessa's discovery.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

The thought tempts Daemon to go after Melessa, pull her to him and demand that she forgive him. However, it is Rhaenyra’s coronation and it has been shrouded in enough uncertainty and controversy, without her uncle chasing his weeping wife through the Red Keep. The very last thing the beginning of his niece’s reign needed was more gossip.

He sighs, only realising when he looks over his shoulder that the serving girl he’d pulled from the feast is still in the alcove, pressed against the wall, wide eyed and disheveled. Pathetic. He is unsure whether it is a thought he directs towards himself or her.

“Fuck off,” he hisses, not bothering to watch as she smooths her skirts and scurries away.

Leaning against the cool stone of the corridor, Daemon sighs. He does not know how to put this right, apologies have never been his strong suit. He can put together battle strategies for entire armies, cleave his enemies in twain, and rain dragonfire down upon those who oppose him, but his problem solving does extend as far as opening his heart and admitting to his own wrongdoing.

The very thought of going to Melessa and placing himself at her mercy by pleading for her forgiveness terrifies him more than any battle ever could. He owes it to her, though; she has given up so much in his pursuit of her, even more so since they were wed, and in a single misjudged act of foolishness he has made it all seem worthless.

His footsteps feel heavy as he trudges his way up towards their shared quarters, turning over and over in his mind what he might say to her.

I’m sorry.

It was a mistake.

It won’t happen again.

None of it feels good enough. Daemon swallows thickly, his heart pounding, as he pushes open the door, preparing himself to be greeted by the sight of his wife’s mournful hysterics.

He is taken aback when he finds her seated by the window, staring out of it. She’d appear almost serene were it not for the fact that her eyes are rimmed red from crying. She doesn’t even acknowledge his presence.

Daemon shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other, clasping his hands firmly behind his back. He bows his head, taking a breath, before looking up at Melessa and uttering the first thought that springs to mind.

“Forgive me,” he says softly, looking at her with genuine remorse.

“There is nothing to forgive,” she says flatly, her voice listless. “It was silly of me to assume our marriage was anything more than a political tool for you to ensure Rhaenyra’s place as Queen.”

A pit forms in Daemon’s stomach upon hearing this. He had expected her to scream at him, to be met with heartbroken tears and burning anger, he would have welcomed that. This beaten-down resignation is more than he can handle; surely she does not believe the things she says? He stands there silently, brow furrowed in disbelief.

“You’ve gotten what you needed from our union, and it is childish folly for me to expect you to not want to bed other women,” she continues. “But now you have gotten what you want, I wish to return to Highgarden.”

Bile rises in Daemon’s throat at her admission. He fights the urge to grab her, to shake her and demand that she be angry with him. He doesn’t recognise the broken husk of a woman seated before him. She is lacking in the spirited brightness he has come to adore from his wife. Had his carelessness really snuffed that out?

He opens his mouth to speak, but finds the words won’t come. She beats him to it, dull and monotonous sounding.

“Don’t let me keep you. We can make the necessary arrangements tomorrow. Go back to the celebrations. Give the Queen my apologies for my absence; I am not feeling especially jovial this evening.”

Not knowing what else to do, wordlessly Daemon turns and leaves. His mind races, fear swirling in his gut at how withdrawn Melessa is, unsure of how to coax her back out of the shell she’d retreated into. 

Irritation prickles at him as he strides through Maegor’s Holdfast, back towards the festivities. The very notion of playing at being Hand of the Queen for a feasting hall full of slack jawed halfwits, while his wife slips away from him, seems ridiculous. His jaw clenches as with every step the sounds of merriment get louder.

“There you are,” Rhaenyra calls out to him from across the courtyard.

“Shouldn’t you be entertaining your loyal subjects?” Daemon asks, walking to meet her.

“I needed some fresh air,” she says matter-of-factly. “Finished with that poor girl you dragged away earlier?”

Daemon pinches the bridge of his nose, huffing in agitation. “You saw that?”

“You’d sat at the table like a petulant child for the entire feast. It was the first time I’d seen you move all evening.” She narrows her eyes at him. “Of course I saw.”

Daemon rolls his eyes. “Well, so did my wife.”

“Oh?” Rhaenyra raises her eyebrows at this.

“She wants to go back to Highgarden.”

“And you’re going to let her?”

“What choice do I have?” Daemon asks irritably. “I can’t very well chain her up and force her to stay here.”

“You fought so hard to get her. Is she not worth fighting to keep?”

“Of course she is!” he spits, temper flaring at the absurdity of such a question.

“Then show her that,” Rhaenyra responds softly. “Fight for her.”

“Your coronation feast—” he begins.

“—Is almost over,” she interrupts. “I need my Hand’s mind to not be preoccupied while fulfilling his duties. Fix this, so I may have your full attention tomorrow.”

Daemon nods gratefully, walking away with a renewed determination to win back the affections of Melessa.

She has moved from her seat by the window when Daemon returns. He spots her standing at the foot of the bed, folding dresses into a trunk and he cannot help the white hot fury that boils under his skin at the sight of it. She really means to leave him. He cannot bear the thought.

Storming through the apartment, he snatches a gown from her grasp, the fabric tearing audibly as he does so.

It is the first time all day—since she caught him with the serving girl, that is—that her face has shown any visible emotion. Her eyes widen in shock, quickly morphing to anger as she scowls.

“What are you doing?” she cries in an accusatory manner. 

“I could ask the same of you,” Daemon says darkly. “You aren’t going anywhere. Stop behaving like a child!”

“It is not me who is cavorting in hallways with servants. You cannot keep me here as your prisoner!” she shoots back. 

He can tell from the way her voice wobbles that she is about to cry again and his heart aches at the sound, immediately regretting how he has handled the situation.

“Petal,” he pleads, his voice softening, still holding her now ruined dress in his hands. “You are not my prisoner—you are my wife.”

She shakes her head sadly, eyes closing as tears fall from her waterline and roll heavily down her cheeks. “I was an infatuation for you, one that you have grown tired of. Just let me go. Please.”

“You aren’t; I haven’t; I can’t,” he implores desperately, letting the garment he holds drop to the floor to reach for her.

She backs away, sniffling. “You know,” she begins, voice thick and watery. “It is not the utter humiliation of what you did to me that hurts most. It is that I have spent the past half a year trying to be the perfect wife for you and still I am not enough.”

Daemon hates this. Why will she not allow him to touch her? He cannot comfort her, cannot mend the broken pieces if he can’t hold her. He aches to pull her to him, fingers flexing uselessly at his sides as stares at her filled with shame and regret.

“You are enough,” he whispers. “More than I deserve.”

“You never say it back,” Melessa croaks. “Do you love me?”

Daemon balks at this, opening his mouth before clamping it shut again. He’d never uttered those words to anyone, wasn’t even sure he knew what such an emotion was. All he knows is that over the last six months something has grown within him, something dark and urgent that drives him to be with her, as though an invisible string tied his heart to hers. To be by her side was a need, not a mere passing fancy. If that was what love was, then he did indeed feel that.

But he has no idea of how to articulate that to her, how to make her understand that in his own unique way all of his heart belongs to her. So he says nothing, watching as she hiccups a sob before walking to the opposite bedchamber, the one that has remained unoccupied since they arrived back in King’s Landing, and closes the door behind her.

The anger builds quickly in Daemon, his patience threadbare at his inability to speak his feelings coupled with frustration at having made no progress in earning his wife’s forgiveness. With a snarl of fury, he picks up a small wooden stool that has been left discarded by the bed and launches it towards the nearest wall. It breaks apart on impact, clattering noisily to the flagstone floor.

“Fuck!” he shouts, before dropping heavily onto the bed, placing his hands over his face in frustration.

The smell of her clings to the sheets, almond oil and rosewater, maddeningly sweet. For a moment he considers barging into the bedchamber she now occupies and simply taking her by force. She’d have no doubt of his want or love for her if he felt how passionately he needed her. He thinks better of it. If she didn’t wish for him to even take her by the hand, it is doubtful she’d appreciate him rutting into her like an untamed beast.

He sighs. He has everything he has ever wanted, and yet has managed to ruin it. He could never allow himself to just be happy. It reminds him of when he and Viserys were children. They had had family visiting from across the continent who’d brought each of the boys a gift. Daemon had received a wheeled wooden horse, which he’d taken great delight in dragging around the gardens. Viserys had been given a model of a castle. To Daemon, it had appeared that Viserys was having more fun playing with his castle than he was playing with his horse. He’d taken it upon himself to destroy both toys. If he couldn’t achieve that level of happiness, then no one else deserved to have it either. Is that what he’d done to his marriage? Shame wells fiery and acrid within him at the idea.

He doesn’t realise he has fallen asleep, exhausted by the events of the day, until he is awoken by the creaking of Melessa’s chamber door. He sits bolt upright, anticipating the sight of her exiting through the door, but is disappointed and surprised to see it is Maester Orwyle instead.

Daemon stands, blinking back sleep, and stalks towards him. “Why the fuck are you creeping out of my wife’s bedchamber in the middle of the night?” he growls irritably.

Orwyle bows his head apologetically, a hint of fear in his eyes as he regards Daemon, glowering and tightly wound. “Forgive me, your Highness—your lady wife was having trouble sleeping. She requested milk of the poppy to help soothe her. You need not worry; I kept the dosage small, considering her condition.”

“Her condition?” Daemon questions suspiciously, eyes narrowed.

Shrinking backwards with a gulp, visibly uncomfortable, Orwyle nods his head. “Y-yes, your Highness. She is with child.”

Daemon feels as though his heart skips a beat, a combination of shock and anger flashing through him in an instant that has him yanking the maester up by his robes. “She’s what?”

Chapter four || Chapter six || Series masterlist

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

The Wizarding Social Season: A Guide for Muggle-Born Witches and Wizards

By Celestina Peverell, Cultural Historian and Author of "Traditions of the Magical Elite"

The Wizarding Social Season: a time of glittering charm, whispered intrigue, and high-stakes networking that unfolds each summer in the heart of magical Britain. For those unfamiliar with this grand tradition, the season might be likened to a Muggle debutante season or the aristocratic social whirl of the Regency era. It is a complex time, steeped in ancient customs, subtle hierarchies, and the ever-watchful gaze of the Daily Prophet.

To help Muggle-borns and newcomers navigate this fascinating yet formidable institution, I offer this guide. Within these pages, you will find an exploration of the season’s history, its current practices, and the often-unspoken expectations that accompany participation. For better or worse, the Wizarding Social Season remains a cornerstone of magical society, as captivating as it is controversial.

A Tradition of Opportunity and Intrigue The Wizarding Social Season begins each July, shortly after the Hogwarts graduation ceremony, and continues through the summer months. Its purpose is twofold: to celebrate the accomplishments of recent graduates and to foster connections—both personal and professional—among the families of magical Britain. It is a time when alliances are formed, reputations are bolstered, and, perhaps most famously, matches are made.

Participation is technically open to all witches and wizards, but it is no secret that the season prioritizes those of pure-blood heritage. Pure-blood families dominate the social hierarchy, and their heirs are frequently touted as the most "eligible" candidates for marriage or partnership. This bias is perpetuated by longstanding traditions and reinforced by the season’s most influential commentator: the Daily Prophet.

The Season’s Grand Opening The season traditionally opens with the Ministry of Magic’s Gala for Young Wizards. This grand event, mandatory for all new Ministry employees, serves as a rite of passage into adult wizarding life. For recent Hogwarts graduates, it is the first major opportunity to mingle with influential figures, establish connections, and present themselves as worthy members of society.

Here, graduates often find themselves rubbing shoulders with Ministry officials, renowned scholars, and prominent pure-blood families. For many, the gala sets the tone for the summer ahead, offering a tantalizing glimpse of the opportunities and challenges the season holds.

A Calendar of Events Over the ensuing weeks, the social calendar brims with events of every kind: grand balls, elegant garden parties, charity auctions, Quidditch exhibitions, and private soirees hosted by the wizarding elite. These gatherings are more than mere entertainment; they are the proving grounds where young witches and wizards can demonstrate their charm, wit, and magical prowess.

For pure-blood families, these events are strategic arenas for showcasing their heirs and forging alliances. Seating arrangements, introductions, and even casual conversations are often carefully orchestrated to influence outcomes. A whispered comment or an extended invitation can shape the trajectory of the season, elevating one’s prospects or quietly closing doors.

The Infamous Matchmaker’s List No account of the Wizarding Social Season would be complete without mention of the Daily Prophet’s Matchmaker’s List. Published shortly after the season’s opening gala, this list ranks the most "eligible" young witches of the season. Factors such as blood status, family connections, and magical accomplishments, are weighed with almost comical seriousness.

Pure-blood heiresses typically dominate the list, their placements sparking fervent debate across wizarding households. For those ranked highly, the list can bring increased attention and opportunities. For others, a low or absent ranking can be a source of embarrassment or frustration.

While the Daily Prophet insists the list is merely a lighthearted feature, its influence is undeniable. It shapes public perception, sets the tone for gossip, and often mirrors the biases that define the season. Families have been known to work behind the scenes to secure favorable rankings, using everything from well-timed social appearances to anonymous tips to sway the editors.

The Expectations of Pure-Blood Society While the season is ostensibly a celebration of magical unity, its unspoken rules highlight the lingering divisions within wizarding society. Nowhere is this more evident than in the expectations placed upon pure-blood families. For these families, the season is not merely a time of celebration but a critical opportunity to secure their legacies.

Pure-blood heirs are expected to make "proper" matches that reinforce their family’s social and magical standing. These matches are evaluated not just on romantic compatibility but on lineage, reputation, and political alliances. Families often exert significant influence over their children’s choices, whether through subtle guidance or overt pressure.

Those who defy tradition—by choosing a partner of lower blood status or by remaining unattached—risk alienation, gossip, and, in some cases, outright scandal.

Romance and Reputation The wizarding social season bears similarities to Muggle traditions but diverges significantly in its attitudes toward propriety. Chaperoning, for instance, is almost unheard of; friendships and interactions between men and women, even of a romantic nature, are approached with a level of openness and pragmatism that would be considered unconventional in Muggle high society.

However, tradition still holds sway in several key areas. For one, it is deemed most proper for the man to propose a formal courtship, leaving witches in a precarious position of waiting for their suitor's intentions to be declared. This custom often places undue pressure on witches, who must navigate their prospects carefully, lest they appear desperate or overly eager. Additionally, this tradition marginalizes same-gendered couples, for whom such rigid gender roles are inapplicable.

When it comes to intimacy, discretion is highly valued. Physical affection—if kept private and unseen—is considered a personal matter and rarely draws comment. Premarital public displays of affection, however, are widely regarded as tasteless, particularly for witches. Premarital sexual relationships are subject to even greater scrutiny, with societal disapproval falling most heavily on witches whose reputations can suffer irreparably if such matters become known. A single scandal, whether based in truth or rumor, can derail not only a witch's prospects for the season but also her family’s standing for years to come.

While wizarding society prides itself on being less rigid than its Muggle counterpart in many ways, these ingrained expectations of romance and propriety reveal an enduring attachment to tradition that often conflicts with the progressive values it claims to uphold.

A Complex Legacy The Wizarding Social Season is a study in contrasts: an invitation to all, yet dominated by the few; a celebration of progress, yet rooted in tradition. For Muggle-borns and those new to magical society, it can be both a fascinating spectacle and an intimidating challenge. Yet, for all its complexities, the season remains a vibrant and enduring tradition, a reflection of the wizarding world’s values, ambitions, and, perhaps, its contradictions.

To navigate it successfully requires a blend of charm, skill, and understanding—and perhaps, above all, a sense of humor. After all, as any seasoned participant will tell you, the true magic of the Wizarding Social Season lies not just in its grand gestures but in its subtler charms: a kind word, a shared laugh, or an unexpected connection that transcends even the most carefully laid plans.

[rabbitenn]

Love your blog! I've always been a Re:Vale fan (and still am) and didn't have eyes or ears for the other groups…but your characterizations have made me start liking Trigger too. This may be a bit of a controversial request so I won't feel bad if you pass on it. Could I have the Trigger boys reacting to their s/o's tummy growling in front of them? This is not coming from an ED mindset--I've been extremely busy/stressed (working 6+ day weeks, juggling 3 part-time jobs, and having random SNAFU stuff come up with family that results in more responsibilities/duties etc.) and so meals/eating has kind of fallen by the wayside for me. Still eat…but maybe only managing to eat breakfast in a single day or something. Made me crave being taken care of/fussed over by the Trigger boys. Thank you!

SLOW DOWN.

Your schedule is packed and you’ve been neglecting your own health. However, your boyfriend is not having it.

ft. Yaotome Gaku, Kujo Tenn, Tsunashi Ryunosuke x gn! reader.

cw/genre: fluff, comfort, soft caring boyfriends.

hello, lovely ! thank you so much for requesting. Your words honor me, really ! I’m very happy my fics could make you love TRIGGER, that’s really one of the highest compliments I could ever get, so thank you, truly <3 My apologies that I’m quite late in posting this, I hope it’s still to your liking. Also, I hope you can find a moment to take a break too, take care, please !

♡ YAOTOME GAKU

— Gaku misses you.

— The moments you two spend alone together are becoming more and more scarce.

— And it’s not due to any fallouts or misunderstandings, no, far from it, actually.

— You miss him too.

— Because for the last few weeks, all you’ve been doing is work. Commuting from one workplace to another, providing for your family, with barely any days off.

— Which resulted in your time with your boyfriend being affected; fleeting kisses and ‘see you tonight’s are the longest conversations you’ve been sharing lately, your nights cuddled by each other’s side watching movies being cut short when you helplessly fell asleep on Gaku’s shoulder.

— He sighs, a little saddened. It’s unfair you are exerting yourself like this… Without barely a moment to breathe… He hopes you’re only taking on so much work for a short while.

— Laying you down on his bed and pulling the covers snuggly around you, Gaku decides to reserve some time from his own schedule to come see you at work the next day.

♡

Carrying another flowerpot, you heave a sigh the moment you place it on the shelf.

With the back of your hand, you wipe the sweat from your brow. Your arms are slightly shaking, having spent a good part of the morning moving boxes and arranging the shelves of the flower shop you work at part time.

With a sideways glance at the ticking clock, you realize it’s almost lunchtime.

Though it was never really lunchtime for you, as you usually spent the hour you had going over several papers that needed to be sorted for your office job.

Switching the door’s sign to ‘closed’, you pull a chair next to the counter, as a flurry of documents begins to cover the entirety of the wooden surface.

Then, a chiming sound makes you momentarily lose your focus.

“Sorry, we’re closed.” You announce, not even bothering to raise your gaze from the work at hand.

You hear the door closing with a dull ‘thud’, footsteps approaching.

“I said,” You brace your hands on the table, standing up from your seat. “That we are clo-“

Steel hued eyes meet yours in the middle of your sentence.

“Gaku!” You smile up at him. He doesn’t miss the dark circles under your eyes. “What are you doing here?”

One of his hands cups your cheek, the pads of his fingers smoothing over the tiredness of your skin, as if just like that, he could erase the clouds of sleepless nights from your stare.

“Inviting you to have lunch with me, of course.” He utters, in the blossom scented space that separates you.

You lower your head, hair falling in front of your eyes.

“Dear… I would love that but… I don’t have the time. I’m sorry…” You trail off, thinking of the meager energy drink you’ve had time to buy on your way here this morning.

As if to announce that it is time already for you to have a proper meal, your stomach growls.

Heat rises to your cheeks. This is so embarrassing! For your gut to make that kind of noise in front of your hot boyfriend.

“You didn’t hear that…” You mumble, looking everywhere except at him.

A chuckle causes you to look at him wide eyed.

“Gaku, please, don’t make fun of me…” You whine, holding onto his arm.

Those crystalline eyes of his soften, his hand finding yours.

“I’m not making fun of you, but you need to eat. So I’m taking you to the soba shop, yeah? I’ll drive you back to your other job afterwards.”

“But I… You have work too… I just can’t waste your time like this… driving me afterwards…”

“[Y/n], look at me.” Your boyfriend’s tone is serious, yet still warm.

When your gaze meets his, his expression is solemn.

“You never waste my time. Never.”

You sigh, a tired smile making it to your lips. It warms your heart, really that your partner is so sweet.

“Alright.” You utter, gathering your stuff. “And Gaku?”

“Yes, love?”

“Thank you.” You tell him, as you nuzzle against his side.

“Nothing to thank me for.” He whispers, with a kiss to the crown of your head.

The midday sun outlines your intertwined hands against the concrete as you make your way to his car.

You promise to make time for him soon.

♡ KUJO TENN

— Tenn is very perceptive, so, honestly, it will be hard for you to neglect yourself before he notices and “forces” you to take care.

— He sees how you barely have any energy left whenever you two happen to have the same day off.

— How you’re so flooded with projects for work you barely tell him about your day anymore, dismissing the topic with a ‘busy, as usual.’

— And well, he knows what you’re doing. How, in order to provide for others, to make enough money and keep your superiors at work pleased, you’re running yourself ragged.

— How does he know? Well, because he pretty much does the exact same thing; just giving, to his fans, to his family, to everyone, even at the cost of his own happiness or health.

— But with you, he wants you to put yourself first. You’re so dear to him, Tenn can’t bear the thought of seeing your light dim like this.

— And he will not hesitate to confront you about it.

♡

The shuffling of steps causes for Tenn to look up from his book.

Usually, his face lit up whenever he saw you, but today, the image of you breaks his heart a little.

You look sickly. Your hair is a mess, your clothes are all rumpled, and nasty looking shadows seem to have been permanently etched under the bright eyes he loves to look into.

Tenn swallows; he has to do something about it, your condition is just going to worsen if you keep this up.

“[Y/n]…” Your boyfriend calls you as you rummage through the kitchen cupboards.

“Tenn, do we have any energy bars left?” You ask, still searching.

He sighs. It’s your day off today. And you’re not even going to have a proper meal?

“[Y/n].” He repeats, his tone a tad colder.

“Where did I put them…” You muse to yourself.

Well, you’re bent on not paying attention to him, so he’ll have to snap you out of this vicious cycle.

Your lover’s hand wraps around your wrist, firm but gentle. He spins you around, making you face him.

You let out a gasp, taken aback by his bold action right now.

“[Y/n], listen to me.” Tenn commands, still not letting go of you.

“Tenn, I’m sorry, but I don’t have time now-“

He pulls you closer to him.

“You will listen.”

He can feel your shallow breathing now, his silken strands of starlight on snow brushing the side of your cheek, his comforting and sweet scent surrounding you.

Oh, how you wish you could just bask in his warmth, curled up with a mug of hot chocolate and a plate of the donuts he so adores as you two read on the couch.

But sadly, your situation doesn’t exactly leave you the time for such hedonistic actions.

“Tenn…” You breathe, wide eyed.

“Why do you keep doing this to yourself?” He lets out, voice breaking a little, barely above a whisper.

“Doing what?”

“You’re not hydrating properly, your lips are all chapped; you’re not sleeping enough, and when was the last time you had a real meal?” Your boyfriend questions, his thumb running soothing patterns over your wrist.

As if in response, your tummy decides to rumble right then and there.

You slump your shoulders, burying your face in his chest. The softness of his sweater is welcoming, akin to a comfort blanket that’s been with you since childhood.

“Nothing gets past you, does it?” You laugh, humorlessly, closing your eyes to all the burdens you’ve been shouldering alone.

Your shoulders start to shake. Tenn’s arms wrap around your form, so frail now, as if a simple gust of wind could shatter what remains of your sanity.

“Not when it comes to you, my love.” Your boyfriend answers, his voice a sweet melancholy symphony. “Now, why don’t I run a hot bath for you and make us something to eat?” He suggests, his fingers lacing with yours. “It’s our day off, so, please, rest.” He murmurs, honeyed lips leaving the softest kiss ever known to your cheek.

“I’d like that.” You reply, squeezing Tenn’s hands a little tighter. “I’d really love that.”

Your boyfriend gives you a tender smile, bringing you close to him again, wrapping you in the sweetness of his delicate hug.

“I’d love that too, my [Y/n].”

You look up at him. Then:

“I love you, Tenn-Tenn.”

Shades of vibrant pink flower across his cheeks at your use of the cute nickname, eyes of rosé dreams softening even more when he regards you.

“I love you too. More than you’ll ever know.”

Protected in Tenn’s embrace, you feel the exhaustion and hunger of the last few weeks seeping away.

Your Tenn really is an angel, you think, as you bathe in his comforting light for a few more instants.

♡ TSUNASHI RYUNOSUKE

— Sweet Ryu, who just wants to see you always smiling.

— He’s been feeling this ache lately; the time you two share together has been diminishing; your smiles have become more rare; you’re not there when he wakes up or when he goes to bed.

— And in moments when you two are actually together, you barely talk, just cuddling up into him, your face buried in his chest.

— Don’t get him wrong, he loves holding you close, he really does, but there’s something in your smile that feels… off.

— As if you were a candle, out in a windy night, threatening to topple over and either extinguish or go up in flames.

— Ryu’s worried… Have you been eating properly lately? He knows you work at different places and don’t really have the time to sit down and have nutritious meals nor to prepare them.

— He’ll have to make up for it.

♡

The sound of the front door opening and closing announces your return.

Outside, it’s pitch dark night, mid-autumn wind blowing with force, the trees lining the street inevitably bending to its imposing tune.

You carelessly throw your bag to the floor as you remove your shoes, too exhausted to even sort out the files inside. That’s a future you problem, for now.

Releasing a breath, you pull back your shoulders, an attempt at releasing some of the accumulated tension.

“Long day?” A voice you loved, no matter if it was whispering sweet nothings or singing on bright stages, asks.

Your lips curl up in a soft smile, following the sound of his voice to the kitchen.

“You could say that.” You sigh, slumping on one of the chairs.

Your boyfriend turns around, switching off the fire momentarily.

It’s cute, you think, the sight of him donning an apron, cooking so peacefully and joyfully… If you weren’t so tired you’d love nothing more than to help him with it… But truth be told, lately you don’t even have time to pack your own lunch boxes.

“You know,” Ryu takes a seat next to you, his hand on yours over the table. “If there’s ever anything troubling you, I’m here to help you through it. No matter what it is, we’ll face it together.”

His eyes of melted sunlight stare at you with determination; so inviting, a blank book beckoning you to write in a language only you two speak all of your worries.

“Well it’s just…” You begin. “Lately, I’m… I feel…like work is taking up so much from me… I barely have time to spend with you or to eat…”

As if to prove your point, your belly chooses that exact moment to grumble.

“Damn it, that’s embarrassing.” You curse through gritted teeth.

Ryunosuke offers you one of his serene smiles.

“Dinner will be ready in a minute, my dear.”

He stands up, lips brushing against your forehead in a kiss that’s loving and reassuring.

“Just relax and let me take care of you tonight.” He softly tells you as he parts.

You’re glad you have the day off tomorrow. You’re so making up for lost time with him.

[kehlana-wolhamonao3]

YOU WATCH BRIDGERTON I need to know your hot takes and opinions stat

Oh, I do! I've also read Julia Quinn's books :)

Now, I'll preface that with telling you that I have a master degree in history. I often grind my teeth while watching or reading historical fiction because of the inaccuracies I am able to spot. I know most of them fly over my head, I don't specialise in all of history after all, but when I do spot something glaring, it's painful. Yet, I never had this problem with Bridgerton.

Bridgerton, both the book series and the adaptation, is an unashamed play with tropes and conventions. It dresses itself in a historical costume, but it has nothing to do with real Regency England; it uses that particular setting exactly because it's been so often used for romance fiction due to its association with Pride & Prejudice and perceived as romantic. You can see how purposefully it is done in the books, where each of them follows a particular trope from the romance novels genre. It's all for fun, it doesn't treat itself seriously, but you can see that there was a serious thought behind planning it all.

The adaptation picked up on it perfectly. The race blind casting, the modern music in classical arrangements, the anachronisms - it's all done deliberately and I love it. It's not supposed to be historically accurate and doesn't pretend to be. I like also how they change the books' storylines but keep the personalities of the characters; it makes it very interesting to follow for book readers because you have no idea where the plot will go but still recognise the characters you like. The casting is fabulous. The costumes and locations amazing. The sex... well, there's for sure plenty of that :D But being a postmodern take on the bodice ripper genre obliges. It makes it mildly inconvenient that I can't watch it with my little kids around, but that's why laptops and headphones were invented.

Knowing the books I'm currently at the edge of my seat in anticipation how the adaptation is going to deal with Penelope and Colin, Francesca, Eloise. I can't wait!

To sum up, is this a series without faults or controversies? Of course not. But I find it enjoyable. It's pure escapism, it's fun, it's genre savvy. I love the inteligent play with tropes. I love watching those amazing costumes and settings. And I love a fun romance which doesn't treat itself too seriously and which doesn't make me feel like my neurons are dying due to watching or reading it.

No, what are your takes on it? I really want to know! If you want to discuss its faults, I'm very open to it too, even if this post is more of a gushing variety :D

[curiouselleth]

Be He Foe or Friend

Decided to start posting this here as well! (ao3)

Be He Foe or Friend is a Silmarillion choose your own adventure fic I've been writing for a little while now, and right now I have 3 rounds of chapters out (including the first one.) At the end of each chapter there is a choice, and the one you choose corresponds with which chapter you read next! Right now I have the next chapters on ao3 linked in the options at the bottom, and I'll be reblogging this post with the next chapters!

This is written in second POV, as if you, the reader, are Lalwen.

Chapter 1: Introductions

“You are still young and this is a big step, my darling Lalwen, but as my daughter and princess of the Noldor, it is time you start attending court and finding your role as a princess of our people. I know you are unsure, but I have every confidence that the people will adore you.” your father said encouragingly.

“Are you sure, atar? I fear due to the controversy of your and amil’s marriage I may be ill received not just in the court, but by the people if I begin to take a greater role…”

Finwë tucks a braid behind your ear, “do not fear my darling, Fingolfin and I will be with you the entire time, even Fëanor will be there today.”

You smile, take a shaky breath, and nod, “I suppose we should stop stalling, then.”

“Lalwen, my daughter, my darling, my precious. You are the one stalling, not me!” we laughed.

---

The court hall had always been lavishly adorned. Precious metals were inlaid into the very stone of the walls and floor, running like rivers and vines. The floor is a beautiful mosaic depicting the path the Noldor traveled from the very waters of Cuiviénen in the far east to the border of the home of the Noldor in the west, the white city of Tirion. The thrones sat on a raised dais, and upon each step a level of the city is depicted, until the top step, which shows the gardens outside this very hall, with the thrones in the middle sitting where the Court Hall would be depicted on the mosaic. 

Windows of vibrantly colored glass depicting scenes of the Noldor’s travels and crafts starting nigh a step up from the floor stretch fathoms up, nearly to the ceiling where finely polished gemstones hanging in the eaves and vaults of the roof sparkle brilliantly in the light of the two trees. Between the windows hang intricately woven tapestries displaying the symbols of all the different Craft Guilds gently billowing as a breeze passes through the great doors of the hall.

Today the hall is filled with Noldor dressed in their finest clothes and jewels, and so many elves that they had to remove the benches that lined the halls to make more space. Garlands of flowers and vines stretch across the hall- no, not flowers! Finely crafted stones, ores and gems, shaped and arranged so realistically that one who was not accustomed to the Noldor would not even see the difference between these and the most beautiful of Yavanna’s blooms. If the light of the trees were any brighter the scene would be near blinding with the light reflecting off all the gems, metalwork, and polished stone. 

There were also minstrels scattered through the hall, playing soft, joyful melodies and harmonies, for today a new Princess of the Noldor was taking her place in the court.

As the Royal family enters, a hush falls over the hall, so that the very steps of even baby Finarfin, your young brother, can be heard by the elves' ears.

Finwë leads your family in with Indis and baby Finarfin between them, as they pass the people bow, then Fëanor, Nerdanel his wife, pregnant again already! You marvel for a brief moment, and their son Maedhros. Next Fingolfin, your brother, and his betrothed Anarie. 

Then it’s your turn. After you pass, the elves rise from their bow, and when you reach the dias and turn, about to take your seat, they erupt into thunderous applause and cheering.

It took several minutes for the crowd to quiet again so Finwë could properly introduce your joining the court. Such was their excitement to have a new Princess in court, as your sister Findis discovered that court was not for her and had begun contemplating becoming a devotee of Varda. The rest of the court session passed in a blur, so luckily there were not any matters that required your attention.

Unlike Findis, Fingolfin, your brother, had taken to court and politics like a… well like how only a prince of the Noldor could. 

Fëanor too had taken to courtly matters quickly as well, though his true passions were lore and smithing. Even though he was your half-brother, and your eldest sibling, you did not know much more about him then any other elf, as his disdain for Indis, your mother, and Fingolfin, your brother, usually resulted in him visiting seldom, and on the few occasions he did, he was rather haughty, although never to the point of being straight out rude. He seemed rather tolerable on easier topics though, the few times you had the chance to speak.

Perhaps it was seeing how confident Fëanor and Fingolfin were and how sure in themselves and their beliefs they were was what made you hold your head higher, and even began to allow a seed of courage to begin to take root. 

---

Perhaps you should’ve expected someone would ask you about it. It had been controversial from the start, and the memory of elves was long, so it may always be so. But when they asked you if you thought it was fair to Míriel, who was barred from ever being re-embodied when your parents married, it still shook you. For you to say it was unfair would be to say that you wish yourself, your sister, and brothers would never, should never have been born, and your parents never married. 

To say that it was not unfair to Míriel who was to be left dead permanently was to appear callus, saying that she made her choice and should never be returned to life.

Your half brother, Fëanor, the son of Míriel, would never miss the opportunity to argue for justice for his mother. But none could blame him, for he alone in all elves born in Valinor knew the pain of the death of a parent, in the undying lands. And furthermore the strange feeling of the loss of one who will never return. 

Your brother Fingolfin usually took a more delicate approach, recognizing that Míriel did make a choice for herself, so Finwë had the right to do the same for himself.

All this passed through your mind in a flash, and you voiced your support for:

Fëanor’s position that it was unjust to Míriel, and Fëanor himself for he lost his mother permanently. Go to Fëanor’s Position

Fingolfin’s position that Míriel made her choice, sad that it was, and Finwë had the right to seek happiness when Míriel chose to leave, as Manwe, King of All Arda, declared Finwë’s right to remarry. Go to Fingolfin’s Position.

Allowing everyone, including Finwë and Míriel, privacy in difficult decisions such as these and that the discussion of such personal matters should not be a matter of public debate, despite the fact that it was about their King. Go to Privacy for Eru’s Sake!

[philosophicalparadox]

Naruto Worldbuilding HC’s: The Dark and the Dirty

(Aka a “what if Naruto were a Seinen” basically)

Naruto, as a series, has absolute shit world building, BUT it does lend itself well for that reason to coming up with something that almost-sorta makes sense.

In other words: I need a place to put these and while I’m on a nostalgic kick I might as well share. I’ve been known for these before, Naruto gets no exception just because it’s a Wee Shonen

These focus a lot on Konohagakure simply because that is where most the story takes place. If I write a fanfic about Naruto assume these are inherently applied.

— WARNING ⚠️ NSFW —

Please scroll past if you have baby eyeballs. Reader beware, TW: mentions of suicide, rape, incest and pathological behavior (I did say DARK)

Most controversial first: I don’t think there’s a whole lot of marital fidelity between shinobi. Or any other kind for that matter. And no, that isn’t based entirely on my wet slashy dreams, but because it doesn’t really make sense for there to be a culture of sexual loyalty in a profession where bodies/people are tools and relationships are frequently arranged to suit family inheritance laws or traditions. Arranged marriages are commonplace among clans and families, enough so that no one so much as bats an eye at it. In canon, we have examples of both Uchiha and Hyuuga doing not only arranged marriage but deliberately incestuous marriages (let’s get over that scary word can we? Please?) between cousins in the same clan. A predictable and historically upheld consequence of having a culture where arranged marriage is common is a culture where marital fidelity kinda takes a back seat, and having lovers on the side becomes extremely common. That is precisely where the idea of Mistresses came from.

In that vein, and adding to the reasons, most shinobi don’t settle down unless made to, and for as long as they work, they’ll try to keep away from particularly intense relationships. This is actually in the Shinobi handbook; it’s a “rule” they’re supposed to follow. Not everyone does obviously, but they’re not “supposed” to have romantic relationships at all, so the culture surrounding the subject is kinda weird and awkward, because unfortunately Shinobi are human and of course they fall in love, and sometimes want to marry that love, etc. etc. which all just makes the above point more messy and confusing and true.

Also in that vein, relationships with civilians are not only forbidden for the most part, but they are even more significantly taboo than all the rest. Like, pretty much every Shinobi knows it’s a bad idea, and very few I imagine would dare try. However … because Shinobi aren’t supposed to have serious relationships, there is quite a high incidence of promiscuity among men in particular, so while they can’t be with a civilian they can still screw them. Consequently I imagine there are actually quite a few little Shinobi born bastards out there. Though Shinobi are not supposed to reveal themselves to civilians normally, they are a big part of the military and have freakin magic, so I can picture quite a few foreign women tripping over themselves to get a bite of them regardless. A reputation for promiscuous behavior only adds to that appeal. (I think this is called the Soldier Effect? There’s a name for it IRL, taken mostly from the Korean War, but it’s been a minute)

Keeping to the sex stuff, Kunoichi are on birth control as soon as they’re able to be and they don’t quit taking it ever until they’re married off or somehow have time to stop a while. Condoms are extremely accessible and mostly free of charge; I can imagine they come with most Shinobi packs, both male and female.

Putting the rest under a cut bc TW

ANBU females carry rape guards of various kinds. — from barbed condoms to noxious chemicals, to poison and hidden weapons fit for purpose. These are available widely to any Kunoichi but for ANBU they are a mandatory part of the equipment. Men may or may not carry similar defenses for themselves; I think that very much depends on the person and where they’re going.

Love it or hate it rape is gonna happen. You got magic, you got genjutsu for gods sake, which makes a person relatively physically compliant, you got drugs and poison and all other manner of creatively making that easy. Every shinobi goes through a brief about it at least once in their career; Kunoichi are told later in their life that it’s something that can happen to them and to always be on the lookout for skeevy behavior, and they probably carry emergency contraceptives on hand just in case they either do something or get something done to them.

Speaking of drugs and genjutsu, I imagine most of why genjutsu puts people in the hospital on watch is so they can be prescribed/administered emergency antipsychotics and other psychiatric medications if needed. Yes the mental fatigue is real, but genjutsu is designed to (literally ) drive you crazy. The potential for psychosis is high, and the potential for depression and anxiety are higher.

Staying on trend: suicide among Shinobi is quite common. In some cases it’s an expectation of their job. However suicide from grief, depression or anxiety disorders is quite high. That there’s an excuse to be found at every turn and plenty of ways to off oneself by assisted means doesn’t make this less true.

In that light I can not imagine that Konoha in particular doesn’t have some type of psychiatric facility. Maybe it’s crude, rude and utterly dull, but they probably have one somewhere, devoted to Shinobi that can’t cope, but don’t want to die. However, this is a very Japanese-flavored society, and Shinobi are Shinobi, so there’s probably a taboo against using it. “It’s more noble to die than seek treatment for disease/succumb to weakness in any way” was a common Showa-era refrain in Japan and there’s a lot of heavy Showa-themed peppering in Naruto.(Showa is the pre and during WW2 era)

Murder is “uncommon” among people of the same village but that depends on which village and is more common than you’d think. Konoha has a reputation for being very buddy-buddy with each other (at least in Kiri they do) with an emphasis on teamwork, so murder is uncommon there, but far from unheard of. It is after all a MASSIVE village, and Shinobi are all about assassination and killing people. The impression is that in Kirigakure murder is actually quite common, to the point it’s encouraged to a degree. So there is certainly cultural distinctions between villages. But specifically in Konoha there’s that added incentive of it being more of a taboo thing, which of course makes it more rewarding to those that get away with it. ANBU seldom murder each other, but a bored ANBU with more time on his hands than common sense I could see turning it into a kind of dark bingo game.

ANBU are really in a class of their own. They have to be. They are Shinobi that hunt Shinobi. They are the do-the-dirty-work guys. And because of that, combined with training techniques and the appeal of the pay grade, ANBU tends to attract pathological people. Socio and psychopathy is quite welcome there. People that have malignant sadism and other injurious or murderous tendencies have a place there. Those with darker or morally questionable impulses that are looking for either escape from it (devoting themselves to the craft and trying to be emotionless) or a convenient way to make it happen tend to find a place there. Rapists, sexually malignant sadists, copycats, fanatics of several flavors, you name it. ANBU do try to police their own, and get rid of rotten eggs, but ultimately they are not people once they put the mask on. Their talents matter more than their flaws or personal failings. (This is their own canon view of themselves as a collective)

On the subject of ANBU: promiscuity is extremely high. Never know when you will die or why, so take it where you can. However this type of thing also tends to make lifelong celibates of people; so you either get the sleep-around people or the “never while I’m on duty or still alive” people. They mostly acknowledge and ignore each other but sometimes inevitably you get clashes.

A lifestyle dominated by exposure to the elements and lots of fights in close quarters with bladed weapons brings disease and injury concerns. Anything transmitted through blood becomes a hazard. Respiratory illnesses are probably quite common. Then there’s rate of injury — human bodies can only endure so much, and broken bones can kill you out there. I imagine two things that heavily skew the suicide rate for Shinobi are owed to being too hurt to go on or not wanting to deal with the disabilities, or having to deal with the disabilities in a culture that doesn’t appreciate them and suffering so much from that they can’t cope. Japan is not very disability-friendly and I wouldn’t expect a culture of Shinobi to be any nicer. If anything I’d expect them to be worse. Maybe part of why Shisui’s father went mad in canon after losing his leg and becoming unable to handle himself (though I’d love to point out that’s a Berserk reference too) he had no outside support.

Ok I think I’m done for now. I’ll come back to it later if I think of something to add. Feedback is welcome, Antis (of any flavor) are not.

[rekucchi]

older women lovers raise your hand 🖐️😋

Chapter 2: The Dawnseeing Mansion (5)

“It’s okay, you are safe here. You must be shocked after losing your apartment,” Aylarik says while he gently pets your head. The feel of his long fingers gently scratching your head is calming. His gentle treatment only makes you want to cry even more. As you are trying to compose yourself, you hear footsteps going closer to the dining room. Soon a lady wearing a beautiful dress enters the room. Even without her neatly arranged getup, you would still say she is a beautiful woman.

The lady approaches the two of you and grabs Aylarik’s free arm.

“I’ve been looking for you! Mr. Aylarik, you are finally home!”

Ah… yeah. He has always been like that.

In the past Aylarik would flirt to those who look attracted to him. After conquering their hearts he would begin to ask them for favors. The invitations to certain gatherings, the truth behind a lot of controversies, key evidences to some crime cases, he got all he needed through careful manipulation of humans’ hearts. After he got what he wanted the fox would throw them away. Some of them went bankrupt, some went to jail, and some would take a forever break from the high society, none of them ever got back what they lost.

There are even those who died, like your father. The ambitious man asked too much from the cunning fox and it led him to his eternal demise. If you are not careful you will also walk to the path of ruin since you, the woman, the doctor, and everyone in this mansion are dancing in his palm.

Any feelings that makes you want to cry disappears when you remember the past. You swat his hand that is still on your hair and move to the next seat, leaving him to deal with the lady.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going outside? I would have accompanied you,” the lady says.

“I.. uh… I was notified that one of my properties is burning down so I rushed to check it out. Isn’t that right?”

Hey, why is he turning to you. The lady also turns to you. She looks at you up and down before giving a sad smile.

“Oh, who is this unfortunate young girl?” she says. The lady is trying to reach you but you move further away from her scary long nails.

“Greetings, Madam. My name is (Y/N), please allow me to intrude upon your life until I can find other place to stay,” you say while bowing slightly at her.

“You can stay here however long you want!” Aylarik barges, “Also I promised to rebuild your apartment so there is no need to find other places,” he adds.

“Look how polite she is!” the lady smiles graciously, ignoring Aylarik’s words just now. “You are too nice sometimes, Aylarik, and too responsible! It shouldn’t have been your responsibilities to take this poor girl home and yet here you are!”

“No, no, it IS my responsibilities! It’s due to my negligence on repairing that old apartment that it happened after all! That’s why you don’t have to think about finding other places, (Y/N)!”

“Actually I got used to that old apartment that I feel out of place in this wide and all-modern mansion. Mr. Aylarik, if you feel responsible about that old apartment then can you just give me another accommodation?”

Aylarik looks at you with strange expression. His lips are smiling but his eyes look ready to pounce, and it looks like fume is going to come out of his ears. Before he can say anything, though, the lady speaks,

“I’ve always been a high ranking lady so I never lived in poverty but if she said it’s uncomfortable here then I think you should honor her wish, Aylarik.”

“Of course, Marlene, I will honor every wish that she has, but that’s a talk for later. You said you were looking for me?”

“Yeah, I need to talk to you about our upcoming gala…,” Marlene says while giving him seductive look.

“Let’s talk about this in another room okay?” Aylarik urges while dragging her. The look he gives you before going out of the room should mean something but you aren't going to decipher it soon.

Check the story from the beginning here!