#accessories every man should need

[abbyfmc]

Yandere President! Husband x First Lady! Wife Reader:

I have never seen a yandere as a political figure, be it a mayor, minister, senator, congressman or president of an entire country.

The Yandere President met you before he rose to power, and from there he became madly infatuated with you.

The yandere president came from a very powerful family like you, so your parents and his arranged a marriage despite the modernity of the time.

He received a very comprehensive, albeit and very strict education.

Your education wasn't very different from his; you even knew each other from a young age, as your parents purposely brought you together.

The Yandere President won't take "no" from you for an answer.

A president needs to have charisma and know how to communicate with people, and the Yandere president is no exception. He KNOWS that there are people who believe in him, and whether he is corrupt or not, he will use this chance of manipulation to his advantage to have you.

The Yandere President will always make sure you're comfortable wherever you go together, or whenever you want to stay home. You will have the best medical care and attention, as well as the best food, drink, clothing, treats, accessories and, above all, protection.

And by the way, you will have a great and powerful status that others would envy.

The Yandere President is one of those powerful, paranoid, manipulative, protective and, above all, controlling yanderes.

Whether you're alone or with him, you'll ALWAYS be watched by him wherever you go, even if it's from your bedroom to the living room. The Yandere President will have bodyguards on hand to carefully protect you, him, and his family; he also has servants such as private chefs, maids, chauffeurs, butlers, security guards, etc.

ALL of those servants will tell the yandere president everything you say or do.

The yandere president has a WHOLE team of security cameras and microphones watching you from every possible angle (even if you can't see them), so he ALWAYS knows where you are, who you're with, what you say and what you do. After that, there's no way you can lie to him.

He would even limit your outings to the patio, for fear of snipers, according to him.

Needless to say, you have become the main object of his crazy obsessive love. He would do anything to have you; including killing his love rivals; overprotecting you; isolating you; censoring or controlling all information about you in the media.

The Yandere President knows he has enemies everywhere, both politicians from other parties and other nations and civilians (including rebel groups) who are willing to kidnap you, torture you, extort you, rob you, rape you and even kill you for the simple reason of being related to him.

The yandere president would barely let you see your family.

The Yandere President would love any gift you give him, just because it came from you, his greatest love.

The Yandere President would proudly show you off to everyone, and wouldn't stop reminding the citizens that you are his.

Even though you participate in politics and charity events, the yandere president considers that you should only be his due to his jealousy.

And speaking of which, the yandere president will not stand for you leaving him or talking to another man other than himself, your father or maybe a brother.

Whether in public or private, he will hold your hand, hug you or kiss you, but not to keep up appearances, but to show you the love he feels for you.

Although the yandere president knows that he must protect you from the paparazzi and the media, since he knows that if they have no mercy on him (being the president), much less will they have mercy on you.

I almost forgot: the yandere president would NOT accept a divorce.

He can't bear the idea that you, his beloved, want to leave him.

He would question you intensively to find out the reason for the divorce. Did he not take care of you? Did someone threaten you? Did he not give you enough gifts? Did he not love you or give you enough affection? Did he not give you the attention you wanted? Did someone do something to you and he did not protect you enough?

The Yandere President would talk things over with you and tell you right away that he would NOT let you go anywhere.

The yandere president will even lock you up to make you reconsider.

The Yandere President is not only someone with a lot of money; he also has the best team of private detectives, investigators, spies, hackers, guards and even police officers; so he knows EVERYTHING about you and your family, so if he can't get you to give up on the divorce, he'll have your parents pressure you or threaten to make them disappear.

The Yandere President is capable of ordering the killing of any lover you have.

He is the yandere president; he has absolute control over every part of the country, be it houses, apartments, schools and universities, public administration sites, establishments, all streets and even airports and/or borders.

Now, he would never dare to hurt you directly.

The Yandere President would be capable of making your life difficult if you divorce him. He will do everything to get you back, even sending his men to kidnap you.

He would not accept a divorce even if his election campaigns fail, just think that if he fails, you'll do it together.

The yandere president would be able to become a yandere dictator for you.

He would invite you on the most dazzling trips around the country or around the world.

-The end.

So, what do you think?

[httpsserene]

Hiiii

I just got done reading your masterpiece with the Austrian bread and got an idea.

What about the making of Aussie kids? Reader would have a baby fever and Toto would immediately be like ‘let’s make one’ and reader would cry out ‘ but I’m on birth control’

Pure chaos and smut

Sending positive vibes

𝐚 𝐛𝐮𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐧 - 𝐭. 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟𝐟

𝐭𝐨𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐲 - 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨

summary: don’t bake a man’s favorite bread unless you want to have his kids. it’s a good thing you’re desperate to do exactly that. content warning: 18+ only. mdni. explicit sexual content. kitchen sex. pregnancy kink. baby fever. unprotected sex. vaginal sex. creampie. implied masturbation. implied age gap. reader and toto are married. breeding kink (i guess)? birth control. actual pregnancy. beta read by @biancathecool pairing: toto wolff x fem!black!reader genre: written fic (1.8k words).

from serene: here’s the part two to toasty, i hope it satisfies the requests i got for this! i personally don’t understand the thirst some of you have for toto but, i do respect it. maybe one day i’ll see what y’all do or somebody can educate me on it but, i do hope y’all are pleased with this one xxx

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A switch has been flipped in your brain—you’ve become more than insatiable for your husband. After he railed you on the counter for making his favorite bread, baking has become your entire personality. The way Toto looked at you after he tried your first attempt at an authentic pumpernickel bread changed how your brain fires. The mix of love and lust that filled his gaze had awoken an innate instinct within you: you need to have this man’s babies.

You’ve always claimed to be an independent woman, your dream was never to become a man’s accessory, or housewife, or tradwife. But, for Toto? For the way he looked at you as he had his first taste of your pastry? You’d set feminism back for a hundred years to keep getting fucked like that for the rest of your life. You spent an ungodly amount of money (Toto’s money) on baking utensils and you’ve pretty much been running a bakery out of your kitchen. Every few hours you’re shoving a pastry down your husband’s throat, eagerly awaiting his praise for each creation you seem to bake perfectly. 

Off-handedly around a mouthful of cinnamon sugar knots you baked, Toto moaned at the dessert melting on his tongue, seemingly in a daze when he murmured, “I’m going to get you pregnant if you keep baking like this.”

You laughed at his unexpected outburst, brushing it off as Toto hyperbolizing how great the dessert was. However, it was like the words infected your brain–every waking hour, you constantly thought about having his kids. And it didn’t help that once Toto heard you set a timer for the oven, he’d be tearing your clothes off and fucking you on the nearest surface. The kitchen island is a favorite, but there was an instance where he took you on the floor. Afterward, he claimed to be too old for sex on tiled floors, but you were too busy imagining growing a baby in your belly to care.

The severity of your baby fever is only realized when you reach into your nightstand to take your birth control and...you hesitate. You’re on the last week of pills, you should message your clinic to get a refill. Imagine a child, a mixture of you and Toto. And, you’re aware that pregnancy can be rough but you’d finally be able to decorate that spare room into a nursery instead of letting it collect dust. A baby; a combination of your best halves. Would they have your deeper skin tone, or Toto’s height, or your curls, or his nose, or your eyes? You could have your baby cradled to your chest as you bake for your husband, their father—

“Schatz?” Toto calls in question from his side of the bed, eyes concerned through the lens of his glasses, “You froze, are you okay?”

You shake the thoughts from your head, the smile you give him is slightly strained. You complete the monotonous motion of swallowing tonight’s allocated contraception with a sip of water. Tossing the packet back in the drawer, you speak, “Yes, I’m fine. I just realized that I need to order more birth control.”

His eyes examine your expression for a moment before he nods and offers a simple, “Hm.” in response. Toto fixed his eyes back on the book in front of him, and you ignore the disappointment that burns in your chest. Sighing mutely, you grab your phone and request a refill in your clinic’s online portal.

The next morning you’re awoken by Toto sweetly petting you awake, his thumb tracing lightly along your cheekbone. He murmurs an apology as he reveals that he’s going to be trapped in the home office today with back-to-back meetings concerning the looming Formula One season. You pouted even while you nodded your understanding, pleading for a kiss before you lost his attention for the day, which Toto happily divulged.

You busy yourself, prepping Toto’s favorite pastry and setting it to bake in the oven as early as possible. As a caring wife, you prepare meals for him and slip into his room to deliver them knowing he would forget to eat if you didn't remind him. You make sure his coffee never runs low, even if you switched to decaf after the second mug—he shouldn’t have too much caffeine at his age, you’d like to grow old with him eventually. To your dismay, Toto did not lie about being locked in the office. He was sequestered within those four walls well past sunset and as a result, you’ve produced enough baked goods in your free time to power the entire Mercedes factory for a week.

“I think we are going to have to discuss a limit for how many things you can bake in a day, schatz,” your husband sounds from the kitchen entryway, an awe-filled look on his face as he sees the bakery you’ve created. 

“The pumpernickel bread is still baking—would you like a cinnamon roll instead? Or a chocolate chip cookie? Or could I interest you in a slice of apple pie?”

You’re well aware that your curls are a mess in the loosely fastened bun dangling low on your head, you probably have streaks of flour and other various baking ingredients on your face mirroring the dirty surface of your apron. The unhinged baker aesthetic you’ve suddenly adopted is pulled together by the wide grin splayed across your lips. 

“I could eat all three,” Toto hums, his eyes darkening as he approaches you in the kitchen, fingers rushing to untie your apron, “—If you can help me work up an appetite.”

Various baked goods are shoved out of the way to make space for you to be bent over the island. Your flushed brown skin is cooled by the marble surface, nipples hardening quickly at the temperature but, it doesn’t stop you from spreading your legs and helping Toto tug your panties to the side underneath your skirt. He’s quick to press a finger within your entrance and pauses when the slide is too easy.

You squirm desperately, whining when Toto halts your hips from rocking backward on his hand.

“Schatz,” Toto murmurs, his free hand palming at your ass, “Did you—”

“Yes!�� You cut him off, stomping at the delay, “I got bored waiting for things to bake—I’m ready, just fuck me.”

Thankfully, Toto is quick to listen to you and substitute his finger for his cock, his slacks unzipped enough to pull himself out. At the stretch, your eyes roll back and you lose the strength to hold your head up, letting it fall to press against the cool marble. You feel your husband still his hips but you reach your hand backward to grasp at his pressed dress shirt, using your grip to tug him forward, a non-verbal cue for him to keep sinking into you. He curses lowly and leans downward to rest his head on the back of your neck, pressing the remaining few inches inside.

Twin moans of pleasure are exhaled into the kitchen, Toto’s hands move to hold your waist, his clasp on your skin tight, reflecting the force he’s mustering to refrain from fucking into you without your approval. The burn from his girth fades quickly replaced by the feeling of fullness you’ve become addicted to. You roll your hips softly, moaning shakily at the drag of his length within you and Toto meets your rhythm smoothly. 

He fucks into you deeply, grunting on every other thrust in, you feel the breath of his chuckle ghost across your back when you fall limp in his hands; he’s well aware that you enjoy sitting pretty and taking what he gives you. Your cunt clings to his cock, the plush heat trying its hardest to disallow Toto from exiting, urging him to stay buried inside of you as he scrapes directly over your most sensitive points. 

Your husband straightens himself upright, pressing you firmly down on the counter with a hand in the middle of your back, his other hand slipping around to rest on your navel while keeping your hips angled upward for a better angle.

His thrusts become rougher and you can only scramble to hold on to the island, hands slipping from the sweat accumulated on your palms and skin. Your mouth is parted, drooling from the corner of your lip, chest heaving as you struggle to breathe through his thrusts, moans and gasps punched out of your chest, his cock hardened and pulsing within you, and your curls bouncing out of your bun and sticking to your back and forehead from the heat.

Toto’s hand presses into your belly, and he pants lowly, “You feel me right in here—I’m going to put a baby in you, schatz.”

You shudder in his arms, eyelids fluttering as you struggle to reply, and you swear you feel yourself become wetter at the image your husband planted in your mind.

“You can’t,” you whine out roughly, whimpering as the force of his thrusts rocks you up across the island, the ledge digging into your hips, “ah—’m on birth control!”

He grunts dismissively, patting his hand on your belly as his rough thrusts are exchanged for deep grinds, hitting places that send tantalizing rushes of pain along with pleasure up your spine, “Okay,” Toto huffs, “Stop taking it.”

You mean to ask clarifying questions, but he doesn’t let you get a word in as he continues to ramble about getting you pregnant.

“Fuck, I’m going to give you a baby, yes?” “—Going to be so pretty carrying our child.” “You’ll be such a good mum.”

The last one pushes you over the edge harshly, your nerves burning at the white-hot flash of pleasure, the sounds of Toto following you muffled to your ears as your orgasm floods your senses. You feel a dampness on your cheeks and it takes Toto wiping it away to realize you’re crying. His hips continue to slowly grind deeply within you, his cum painting your walls, and he pulls you upwards to press your lips together.

“You were serious,” your voice cracks embarrassingly as you moan the words into Toto’s lips, “About the birth control?”

“Yes,” your husband answers confidently, his words supported by a firm thrust of his cock that makes your eyes roll and body shiver, “If that’s what you want, of course.”

You hum, pleased at his response, “You need to remind me to call the clinic tomorrow to cancel my refill order.”

Toto grumbles incoherently, more concerned with toying with your nipples and kissing along your collarbone, “Yes, schatz—can you go again? I want to put a baby in you as quickly as possible. You would look so beautiful with a bump, no?”

5 weeks later you run out of the bathroom and leap into your husband's arms, brandishing a positive pregnancy test wildly. 

You laugh gleefully, tears of joy forming in your waterline, “I guess both of us are bakers now!”

“What?” Toto offers confused, trying to still your arm to grab the test.

“Both of us are bakers now! You put a bun in my oven!”

© httpsserene2024

[earthtooz]

ratio is jealous bc im weak to him being jealous om, gn!reader but they wear a dress, fluff !!

“darling, this is a serious matter and i expect you to treat it as such,” veritas scolds as his face hovers inches away from yours, his body keeping yours captive against the softness of your shared bed.

“serious? well i think you seriously need to get over it. i spent a lot on that dress and i’ve been looking forward to wearing it to the gala all fortnight,” you scold, trying to look stern with the man hovering above you. “even if you don’t like it, i’m wearing it.”

“don’t like it?" he parrots, utterly appalled. "you’ve got the wrong idea. on the contrary, i think i like it too much.”

your hand snakes up to pinch his heavily defined deltoid. “then what’s the problem?”

“because others will love it just as much as i do.” there’s distaste in his voice when he tells you that, and the way his eyebrows furrow are similar to that of when a student asks him a question that he deems ridiculous.

"sure thing," you roll your eyes at his statement, clearly not believing him, and it vexes him that you are not aware of your ability to capture the attention of bystanders just by entering a room. veritas has witnessed it himself a multitude of times before he had become yours.

the scholar would seethe an envious green whilst keeping an eye on everyone who'd approach you, absolutely burning with jealousy because he was not the sole man of your attention. he'd lament over who he'd become, who you made him become whilst glaring at anyone who came near.

then, you'd smile at him and the fury he felt prior melts away because none of them could ever compete against someone as esteemed as the veritas ratio for your affections.

he's grateful that you saw through those idiots and chose him to be your partner in the end, but aeons, that has not done anything to cure his temper. years of treading the liminal space between friends and something more for too long can make any individual antsy.

"either way, i'm wearing the dress."

"fine. then i should forewarn you that you may find me overbearing tonight, and to not blame me for it."

his arms that were holding up his weight slip when your arms wrap around his neck, bringing him closer to you. veritas feels a little lighter when you litter kisses on his cheeks. "no need to be jealous, ratio, i'm all yours."

(true to his word, he does not part from you that evening, acting as an accessory to your outfit. he clings to you, hand never leaving your skin, always moving from your wrist to your waist to your shoulder. you can’t stray from him for more than an arm's length because you’re always tug back towards him before you can get too far, and then he'd follow you to your destination.

outsiders may observe and call him clingy, but judging by the carefree smile on your face and the way you’d beam at your lover every time he would pull you back to him, it doesn’t seem to bother you too much.)

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[mxmollusca]

I think a lot about Taika's outfit here. It's gotten a lot of hate, but I'm not sure why. It's certainly one of the more understated of his outfits from this show. I've heard people call it the Amish fit, or the Mary fit, or that he should have pumped it up with platforms or color or some other accessories, but...

I like that it's understated. It doesn't feel performative. It's not camp. Not that there is anything wrong with camp, obviously. There's something to be said about the power of camp, the power of that sort of theatrical expression. Lil Nas X springs immediately to mind as a trailblazer in that arena.

The thing is, not every deviation from gender norms needs to be like that. Demanding that this look be elevated, or over the top, or flashier, or brighter feels like demanding inauthenticity. I am reminded of something Taika said in an interview about Hunt for the Wilderpeople:

I come from a country whose idea of masculinity is quite extreme and I've grown up around a lot of that energy, I've been part of that a lot. And it's very draining, it's quite tiring trying to be macho.

I see this outfit as another type of subversion. It is plain, but then not. It's conservative, but then not. Why does every foray into the feminine need to be bright and fuzzy and sparkly and pink? Can things not be simultaneously soft and serious? Cold and kind? We don't know to what degree Taika had a say in the choice of this outfit. What I do know is that, as an indigenous man growing up in Aotearoa and then later entering into an industry that not just reaffirms but galvanizes traditional gender roles, he most likely sees nuances that others miss.

There's a difference between thinking an outfit is boring versus demanding that it goes further to push what is in actuality just another gender norm.

[dragon-kazansky]

Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

Benedict bumps into you, quite literally, at a ball while trying to escape his mother's attempts to find him a partner. You decide to humour him with a dance, not realising just how entwined you would become with him. It seems the universe will find every excuse to push you and Benedict together, no matter how much you fight it.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Season one

Chapter Twelve - Beautiful day for a wedding

♡♡♡

The invitation arrived in your mail the very next day. You looked down at the writing of Violet Bridgerton on the letter. Daphne and Simon were to be married the very next day.

Your mother ushered you to the Modiste for a dress. You didn't have time for a new one, so she altered one you owned already. You bought a couple of new accessories and headed home.

You did not get to see the Bridgertons at all.

When you arrived at the church with your mother, you found yourself almost shocked at how few people were present, but you also supposed this was best.

On the duke's side were Lady Danbury and Will and his wife. On Daphne's was her family and you.

Benedict looked up just as you entered and smiled at you. He sat with Colin on a pew behind his mother. You smiled back and found your seat with Hyacinth and Gregory. Hyacinth made Gregory swap seats with her ao she could side beside you.

"Isn't this exciting?" She asks softly.

"Very," you smile.

"Daphne will look so beautiful in her dress," Hyacinth smiles.

"I'm certain of it."

You glance up to see Benedict still looking at you. When your eyes meet his, he turns away to talk to Colin again. You're confused by this strange little exchange, but don't dwell on it.

Violet spots you and waves at you with a smile. You return both gestures, and she turns back to Lady Danbury.

The duke stands quietly at the altar, awaiting his bride. As you look at him, you wonder what he must be thinking. From what you understand, this wasn't exactly ideal, but somehow you know, deep down in his heart, he loves Daphne.

He just needs to admit to himself.

His display to the queen, going by what Violet had said, was the most romantic declaration of love there could have ever been. You knew it had to have been true to some extent.

The sound of the door opening has everyone turning to look. You all rise when you see Anthony and the bride enter. You feel yourself gasp softly as you look at her.

Flawless.

Daphne looked beautiful. She was exactly what a bride should be on her special day. Anthony led her down the aisle. As she passed you, she gave you a small smile. She looked like she was putting on a brave face.

You smiled back and watched her pass.

Simon turns to look at his soon-to-wife. Even he couldn't deny how beautiful she is, surely.

Violet was trying so hard not to cry.

All of Daphne's family looked at her so proudly. This was the bottom she had been waiting for. The moment she would become a wife to the man she loved.

Though she had expected love to be true and pure like her parents had, for she knew the truth behind this wedding.

She practically forced Simon into it.

Anthony smiles at his sister and hands her over to Simon Bassett. The two stand beside each other while Anthony joins his mother at her pew.

You all sit.

The ceremony begins.

Hyacinth holds your hand as you watch the couple. You wonder what both of them are thinking.

They face each other. Simon holds out his hand. Daphne places her in it. He removes her long silk glove with ease. Her hand is now bare to him. He places the ring on her finger. Daphne remembers to breathe.

"I now pronounce you man and wife."

They're married.

♡♡♡

The ball after is full of life and cheer. Upbeat music plays on the violins. Though the wedding was an intimate affair, the ball was for all the ton.

Hyacinth and Gregory chase each other through the party while Daphne speaks to some of the guests.

Penelope tries to help Marina find someone other than Colin Bridgerton to marry. After all, Penelope had been in love with Colin for quite some time, though he was unlikely to view her the same way.

You laugh at something Anthony tells you on the other side of the room. Benedict comes over and looks between the two of you. "Is my brother that funny?"

"Quite, actually." You chuckle.

"At least one of us has charisma," Anthony says sipping his drink.

You laugh in the most unladylike manner and try to cover your mouth. Benedict looks at you in shock and in awe. Anthony smiles and shake his head.

"I never knew you could make such a sound," Benedict teases.

"Neither did I until now." You manage to control your laughter, ignoring anyone looking your way.

"A fascinating woman," he grins.

"I'm full of surprises. Even to myself," you smile.

Benedict looks at you curiously.

"Excuse me," Anthony says, nodding at you both and then taking his leave to catch up with someone.

You turn to Benedict only to catch him staring at someone.

"Benedict?"

"Excuse me..." He walks off but is soon cornered by the man he had seen. You sigh and decide to take a stroll of the room instead.

"A most enjoyable party," Henry Granville says to him.

"Indeed."

"Um, Bridgerton... Um... The other night..."

"What happened the other night?" Benedict asks, pretending he did not know. "I do not believe anything happened at all."

Henry chuckles softly. "Very well." A woman joins them, and Granville smiles. "Ah, dearest... I believe you know Mr. Bridgerton."

Benedict stares at the woman, recognising her from the other night. The pretty woman he enjoyed himself with.

"My wife, Mrs Lucy Granville."

Benedict chokes on his wine.

"It is a pleasure, Mr. Bridgerton." She smiles at him.

He just sips his wine and nods. "Mm."

You catch sight of Daphne staring at her husband, who stands across the room. You find this strange because you were made to believe that newly we'd couples rarely parted from each other on their wedding day. Yet, they were standing so far apart.

You were about to approach Daphne, but Anthony came up beside her. You decide to leave them both alone for now.

The conversation seems short, however, as you catch sight of Daphne fleeing the room moments later.

Violet goes after.

Wedding jitters, perhaps? Not that you would know. Would you ever know?

You find that you have circled the room completely and sigh. Benedict finds his way through the crowd and looks at you. "I apologise for that."

"Something urgent?"

"Well, not exactly. Just saw a face I knew."

"Wonderful. Where you know many faces, I know very few."

Benedict frowns. "Is something the matter?"

"Other than your family and Lady Danbury, I don't really know anyone else. Penelope seems lovely enough, but I do not know her all too well."

Benedict remains confused by you.

"Did something happen?" He asks.

"I have been all but abandoned."

"Nonsense."

You sigh. "Forgive me, I'm just tired. Weddings seem to go on for a while, don't they?"

"Can't say I've been to many."

"Do you think I'll get to experience this one day?" You ask, looking around. "Perhaps not as grand as this, but... you know."

Benedict now looks at you with slight surprise. "Of course, if that is what you want."

"I do want it." You confess quietly. "I'd like to be married one day. Not necessarily to a duke," you chuckle.

Benedict laughs, too.

"But I'd like to be a wife and a mother one day." You watch Hyacinth chase her brother around the guests.

Benedict keeps his gaze on you as he says, "one day it shall be yours."

You smile, keeping your eyes on the youngest two of the Bridgerton family.

Benedict does not drop his gaze from you.

♡♡♡

Violet insists you come them to bid Daphne goodbye as she leaves for her new home. You can only wonder how strange it must be for her to leave a place she calls home.

You stand at the back of the crowd as Daphne says goodbye to her siblings. She even hugs Eloise who looks a little reluctant for her sister to go.

Daphne then turns to you and pulls you into a hug. "Thank you," she whispers.

"What for?"

"Being there." She pulls away to look at you, placing her hands in yours softly.

You smile. "Any time. Write, won't you?"

"Of course. Regularly."

You both smile at each other, and Daphne turns around to climb into the carriage. Simon opens the door for her and climbs in after her. She looks out the window to look at her family and her, now, old home.

You wave along with the others, finding your arm looped with Anthony's as you watch the carriage disappear down the road. When it's gone from sight, Anthony escorts you back inside. Violet gushes about the entire day, and you smile as you go with her to fetch some tea.

With the guests gone, the family can relax. You had been invited to stay behind and keep them company for a while longer, and you agreed.

You sit with Violet and the family as tea is called. Anthony stays a while but then excuses himself. Violet makes a comment about him being unable to leave business even for one day.

A cup of tea is placed on the table beside you. You look up to see Benedict standing beside you with a smile.

You accept the cup and sip it. It's been made the way you like it. Benedict remembered something so mundane about you? Or was it perhaps just chance. You have taken tea with his mother before.

"My daughter, a duchess," Violet sighs happily.

"You must be very proud," you say, smiling.

"Immensly." She sips her tea.

"Daphne looked beautiful," Hyacinth says, smiling at you both from where she sits with Gregory.

"Yes," Violet smiles proudly.

You sip your tea and listen to small babble lf conversation about Daphne and where she will be living now, and what a duchess does. Hyacinth was full of questions.

Eloise slumped down in the seat beside you with a sigh.

"You alright?" You ask. She had a book held tightly to her chest.

"Just glad it's all over." She sighs again.

"Did you not enjoy seeing your sister marry?"

"It's not that. I'm very happy for Daphne and shall miss her tremendously. I'm just tired of all the fuss."

"Will it not be your turn next?" You ask.

"Please don't remind me," she screws her eyes shut and grimaces at the thought.

You chuckle softly and pat her arm gently. "You may change your mind."

"I cannot think of anything worse."

You say no more on the matter. After an hour passes, you take your leave. Your mother would be waiting at home for you. Violet calls for a carriage for you, one of their own. Benedict insists on seeing you out.

You walks down the front steps with him and approaches the carriage. The footman opens the door for you.

"Until next we meet," Benedict smiles at you.

You're about to enter the carriage when you stop and turn to him. "Where do you go at night?" You ask.

Benedict seems to freeze at your question. "Pardon?"

"At night, where do you go?"

His mouth hangs open as he tries to think about how to answer, but you keep talking before he can utter a single word.

"The other night when the duke and Lady Danbury came for dinner, you were not present. I asked Anthony about your whereabouts, but he confessed to not knowing. Not that I expect you all to know each others business all the time, but apparently, you have spent a couple nights away from home now. I am curious. Where do you go?"

Benedict really wasn't sure how to answer. Qould you think poorly of him if he told you the truth.

"Well I--"

"No, never mind. Do not tell me. It was rude of me to ask. I was just curious. Curiosity can be dangerous." You climb up into the carriage.

There's a moment of silence before the footman closes the door. Within seconds the carriage takes off towards your home.

Benedict is left standing there wishing he had said something, anything, to keep you longer.

He watches the carriage leave.

♡♡♡

@callmemana - @lilscast - @imgondeletedis - @benedictbridgertonss - @clownsdiehard - @wxnterwidow333

@sillynilly27 - @autumn-slaves - @ben-has-arrived - @ajdelilah - @aadu2173

@booknerdlife - @tamlinrose - @sarahskywalker-amidala - @cheryyluv - @louschan - @lou-la-lou - @cultish-corner

@hopshusushi - @katherinejess - @nannabug - @afunkyfreshblog - @f0x33 - @dd122004dd

@jupitervenusearthmars - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn - @captainlunaxmen - @winchestersimpalababy - @acupnoodle

@ms-fandomgirl - @fablesrose - @anyaisinyourcloset - @meowzerzstuff - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn - @crazymar15

@cosmixstar - @bree3parchen - @berrnuu - @luckily123345 - @charmainemaclendon

[hellsquills]

Disclaimer: I know about the duffle bag Filbrick threw at him, but you can ignore that if you want

My thoughts below the cut! (this turned into a whole ass fic lmao)

My personal headcanon is that Filbrick is as much of a coward as he is of an asshole. Therefore, he wouldn't have kicked Stan when he did in canon. Probably not for a while after that.

However, he does try to send him to military school. He keeps talking about how this kid needs to learn discipline and respect, and if he's not gonna bring money to the house, then he should at least bring some honor to his family.

Stan obviously does NOT want to go. Not only because it's a pointless war ("what've the vietnamese done to us anyways?") but because he remembers his mother's face when Shermie got drafted and he will NOT make her go through that hell again. Also, he doesn't wanna die!!!! Hello?????

He talks it out over the phone with Ford, who's obviously just as against it as he is. He tells Stan that, if he gets into a PhD program, he could skip military. Stan laughs in his face. It'd be easier to jump off the plane without a parachute.

And so, he comes up with a plan. When he goes to take his physical, he tries his best to botch it. If he is bad enough, if it looks like he can't do it, maybe he won't have to. Unfortunately, the recruiters are far too used to this by now, and they don't buy it. Stan goes home with a recruitment letter hidden in his jacket.

Everything goes downhill after that. He runs away from home, changes his name several times, does some crime here and there... The military is after him, and it doesn't take rejection kindly.

Stan stays out of contact with his family for a few years. He can't risk getting them involved in this mess. They don't deserve it. So he just leaves, without saying a word, in the middle of the night. No phone calls, no notes, nothing. Not even he knows where he's going. But if it just looks like he abandoned them, maybe they'll hate him. That will make them sound more believable with the police. They aren't covering for him, because they genuinely have no idea where he is. It's the best way to keep them safe.

In that time, Ford doesn't stop looking for him. He finds him every once in a while, but only his phone number, and he knows that could give away his brother's location and get the family in trouble. So, against his deepest instincts, he doesn't call.

One, three, five, seven years pass. Stan has been around almost all the country, and is genuinely considering leaving it. Maybe going to Mexico, or Colombia. Those sound nice. Maybe they'll be nicer to him.

He's passing his time and thinking about this in a small town restaurant in wherever he's in (somewhere he's not banned from, yet), when a family enters. He doesn't make eye contact, but he can't help but stare at them: a man and a woman, probably in their 50s, with 7 kids; one must be older than him, the second one around his age, the third one a little younger, the fourth one a teenager, and the last three between 10 and 15, no more. Except for the last three, they're all taller than him, even the mother, and they have various degrees of blond hair. Their clothes (overalls and plastic boots) suggest they must work in one of the farms he's seen around the state. They don't wear any accessories, except for the glasses that the father and four of the kids have. They're talking loudly and laughing. They look exhausted from a morning of hard work. They seem happy. They... look nothing like his family, and yet, he can't help but think about it.

He can't help the sob that comes to his throat. It's loud and messy from trying to suppress it, which obviously makes it worse. He covers his mouth immediately, and at that point he notices the tears that have run down his cheeks. "Great", he thinks, "that will make it easier to hide, for sure".

He doesn't move. He wants to escape, but that will draw even more attention to him, and he hasn't even paid for the food yet (normally he'd leave without paying, but the old waitress was kind enough to give him some extra food when she saw how little he ordered). He settles for not moving, lowering his head and covering his face, hoping that no one heard (unlikely) or cared (very likely).

"Ya'lright, son?"

The voice startles him. I wasn't very deep, but it was close enough to send his body into immediate danger mode. He looks up at the man towering over him, who's standing in front of him at a prudential distance.

"Y-Yeah, yeah, no worries."

He hates how broken his voice sounds. He's spent more than enough time sweet-talking his way out of trouble, he should be better at this by now. The man looks about as convinced by it as he is himself.

" 'lright then. Can I help ya?"

Damn villagers and their welcoming demeanor. If he wasn't a wanted man, he would appreciate it. But right now, it couldn't be worse timing.

"Come get ya food, kids!" The waitress' yell yanks him out of his thoughts.

"No", he blurts out, and he turns to the man. Least he can do is show him some respect and look him in the eyes. "I'm fine, thank you."

The man smiles lightly and nods. "Okay. Welcome to the town."

Stan watches as the man goes back to his table. He wishes he had been more polite, the guy was just worrying about him, but he can't afford it. They already know his face, he can't risk anyone else recognizing him-

"Sweet Mother of God almighty."

Stan turns to his right. One of the kids, the one about his age, is looking at him like he just grew a second head. He's frozen in place, his eyes wide as plates behind thick glasses. He doesn't say a word, and it's getting increasingly unnerving. Was the bruising on his face still visible? Maybe it's more apparent in broad daylight than in the shitty light that last motel had in the bathroom.

"I'm sorry, I- Can I ask your name?"

The fuck?

"No", answers Stan. Considering how nice his dad was, this guy is pretty rude.

"Son, leave him alone." The mother seems to have manners too, good to know.

The guy does pretty much the opposite. He comes closer to him, until he's right in his path, blocking his exit. That can't be good. Stan feels trapped.

"Are you Stanley Pines?"

Well, that's about it.

Stan tries his best to stay still. This guy doesn't look like a cop, not even an undercover one. But he knows his real name, so maybe someone in his family or friends works in the police; or worse, in the military.

"Listen man, I don't know who you're talking about, but that isn't my name. See?" He reaches for his wallet. He pulls out an ID, with a very clear Jackson Cage on it. He makes a mental note to change it soon, just in case his hunch is right and this guy has connections. "Now, if you excuse me, I'd like to pay for my food and leave. Move."

Stan is already on his feet, but the guy hasn't moved. Stan looks him up and down, trying to appear threatening despite his face probably still being a little red from before. He also gauges how feasible it'd be to escape if things turned bad; the dude is taller than him, sure, but he's also as thin as a toothpick, and by the anxious look on his face, he doesn't seem eager for a fight. The real problem would be evading the restaurant's staff and the other costumers, which include eight carbon copies of the guy in front of him. Probably better to try to de-escalate the situation.

"I- I can't let you leave. Please. I know who you are."

This man is making it really difficult to believe he's not a cop.

"No, you don't. I'm new in town. Move."

"Listen, I-"

"Move out of my way."

"I know your brother."

The words are like a bullet between his eyebrows.

"You look just like him-"

Against his better judgement, he quickly grabs he guy and pins him to the wood in between the booth benches, arm to his throat. If he knows Ford, he knows too much. God he just wanted to have lunch.

The commotion is immediate. He doesn't break eye contact with the guy who's grabbing his arm, whose strength is frankly surprising. He can hear, however, the screams from the dad and the siblings, as well as a couple of gasps from the other costumers. This is not going to go well, but fuck that. He's escaped worse.

"Stop!", the guy shouts as he keeps Stan's forearm from blocking his airway. "Don't hurt him! Don't get closer!"

It takes Stan a second to process what he said. The first part, sure, who wouldn't shout 'stop' when you're being attacked? But the second half doesn't make sense. Is he protecting him? The attacker?

Whatever it is, it works. The family stops in their tracks, still very ready to attack if needed. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the three younger kids moving closer to their mother. For a split second, he feels a pang of remorse for the scene he just caused.

"Hang up the phone, Clarisse, it's okay. Please."

Stan looks in the direction the guy was talking to. Right behind him, the waitress reluctantly puts the phone down.

He looks back at the guy. He looks a little shaken up, probably from the impact his back (and his head?) made with the wooden plank, but he doesn't look scared. He almost looks... sympathetic? Stan is confused as hell.

"I know who you are", the guy whispers, low enough for Stan to hear alone. "You're Stanley Pines, and you have a brother named Stanford. I know him, okay? He's my friend. I met him a few years ago in a quantum physics congress and we've been talking ever since. He told me about his family in New Jersey, and about you. About how he hasn't seen you in years, and how he was trying to find you, to no avail."

Stan is gradually loosening his grip on the guy's neck, who takes a deep breath. He should know better, but- shit, hearing that Ford was looking for him was not what he expected. Even if he doesn't know yet if this guy is lying out of his ass, it's enough to make him doubt.

"I know you were called to Vietnam. He told me. I spent a week with him in his place when he found out, he was unconsollable. When you ran away, he called me. He knew what it meant for you and he thought he'd never see you again, whether you got caught or not. All because of that stupid war." Stan is now trembling a little, he knows it. This guy must know it too, with how close they are. If he stays here any longer he'll break down, but he can't move. Anything to hear his brother's name a little longer. "I know what it's like. Three of my cousins were drafted last year, and I know at least one of them won't be coming back home. Please... let me help you."

Stan meets his eyes. They're green and brown-ish, not unlike the immense fields he's seen in his last journey, the one that led him to this town. With the years, he's learned not to trust beautiful eyes, because they are better at hiding. These ones, however, seem serene and honest, just like his words, and he can't help but believing them. This guy, whoever the fuck he is, knows just about enough.

Stan lowers his right arm. The guy still has his hand on it, but this time is much less defensive and much more comforting. He doesn't complain.

"My name's Fiddleford McGucket, and I'm gonna help you find your brother."

______________________________

Essentially, after this Fidds calls Ford as if nothing happened (per Stan's request, since he's still paranoid about the police tracking his calls) and asks him to come to Tennessee. Ford argues that he's very busy and all, but Fidds convinces him in the end.

Obviously the twins have a dual breakdown and cry their heart out. In this AU they're much less emotionally constipated lol

Ford tells Stan that he's gonna build a house in a small town in Oregon as a part of his research, and asks him to move in with him once it's finished. Stan, of course, accepts.

In the meantime, Stan stays in the McGucket farm and helps them out as a way of laying low. He has a great relationship with his family, and they're very proud of him for what he did (i believe that the McGuckets are hippies at heart, and they're VERY anti-war, especially when it already took three of them)

I don't know how much of the canon storyline would this AU follow, but it's pretty much your average Mystery Trio AU with some different backstory

[romcomeon]

「 ꨄ︎ 」 𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐌𝐄 (𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮) .ᐟ

⁀➴ life has its own surprises

⋮ NOTE DETAILS — solomon x gn!mc. wc ≈ tbu .ᐟ

⋮ SINCERELY, ME — eden here had some major solomon brainrot out of nowhere. title credits to my homie @/nanamiruse <3

You wished you could've predicted everything.

The little splatter of droplets against the cement synced perfectly with the sound of your shoes splashing across tiny puddles. Your grip on Solomon's turtleneck tightened, ducking your head beneath his cape.

The sorcerer must've felt your nails digging into the black fabric, as his eyes looked down towards you. "Shhh, we'll be fine," he whispered, pulling you closer towards his chest. "Almost there."

The rain continued on, each drop stinging like tiny needles against your skin. Breath hitching; the cold biting wind whipped around as you both ran. The world blurred into a smear of gray and shadow, only there were sounds the pounding of your hearts against the deafening 'splash' of downpour.

He kept a firm grip on your hand, searching for any sign of shade. Cover. Shelter. Anything to secure the both of you. The road beneath you was slick with mud and water, threatening to betray your footing with every step. Solomon wouldn’t let that happen — not now.

How long had it been? It felt like forever. Finding a place for refuge was difficult enough, yet to do it under the harsh Devildom conditions? Only a miracle would grant you leverage to not get sick.

But moments are unpredictable, much like the weather.

Just minutes ago you both were taking a leisurely stroll out in the city square. Then, you were looking through windows as one or the other shared their latest rants or what-ifs. Even the weather wanted to gossip, yet the couldn't hold their excitement any longer.

You felt his breath hitch. Only ever getting a glimpse of the cherry red aluminum roof, but in fleeting seconds you were both in safety. While a waiting shed is not the most optimal place, it was better than nothing. You carefully peeked out of his cloak, feeling his hands wrap the fabric around your body.

Solomon was shivering. The only reassurance was a small, weak smile. "I told you," he said with a tiny smirk.

Yet that didn't attempt to hide how breathless he felt. The white-haired man pants, hands on his knees, before collapsing down on one of the red chairs. Utterly Drenched.

You felt bad, but you also couldn't ignore the gush of wind pressing against your skin. Although, it doesn't take a genius to look at yourself. Your clothes, while crinkled and shriveled up from the constant running, were still dry. In fact, you never felt more than an ounce of water touch anywhere near you: skin, fabric, hair, accessories. . .

Until then. His clothes clung to his body, his hair and skin dripping wet as droplets sink towards the white tiles. Small shaky breathes escape his lips; a moment to pause. His shoes were stained by the mud, and you could see the drops form small puddles beneath his chair.

He did, didn't he?

You frowned, sitting beside him as you drape his cloak over his shoulders. He was baffled, grey eyes widened at your action. "What are you doing? Hey, you should put it back," he said.

But as soon as Solomon tried to wrap the cloth around you, you gripped his wrist. "You need it more."

He wanted to protest, but he knew how stubborn you got. That pout on your face signifies that you aren't backing down. Solomon sighs, before giving a small chuckle. "Alright, if that's what you want."

You smiled in victory as you sat together. Beneath a shared roof, gazing back at the rain. The subtle smell of dew filled the air, as the clattering down of water against metal filled the otherwise silence. Once was a foe to your walking journey had turned into an almost endearing sight. While annoying in the past, you felt calmer.

With a deep breath, you rest you head against Solomon's shoulder. The wizard shifts his position, humming along with a hand on your arm.

"When will this end?" you asked, looking up at him with those eyes he'll forever get lost in.

He shook his head, looking back at the rain. "I don't know."

You only huffed in response. Rain never went away, a melodrama of emotions. The intensity, direction, sounds: all would think that rain was a frightening sight. But at the end of it all, even if it coated the both of you a near trip to illness — you couldn't deny how. . .

You asked again, your fingers intertwining with his. "Can we stay like this?" you said, eyes still on the rain.

You may not know what Solomon was doing, yet the faint kiss he gave your knuckles sent a serene wave of comfort throughout your system. He cooed, his free hand gently caressing your cheek.

"Of course."

Perhaps there was something beautiful with the unknown.

check out my masterlist! | dividers by cafekitsune

[ynyaan]

𝙎𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙡 𖦹 | 𝐒𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐑𝐲𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧 𓆩♕𓆪

𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 |

𝙈𝙤𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙣𝘼𝙐!𝙎𝙪𝙠𝙪���𝙖 𝙭 𝙍𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜𝘾𝙡𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙨!𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 | 𝙁𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

Summary: You wear "revealing" clothing to a supermarket with Sukuna. Unfortunate to say, two strangers were not at all pleased. "Like hell, I'd let you touch her." He grits his teeth, watching the man in front of me kneel and wither in pain.

tw. you can change what you wear to what you please. In this fic though, it's described to give more context. Sukuna in his own body modern AU. Getting shamed; use of words: whore. Sukuna is violent as usual.

note. got emotionally personal here. I hope you find comfort in this fic as I did when I wrote it. <33

.ᐟ 𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙚𝙚𝙩𝙝-𝙧𝙤𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙡𝙪𝙛𝙛

Today was shopping day. You've finally run out of enough comfort foods to force you out of the house. You groan loudly in your room. You were wearing only your undergarments and were already getting tired of the idea of having to find clothes to wear.

a familiar face walks by your room. Sukuna stops and leans on your door, his eyes observing your lazy state. "C'mon brat. Dress pretty. I'll take you out after shopping."

Your head snaps excitedly to Sukuna. It was rare of him to invite you out, especially since you were both so busy all the time. You simply just cherish the swift time at home cuddling and whatnot. Sukuna smirked at your reaction. Satisfied, he left to give you time to choose and change clothes.

After much consideration and throwing closet clothes on the floor, you decided to wear something showy, a cropped tee with its ends tied, a plaid skirt that falls above your knees, paired with a small bag and boots. You choose your accessories, put on a touch of makeup, and then you are good to go. "Kuna~!" You sing.

As you walk out the door, you find Sukuna looking at his phone and then quickly looking at you. You twirl, showcasing your outfit as he smiles. He walks towards you and grabs you by the waist. "How awful. My princess dolled up so pretty." He grins, his grip on your waist secure, leaning in for a kiss.

You stop him with your hand. "No. Kuna' we all know what a kiss will lead to," You pout, and Sukuna laughs silently on your skin. "Now, come on, I expect you to take me on to a charming night!"

The supermarket was the same as ever. Customers minding their business, the sound of cashier ringing in the distance, and stocks of your comfort foods.

"Ahh, there you are. I've missed you." You gleam at the snacks in front of you. Snack's destined to be finished within the week. You were left alone for a bit since Sukuna usually parts with you to grab things he needs as well.

By "needs," he grabs excessive amounts of food that would leave you bankrupt if you didn't pick through them every time you passed by him.

"Hey there." Suddenly, someone taps your shoulder. You turn your head to see two guys standing in front of you.

"Hello, do you need help with anything?" you smile politely.

"Ugh, seriously?" The first guy sneers. You tilt your head at him, hoping that comment wasn't directed at you.

"Dude, she's totally leading us on. Did you see that snarky smile?" The other guy says. Your eyebrows bridged together. Just your luck to be left in an aisle with these two idiots, huh?

"Sorry, you're getting the wrong idea-" You get cut off by a hand that warmly placed itself on your shoulder.

"You know em'?" Sukuna's voice was husky and low, gesturing his head towards the two men.

"Not really—“ Before you could finish explaining, The second guy from behind steps in, "Dude, you should really cover your girl up." He comments.

"Yeah, like, the way she looked at us earlier? damn, I almost mistook her for a whore." The other one added. Your heart sank at the disgusting comments made by them. You placed both your hands on your skirt, your basket resting on your arm. You actually felt confident to wear something like this because you knew Sukuna would be with you, you knew Sukuna would approve of it, and you knew YOU would feel good as well.

"Ha." your thoughts get cut off by Sukuna's voice. If looks could kill, indeed. You knew this situation would escalate, and really, all you want is a smooth, relaxing evening with your lover.

You raise your hand high enough for them to notice, "I'm sorry, you really got the wrong idea—“ Suddenly, the first guy tries to grab you by extending his hand swiftly, but before his fingers could reach you, Sukuna stops him by the wrist.

The next thing you hear is the painful cry and a loud snap. Sukuna broke his wrist all while his other hand was still secured onto your shoulder.

"Like hell, I'd let you touch her." He grits his teeth, watching the man in front of me kneel and wither in pain. The second guy wasted no time and launched at Sukuna, only for him to be dodged and punched right in the nose.

People started clamoring around, and you could already hear security calling backup.

"Sukuna, let's go." You urge him but not waiting for a response. You grab his hand, and you drop your basket. You run.

You were both parked at a nearby park, immediately driving away after leaving the supermarket. "You really didn't have to do all that ryo'." You softly say, inspecting the hand that he used to punch the guy.

"Besides, it's my fault. I should've dressed more modestly." You muttered under your breath. But He heard it.

"Don't ever fucking say that again." He grits his teeth. You look up at him, surprised by the sudden anger in his tone. His expression was tense, worried? maybe even a gloss of tears, if you will.

He moves his hand to push strands of hair behind your ear. It was soft, so painfully gentle. "People like that don't deserve to live. They don't deserve to have eyes nor mouths." He rambles, cupping your cheeks and kissing everywhere.

"If they were decent people, they wouldn't even think of looking at you like that, darling. They are delirious, annoying, little shits, who have nothing to do but try and push people down." He holds your hand firmly, his gaze unflinching.

"you will not be knocked down, my love. They do not deserve the space in your mind to bring you down." He lowers his head and kisses the back of your hand.

You exhale. You exhale and smile.

"I love you," he says. He looks so unbelievably beautiful.

You squeeze his hand gently before replying, "Thank you, kuna’. I love you too."

He smirks, a playful grin places itself on his lips. "That's my girl."

"I supposed we'll be banned there, won't we?" You ask, remembering the reason why you were in the supermarket anyway.

He scoffs, "Whatever, i'll ask someone else to do it for us." Sukuna grumbles, kissing the tip of your nose.

He leans back and starts up the car again, "Right now, you deserve a date."

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆── 𝐼'𝓁𝓁 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓁𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓇 <𝟥

[yamamasjumpercables]

reader that is matt’s best friend but chris has a hugeeee crush on her and gets kinda nervous around her

and matt tries to push them to tell each other

the rest is up to youuuu 🫶🏾🫶🏾

Don’t be nervous

Chris Sturniolo x Fem!Reader

Warnings: kissing and a little cussing. That’s really here🤷🏾‍♀️

a/n: Ok so I’m new to writing but here goes nothing

Chris Sturniolo…nervous about a girl? Seems insane, but when it came to you he was more nervous than a guilty man in an interrogation room. I mean he could just avoid you at all costs. Block you, ignore you, hell even ghost you in real life. How could he though, after all you were Matt’s best friend. Everywhere he went there you were. Any other person would’ve been tired of seeing your face. Not Chris, every time he sees your face it’s like he’s at peace with the whole world. Chris didn’t necessarily believe in destiny or love at first sight, but when he saw you he had to contemplate his beliefs. Now here you were, adding a few accessories to your outfit. The triplets were sitting on the sofa, mindlessly scrolling on their phones. Looking at a few funny TikToks or influencers unboxing their latest packages. “Y/n can you hurry up” Matt yells from the couch. “I’m almost done I just need to put on my necklace, but my damn nails is not allowing me to” you say walking over to the three. “I’ll put it on for you” Chris offers, his cheeks turning red as he speaks up. “Thank you Chris” you say giving him a bright smile. You give Chris the necklace to put on you. Chris is losing all composure. His breath getting caught in his throat from how close in proximity you are. He think he might actually faint. You smell just like the YSL perfume he got you for your birthday last year. “Are you almost done” you say softly. “Almost” Chris says, his warm breath on your neck sending chills down your spine. “Can you hurry up” Nick complains. “Done!” Chris says, finally taking a breath as if he’s been underwater. “Thank you Chris” you say giving him a kiss on the cheek. “How do I look you guys?” you say doing a quick 360 for them to see the whole outfit. “You look like a bad bitch Y/n” Nick says happily, clapping his hands. “You look great considering all that time you took” Matt says jokingly. “What do you think Chris?” You say turning around to be met with a love struck Chris. “You look beautiful” Chris says in awe. “Thank you Chris” you say hiding your face with your hand. Chris removes your hand from your face, intertwining both of your fingers together. “You always look beautiful” Chris says, cheeks red and heart beating rapidly. “Bro you two get a damn room” Nick says, while fake gagging. You and Chris both look at Nick confused, then you both look down at your intertwined fingers. “Chris likes you Y/n” Matt says while scrolling on his phone. “Matt why the fuck would you-“ Chris says, getting cut off by you giving him a passionate kiss. “I like you too Chris” you say, looking at Chris with your E/c eyes. “Ok so are you guys done here because I’m starving” Nick says, getting up off of the sofa. “Yea we should go” you and Chris say simultaneously.

I hope you guys enjoyed this I’m definitely new to this. 💐💐

Thank you to @worldlxvlys for helping me out 💋

[navybrat817]

Around Your Throat

Pairing: Vampire Mob!Bucky Barnes x Gifted!Female Reader Summary: Bucky has the perfect accessory to go around your throat. Word Count: 1.9k Warnings: E/xplicit s/exual content, f/ingering, b/iting, p/ossessive behavior, b/lood, feel (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?). Graphic talent and thanks: Banner - @sgt-seabass, Divider - @firefly-graphics , Moodboard - yours truly A/N: Set before Lay Me Down, we're visiting our vampire to kick off Hot Bucky Summer challenge hosted by @buckybarnesevents! Theme - "What should I wear?" ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You stood in front of the full length mirror, a frown on your face as you looked over yourself. The black and gold gown you wore was beautiful, the v-neckline and fitted bodice drawing attention to your chest. Bucky had it designed for you, with your approval. He wanted only the best for his bride-to-be.

The fact that he had a matching suit almost put a smile on your face.

But you couldn’t figure out why you weren’t happy with your look. You thought for a moment that the dress was too much for a dinner, especially since you would be one of the only people at the table eating an actual meal. As Bucky’s future mate and your father’s daughter, however, it was the expectation that you’d look your best.

At least I won't have to create an illusion since I'll be amongst Bucky’s friends for the evening.

“I'm not sure about this,” you told your fiancé since he insisted on being in the room as you got ready, admiring your side profile with a sigh. "Should I change into something else?"

"Why would you change when you look good enough to eat?"

You spun around to face him, your breath catching when he stood from his chair and straightened his tie. He slicked his hair back for the evening and you longed to run your fingers through it to make a mess of it. This man managed to steal your heart and he would be the reason you took your last breath.

He was both your ending and your new beginning.

"Just what every girl wants to hear when she goes to feast with vampires," you teased, turning back to the mirror.

"If you sensed something was wrong, we wouldn't attend," he pointed out. He wouldn't risk your safety. He assured your father of that. "Should I tell Steve to play host while we skip it?"

"No, my love, because nothing is wrong," you assured him. You trusted his friends and the only gut feeling you sensed was that your evening would end happily. You looked forward to it.

"Then what's the matter?" he asked as he crossed the room and placed his hands on your hips. Though you couldn't see his reflection in the mirror, you imagined his blue eyes either darkened or glowed at the sight of you. Both stares always set the blood on fire in your veins. “Do you not like the dress? Should I rip it to shreds?”

“Don’t you dare,” you answered, narrowing your eyes when he chuckled. “I love this dress.”

“If you won’t let me tear this gown from your body, at least let me lift the skirt and bury myself in your pussy again,” he said, making you gasp when his cool lips brushed the shell of your ear. Your core throbbed at the idea, tempted to let him bend you over in front of the mirror as he took you apart. Once he turned you, you wouldn’t see your reflection ever again. “And if you love it, why have you stood here for the last two minutes, spinning and frowning at every angle?”

“As much as I’d love for you to ravage me, I don’t think we have time,” you said, gesturing to yourself. “And something’s missing. I can’t figure out what.”

Bucky hummed, gripping your chin to turn your head toward him. “I can get you off quickly," he said, which was true. "And you're missing an accessory. You need something around your throat.”

“Of course,” you smiled softly. Such a simple solution to a ridiculous problem. “What should I wear?"

He moved his hand to your neck before you could go to the armoire, making you moan when his fingers tightened. “I have something perfect in mind.”

“As much as I love this type of necklace,” you said, wetting your lips with your tongue. “I can’t go the whole meal with your hand around my throat.”

Bucky chuckled again, spinning you and pinning your back against the mirror with lightning speed. You trembled when his eyes began to glow, your blood rushing through your veins at the sight of his fangs. The mix of pain and pleasure whenever they pierced your skin brought you to a euphoric state. It was no wonder some begged to become a blood mistress or paramour.

You were lucky enough that you would belong to Bucky forever.

“And just because I can’t ravage you with my cock right this second doesn’t mean I can go through an entire meal without having a taste,” he whispered, pushing the skirt up so his cold hand could slide up your inner thigh. No tights and no underwear so he could have access to what belonged to him. His rule for the evening. “I need your blood and your cunt so I can behave myself."

“You better satisfy your craving then,” you whispered, knowing he’d want more before the sun came up. "And we'll see how well you actually behave."

Vampires had no shame when it came to sex or anyone who witnessed it.

Your wet, warm folds welcomed the cool feel of Bucky's expert touch. Before you could grip his arms, he pinned your hands above your head. His strength turned you on more, which you didn’t know was possible. You were almost in a constant state of arousal around him. “You'll beg for my cock long before you finish dinner,” he whispered against your lips, teasing your entrance as he kissed down the pulse in your neck. “Don't fucking move."

“Yes, sir,” you breathed, closing your eyes to brace yourself for what was coming.

Which would be you coming all over his fingers.

“Mine,” he growled, drawing a cry from you as he sank his fangs into your soft skin and slid two fingers inside your wet walls. You did your best to keep still as he slowly thrust and moaned against your neck. A submissive position he put you in to assert his power, yet you didn't feel weak. Even as he took your life essence and pleasure as his own he empowered you.

Because in return, you’d get every part of James Buchanan Barnes.

“Please, Bucky,” you begged when his thumb toyed with your clit. You wanted to grind your hips down, but he told you to stay still. If you had more time, you would've pushed to see what kind of punishment he'd dish out. But you knew he wanted to get you off quickly, like he said he could. "Please."

“So needy, darling. One of the things I love about you,” he said when he stopped drinking, blood running from your neck down your collarbone and chest as his fingers curled. He pulled back so you could see the red fluid around his lips. The feral look in his eyes as he licked them clean, your head spinning as you teetered on the edge. “Come for me.”

Your body seized up as you gushed around his fingers, your moan of ecstasy lost as he covered your mouth with his. You tasted your blood on his tongue as helped you ride out your orgasm. Days from now you would know the taste of him. Pleasure, eternity, love.

Your new life.

It took a moment for you to realize you were no longer against the mirror as you recovered. Bucky moved you to the bed to rest for a moment and catch your breath. the pinpricks in your neck closed and your dress straightened out. “Thank you for letting me have a taste,” he said, sucking his fingers into his mouth. “Didn’t think anything could make your blood sweeter, but your pussy does the trick.”

“Best combination,” you smiled.

“My favorite,” he agreed, helping you stand once your head stopped spinning. Lust still lingered in his gaze, but you couldn't ignore the concern that shone through. "Are you okay? I didn't take too much?"

"I'm okay," you assured him. He never wanted to lose control and take more than what he needed. No matter what, you were his number one priority. "And you won't have to worry once I you turn me."

"I'll still worry," he whispered. Loving you meant having something to lose. It also meant he had something worth living for. "One more thing before we go."

You smiled when he held up an onyx pendant surrounded by diamonds, like he pulled it out of thin air. Perfect to go with your dress. "It's beautiful," you said, allowing him to put it around your neck. "How did you manage to hide that from me?"

His fingers traced the delicate, gold chain as he smiled. "Because you aren't psychic, but you get feelings. Which is probably why you felt off when you looked in the mirror. You were waiting for me to give you this."

"It's like you know my gifts better than I do," you smiled, touching the pendant before you noticed there was still blood on your neck. "I should clean myself up."

"No," he said firmly, pulling you to his chest. You suspected his heart would race only for you if it could still beat. "You'll wear my mark with the necklace I gave you and your blood on your skin. You're going to be my wife and my mate. I want everyone to see that you belong to me and that there's no shame in my want for you."

You'd wear every brand and claim of his with pride.

"This won't show them that?" you asked, holding up your hand with your engagement ring.

"Vampires don't look at hands," he said, taking yours and kissing it. "They look at throats. And anyone who sees yours will know you're mine."

And I will be until the end of time.

"And when you turn me?" you asked, brushing your hand along his cheek. "Will I get to leave my mark on you and show everyone you're mine, too?"

"You can make an entire path of bites around my throat if that's what you desire," he offered, his icy hand covering yours. "I'll wear them proudly."

Bucky loved with his entire being. Not only were you strong and willing enough to accept it, you'd give him the same love in return. You would always be in each other's care.

My eternal partner.

"I might take you up on that," you smiled, feeling how hard he was through the fabric of his pants. Tempted to drop to your knees and return the favor, you asked, "Do we have time for me to take care of you?"

"We're already running late," he said, giving you a gentle kiss. "But maybe you can keep my cock warm at the table. No one will mind."

"I thought you were going to behave at dinner if you had a taste," you said, your walls clenching with the need to surround him, like he hadn't brought you to orgasm moments before.

"I will behave," he said innocently, but his eyes flashed as he showed his fangs again. "But we'll see how long you last before you try to ride me in front of everyone."

"Well, you did say I'd beg for your cock before I finished dinner."

And you suspected his hand, the necklace, and your blood would be the only things you wore around your neck once he took you to bed for the night.

Who wouldn't want an eternity with Bucky? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[lavenderchqn]

synopsis — they get jealous parings — bf! xiao, wanderer, lyney x reader (seperate) warnings — it's written in 2nd person (and although it's been proofread... my english is not englishing all that well); you and xiao get into a minor argument (it gets resolved!); scara is his boastful self and pays a price for that; lyney's just sad I'm sorry :( requested? — requested by @ceneid notes — thank you so much for the request! hopefully it's to your taste, considering I've made it more sad if anything and it's a written piece with some texts messages included!!

XIAO

Any occasion to meet with friends is a worthwhile, so when Hu Tao invited both you and Xiao to her upcoming birthday party, you quickly agreed to come — of course, with the ‘pass’ from your partner.

He wouldn’t consider your friends to be the most enjoyable in the ‘company’ department, mostly because he considered them too loud for his liking. However, despite such displeasure, Xiao could still certainly say that your enjoyment was worthy of a few hours of his torture.. 

Unfortunately, not everything can go as we would like every time and that would be the situation the raven-haired man has found himself in. 

The moment the two of you stepped into Hu Tao’s apartment you were whisked away by some of your friends, leaving Xiao to fend for himself… Although he could see a smidge of displeasure across your face the moment one of the girls - Xiangling if his memory didn’t betray him - grabbed your arm. 

And well, that’s the situation he was stuck in for a while… Feeling like an accessory to your person, all while your friends have been chatting about how life was treating them. Being overstimulated was an understatement to of how he felt at the moment. 

Leaving the living room to get a breather only furthered him in the thoughts of feeling ignored… and perhaps a little bit jealous? Well, it’s not like he could voice his concerns with how you’ve been behaving throughout the evening.

Your phone vibrating multiple times in the past minute has piqued your curiosity, prompting you to open it to check the messages… Only to leave you in utter shock.

Not only have you realised that the time was more than what you expected… But your partner was about to leave to head home all without you. Guilt was most certainly creeping down your back. 

You replied to him as quickly as you could, hoping that he would stay true to his word of staying for a second longer.

— Hu Tao, we’re gonna head home now. - You tapped her shoulder, informing her that you and Xiao would be leaving in a moment. - Once again, happy birthday.

Grabbing your purse, you’ve made your way to the hall of the house, eyes meeting with the displeased look of your partner’s and the silent treatment already making its debut as you were leaving the building.

The car ride was borderline horrific - the tension between the two of you thick enough to cut with a knife… And albeit confused with Xiao’s behaviour, you needed to start the conversation in order to hopefully resolve the conflict between you.

— Can we talk about it? - You asked shyly, turning your head to search for some signs of willingness on his face. 

— Not that much to talk about. - Xiao sighed, not taking his eyes off the road. - I’m simply upset your friends can hog your attention for so many hours. 

Your eyes widened at the thought of his obvious statement of jealousy… And the next second, turned into immense guilt. You of all people should be aware of how he reacts in settings like those, and yet you kind of brushed that off.

— I’m sorry. - You stated, hearable sincerity in your voice. - I should’ve kept your feelings in mind, and yet I didn’t. 

Xiao… Was most certainly not expecting that. He could imagine multiple scenarios, in which you attack him for being jealous and possessive, and yet here you were - taking accountability for a minor mistake you’ve made. 

— I understand you wanted to enjoy some? time with your friends. - He stated. - Next time I won’t go. I don’t want to sour the mood. Spending time with your friends to the fullest is important, is it not?

Apologies have been exchanged between the two of you, topped with a night of eating fried tofu snacks and watching silly horror movies.

After all, friend time and Xiao time don’t have to land at the same time, do they? 

WANDERER

If you could use only two words to describe your partner - “prideful” and “boastful” are the first ones that come to mind. At this point you’re pretty sure, you’ve heard the story of Haypasia at least twenty times…

To Wanderer, your jealousy makes him thrive. As messed up as it sounds, to him it’s proof that you’re with him for real… That you won’t betray him, given the chance. On the other hand, you don’t appreciate that specific behaviour of his too much — One or two times might’ve been silly but the more he tends to engage in said actions, the more it makes you feel insecure.

His persistence is exactly what resulted in… let’s say a tad of joking.

You’ve known  Tartaglia for many months now. Introduced to you by your partner, the only interactions the two of you shared have been online. According to Wanderer, it’s due to Ajax’s constant traveling…

And yet the ginger says it’s due to other reasons. 

— [y/n], trust me. - He says cheerfully via voice chat during one of your gaming sessions. - That will absolutely make him fuming with jealousy! Hell, I’d be lucky to make it out alive after pulling that. -

You’ve found out that Tartaglia will just so happen to be flying to your city soon. Throughout the last few weeks, the two of you schemed a little plan to show your loving partner EXACTLY what jealousy is like In the end, you trusted the male to take reign over the performance that would happen in due time.

Sure — you felt a bit bad doing something that in your eyes seemed “malicious”, but with Wanderer’s persistent attempts and encouragement… Surely you needed your boyfriend to have a taste of his own medicine. 

And said time was about to come. 

You’ve agreed to pick up Ajax from the airport, excitedly speaking of this  being your first meeting in person. While you’ve sent each other pictures, albeit in your case it was Wandy sending a couple of photos of the two of you, this would be much, much different in comparison. 

— I still don’t understand what prompted you to pick up that ginger from the airport. - The raven-haired man scoffed, looking at the arrivals signs. Him and his silly ways of showing affection… 

— Well, I know that said ginger is quite an important person in your life. - You smiled, partially since you knew you were saying the truth as well as the chaos that was about to happen between the two of you.

Wanderer was almost about to say something, getting when he got cut off by the noise of someone running, getting increasingly louder and culminating in him getting tackled into a hug. 

— It’s so good to see you guys! - Tartaglia said, after leaving your boyfriend alone for a second before turning to you. - It’s so lovely to finally meet you in person, [y/n]… Pictures don’t do your beauty justice. - A kiss on your hand. 

To say you were flabbergasted would be an understatement. Sure, you agreed on him doing mild flirting… BUT THIS? And you were not the only one standing in utter shock. 

— What the fuck was that Childe? - Your partner asked, seeing red at the events unraveling right before his eyes.

— Common courtesy. - Tartaglia winked. - In my culture, it’s quite normal to kiss a lady on the hand when you greet her. 

Oh, the coyness in his voice spoke everything. He enjoyed every single second of the jealousy Wanderer was feeling. And to say that this interaction would be the last of your plan was a huge understatement.

Your phone has been pinging ever so often, with messages coming in from different social media — all from your boyfriend obviously. Tartaglia ordered a lovely dinner on his tab as ‘thanks’ for picking him up from the airport. This was also a way of the ginger giving you space, which posed as an opportunity to check what Wanderer was up to.  

LYNEY

Lyney feels as if he’s going to suffocate in the next few minutes. It’s not that he’s unhappy to be here. Frankly, he’s here to support you as a loving partner. It’s just that… The atmosphere here is rough. The situation at hand is reminding him is reminding him of all the times he has attended those funding meetings with his Father.

He proceeds to take a deep breath. “Anything for [y/n]” - Lyney whispers to himself. 

Speaking of yourself, here you are trying not to pass out from the stress you feel. You’re mere minutes away from giving a presentation on your project, which if received positively, will land you a promotion with a generous pay raise.

The possibility of this success comes with its price — the need to “suck” up to some of the more liked employees in hopes of getting their approval for your ideas. 

This is precisely how you’ve ended up in this situation… away from Lyney because archons only know why.  One moment you were introducing him as your partner to many of your work besties, and the next you’re in the middle of a conversation with the manager of another branch… Who - you would say - has a horrific sense of humour. 

— And I tell her “Can’t say I sleep like a log! After all, I don’t wake up in a fireplace”! - You force yourself to smile, fully cringing inside at the dad joke you’ve just heard. Hell, this guy isn’t even a dad… nor is he over thirty years old to be making jokes like these! 

— I see, I see. - You reply politely, fully intending not to show your hidden feelings at what you just have witnessed. Your eyes, however, wander to try and find Lyney amongst all these business-oriented people. And indeed you manage to locate him. 

Unfortunately for you — there’s clear evidence that your partner is not feeling his best… And since you’re the reason he even showed up to this setting, you feel like you need to check up on him. Therefore, you proceed to message him. 

From the messages it seems like your lovely partner is doing much better than before… However there’s this inkling in your brain that he might still feel jealous about this situation. 

— Thank you for the conversation. - You manage to finally get a word in with the manager who has been talking nonstop. - Unfortunately, I’m here with someone… and I feel bad leaving them unattended. I shall be taking my leave now. - 

With those words said, you proceeded to get to Lyney, finally getting a break from acting as a suck-up throughout the entire evening

— Hi lovely. - You say, catching your partner’s hand in yours. - I’m so sorry about leaving you all alone. - 

The guilt inside you can be felt both in your manner of speech, as well as in the grip you have on his hand. Lyney must be able to sense this, as he’s bringing your hand up for a loving kiss. 

— Pay that no mind. You’re absolutely forgiven, Muse. - He whispers, not wanting to bring more attention to you than necessary. - Besides, I’m sure you’ll repay me with all the kisses in the world once we get home.

It always turns out like this. A situation where you were supposed to be the one comforting your partner, turns its tables into him uplifting you with poetic words. The result of it being you - feeling the most courageous you have been throughout this entire business meeting.

In the end, your presentation goes more than well. You’ve knocked each point out of the park and even answered all the questions with merit! 

— I knew you would do amazing, bubs! - Lyney gives you a kiss on the cheek the moment you leave the venue where your presentation took place. - As expected of the magnificent Muse of the magnificent Lyney. 

He’s singing you — and himself by proxy, because he has to be stunning if his partner is that good — praises the entire road home, which makes you wonder… How in the world a singular person can go through so many behaviour patterns in the span of a singular night? 

date of posting - may 22nd 2024

[partycatty]

dark star!johnny cage > against the world

what it's like dating the evil version of hollywood's golden boy. it's not all fun and games, even if that's how he sees it

warnings: lowkey abusive relationship like just straight up. yandere. lil smutty but nothing horrifically graphic.

notes: listened to "wrap me in plastic" and "watch me work" while writing LMFAO also please god the coat stays ON ‼️‼️‼️‼️ hes so scrummy i need him biblically

masterlist &lt;3

part 2* / part 3* / part 4* / part 5* / part 6*

•first of all, dark star!johnny is so incredibly emotionally immature. he's a whiny bastard fr. hell hath no fury like a white man that's in the wrong during an argument with his girlfriend

•"baaaabe what's wrong?? it was just a joke!" after he says you're a 6/10 compared to a model on his phone. ZERO awareness.

•WALL PUNCHER. IM JUST BEING HONEST. your beautiful pale pink walls have so many shoulder-height white patches from you having to fix the wall every time his water has an inadequate amount of cucumber slices.

•he's got the same upbringing as the better johnny, shitty dad and dead mom. he just never really knew how to cope with it. equally as famous as his counterpart, he prefers throwing punches in action flicks. he's just somehow more of a dick about it.

•pampered to holy hell between shots, all relaxed in his chair with his name embroidered on it while one woman tends to his makeup, another to his hair, a third feeding him water. it's how he wants it to be, he needs to be perfect. he is perfect.

•spends like two hours getting ready, most of the time is spent on his hair. you tell him it'd be more efficient to trim it down a couple inches but he likes the way it flops over. you also like the way it falls in front of his face during his stunts. he's just so effortlessly sexy.

•uses his height and physique to his advantage. he loves backing you into corners and looming above you menacingly to watch you squirm, flustered. his large sunglasses reflect your pathetic little face.

•now with you, he loves to show you off, but not enough for you to steal the spotlight. you're his favorite little accessory that hangs off his arm. he chooses your outfits when you make public appearances. INSISTS on matching all the time. misty blue dress with gold jewelry to match his obnoxiously large coat.

•the good johnny plays things up for the camera and saves the sweetness for behind closed doors. dark star!johnny doesn't know when to turn off "camera mode." bro will not be sweet with you unless it gets him brownie points after he fucks up.

•he's so unfair. women fawn over him constantly and he smiles all smugly and leans into their touches. but if a man so much as looks at you for more than a couple seconds, he's beating the guy in moments.

•hates it when you find joy in other people. he will constantly fill you with thoughts that everyone will leave you one day for one reason or another, and that you should feel lucky that a world famous actor wants you.

•will make you turn against people you hold dear, he cuts them out of your life so they can't influence you like he does. this man is a smooth talker and hardcore manipulator that'll leave you anxious when you talk to anyone but him. he has you thinking everyone's out to get you.

•"come on baby, you really think they'd love you like i do? don't be delusional. it's just you and me against the world, you got it?"

•you guys have had so many public scandals, you're the main source of income for the TMZ employees.

•sex tape here, public screaming match there

•speaking of which this dude FUCKS. HARD. :3

•johnny will literally pound you into oblivion whenever he pleases. he prefers doggystyle so he can use your hair as leverage. sometimes he reaches forward and holds your jaw, chest pressed against your back as he mercilessly fucks you. he totally gets himself off on your pathetic moans.

•records it every time. partially to jerk off to later, partially as leverage against you.

•"you like that?" he'll ask in that low growl, somehow hitting even deeper. "nobody can fuck you like i do. so don't even fucking think about leaving - ngh -"

•after an argument, you'll find gorgeous purses or necklaces on your shared vanity. not because he's sorry, but because he knows you'll forget about how annoying he can be when he shells out a couple thousand on a gift for you.

•you could honestly probably do better, but who's gonna say no to johnny cage?

[jeongin-lvr]

This's kinda freaky but hear me out!!

Skz member#1 fuck reader and film it to send it to skz member#2 who is her boyfriend.

Skz member#1 was fwb w/ reader but she ended it cause she has a boyfriend now, and skz member#1 is jealous of skz member#2 and wants him to know who owns that pussy.

(I'm kinda into that type of things, lol)

immediately yes pls… my guilty pleasure is shit like this >< makes me think of hanji & felix for some reason :p

Jisung wasn’t having it. You were his— originally, at least. Sure, he didn’t get to call you his girlfriend or give you his last name, but everyone knew you were his. He thought you knew as well. But then he found out you got yourself a boyfriend and suddenly he was gritting his teeth fuming. How could you? How dare you? And the fact that you still kept his number in your phone… the same contact, the same random texts at night. Oh, Jisung was going insane. He knew you still wanted him; he knew he’s the only one who could have you, and he knew you knew that very well. Yet, you were still posting pictures of your “perfect, pretty boyfriend.” You were still telling everyone he was amazing.

Jisung wondered why you were even wasting your time. He’s seen the pictures of your boyfriend— Felix. Even the name makes him scowl. Felix was too innocent looking, too kind, the way he held you in pictures was nothing like how Jisung held you. It was different, softer. It almost made Jisung laugh whenever he saw them. Was it jealousy? Maybe, but it was also smugness. His name was practically carved into you at this point, Felix was just an added accessory. Maybe it was sad how Jisung still waited by his phone every weekend, manifesting your call on his screen as he stared at it. Maybe he was the one who should be embarrassed, but he didn’t have it in him. He always found himself accepting the invitation to your house, to invitation to fuck you. It’s like the second he heard your voice he folded. The anger he felt for being the second choice dissipated and all he longed for was you— your momentary ecstasy. The only time when he can call you truly his. Maybe it’s pathetic, he’s beginning to believe that he actually is, but he can’t help himself. It’s an incurable urge, an insatiable need.

“You’re mine— mine,” Jisung moans as he bends to your face, the flat, toned surface of his chest meeting yours, sweats mixing, eye contact unbearably toxic, “Say it to me.” God, he wants to cry, from the pleasure the absolute burn he feels when he sees you. He almost sounds angry, hissing out demands. You obey them always, your infidelity clearly not a worry in your brain. You breathlessly respond as his hips drive into you, again and again. Over and over in the same spot that he knows drives you mad. “I’m yours— Hannie, m’ all yours, please, baby!” Your nails dig into his shoulders but he doesn’t feel it, his big brown eyes shimmer down at you. “Louder.”

“I’m y-yours!” Your back arched off the sheets, Jisung’s fingertips sliding up your body and onto your throat and jaw. He touches you like lava on water, stinging and singeing. Burns of lust and bliss. Your vision is blurry and suddenly Jisung is wide awake, the pure rage becomes smugness again because, well, you just said it. You’re his. He knows it’s just temporary, but what if it didn’t have to be? Your perfect, little boyfriend might not like that his girlfriend is being fucked brainless by another man— he may not be aware of it now but Jisung was more than capable of changing that. So as your eyes cross and roll back, Jisung reaches for your phone, the screen alight with 3 messages from your boyfriend: “Where are you?” “I miss you.” “Come home soon.” And it almost makes him laugh. Oh, he knew this was evil, he knew this was an irreversible, bitter act. But so was cheating on your supposedly-perfect boyfriend.

Was it an act of jealousy or an act of revenge? Either way, he was doing it. So he opened your phone, placing the Face ID in front of your fucked-out face, snickering of how unaware you were. He laughs as your messages open and, of course, the chat was with Felix. The three messages practically burning into his retinas. He clicks the camera icon and doesn’t hesitate before clicking record. His hips relentless, but slowing now just so the camera wouldn’t shake too much. You blinked, callously breathing while your eyes stared at the ceiling above. “Baby, look at the camera,” Jisung commanded, your obedience was perfect, immediately looking curiously at the phone in front of your face. Your phone. You parted your lips to speak, only to feel the quick interjection of his cock thrust deep inside you, a moan falling from between your lips, “Who do you belong to?” Him. “Y-you.” Who? “M’ yours, Ji!” That’s right.

“Say to your boyfriend, baby, I’m sure he’ll be so happy to see you,” Jisung chuckles, tongue gliding over his teeth. You’re too fucked stupid to even reply, moaning as his thrusts became indecent, too quick and rough. Jisung doesn’t hesitate to press send, he flips you both around, situating you on his lap, a simple command of, “Fuck yourself on me, bub.” His eyes fixated on the screen; he watches the little grey dots appear and disappear, he watches so happily. He has it immortalized forever, you’re his. And now your boyfriend knows. Your boyfriend is well aware of what a cheating slut you are, the three dots appear again. And the message that sends makes Jisung laugh boisterously, throwing the phone down as his hips instantly reach for your waist, helping you bounce on his cock, “Felix said hi.”

[ja3hwa]

♡ 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟖: 𝐓𝐨𝐲𝐬/𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐞𝐱 - 𝐊.𝐇𝐉 ♡

【sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs】 : Hongjoong couldn't decide what gift to buy you while he was travelling. So he bought them all and now wants you to try them out. Every. Single. One.

『ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ』 : 1.11k

-> ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Pure Smut

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Idol!Hongjoong x F.Reader

[ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs] : Edging. Fingering. Dirty talk. Use of a dildo. Making out. Pet names. Swearing. Neck kisses.

Thank you, my darling, @nateezfics, for requesting Hongjoong for this day. I hope you enjoy, baby. ♡♡♡

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You don’t know how you ended up in such a predicament. But here you were, sitting on several blankets on the floor with your back against the end of your bed frame with pillows supporting you. Hongjoong had gone on a shopping spree while he was in Paris, and at first, you thought he simply bought you a nice outfit or even some French snacks. But no, this was Hongjoong you were thinking about. The man who secretly has a dark spot. A dirty side and of course he had bought you an array of toys. Especially.. but plugs.

“I didn’t know which one would suit you, so I bought them all.” that was his excuse for the ten or so plugs lying hiding in a giant bag… among other things. He told you that about an hour ago now. Having set up a little spot for you to lay while he worked on you. He first took some attentiveness in stretching you. Lube was all over the blankets by the time he was done and you were shaking like a leaf at this point. His fingers switching between your pussy to your ass was making your head spin in the best way and the more he worked on you the more nervous you got with the idea of the new toys. He wouldn’t tell you what else was in the bag other than ‘it’s a surprise’ making your nerves even more on edge.

He sat behind you, letting you lay on your lower back, holding yourself with your elbows. He sat you in front of your large full-length mirror, letting you see exactly what the gems looked like when they were pushed into your puckered hole. First, it was a red gem, ruby, it was cute, simple and he always said red was your colour. But he kept going, pulling the toy out he pushed another one in. One after the other and at this point you didn’t care what the gem colour was, all that mattered was the feeling of it going in and out over and over again. He was edging you without even realizing and it made you all hot and bothered.

“J-Joong.” at this point he needed him to fuck you before you explode but he just chuckled putting the new on, a purple gem deep inside your ass. He twisted it slowly, pretending to make remarks such as ‘Such a pretty colour’, ‘You should wear purple more often’, ‘It’s got a bright shine than the other gems’ as if he was talking about clothing or some accessory, rather then a butt plug. He pulled it out still satisfied with it. No, there was a perfect one in here, he just needed to find it. Your hazy eyes looked around the room while he dug in the bag, you saw all the plugs lying randomly on the floor, lube dripping off all of them, some most likely smeared with your own juices, given you were practically leaking for Hongjoong to touch you.

“Ahh!” You suddenly look back at yourself in the mirror, seeing he placed a much thicker plug inside this time, but instead of a gem, it was a tail…. a bright red fox tail with a snow-white tip. It sat so beautifully on the floor making you shiver. His fingers rubbed against the fur, patting it while he groaned. This was the perfect piece. A tail that made you look like what he thought of you as…. Just a sweet little fox in a big bad wolfs trap.

“My pretty little fox…” He whispered in your ear making you whimper at his words. He picked up another object from the bag letting you see he got a tentacle dildo. A deep purple one. The one you saw online the other night. You thought you were alone while browsing for sex toys but Hongjoong must have noticed the cheeky shit. He held the toy in front of you giving you a good view of it. You bucked your hips, wiggling in anticipation while he spilled some lube on the object. “You want to be fucked by a tentacle baby? Dirty girl.”

“P-please Joongie.” You cried, feeling him rub the dildo up and down lightly pushing the tip of the tentacle against your clit and it started vibrating. “ffffuuucckk!!” You screamed out, trying to back away from the vibration but Hongjoong’s body caged you, his thighs either side of you. He played with the tail with his free hand, stroking the fur while lightly tugging on it. Everything was so sensitive and you felt like you were going to explode. He slipt the dildo inside your puffy cunt, fucking you harshly with it. Your eyes were glued to the mirror, watching the toy go in and out. In and out…

“Fuck, look at you. You’re enjoying this my little fox. Being fucked stupid on some toys.” His voice rang in your ears. Your head was spinning and your body was jerking in rhythm of his thrusts. You could feel you were close to your high but it felt different. Felt… faster, more intense.

“Hongjoong I-” Before you could say another word your body shook like crazy. Legs locking, hands gripping tight on Hongjoong’s thighs. You squirted all over the blankets, some of it managed to splatter across the mirror, making your lover chuckle in amusement. Once you slowly came down from your high, Joong switched off the toy before discarding it somewhere on the floor. His hand snaked along your wet body, squeezing your tit before gripping your chin, pulling your face upwards so his lips could capture yours.

“Hmm my baby.” he kissed you again “My pretty baby.” he kissed the corner of your mouth, "You enjoying yourself darling?” he licked your neck, sucking your skin. You just humped in response, feeling tired from the orgasm you had just felt. But Hongjoong didn’t give you time to relax in your bliss as he softly pushed you forward, making you fall onto your tummy, keeping your legs bent and ass in the air. Your face was smooshed against the mirror making you keep eye contact with yourself. But Hongjoong had the perfect view. Your ass wiggling in his face with a perfect tail swaying with it.

“You ready for around two…” He tugged harshly on your tail making your eyebrows knit tight together. “I have so many other toys to try on you.”

[madddays]

camera shy

pairing: yoongi x reader (f) summary: after his last Oakland show, you carve out a little alone time with your husband, away from the stage lights and the cameras and the million people who always seem to be around rating/genre: explicit // fluff + smut + slice of life-ish (it’s a tour fic!) + an attempt at humour warnings: smut -- oral + fingering (f receiving), missionary, unprotected sex (they’re married it’s fine), terribly thought-out plot note: hello!!! i haven’t written anything in this format in a long time (poetry is my medium of choice) so pls be gentle!! also this is set in what is the “current timeline” but is of course fictional and i took every creative liberty i could :) also there was supposed to be a little bit at the end that i cut out bc reader was getting a little too cuckoo but that’s where the title came from and i couldn’t think of another. okay. anyway. 

Being on tour is exhausting.

You’re not sure you have the right to complain – you’re not the one performing high-energy shows in sold out arenas every night. But you are lifting your share of your husband’s emotional weight as he does his solo tour. His first solo tour, as is stressed to you. 

And you’re dodging cameras left and right. While it was impossible for you to stay out of the picture completely — the team at HYBE had convinced you that there was no need to hide your presence — being an idol’s wife didn’t really make you the most… sympathetic character. 

So you try to keep the complaining to a minimum. 

“If I have to duck out of one more cameraman’s way today…” you grumble under your breath. Sejin laughs. 

“There’s only so long they can spend in your room,” he placates. “And tomorrow you’ll have use of the business centre again.”

You harrumph. Fucking businesspeople using the business centre for their business shit. Hunkering down over your laptop again, you attempt once more to read over the article you needed to finish editing tonight. You’re finally making a little headway, getting into the groove, and then —

“That’s it!” you snap in English, frantically trying to catch the open water bottle that almost spilled all over your computer. The culprit, a man looking through the lens of his giant stupid camera on his giant stupid tripod, glances at you with a bored expression. 

“Whoops,” he says lightly, wheeling the contraption slightly to the left of where he’d bumped the desk. “Should probably keep that closed.”

You see red. Just as you’re about to toss this man and his equipment out the 50th story window, your husband appears. 

“Jagiya,” Yoongi murmurs to you, placing a grounding hand at the side of your face. You instantly relax about fifty percent. “I’m sorry, just the rest of the afternoon.”

You look up at him, at his soft pleading face. He’s turned away from the filming crew, hiding both his expression and yours. You relax the rest of the way, resting in his palm, a little guilt creeping in. 

It’s not his fault. Obviously, everything was going to be filmed — a BTS member’s first solo tour. There was going to be a documentary, and like it or not, you were going to be in it. As marginally as possible, everyone had insisted, but you couldn’t afford to look bad. Unfortunate that the filming crew was full of a bunch of dicks who didn’t give a shit about anyone who wasn’t the star. “No,” you shake your head, “I’m sorry. I know you hate this as much as I do, probably more. I’ll try to be good.”

At this, Yoongi smiles, shoulders jerking with a laugh. “I’m not asking for a miracle,” he teases. “Just a little patience.” You roll your eyes. You can behave. 

Just then, the same nimrod shoots a look at you, almost goading, as Sejin picks up your laptop and its accessories so the Christopher Nolan wannabe can put some more douchebag equipment where it just was. You look Yoongi straight in the eyes, dead serious. “If that man crosses me one more time, I’m going to kill him. And I’m going to film it with his stupid fucking camera.”

--------------- xxx ---------------

Most people expect you to be ecstatic about the proximity to free tickets that being married to Yoongi brings. And you love watching him perform. Up on the stage, in his element. He’s never more radiant than when he’s singing and rapping, leaning in close to the edge of the stage so he can look into the fans’ eyes — gloss, a fitting name for the shining star you see giving his all. 

And the confidence is incredibly sexy. So you have a competency kink, sue you. 

But god is it tiring being there. Even in the nosebleeds, or in the VIP box. You can’t exactly abandon Yoongi afterwards, so you have to make your way discreetly backstage with the security team, and then you wait through the undressing and the debriefing and the security checks and the filming. Sometimes the media circus. Only then can you sneak into a car with him and head back to the hotel. 

So you stay behind tonight. It’s the last day of the American leg, and you’ve already seen a few spectacular shows. You have your own life, your own responsibilities. Which includes deadlines. 

You were able to come with Yoongi for this leg of the tour because you’d promised your boss an exclusive — first dibs on Agust D’s experience touring in the U.S. While you wouldn’t be allowed to take part in the spread (a very clear conflict of interest, no bueno) you’re excited for it. The potential of the photoshoot alone is making your head spin. 

But part of the deal was also to keep working. The list of articles your Senior Editor ass has to go over is slowly dwindling, this feature on Korea’s impact on global fashion getting to the finish line. 

“Yes!” you exclaim, throwing your hands up in the now blessedly empty hotel room. Email with the finished article sent, you roll your chair to look straight into the little camera that’s trained on the desk Yoongi’s claimed and flip it the bird. 

Job done and borderline invasive filming (it’s only on when Yoongi decides to get some working shots for them, but still) disrespected, there’s not much left to do but wait. 

When the third time cycling through all your social media apps doesn’t provide any groundbreaking entertainment, you decide to call down to reception for some reading material. It’s not technically work if you’re just reading a dozen trashy ‘Who Wore It Best?’ segments. “Anne Hathaway, hwaiting!” you mutter to yourself.

--------------- xxx ---------------

A couple hours later, you’re still thoroughly immersed in your magazines and your music, completely missing the cacophony in the hallway. The knock on your door startles you so thoroughly you hit your head against the headboard. 

“Unnie, are you okay?” asks Ari, one of the stylists. “I was coming to call you to eat!”

“Oh, you’re all back! One sec!” You scramble off the bed, excited to see the aftermath of the show. You barely remember to put on a pair of pants before rushing out the door, Ari’s surprised face greeting you. “Thanks, Ari-yah,” you grin, locking arms with her. “How was the show?”

“It was great! Oppa is always good, but tonight he was especially energetic.” Her face screws up a little. “He ripped another one of the jackets, though.”

An inconvenience to her, but you don’t share the irritation. Yoongi’s broad shoulders busting his clothes, yum. “Oh,” you say anyway, your sympathy unconvincing, “that’s annoying.” Ari snorts.

“Sure. At least it’s new costumes for the next leg. We’ll refit them.”

You practically vibrate with excitement at that. “I haven’t seen them yet! I’m sure you all did an awesome job!” 

She blushes. “I think it’ll be good! They’re not totally finalized yet, but I’ll send you a ton of pictures.” Her eye drops in a wink, making you giggle delightedly. 

Dinner is a buffet in one of the conference rooms of your beloved business centre. One of the security team members escorts you down with a group of the staff, but most people had gone down earlier, apparently very hungry. Yoongi among them. As you approach the doors, you hear someone complaining to him that they should’ve done this at a restaurant and where is his sense of celebration.

“Come on,” you hear him grumble. “It’s not like the entire tour is over. We can all go out tomorrow.”

You snort. “And then tomorrow you’ll say ‘tomorrow never comes’.” If it were happening to someone else, you’d never let them live down how quickly their husband’s head snapped towards them, but you make an exception because yours is so cute. 

Despite his enthusiastic surprise, he doesn’t miss a beat. “Great, now I have to come up with a new excuse. Thanks for that,” he rolls his eyes, but immediately swaps the empty plate you grab with the one he was filling up for himself, no room to argue. Your giddy mood sours a little when you catch sight of the filming crew again. 

Yoongi holds your hand over his bouncing knee and the two of you sneak food off and onto each other’s plates. The mood is bright and light, despite everyone’s obvious exhaustion (at least three people by your count are in danger of falling asleep into their food). You expect to see an extended shot of the staff and crew laughing and eating, a flushed Yoongi being plied with praise and encouragement, under some sort of pensive voiceover. 

And you’re right, because right after he’s done eating they whisk Yoongi away to do what is sure to be a thorough recount of his adventure in the States. You’re a little jealous that they get to hear all about it before you do. Fuckers. 

As the room starts to clear out, you bid everyone a good night and trudge back up to your room, planning to crawl into bed and wait for your husband. 

But when you open the door, he’s already there. Your immediate thought is that the air conditioning is up too high for him to leave his hair damp like that. Your second thought is how pretty he looks — sharp eyes focused on his legal pad, sinful hand flying across the page trying to get down whatever lyrics are thundering through his brain, cheeks flushed and pouty mouth puckered. He must’ve gone straight from the shower to his desk.

After a few moments he must sense your eyes on him, because his writing falters and he turns to you, a soft smile breaking out across his face. Your heart flutters. 

“Hey!” he says happily, pulling out his earbuds. “I was waiting for you.”

“Clearly,” you laugh, moving to perch on the table in front of him. He pulls your feet into his lap, putting his papers aside. You resist the urge to sneak a peek, instead asking “did I interrupt something?”

“No,” he assures you. “I got everything important down. You were right on time.” His fingers are drumming on your thigh like there’s still something on his mind, but you’re feeling greedy tonight, so you let it slide.

“Apparently, I was late.” His hair is cold when you ruffle it. “Let me dry your hair. You still have schedules to make it to, can’t get sick.”

Under the gentle whirr of the expensive hair dryer and your hands in his soft locks, you coax out some of the details of the night from him. Stuff those production company jerks would never get to hear, wouldn’t think to ask about. How he was so glad to never have to wear one of his costumes ever again. The way he didn’t even feel the heat of the stage lights, the thing that drenched him in sweat (aside from the jumping and running around) was nerves. You laugh when he tells you about the girl in the pit who danced so hard the veil of her wedding dress outfit ended up on one of the lights. Your heart swells, swells, swells.

There’s still a restlessness about him when you’re done. You suggest he goes back to his desk but he shakes his head. “Let’s go to bed.” The first time in ages you can do so without the weight of anticipation and stress over him – hopefully it will settle whatever is making him twitchy.

There’s a spark of arousal in your belly when you feel his eyes on your backside as you change into your pyjamas. A breath stutters out of your mouth when you meet his sleepy gaze, getting a soft smirk in response. “Come here,” he says softly. “I missed you.”

In your eagerness to get to him, you collide with the bed a little too fast. “Oof,” you huff, making him laugh. He sits up to haul you into his side, another surprised noise leaving your mouth.

“Dummy,” he teases. “Not even safe in a cushy hotel room.” You kick at his shin.

“Quit giving me bedroom eyes then.” You see his eyes sparkle and mouth start to open and smack a hand over it. “Yes, we are in a bedroom, ha ha, you are very funny.”

He moves your hand away, unimpressed. “It is a funny joke,” he grumbles. Truly funny thing is, if he’d said it, you would’ve laughed. You’re down horrendously and he knows it, although you do your best to keep his ego in check at least some of the time.

Giggling anyway, you let him press you closer to his chest. You especially love him like this, warm and soft and silly and all to yourself. 

Yoongi turns over onto his good shoulder to face you, tipping your chin up. His gaze flits across your face, tender and deep, like he can see everything you’re thinking. You hope he can. You think he does. “I love you,” he murmurs, and he kisses you.

Your eyes flutter closed, relishing in this closeness. The way his mouth moves over yours, slow and deliberate. 

This isn’t a kiss just because, or goodnight or I’ll be right back, this is a kiss because I want to be touching you. I want to breathe you in. I want to forget everything but you.

You let out a sigh. Yoongi hums against you, a rumble you feel in his chest, and slides his tongue to meet yours. He shifts some more so he’s over you, braced on his forearm. It’s urgent now, but the way he licks into your mouth is languid, a creeping heat. 

He knows just how you like it, just how to drive you wild. Where you push and pull and grasp at him, he slows you, pins you down, makes you feel every second like it’s an hour.

When he pulls away, panting slightly, you realize – it’s been a long time. The last time the two of you had had a chance to get horizontal (or otherwise) had been the week you left Korea. More than a month ago. No wonder you’re so desperate for him, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him back in, feeling his smug little grin against your mouth. 

He grabs at your hip with his other hand, and just that contact, his hand deliberate against the bare skin between your shirt and pyjama shorts, is enough to have you gasping.

He pulls away again with a low chuckle. “I’ve been neglecting you, my love,” he noses against your jaw. The warmth of his breath makes you shiver.

“You’ve been such a good wife,” he continues, sitting back on his heels, raking his gaze over you. His tone is soft but his eyes are so, so hungry. You reach for him, desperate to be back under his body, but he just smiles, closed mouth and innocent. “Shh, let your husband take care of you.”

He climbs back over you, settles his weight on you like he knows you like and hovers an inch from your face. His hair, longer again, hangs in his eyes, but you can see the mischievous shine in them. “Hi,” he whispers.

“Yoongi,” you whine. His smile grows even bigger, but before you can crush your lips to his he leans down and kisses you, slow and searing again. 

“I’ll make you feel good,” he promises, mouthing down your neck. You know he’s going to leave marks, but you can’t bring yourself to care. It’s been so long since you’ve felt properly like his. “Smell so sweet,” he sighs, opening the top button of your sleep shirt and burying his face between your tits. “Sweet, sweet girl.”

You moan, sensitive from his touch. “You’re –” he nips at you, drawing more breathy noises from your mouth. “You’re unusually talkative tonight.”

He smiles up at you. “You like it,” he says simply. And you do. You want him to keep telling you how you look and feel to him, what he’s going to do to you.

You start to fall apart under his mouth, his hands, his words. Soon your shirt is gone, tits shiny with his saliva. “Your fucking tongue,” you grab his hair, hold him in place, and his groan against your skin makes your sensitive nipples shoot fireworks into your brain. He presses your tits together tighter, sucking them noisily in turn as you grind up against his hardening cock.

“Taste fucking perfect,” his voice is so deep. Your pussy is already clenching, desperate for him. 

Yoongi helps you out of your pyjama shorts, wanting you completely bare to him. “Need to see you, jagi.” He settles between your legs, settled over his shoulders. His warm mouth over your cunt has you spreading them wider, eager.

“That’s my girl,” he rumbles approvingly, expecting the ensuing flood from your pussy. He uses two of his long, callused fingers to spread it all over, sliding almost coincidentally over your clit. Your hips cant towards his hand, wanting more than anything to have them inside you – fuck. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Yoongi, please,” you choke. It’s getting nearly unbearable, this desperation. You’re so wet, so sensitive, your entrance clenching around nothing.

“Pretty, pretty,” he says in a soft rasp, talking to himself. He gets comfortable between your legs and you can see his sharp, dark eyes zero in on your cunt, tongue wetting his lips like someone’s set a meal in front of him. You suppose you have.

“Ahhh-hhhh,” you moan, the first broad sweep of his tongue over your folds like electricity. Like he’d just set a firecracker off inside of you – buzzing and sparking from the tips of your toes to your scalp. Eyes squeezed shut, a broken noise comes out of your mouth. 

He keeps going, lapping at your pussy in an even rhythm and making low sounds of appreciation. It’s so, so wet you’re sure he must be drooling, and the thought is enough to have you clenching your legs together. “Careful, baby,” he says against your skin, but the vibrations of his voice are just fuel to the fire. “Watch me.”

You lean up shakily on your elbows, and the sight of him is nearly enough to knock you back down again. The mop of dark hair between your legs, working away as though you’re barely there, like he’s just using this to get himself off – except his eyes, watching you under the harsh slant of his eyebrows – shit shit it’s almost too much already.

“Fuck, baby, please,” you plead breathily, not even sure what you’re asking for. He’s already giving you everything you want. The close of his pouted lips around your clit has you jerking, the fiery crackle in your nerves making everything hazy except the places he’s touching you – big hands clamped around your thighs, face buried in your cunt, fingers pressed into the meat of your ass. He’d taken off the rest of his rings, but you can feel his wedding band pinching your skin slightly. Your matching one catches the light as you twist your hand into the sheets. “I need – I nee –” you break off, keening when he rubs a finger over your hole.

“Don’t worry, love,” he slides a digit in, feeling the way you clench around it desperately. “I know what my girl needs.” On the next stroke, he slides in a second finger, groaning when you clamp down on him. You collapse back onto the pillows, hips kicking up despite the way he’s pressing you into the mattress

You’d teased him mercilessly, way back when the two of you had started dating. “Tongue technology, huh? Do you have any songs where you’re not bragging about how good you eat pussy?” He’d only smiled, smug and amused, like he knew something you didn’t. 

Boy, did you find out. Again, and again, and again. The way he flicks his tongue over your clit, a fast, even tempo that has you curling your toes. Combined with how fast he’s pumping those long fingers in you, the squelching sounds absolutely obscene. 

“Another?” he asks, voice almost disinterested, betrayed only by how hoarse and low it’s become. You nod frantically, knowing you’re close. 

When he adds his ring finger, you know you’re done for. There’s a searing heat all down your body — your belly’s tight, your feet digging into Yoongi’s back with how tightly you have them tensed. Your face is flushed and sweaty and you can barely hear your own breathy whining through the rushing in your ears. It’s building, the wet slick of his tongue joining his fingers as your legs start to tremble around him, threatening to squeeze his neck, your hands finding their way into his hair to bring him with you when your back arches off the bed, and when he sucks your clit back between his lips —

“That’s it, fuck, baby,” he growls against you. He pumps you through your orgasm, almost struggling to get deep because of the way you’re gripped tight around them. Lets the gush of come slick his tongue further, shaking his head side to side as you ride out your aftershocks. You grind against his face, stuttering as the oversensitivity kicks in, whining when it becomes too much.

“N’more,” you slur, gasping when Yoongi eases out of you. He sits back on his heels again, his mouth, nose, and chin shiny from the way you’ve drenched him. 

He seems content to let it sit as he meets your eyes, popping his used fingers into his mouth, eyes rolling back and groaning at the taste. “Pussy monster,” you sigh deliriously.

He laughs, having sucked his fingers clean. Pushing yourself up to lean back against the headboard, you try to get your bearings. Your legs are shaking a little and between them is still sensitive, but away from Yoongi the cold air of the hotel room makes your nipples tighten and you want more. 

Your husband focuses his attention back on you. Your legs, open just enough so he can see the mess he’s made of you, and the way your skin is flushed, from your face all the way down to your chest. You shiver. 

“Cold, sweetheart?” he asks in a low growl. He pulls his shirt off and wipes his face with it, giving you an uninterrupted moment to ogle him. His broad shoulders, defined chest and arms, and toned stomach. The tattoo on his pec. The dusting of hair leading from his belly button down, down, down…

“Warm me up,” you say coquettishly, spreading your legs further. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, reverent. Even after all these years, you have the exact same effect on him as the first time. It’s evident in the bulge in his pyjama pants that you eye hungrily. He wraps a hand around each of your ankles, pushing them up to bend your knees, crawling up so he can settle against you and lock your legs around his waist. 

You let out a pathetic little sound at the feeling of him against your cunt. You’re still leaking, juices sticking to the insides of your thighs and probably leaving a patch on his pants. “Baby,” you whine. He leans down to kiss you and the grind of his cock against you has you gasping. “Need it,” you whisper into his mouth. “How do you want me?”

Yoongi kisses you one more time, chaste, and shakes his head. “How does my sweet girl want it?”

You flush even warmer. “Like this,” you say shyly. Yoongi smiles at you, fucked out and endeared.

Your hands find their way to his sweaty skin like magnets. Shaky fingertips tracing from his hips up over the flat of his stomach, hard muscles twitching as he sighs under your touch. When you reach his chest, you look up at him from under your lashes – he’s already looking back at you, pretty mouth agape. “The abs are new. I like them.” Then you scratch your blunt nails down them, feeling the muscles jump under your hands. 

“Fuck,” he groans, leaning into you. You gasp at the twitch of his cock, the head rubbing your clit. “You’re in for it now.”

“Then fucking give it to me.”

He kisses you again, and he’s just so predictable. Despite his big talk and the way he’s pinning your hips down hard, he takes his time, opening you up to him. Your husband kisses like he drinks – slow and savoury, loves the taste of you, the way you make him feel dazed and light. Letting out little satisfied noises in response to the way you kiss him back, the way you let him have his way with you. If it were up to him, he’d work you up like this for hours. Drinking you in. 

Unfortunately for him, you’re worked up enough. He’s grinding into you in tiny movements but the sensitivity from your prior orgasm, the insistent press of his cock between your lips, and the knowledge that you haven’t had him inside you in probably the longest stretch of time since you’d met is driving you insane.

“Take off your fucking pants, Yoongi,” you snap against his mouth, pulling at his waistband. He just laughs. “If you don’t fuck me right now –”

He keeps laughing, breathless and fond, but tips away from you enough to get his pyjama bottoms off and kicked away and hell yeah.

He runs his fingers through your folds and you gasp. Your hips cant up towards his hand but it’s gone immediately, and the sight of him jacking his cock with your wetness makes you whimper.

“So wet,” he murmurs, guiding the head to your pussy. The previous teasing mirth has vanished and there’s only the dark, focused look as he presses forward and – “Fuck.”

“Yoongi!” you cry out. His fingers hadn’t done nearly a good enough job of stretching you. The burn of him as he pushes into you makes your eyes roll back as you feel him pepper kisses over your cheek, down your neck to your collarbone. “Oh –”

“I must be out of my fucking mind,” he grunts, bottoming out. You choke on a sob. His big hand kneads your tit and it feels so fucking good you think you’re going to lose your mind. “How did I go without this for so long?”

He pulls out almost all the way then thrusts back in hard. “Y-Yoon – “ you whine breathily, barely able to make a sound at this point. 

“My gorgeous wife, in this bed every night, so needy. This perfect pussy — shit.” He sucks the other nipple into his mouth, buried in you so deep you can’t think of anything but the way he’s filling you so good. The way you hadn’t realized you’d needed. 

You’re blubbering at this point, beyond words, as Yoongi chases his orgasm inside you. Kissing every part of you he can reach as the sound of his skin against yours fills the room, playing with your tits the way that drives you wild. You come again with a shout, tears streaming down your face. 

“So pretty,” he murmurs, kissing the tears away. He’s still going, deeper now instead of fast. “Can you give me one more, love?”

You’re dizzy with pleasure and overstimulation, but he loves to come with your pussy squeezing him. “Yeah,” you pant. A kiss, slow and deep, as he pushes back in. 

Your legs are wrapped so tightly around his waist he can barely pull all the way back out. All you can do is hold on as he takes what he wants from you. 

“Shit, shit,” Yoongi groans, hips stuttering. He’s close. “Love you, pretty girl, so fucking good to me,” his voice low and raspy and warm right next to your ear. “Do I make you feel good?”

“Y-yes,” you manage to get out and you can feel his cock throb inside you, rubbing your g-spot and it’s enough. Your vision goes white and you see stars as your entire body tenses up and you tremble all over when it suddenly releases. “Yoongi!”

“Fuuuck,” he grunts. “Squeeze me just like that,” and he’s coming too. 

You lay there, panting under Yoongi as he softens inside you. The sweat makes you stick together where you’re touching, and anywhere outside your bed it would make you push him away. But you’re content to lie under him, soft, laboured breaths puffing next to your ear. 

“Should’ve used a condom,” you say hoarsely. There’s going to be a mess when he pulls out, you can already feel it. 

“Fucking raw used to be so hot,” he sighs, kissing your cheek. “Now it’s a chore.”

Your snort turns into a gasp as he pulls out. Reaching for his discarded shirt, he cleans up as much of his come as he can. You watch him, eyes zeroed in on the mess, licking his lips. 

“Reel it in.” You boop his nose and he scrunches it. “I really cannot go another round. You’re gonna have to drag me to the bathroom.” 

--------------- xxx ---------------

And he kind of does. On a good day, he could definitely carry you. But after three weeks of touring and a semi-vigorous round of sex, he hitches you onto his back in some semblance of a piggyback. You actually could probably walk, but you know the mood Yoongi’s in. 

He lets you pee, then comes to clean you up the rest of the way. Both of you wrapped in fluffy robes, he washes the sweat and tears off your face gently, brushes through your hair with his fingers. Puts up with your halfhearted whining about expensive skincare as he pats it carefully back onto your face. 

By the time you’ve dragged yourselves back to bed, the California King large enough that you don’t worry about the mess you’ve made on the other side, all the tension has drained from his body. The frantic energy of performing in a foreign country alone for the first time, melted away. 

He’s soft and sleepy when he hitches your leg over his hip, pulls your head onto his chest. “Thank you,” he mumbles. You don’t have to ask him what he means. 

You laugh softly. “Silly,” you say, drifting off.

[chernabogs]

Belladonna, Forget-me-not, Hyssop, dwarf sunflower 🌻

ouagh thank you for sending a request <3 check out the list here! <3

Inc: Lilia (both present and general), Reader, Silver, Sebek mention WC: 3.5k Warnings: War mention, arson, crimes committed during war time (all my homies hate Silver Owls). Lilia cussing, as he should. Flowers: Belladonna (a confession given without words aka we are pining mentally in the club), Forget me not (the one thing I remembered and how it brought me back to you), Hyssop (one last walk through a house—sort of), Sunflower, dwarf (how many ways do I have to confess for you to believe me?). Some flexibility with these. Summary: A trinket he had forgotten pulls him down a path of memories that he wishes he could forget.

There’s a sunflower in the garden this year. 

He thinks it’s quite curious when he first sees the bud, its petals still closed tight as though afraid to enter the world. He’s standing outside of the front door of his cottage with a mug in hand as he gives it a scrutinizing look. The silence of the forest surrounding his home lets him focus ample attention on how this oddity came to be. Silver has run to town and won’t be back until the evening, aiding Sebek in purchasing school supplies for the coming year, and Malleus is likely packing in his eagerness to get out of the palace for another ten months. 

It’s just Lilia, his mug, and the sunflower. 

“Shy, are we?” He murmurs in amusement as he raises the mug to his lips before they twist to a wry grimace. Perhaps being alone is not good for him—he’s beginning to speak to his gardens like an old man already. 

He wisely turns heel and re-enters the cottage as he downs the bitter coffee before discarding the mug in the sink. He’ll wash the dishes before Silver gets home, only because he knows the boy will do it all himself if he doesn’t, which would do nothing but make Lilia feel guilty. Silver insists it’s fine, he’s happy to help his father—but it shouldn’t be that way. His brow furrows in dissatisfaction as he weaves through the cottage's halls to arrive at his bedroom.

Contrary to his room at NRC, this one is so barren it looks downright unoccupied, like no one has ever lived in it to begin with. Lilia had moved most of his valuables with him when he had received notice of his pending enrolment alongside Malleus. This at least makes sorting out what he’s to wear today much easier as he pulls open the closet to peer inside. His fingers dance along the various fabrics as he hums, and haws, and already knows he’s going to wear the same outfit he wears essentially every day.

Lilia Vanrouge has become a man of consistency—another factor that serves to paint him as ‘old’. 

“Decrepit, even,” he grumbles to himself as he tosses his clothes onto the bed. Perhaps he can spice it up a bit to combat these self-perpetuated accusations through the application of an accessory. The thought pleases him enough to make him reach for the top shelf of his closet, his hand hitting against objects and shoving things around in his bid to grab something useful. Maybe he would have benefited from just floating up to see what he needed to get, because his hand soon hits an item that topples off the shelf and nearly clocks him in the face.

“Shit!” He snarls as he moves back. The box clatters to the floor by his foot with a loud rattle, causing him to glare down at it accusingly. His eyes narrow as another low curse slips out and he fumbles to pick the box up. 

It’s made of carved wood—oak, by the weight of it. Each etching along the sides paints a tale that draws Lilia to a stop as he turns it over in his hands. A figure perched on a tree branch with another sitting beneath, a blade and wood in hand. The two figures are next in a home, with a few flowers hanging to dry from a window. Then they are standing beside each other by a body of water; the carving here is detailed enough that he can see apprehension in one’s gaze and sternness in the others. 

The final carving is incomplete, only because a blackened char mark has burnt the wood to an unusable state. 

Ah.

He remembers why he didn’t take this to NRC. He remembers why he had it shoved in the back of the closet like something rotten, something meant to be concealed. He feels his mood darken as he turns the box over again. Each nick, each mark, tells a tale of something that stirs a burning shame in his gut. His hands tighten enough that he hears the wood creaking under his strength before they relax once more. 

Then, he pauses. Silver won’t be back until far later in the day. He has nothing to do but wash a mug that now sits fermenting in his sink. Beyond this, he’ll simply be wandering from room to room in his cottage like a ghost, perhaps cutting some firewood, perhaps seeing if the bloody quails that have been tormenting his vegetable gardens are back. 

Lilia moves until the back of his knees hit his bed and he sits down, cradling the box more gently now. A sudden urge—a bit of masochistic curiosity—tugs at his heart as his lips curl into a sneer. His thumb brushes against the carving of the figure crouching in the tree. 

Well, if he needs a good way to kill an hour or so. 

“All is as if it were days long past. No matter where it takes us, it will all be over in the blink of an eye. Far cry cradle.” 

_________________________________________________________

The memory begins as it always did any time that he did this. He’s just over 300 years old, his hair long and his body perched on the branches of a tree. He forgot that if he’s personally in the memory, his magic has a habit of tossing him headfirst directly into his body again. The scent of pine overwhelms him as he looks across a Briar Valley that once was just as full of life as he. Green, as far as the eye can see, and the songs of birds that have since gone extinct filling the warm air. 

He shifts on the branch and closes his eyes for a moment as he drinks it all in. Things long since gone, things he wishes he could experience just one more time in his current life. He almost loses himself in the memory—a dangerous risk—before he hears the faint sound of scraping from beneath where he’s perched.

Lilia’s eyes snap open and his gaze travels down to see a figure with a cloak sitting against the pine tree, their hood pulled up as their hands expertly carve a piece of wood with their blade. He can’t quite tell what it is they’re making—and truthfully, he’s long since forgotten. 

But the sound of their voice as they hum an old folk song he hasn’t heard since the war times makes him tense all the same. 

You.

Fuck.

The uncomfortableness of the situation, the realization that perhaps doing this was a mistake on his part, makes him shift back on the branch. This is enough to make a few twigs snap and force your attention to jerk upwards to where he lay. His red gaze locks onto yours as every sound in the forest falls silent and all he knows is the confusion in your eyes. 

“How long have you been up there?” You blurt out, your voice sounding exactly how he hears it in his dreams for the past four hundred years. A strangled sound leaves his throat, and with all of the energy he can muster, Lilia jerks himself free of the memory. 

_________________________________________________________

He stutters for air as his eyes open once more and he grips the box tight. The carving of his body on the branch overlooking yours at the base is now just a mockery for things he foolishly lost. The only way he can know you now is through the use of magic, and even that cannot return you entirely. 

He shouldn’t be doing this. A glance at the clock on the wall tells him he was in the memory for fifteen minutes, despite it feeling only like mere seconds. 

He shouldn’t be doing this. He turns the box over in his hand to look at the next carving. The two figures in a home, with a few flowers hanging to dry from a window. He notes with a bitter amusement that they’re all sunflowers.

The box should go back on the top shelf. He should lock it away again and forget it, leave it for Silver to find only once his father is dead and rotting under the earth. Perhaps the boy can finish what the humans started—burning it to nothing but cinders. 

He shouldn’t be doing this to himself, and yet… 

“All is as if it were days long past. No matter where it takes us, it will all be over in the blink of an eye. Far cry cradle.” 

_________________________________________________________

Lilia finds himself standing in a small cottage eerily reminiscent of his own. He knows a few months have passed since the first encounter by the way there’s snow falling heavily from the skies outside. Briar Valley’s winters are vicious—as untamed as the land itself once had been before metal teeth had torn it apart and left the fae to clean its viscera. His gaze travels to the window nearby to look out at the landscape before it’s drawn upwards to the flowers hanging down from the sill. 

Sunflowers, which look as fresh as the day they were likely picked, paint a cheery picture against the bleak backdrop beyond. 

“I am afraid it isn’t quite perfect, but it should do the trick to warm you up.” Your voice's soft cadence causes his shoulders to tense as he doesn’t turn around to face you. He can hear you humming, the sound of a bowl being set on a nearby table, and the aroma of something so intoxicating it makes his stomach twist in phantom hunger. “Why were you rushing through this blizzard to begin with?”

Lilia blinks as silence falls. You’re waiting for his response. This likely won’t play out unless he gives it.

“Her majesty bid me to deliver a missive to Princess Meleanor.” He murmurs, eyes still fixated on the sunflower. They almost look real to him despite the knowledge that this is nothing but an illusion. He hears you hum in disapproval. You often did that—hummed a lot, laughed a lot.

“Terrible weather to be doing so, but I suppose if it’s urgent, you can’t sit on it. At least have something to eat before you go braving Briar Nation once more.” 

His head turns slightly so that he can catch a glimpse of you in his peripheral vision. Your back is to him as you scoop more food into a second bowl. You’re not unique—just another fae in a nation of many—but you stand out to him. Four hundred years later, he still struggles to rationalize why. 

“You must like sunflowers a lot.” He comments abruptly. He didn’t say this in the memory, and he can tell by the way it seems to stutter around him. You still turn and look at him in confusion, however. “You only have sunflowers hanging on your window.”

“Oh!” You seem surprised, and then delighted as a smile graces your face. He wishes he had never seen that again. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” 

He wants to say something, perhaps ‘I know’, but the memory melts away before the words can leave his tongue.

_________________________________________________________

Lilia tastes copper when his eyes snap to the clock on the wall. Thirty minutes have gone by now—another fifteen in the previous memory. His hands shake slightly as he turns the box over like a man under a compulsion. The carving of two figures by the water seems to be taunting him as his thumb traces across your body. 

He doesn’t even bother speaking the phrase clearly this time. It comes as a mumble, and suddenly he’s falling into darkness again. 

_________________________________________________________

Tension is palpable when Lilia opens his eyes. Although it’s spring, the warmth seems nonexistent in the air as deafening silence fills where he stands. You’re by his side, your arms crossed tight over your chest as you stare at the pond beyond. By your feet, a patch of sunflowers smiles up at the bright skies above.

“How much longer do you think it will last before they wipe it clean?” You ask, your voice containing barely concealed rage as your nails dig into your sleeves. His jaw clenches as he shrugs one shoulder.

“A week. A month. A year. It could be any amount of time. They have new machines that they’ve been using—new means to rip open our nation to reach its heart.” He scoffs and turns sharply. “Fucking humans. Why did they need to come here to begin with? We were fine before they came crawling onto our shores, with their bitching, and moaning, and noxious fucking machines!”

“Lilia.” Your voice is calmer as he feels your hand touch his arm. His fury simmers slightly under this action. “At least we’re gaining some ground against them, right? And they haven’t reached all of Briar Nation yet. I can still provide game and herbs to the neighbouring villages—there’s an abundance surrounding my cottage.” 

Lilia wants to say that’s because all of the animals are being driven deeper into the woods, but he holds his tongue as he meets your steadfast gaze. In the period of time since he’s come to know you, he’s also realized that your stubbornness will have you refuting every claim with an optimistic one of your own. Already you had staunchly refused to leave your cottage despite the looming threat drawing ever so nearby.

“I need to go soon.” He finally sighs as he tears his gaze away from you to the pond again. He hasn’t seen this pond since the war era simply because he knows it was drained for the Silver Owls' use. He hears your own sigh slip out as you remove your hand. The skin that you touched aches in its absence. 

He steals a glance at you and tries to preserve your side-profile in his mind. If he could, he would carve it onto every surface he possessed, marking every line and bump that comprised the masterpiece that is you to his liking. He has already devoted himself by this point to mapping these curves with his fingers under the shadow of Briar Nations endless nights. He has memorized every sound you make, as sweet as any song can be, and which places on your body elicit such music. You had both entered this dance as a means to release stress—but now, four hundred years later, he knows it meant so much more. 

He wants to sweep you in his arms. He wants to pull you to safety, to silence your protests with hushed whispers and utterances of his devotion. He wants to pour his heart into your hands until he’s empty and belonging entirely to you. He is a man who, once he devotes himself to something, gives endlessly until he remains a ghost of who he once was.

He loves you in this moment, where the sun dapples your skin, and he can pretend he’s still in the Briar Nation he knew. So, he breaks conduct again. 

“You should leave.” The memory wavers at his words. In the past, he had simply turned at this point to begin returning to your cottage so that he could ready his travel pack. “You should go to the next village over. Go somewhere safe.”

The memory wavers again, fraying along the edges, and yet still Lilia finds himself persevering. “Please. I don’t want to see what’s going to happen next.” 

You turn to look at him as his vision begins to darken. Your brow furrows, confusion etching your face as the last words you speak feel like a nail in his own coffin. 

“Lilia, this is my home.”  

_________________________________________________________

He doesn’t immediately speak as he comes back again. The clock shows forty-five minutes have passed now, and the lighting in the bedroom he sits in has altered to reflect this. A numbness has crept into his body and settled just below his skin. It fluctuates and writhes like an insect and causes him to shiver as he rotates the box once more.

The last carving is incomplete. The black marks that mar its surface guarantee this. Faintly, he can smell smoke on both the box and his hands as he traces his thumb across this, as well.

It comes back filthy. 

Lilia’s expression schools itself to a blank look as the silence of the empty cottage perpetuates. Only his breathing breaks the still air, stuttering slightly as his lips part. 

“... far cry cradle.” 

_________________________________________________________

Lilia can smell it before he sees it. Wood, smouldering in the unforgiving winter sun, accompanied by something more pungent and feral. He’s already running by the time he snaps into the memory, his feet dragging through heavy snow as he fights against the elements to reach the treeline. He can see dark smoke pluming upwards.

It’s always too late by the time he arrives. 

His steps slow, his feet drawing to a stop as cold snow soaks through his pants. Before him lays a painting of carnage, crafted by human hands, and displayed for the eyes of any fae passing by. Footsteps trample in the aged snow that surrounds the smouldering husk of the structure. Your words regarding your cottage being in a hot spot for game and herbs ring as a mockery now in his ears as he slowly, slowly, inches closer. 

“Hello?” His voice cracks as the words leave him. The forest echoes them back—hello? Hello? Hello?

Stone dust scatters across the white earth as his hand comes to touch the frame you had been so proud of when you had first shown it off. Burnt, with embers still smouldering in the wood. He feels afraid to step further, but he knows that if he doesn’t then he’ll never get the satisfaction of knowing whether you may have survived it or not. 

Lilia passes through the door frame. He looks up to what remains of your roof, to the space where sunflowers once hung, and then just beyond the large wooden table you had carved for yourself as well. A small box sits perfectly on its blackened surface, like it had been placed on display intentionally for his discovery. 

The memory begins to blur at this point. Things that should be there soon bleed into black outlines, dripping down onto the floor with a rhythmic thump. He can see static in what looks like the shape of an arm peeking out from behind the table leg as his stomach twists, and rage begins to flood through his veins in place of blood. A stuttering breath leaves him as the static arm remains still.

He is General Lilia Vanrouge. He is a soldier. He is meant to protect his people, and yet, and yet—

_________________________________________________________

Lilia snaps out of this memory by throwing the box to the floor. It clatters at his outburst before he kicks it viciously into the closet, his breath leaving him in ragged gasps as he does. His mind is a blur as his one hand grips the sheets beneath him and the other grabs his collar, trying to ground him in the moment before the whole world spins out of proportion. 

He is not General Lilia Vanrouge. He is not a soldier. He is not walking into the home of the person he thought he loved, forced to bury what was left of them in a pauper's grave—just another loss in the wartime. 

He is a man, sitting in his cottage, with a son who will be home by evening and a school he needs to pack for. 

“Fuck,” he groans, pressing his face into his hands as he shakes himself free of the thoughts. “Fuck... fuck!”

A brief glance at the clock shows an hour has passed by now. His chest feels heavy, and his mind full of cotton as he dresses in a mechanical manner before going about his chores for the day.

By the time Silver returns, he’s fought off the quails, weeded the garden, cut firewood, and cleared the gutters. What he hasn’t done is clean the mug that’s been sitting in the sink since the morning—a task that Silver happily takes on after Lilia looks close to losing it.

If his son notices anything else off about his father, he says nothing about it, but Lilia does note the way Silver seems a bit more talkative than usual this evening. Lilia’s mind continues to replay the memories he experienced in a macabre theatrical viewing as he tries hard to listen to what Silver is saying. Eventually, they both fall silent as Silver washes the mug, along with the dishes from dinner in addition. The sun is beginning to set when he pauses to peer out the window with a curious expression.

“Did you see the sunflower in the garden?” Silver asks, his voice soft as he finishes drying off the mug. Lilia raises an eyebrow as he looks up again.

“What about it?” 

“It opened up.” Silver looks surprised, and then delighted as a smile graces his face. Lilia’s eyes widen as he notes the similarities between the childish joy on his son's face, and that which he once saw on your own.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”