#be sympathetic and be curious about your partner

[stupid-elf]

Okay dandy, what is "it's not about the bread"? I recognized everything else

Ah! It's not about the bread is a phrase fairly common in marriage counseling/relationship advice circles. It comes from a popular anecdote of a husband in counseling saying his wife is always blowing up at him about petty things, like buying the wrong brand of bread. The therapist asks the wife why she's upset about the bread, and she says it's because he is chronically inattentive to her and their collective needs so she ends up carrying the slack. It's not about the bread: It's about what's manifesting through the bread

Humans are not rational creatures, we're rationalizing. It takes a lot of self awareness to be in one's own head and go "oh. I'm not upset about the bread, I'm mad because this is the third time this week and the twentieth time this month I have to come up with a new dinner plan because this idiot fucked up." However, it takes much less awareness to look at one's partner and go "hm. That was an outsized reaction. Something larger than what set this off is probably going on."

Once you've realized there's something going on, partners can begin working towards a solution. You have to pull back the rug to find what's been swept under it.

Emotions all have causes. Sometimes they're bigger than they seem like they should be, and sometimes the cause is buried deep in the unconscious parts of the brain, but there's always a reason. Part of loving someone is trying to understand them, and part of understanding them is sussing out when it's about the bread... And when you should maybe start writing a more detailed grocery list

[monster-disaster]

[monsters] Neighbors

Thoughts about living with monsters- You live in an apartment with monsters all around.

An orc family lives above you, and they’re the sweetest neighbors you’ve ever had. The wife loves inviting you over for coffee and a bit of gossip. Her stories fill the air with warmth as she pours your cup and chats about the neighborhood or shares a delicious new pastry she’s baked. Her husband? He’s a gentle giant, always ready to roll up his sleeves and help out around your small flat. Whether it’s fixing a leaky faucet or carrying heavy groceries up the stairs, he’s there before you even ask.

And then, there are the babies; two adorably chubby little ones with soft, green cheeks and big, curious eyes. You’ve become their go-to babysitter, which means plenty of afternoons filled with giggles and messy faces.

But when night falls, it’s a different story.

The ceiling might as well be paper-thin, with their gravelly voices and laughter rolling through the floorboards. Sometimes, those conversations turn into... well, more intimate moments and the babies aren’t just cute, they’ve got lungs that could rival any set of bagpipes. Their cries often jolt you awake in the middle of the night, heart racing.

Even with the sleepless nights, you never find it in yourself to complain, though. There’s a warmth to their noise, a liveliness that fills your small flat with a sense of family, even if it comes with a few sleep-deprived mornings.

Beneath you on the first floor lives a goblin who’s practically made it his life’s mission to comment on every noise you make. You do your best to avoid him, but it’s only a matter of time before you bump into him, leaning against his doorframe with arms crossed and an unimpressed scowl etched on his face.

He never misses an opportunity to complain.

“Your steps are like thunder up there. Ever heard of walking lightly?” he grumbles, or “How many times do I have to tell you? Lift the chairs, don’t drag them! Sounds like a damn avalanche down here!” And that’s not even the worst of it. The day he leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing as he muttered, “And for god’s sake, put a pillow over your face next time you play with your vibrating friend,” your face burned hotter than a forge. You were sure the ground might split open beneath you right then and there.

Since that conversation, you’ve found yourself tiptoeing around your flat, trying to keep your footsteps as light as possible, but even with your efforts, you know the next run-in with him is just around the corner, along with another list of grievances he’s been stewing over.

To your right lives a wolf-shifter, and for the most part, things between you are easygoing. He’s a quiet neighbor, the type who nods at you in the hallway and even offers a polite smile now and then. But his love life? That’s where the peace ends. His one-night stands, in particular, are the worst. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve had to comfort his partners the morning after, wiping away their tears when they realize that "just one night" really means just that. They always seem to hope for more, for something lasting, and it’s always you who ends up playing the sympathetic neighbor, nodding along as they pour out their hearts. Of course, it's your fault too. You should learn how to mind your own business instead of feeling sorry for crying women. And men.

And then there’s his rut. The first time you realized what was going on, you nearly dropped your coffee cup. The howls, the desperate growls, and the unmistakable... fervor of it all carried straight through the walls. After those nights, it’s impossible to even think about making eye contact with him. Weeks go by before you feel like you can look at him without your mind immediately replaying all the sounds you heard. And he, of course, acts like nothing happened.

To your left lives a succubus, and teasing you seems to be her favorite pastime. She’s always around when you come or go, somehow knowing exactly when to time her appearances. She leans casually against her doorframe, dressed in barely-there lingerie or a robe that hangs loose enough to leave little to the imagination, her lips curling into a knowing smile as she catches your eye. It’s impossible not to feel your cheeks heat up under her gaze, especially when she purrs a playful remark. Her eyes linger just a moment too long. And those paper-thin walls? They do nothing to block the sultry sounds she makes late into the night, sounds you’re sure are meant just for you.

You tell yourself you are holding your ground, that you won’t give in, but every sly comment she throws your way and every time she catches you with a flustered look makes you worry that it’s only a matter of time before you find yourself at her door, falling right into her trap.

Across the hall lives an elderly minotaur who, bless her heart, has made it her personal mission to match you up with one of her grandkids. No matter how busy you are, she has a sixth sense for catching you at the worst possible times. If you are running late for an appointment, she is suddenly in the hallway, eager to chat about her "really successful and recently divorced" grandson. Or maybe you’re lugging bags of groceries, arms aching under their weight, and just as you are almost to your door, she appears, excited to tell you that another one of her grandsons, who just came back from abroad, is finally ready to settle down. You try to smile and listen, nodding along as she goes on about their good jobs, kind hearts, and how they need someone like you in their lives. And of course, you don’t have the heart to cut her off, even when you’re in a rush or your arms feel like they might fall off from holding the bags. So, more often than not, you find yourself standing there, smiling politely and listening for far longer than you’d planned, as she talks on and on about her grandkids’ achievements while her eyes twinkle with hope.

“Y/N!” The goblin’s voice rings out just as you step into the elevator. Your name rolling off his tongue is already dripping with complaints. "I'm sorry!" You almost shout when you catch a glimpse of his frown while frantically jabbing the button for your floor. "Y/N!" As the elevator finally slips shut, cutting off his grumbling, the tension drains from your shoulders, but your relief is short-lived when you hear the familiar ding and the doors open. "Hey," the wolf-shifter greets you casually before taking your place in the metal box. You manage a stiff nod and a quiet "hey" while drifting your gaze to the floor, unable to hold his gaze for more than a second. When he disappears behind the thick doors, you let out a sigh and shift the bags in your arms as you fumble for your keys. Just as you manage to find them, the door in front of you swings open, and you force a smile as the elderly minotaur across the hall greets you warmly. “Hello, dear!” she beams. “Would you like to come in? My grandson, you know, the one I told you about, is visiting, and I thought you two should finally meet!” Your mouth opens, and your brain scrambles for a polite excuse, but before you can get a word out, her grandson appears behind her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Maybe next time, Nan,” he says with a smile, steering her back into the apartment. You share a moment of mutual understanding before the door clicks shut. Just as you breathe a sigh of relief, again, another door swings open, again, and you freeze, momentarily forgetting how to breathe. The succubus leans against her door, draped in dark purple lingerie that hugs her curves like a second skin. The bralette barely manages to contain her generous figure, and her sultry smile only deepens as she takes in your flustered expression. “Hello, Y/N,” she purrs. Your cheeks flare up, and you barely stammer out a weak “Not today!” as you nearly stumble into your apartment. You can hear her laughter echoing behind you, but your attention is quickly snatched by the buzzing of your phone. Your bags hit the floor with a heavy thud, and you cringe, fully aware the goblin will have a field day with this. You glance at your screen, catching a new message from your friend upstairs: The kids are with their dad. Fancy a coffee? How about you come down? you quickly reply, no way willing to risk leaving your apartment again today. Sure, comes the reply almost instantly. Did you hear about the party that harpy threw on the fourth floor? She drives me mad! No, you think, but leave the message unanswered. Of course, you didn’t hear about the party. How could you, with the orc babies wailing through most of the night?

[ilium-ilia]

simon riley x fem!reader | drabble | intersecting lines | morbid thoughts | death and the macabre | erotic morbidity? | blood kink taken to the extreme | two sides of the same coin can never look in one direction, but that won't stop them from devouring each other whole anyway

You only learned that you should be disgusted with blood when it first stained your underwear.

Thick endometrium and stale ichor, expunged from your body like a pest, sticky between your thighs, rotting in the core of you—keep it quiet. You'll make the men squirm if you open your pretty lips about it. Suffer in silence. Wrap agony with a pale, baby pink bow and grin with teeth as iridescent as pearls; nothing less. Everything more.

The boy in your biology class cringes at the frog you slice open during lab. Heart long since stilled, webbed hands and feet pinned open and wide, tender stomach ready to dive into—he gags, and the sympathetic puker that is his partner nearly spews over his shoes.

Later that year, after sustaining a bloody nose during a football game, he grins—wears the crimson proudly as it pours into his lips as if he realizes for the first time that iron tastes and awful lot like victory.

Blood is a fickle bitch.

It haunts your dreams. A wide, open sea of red that pours down your throat, coagulating in your chest, spilling into your stomach until you're bloated. Clawing for the surface, the sky asks why you aren't satisfied—have you not had enough death to satiate your hunger? They speak as if this is what you wanted; a choice you actively pursued, and not someplace you ended up.

As if there would be anywhere else that would welcome you with open arms.

Hands wrapped tight around a wheelchair, you gently lead your patient down the hall. She said she wanted to go for a walk, but her legs don't quite work the same anymore. You don't mind. It gets your steps in, and you're able to hide from the EVS tech who can't quite keep his eyes off of your ass.

She tells you about her grandson. Freshly jellied just two months ago—a tiny thing with predictably small hands and fingers and a scent she can't ever get enough of. She asks if you've ever experienced anything like that, and you smile and say you have.

You don't tell her about the blood that stains your shoes, or how it belonged to a seventeen year old boy, or the glass that was lodged in his throat, or how he couldn't live even after you patched him up.

Oh, I could never do something like that.

It's the default expression someone shares when you talk about your work. Tight lips, clenching jaws, twitchy feet—they speak like they don't know how beautiful blood is, like pomegranate juice flowing beneath overgrown thumb nails, or the fortitude it takes to see beauty when nothing but death has been shoved down your throat your entire life.

So you look for something else to sear your throat instead. A good pint, usually.

Shoved in the corner of a dilapidating pub, far out of the way, on the fringe of a wicked swing shift—the glass warms in your lips. Your hands tap against the table. No matter how many times you wash your hands, you can't get the stench to go away. Of blood. Of an emergency department.

Death approaches you with a black jumper, blue jeans, and eyes darker than a moonless night—his name is Simon Riley. Something he grunts out when you ask who the fuck he thinks he is for joining your table uninvited. Unfazed, sipping on his glass of whiskey neat, gaze fixated on the football game that drones on the telly too far for him to properly see.

You let him stay only because he smells familiar. Gun powder and cigarette—nicotine thick on his skin that even the faintest sniff leaves your blood buzzing. A culmination of all things dark, of things that get most people to flinch away, of things you lean into because you learned to smile through the fear and now you crave it more than anything else.

That night, you let him fuck you, only because you're curious to see if his blood tastes any different than your own.

Cock buried deep enough inside of you to snuff out the ache, you unhinge your jaw to fit him all in. Maw closing around his neck, teeth dipping where they shouldn't, you expect him to squeal like a stuck pig—instead, he laughs. Lips red like rose petals and viscera, Simon laughs. Wipes his fingers along his shoulder. Shoves them down your throat.

Yeah. Nasty fuckin' girl. Knew you were. Nothin' good ever smells this sweet.

Your whole life you have spent mending people—sewing them back together—that you never once stopped to think what it felt like to be torn apart. Simon does it beautifully. Practiced hands clawing through your cunt, dipping where you need him to, cleaving you clean in two just to lick you clean with the flat of his tongue. Trembling fingers trace every scar on his body as he skewers you, chest vibrating with each thrust, blood yearning to spill free just as he releases into you.

He kills for a living. The antithesis of you. The zenith of what you should despise but can't. Bullet through brain, knife through throat—he visits you before his boots have the time to shake off the gore. When he's still feverish with a fresh kill, and in desperate need of something sugary sweet to cleanse his pallet before he can't tell the difference between the taste of offals and rot.

Still, you work. Bedside manner. Water cups. Smiles over screams. Inhale blood. Wipe down the bed once the body is gone—bring the next one in. No need to glove up, you're not afraid of the cancer; not anymore.

No matter how hard you suppress it, you know that in the end, you get to go home. Cheek to Simon's chest, middle finger tracing his sternum, pressing into his xiphoid process, hand bouncing with each beat of his heart. You smile through the gushing blood and sour sweat as he pushes his fingers into your mouth.

Atta girl. Just need that dumb brain of yours turned off every now and then, huh? Yeah, me too, sweetheart.

Deeper. Enough to claw into your throat. Thick cock in your cunt, fresh blood on your lips, a grin peeling over sharp canines—your death rattle arrives with an arching back. With tense fingers in taut skin. With a whisper against your skin.

La petite mort.

Little death.

And as Simon drips on you—fresh, and red—you can't help but think about how good it feels to love something that death can touch.

[aurynsia]

what would be the life after hogwarts for james and reader? i can just imagine james thinking of the best ring he could give reader to ask her to marry him, or even like thinking of where they should live in.

Life After Hogwarts

James Potter x Reader

Summary: James won’t settle for anything less than perfect for his perfect girl...

Warnings: Intense fluff, Reader is referred to with she/her pronouns, James is just a good hearted rich boy who wants the best for his partner <3

Word Count: 1.1K

Masterlist

A/N: Thank you for the request! I wrote this as a sequel to this series, but it can just as easily be read as a stand alone oneshot. Enjoy!

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

“Pads, please focus here. This is serious!”

“No, I’m Sirius, born and raised! Are you sure you aren’t feeling lightheaded, Prongs?”

James and Sirius stood bent over the cabinet of delicate rings, the latter struggling to free himself from a ring size too small. James huffed in frustration, brows furrowed in contemplation as he glanced across the display one last time.

“None of them feel right, I’m telling you! We‘ll just have to find somewhere else, she won’t like how flashy all of these diamonds are,” James sulked and grumbled as Sirius finally eased the ring off of his nimble finger.

“Prongs, this is the fifth jeweller we’ve been to in the past four hours. Merlin, the sun is already setting and you haven’t even considered a single one of the more than acceptable rings we’ve looked at!”

Sirius scrambled to chase James out of the store, pace quickened along the damp concrete of the sidewalk.

“It needs to be perfect, she’s perfect. I will settle for no less.” James held his head high, nose turned upwards at the raven haired boy who grew visibly sluggish with every step.

Sirius groaned, only following his bespectacled friend for another quick moment before James stopped abruptly at a pawn shop window, eyes bursting wide with hope.

The ring in the window shone elegantly against the store’s harsh light. The metal twisted and turned in a smooth curve that was sure to make your skin glow radiantly in contrast. It was understated, with only the minor details in the engravings making a quiet display of the mountain of money James was about to spend.

“That’s the one. It’s perfect.”

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

The cool breeze wrapped around the Potter’s summer house with ease, pressing against your skin to form goosebumps along the soft surface.

James had been acting strangely all day, almost avoiding you at every turn of the house’s walls like his life depended on it. He fiddled with his fingers, stuttered out his words and blushed at every subtle sound of amusement you made.

Finally relaxing into your side, James sheltered you from the wind with his body on his family’s beach-side deck. Your evening beverage was pressed between your legs, freeing your hands to run soothing circles over your boyfriend’s back.

His eyes clenched shut, head growing wrinkles as he sought his trademark courage that seemed to all but disappear the moment you were near.

Slowly, tentatively, he lifted his body from your warmth, flashing you a sympathetic smile to compensate for the absolute fool he was about to make of himself.

“Love, I- you mean the world to me…” he turned to face you. “These past years with you have made for some of the happiest moments I’ve ever experienced…” he shifted to lift up onto his knees, gazing down at your curious expression.

“I love you so, so much. I loved you when I first met you, the shy girl on the Hogwarts express. I loved you when we started dating, all smiles over candle lit dinners, and…” He moved again, down on one knee. “I want to keep loving you when you marry me.”

You gasped at the genuine glaze of his soft brown eyes, his lean towards your stationary body, and the ring sat in his grasp, shrouded by a velvet box.

He coughed slightly at the awkward atmosphere, repeating himself with clarity. “Will you…marry me?”

“Godric, James- yes!”

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

Fleamont Potter was showering his son with engagement gifts. James never had any reason to complain about his family or economic situation, and to say he grew up comfortably would be a drastic understatement.

House hunting was James’ first protocol after his successful proposal. He had patiently listened to you ramble about your dream house for years, trying to stay focused under your captivating gaze and endearing energy. Big windows, lots of light, and a burning fireplace.

That’s exactly what James was searching for as he strolled down the streets of Godric’s Hollow. He had inspected every single house he could find, taken or not. The day was wearing out, washing lines already dried under the subtle summer heat.

His gaze fell in a wave of sluggish fatigue, only to be snapped open by the sight of a Southern-style mansion positioned right on the edge of Godric’s Hollow, towering over the sidewalk. The house was decorated with shutters and balconies, as well as a small red sign in the front yard.

FOR SALE.

He rushed to the front door, conveniently propped open. “It’s a beautiful place, really, but we’re after something a little more…modern.” A family glided past James in a pack, concluding what he could only assume to be a tour of the house.

The estate agent fixed his tie as he bid farewell to the family, promising something about searching closer to the city the following week. He spun around to find James gawking eagerly at the front door, before clearing his throat to gain the young Potter’s attention.

“Would you like a tour?”

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

James flashed you a smug smile as you gazed in awe at the intricate architecture of your new townhouse. You were perched on the front lawn, tucked into James’ side with his hand on the small of your back.

“It’s so beautiful…” you mused wistfully, gaze drawn to the rustic tiles on the roof like sunflowers to the sun. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble, I mean- this must have been an absolute pain to buy…” you finally tilted your gaze to see James peering over you, a lovesick longing painted on his features.

“Love, my father knows people - too many to count - who were more than happy to help with this little engagement gift,” he chuckled, eyes still locked on yours. “When I saw this house for the first time…it was calling your name. Our names.”

The house was big enough to hold a few kids and some small pets - clearly too big for just you and James, but he hoped that your family would fill it out in the coming years. There needed to be room for at least one big black dog.

Still uncertain, you gave James a sceptical look. “It was no trouble, really.” He didn’t wait for a reply as he drove you through the open door by your shoulders.

You stumbled through each room, captivated by the warmth in every corner you turned to. James was hot on your heels, guiding you by your waist every now and then to show you specific features of the kitchen, the bathrooms and the already decorated master bedroom.

You jumped onto the bed with glee, warmth engulfing you under your body.

“Jamie…it’s perfect…” you mused, eyes shut as you felt the bed dip with your Fiancée’s weight, who shifted to kiss your forehead with care.

“You’re perfect, love.”

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

[wndaswife]

To your stepmother’s surprise, you come home from a Christmas party asking for her to care for you; it’s been months since her wedding to your father and months since you’ve paid her any attention at all.

Tags: angst, kiiinda fluffy, stepmom wanda loving you so so much, almost nearly unrequited love

drabble for matriarchal disturbance

I forgot my keys. 

You texted Wanda some time during the evening once you realized you had forgotten them, and since she was the only one at home until tomorrow, she’d have to let you in. Or at least keep the door unlocked. 

Oh no. It’s okay, I have work to do so I can unlock the door when you come home. :)

It was Christmas break and you were home for just a little, so you were out drinking with some friends from high school and some of their new college friends. 

Wanda had texted you a week or two prior asking when you might be coming home. You didn’t answer — you didn’t ever feel in the mood to talk with your stepmother — but you knew it was still her curiosity talking through your father when he called a few days after you left her on read, asking the same question. 

They were both happy to have you home, but Wanda particularly, though you could tell she was trying not to be overbearing. 

She offered to make you tea or coffee once you were unpacking and offered to make you whatever you wanted for dinner that evening, and very subtly tried asking if you’d be home all break or if you might consider staying longer than when you planned to leave. 

Your holiday break ended much later than the day you were planning on leaving, but you didn’t want to stay around much longer than was necessary — you’d spend New Year’s at home, and then you’d leave. 

You weren’t really excited to be home, but you weren’t so cruel as to not come back for the holidays. 

Still, you weren’t really looking forward to having to deal with your stepmother’s longing, curious looks, always wanting to talk with you or bring something up but not knowing how to and not wanting to spoil her limited time with you. 

The feeling you got from seeing her look at you from the corner of your eye wasn’t necessarily all a form of annoyance, but some kinds of pity too, and perhaps some guilt. 

There was something about the Christmas party that sorta had you feeling down, and you weren’t quite sure what it was, though perhaps it was simply because there were many things that had bothered you and you just couldn't pin it down to one thing. 

It was something about meeting some of your friends’ other friends, and even some of their new partners. You hadn’t drunk anything, and perhaps it would’ve been worse for you if you did — you tended to get a bit more emotional while drunk. 

All in all, you just felt… left out. And like you were missing something, or like you never wanted to be there at all. 

You wanted to be somewhere you belonged and where your presence was not only enjoyed but needed — somewhere it was warm and loving and kind and soft. 

While seeing all your friends together with their new ones and their partners, you just kept thinking of Wanda.

And you really hated yourself for it. 

You wanted to go home to see her, and you knew you couldn’t stop it, because you’d been thinking of her all night. So you drank enough to feel just a little drunk — to get just enough confidence to make a bad decision — and went back home early. 

From the window facing the street, you could see through the curtains that the living room lamp was on.

Wanda opened the door when you knocked like she said she would. From the door, you could see a book laying on the couch. She smiled at the sight of you. 

“Did you have fun?” she asked immediately, stepping back a bit to allow you in. Then she said sympathetically after taking a better look at you, “You look a bit tired.”

You thanked the stars for having taken a few shots before you left. 

You stepped into the house and wrapped your arms around Wanda, feeling the warmth of her knitted sweater against your cheek, then against the tip of your nose when you turned your head to bury your face in the crook of her neck. Her hair tickled the space between your eyebrows. 

There was a split moment before she wrapped her arms around you that would have been indiscernible if you hadn’t felt how immediate her embraces were a million-and-one times before. 

“Y/N, are you okay?” Wanda asked, having turned her head to look down at you so the breath of her soft whispered voice blew warm and gentle against your ear. 

“I wanna be your baby again,” you confessed — stupidly. 

Wanda tried to speak immediately for how she felt deep in her chest when you spoke the words she had only dreamt would come out of your mouth ever since the wedding, but found she could speak only in stutters. 

Then she finally said, “You’ll always be my baby, Y/N.”

You hugged her tighter and you knew that if you hadn’t been just a little bit drunk, you would’ve been angry at what she had just said. But now, it could nearly make you cry. 

“Can you bring me to bed?” you mumbled quietly into her neck, still seemingly a bit embarrassed through your drunken state. 

“Of course,” she answered, smiling down at you. This was the closest you’d been to her in months, and likely the longest you’ve spoken to her with undivided attention in that same span of time too. She almost didn’t want to move at all for how you’d unwrap your arms from around her once you headed up the stairs together. 

You unwrapped yourself from around her body and she closed and locked the front door; you’d literally just been standing embracing each other in the wide-open doorway for several moments. 

Then you swiped at your eyes when you pulled away in case you accidentally had cried. 

Wanda smiled at you sweetly, and a bit tiredly too, and you knew she must’ve finished her work a little bit ago and decided to stay up to wait for you. She took your hand and you walked up the stairs beside each other in silence. 

She squeezed your hand and you squeezed back, and Wanda looked over her shoulder at you shyly as you stared down at the steps of the staircase. 

“Can I help you get ready for bed?” she asked once you both arrived in front of the washroom. 

You nodded silently then looked up at her with a small smile. “I just have to get my stuff from my bags,” you told her. Then, a bit hesitantly, you let go of her hand and walked towards your bedroom. 

Wanda turned on the washroom light and paced around a little, playing with the knitted fabric of her sweater nervously and checking her hair a bit in the mirror, and even trying to repress a tiny smile as she couldn’t help but make comparisons to how it all used to be before the wedding. 

But she didn’t want to get ahead of herself — after all, every day after this would be different, and whatever had caused you to come seeking her comfort wasn’t guaranteed to happen again from tonight onwards. 

You came into the washroom with a little bag of your toiletries and started unpacking them, starting with makeup wipes and face wash then everything else. 

“Come lean against the counter,” Wanda said, and you did. She began removing your makeup with one of your makeup wipes, the fingers of her other hand delicately perched under your chin to keep your face in the light. 

She was gentle with how she swiped against your face, and thorough with taking all the makeup off. 

Wanda was always so nice and gentle. In taking care of you, and in treating you in any way, really, she always did it as if you were delicate, and special to her too. She never wanted to hurt you, never wanted to make you feel like you weren't the most important thing in the world to her. 

You felt like crying, but really didn’t want to ruin how casual you were trying to make everything seem. 

She must’ve noticed how your eyes were filling with tears because once she finished she set the makeup wipe down and held you to her chest wordlessly, running her hand down the side of your head soothingly with her other arm wrapped around your waist. 

She seemed to understand that you still had your reservations about being with her like this again, and that you weren’t trying not to get into things too quickly. 

Even so, she couldn’t help but… hope, even just a little, that the feeling of how she held you and brought you close might make you miss her enough to want to be her baby again for more than just an evening. 

“I’m gonna brush my teeth and stuff,” you mumbled and straightened out of her hold, swiping at your eyes again.

Wanda packed up your makeup wipes and slid it back into the toiletry bag you brought. 

Quietly, you asked, “Can I sleep with you?”

You weren’t really sure where to look when you asked, so you tried to keep busy getting your toothbrush ready. 

But when Wanda replied with a gentle, almost eager, ‘Of course,’ you couldn’t help but look over at her to see her smiling at you.

You looked away while she told you that she would also change and get ready while she waited for you — her shared bedroom had a washroom in it. 

Wanda felt ridiculous for how she felt in her stomach — a familiar fluttering feeling dancing around where it would when you were still together. Sometimes Wanda reasoned the memory of the feeling up to a fantasy, that perhaps she may have recalled it as differently as it had been for it’d been so long since she’d felt it. 

But it was exactly the same as she recalled. 

And it was only with you. 

She hadn’t realized she had been smiling until she heard you come into the bedroom, and she instinctively relaxed her face so as to not be overzealous and overwhelm you. 

“Are you ready for bed?” she asked, closing the door of the walk-in closet as she stood in her pajama shorts and tank. 

You nodded then looked away from her for how happy you felt to be asked that, to soon be adorned by Wanda’s kisses and touched by her gentle, loving hands and embraced by her arms the moment you got into bed. 

Wanda seemed to be hesitant at your reluctance for a moment. Her fingers twitched with the urge to walk over and embrace you, to kiss your lips and lead you to her bed. But instead, restraining herself, she went to bed first, getting under the covers and looking over at you encouragingly. 

Silently, you followed after closing the bedroom door. 

She turned off the lamp on her side and you hesitated for a moment before you reached over and did the same. 

Then you were blanketed in the darkness of the bedroom, and for a moment you couldn’t see Wanda in your peripheral vision at all; you could for a moment construe the feelings of blankets under your hands as being in your own bed instead of hers. 

For a moment you felt glad to imagine you had made it all up, but then you felt terribly disappointed and lonely again. 

Without Wanda, it was always just a little bit… lonely. 

But the burst of sudden feelings was contained only within a few moments’ time, for your eyes soon adjusted and you could see the shadow of your stepmother beside you. 

She reached out for you, her hand moving under the blankets and placing it on your bare thigh. She moved closer. 

“Don’t be nervous,” she said quietly. “It’s okay.”

You’d been here before — in Wanda’s bed without your dad being home, in her company, in the spotlight of her undivided attention, in the warm shower of all her heart could pour out for you and only you. 

It was was familiar with Wanda and you knew it for it was the closest thing you’d felt in a while to being somewhere you were certain you belonged in. 

Then she added, “I want you here, Y/N.”

Like you had asked her, Wanda babied you — she cared for you. Her other hand wrapped around your waist and she slowly urged your body to lay down beside her. 

She didn’t stop there; she moved herself onto her elbow only slightly to gain height over you, then cupped your furthest cheek with her hand. She kissed your face gently, tenderly, on your temple then on your cheekbone, and your chin. 

Not your lips — not unless it was you who made an advance towards her first. 

You turned and wrapped an arm around her torso securely, burying your face in her chest. She lowered herself back down and wrapped her arms around you immediately. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, you muttered against her, “I love you.”

In the morning when you arose before her, you carefully peeled yourself away from a soundly-sleeping Wanda. There was a pang in your chest as you sat at the edge of the bed, recalling how she held you close after you had told her you loved her.

She held you in a way that communicated desperation and longing; it wasn’t only sweet and tender like she always was, but pained, too. She had cradled the back of your head to her chest, rubbed your upper back and pressed her lips against the top of your head. 

She might’ve nearly said that she loved you a fourth time, though you presumed she had tried to contain the way she wanted to pour herself out for you right then and there. 

You turned and watched as she dozed, her body the very same that you were held against through the night, the same you had thrown yourself into her arms of and were accepted and loved and cared for like you wanted, like Wanda wanted. 

How at peace she seemed having gone to sleep with you in her arms, with all she had been longing for warm in her embrace and sleeping in the eternal comfort of her loving. 

If you were honest with yourself, and you tried to be for how often you lied to Wanda, you didn’t think it was a lie when you told her you loved her, for you still did. 

And you still could, inviting her over to your place and responding to her calls and texts when you were away, letting her care for you and at the very least not pretend she wasn’t always looking at you, waiting only for your eye contact as cue for her to bring up one of the dozens of questions and worries she had about the life that you no longer shared with her — which was to say, all of it. 

Wanda stirred and her fingers flexed outwards slightly, reflecting a slowly-rising sun’s beams against her wedding ring, before she relaxed again, still in deep sleep. 

Just under an hour later once Wanda woke up to find you gone, she texted asking where you were. 

When she texted, you knew that she must have looked first to see if you had moved to your own bed, for you had left and decided to go on a drive. 

She messaged: Have you gone out?

Sitting in a parking lot of a walking trail with the breakfast you picked up, the sun only just having fully risen, you texted back. 

Forgot something at Kate’s last night.

She asked if you were going to eat breakfast there or if you would be home to have breakfast with her; she’d make some now so it could be ready by the time you got back. 

You tried to keep eating after choosing to leave your stepmother on read, but soon lost your appetite. Instead, you went on a walk that lasted until the early afternoon when your dad got back home. 

As you had planned, you went back to your place on the second of January, and that evening wasn’t ever brought up. 

[avelera]

Honestly? I’d be super curious to see more “Jayce got sent to the Powder reality” or just any other reality where he inhabits his own body there (so not S2 Jayce/S1 Viktor fic I mean fic where Jayce gets the Ekko treatment) but where Jayce just… tells the truth about being from an alternate universe right away?

Because really, if ANYONE would accept the possibility of alternate universes RIGHT AWAY, it would be Viktor, or Heimerdinger, or in general people from the circles that Jayce very much moves in as someone working on the theoretical edge of science.

The reason I’m thinking about this is I feel like I’ve seen a few of these fics now where a lot of sort of predictable drama gets generated by Jayce trying to blend in and pretend to be his AU self with absolutely nothing to go off of, but to me that seems 10x more difficult and prone to disaster than just… trusting that his science buddies will be open to the possibility that a very weird scientific event is happening to the guy who was fiddling with HARNESSING MAGIC WITH SCIENCE and needs some help right now.

Idk, maybe it’s my penchant for thinking in straight lines. Maybe I just need to write it. But I also genuinely have a story… Frustration? With unexamined tropes and stories that immediately assume that talking about or asking for help about the magical or supernatural things happening to the characters would get them consigned immediately to some insane asylum.

Like, unless someone has a HISTORY of struggles with reality, I think most people are willing to play along a bit. If one of my friends or even my partner ran up to me and said “I know I look like myself but I’m actually from another dimension inhabiting my counterparts’ body and I need your help getting back.” Idk, I’d like to think I’m pretty genre savvy and have a decent sense of humor. I’d be willing to play along until they get tired of the game or provide me with some hard evidence that something legitimately out of this world is happening. I’m not going to immediately have them arrested or committed, ffs, even if they’re my worst enemy. I MIGHT check in with someone close to them to ask if they’ve been acting strange lately or if they have suggestions in case this person is legitimately having a psychological event of some kind, but again, my first response isn’t to freak out at them, it’s to ask for more details and get a sense for what’s going on here.

But to get back to Jayce, in general, he has people in his life experimenting with the bleeding edge fringe of theoretical science and I think he could count on a fair number of sympathetic and even helpful ears. At least, people willing to entertain his hypothetical for a bit if he brings it up as a possibility rather than a thing actively happening to him right now. I think he’d definitely have more success going to an AU Viktor or Heimerdinger and asking for their help with such a theoretical scenario than he would stumbling around trying to pretend to be his alternate self when he has no frame of reference for what this AU’s self is even like. After all, Jayce is a scientist, not an actor, and he knows it. He can give a speech but I’m not sure that translates to like… playing along with an entire life that isn’t his, full immersion LARPing type stuff.

And for the record, it’s not so much that I’m critiquing these fics. I get the reason for the tropes and how they generate the drama and the plot for the story the author wants to tell. It’s more that it’s a trope I’ve seen turn up in a few unrelated authors’ fics and that always gets my trope-contrarian brain buzzing with, “Ok but does this trope MAKE SENSE? Would Jayce or anyone in his situation be actually under so much pressure to disguise what happened to them as this story is implying they would be? Would anyone actually get locked up or in trouble for floating that they’re their AU self? Heck, wouldn’t it almost be SAFER to bring up the hypothetical, even as a joke, just to see if it’s like a known experiment in this world or a thing that regularly happens that everyone knows about, or at least to make some allies amongst your AU loved ones, rather than stumbling around getting in ACTUAL trouble in a world that could have completely different laws or customs than you’re aware of?”

Tropes, people! They should be interrogated!

[lvzrii4]

꩜ .ᐟ WAY DIFFERENT 박종성

— ✮⋆˙ slytherin!jay x hufflepuff!reader ✮⋆˙ fluff, harry potter au ✮⋆˙ 0.9k wc ✮⋆˙ grammar errors

wherein they thought jay was just like every other slytherin, but he wasn’t.

people always whispered about slytherin. it was the house of ambition, cunning, and—unfortunately—reputation. words like “trouble” and “arrogance” clung to its name, and most students believed the stereotypes. you weren’t sure what to think of it yourself, but you believed in giving people a chance.  

and then there was park jeongsong—or jay, as most people called him.  

you admitted he had the face of someone who might snap easily. and, well, maybe that part was true. but the more you observed him, the more you noticed he wasn’t like the others. he’d sit quietly with his friends, barely speaking unless spoken to, and honestly didn’t seem to care much about anyone else’s business.  

he was intriguing, to say the least.  

“wait, are you serious?” jake asked, stopping mid-step as you walked through the castle corridors.  

“yes, i’m serious,” you replied with a soft laugh. “what’s so surprising about that?”  

“because you’re curious about jay,” jake said, giving you a look of disbelief. “like, park jeongsong jay?”  

you frowned slightly. “yeah, why? isn’t he your friend?”  

jake shrugged, his grin teasing. “i mean, i guess. i consider everyone friends, lowkey. but jay’s... different. just be careful around him.”  

“is this because he’s a slytherin?” you asked, crossing your arms.  

“maybe,” jake said, his grin widening mischievously. “or maybe it’s just me being a good friend and looking out for you.”  

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “noted, jake. thanks. anyway, what class do you have next?”  

“potions.”

“oh, good luck,” you said with a sympathetic smile. “heard professor snape’s in one of his moods today.”  

“great. can’t wait,” jake muttered, waving you off.  

the charms classroom was already filled with sunlight when you arrived. taking your usual seat near the back, you pulled out your supplies and tried to push the conversation with jake out of your mind. but when jay walked in, it was impossible not to notice him.  

he moved with quiet confidence, his expression unreadable as he took a seat with the other slytherins. he didn’t bother looking around the room, but when his eyes almost met yours, you quickly averted your gaze, pretending to adjust your quill.  

professor flitwick’s cheerful energy soon filled the room, making it easy to focus—until he announced a paired activity.  

your usual partner wasn’t there today, and everyone else had already grouped up. just as you were about to start the task alone, the chair beside you shifted.  

“wanna be partners?”  

you looked up, startled to see jay standing there. his voice was calm, his expression neutral, but his lips curved into a faint, polite smile.  

“oh, um—yes, of course,” you replied quickly, smiling back.  

working with jay was unexpectedly pleasant. his presence, though intimidating at first, became comforting as you worked together.

you found yourself surprised by how easy it was to talk to him. jay wasn’t just helping you; he was actually engaging in conversation, correcting your wand movements gently and offering tips in a way that made you feel comfortable

“you’re getting it,” he said, nodding slightly as you performed the spell successfully. “just keep your wrist steady like that.”  

“thanks,” you said, glancing at him with a small smile.  

but the moment was shattered by whispers from behind you.  

“why is jay partnering with a hufflepuff?”  

“isn’t she a half-blood?”  

“ugh, filthy—”  

jay’s gaze snapped to the group, his voice cutting through the whispers like a blade. “excuse me,” he said coolly, his tone polite but firm. “if you have something to say, perhaps you should keep it to yourself. your voices are distracting.”  

the slytherins fell silent under his piercing stare, and when he turned back to you, his expression softened again.  

“sorry about that,” he said quietly. “let’s focus on the next spell.”  

you nodded, your heart fluttering slightly. “thank you. i appreciate it.”  

jay smiled faintly. “they were being jerks anyway,” he muttered, leaning back slightly. “it’s honestly embarrassing how much they care about things that don’t matter.”  

you laughed softly. “i guess i didn’t expect you to defend me. i mean, you’re slytherin, and i’m...” jay raised an eyebrow, his lips tugging up slightly. “what? a hufflepuff? a half-blood? do i seem like the type to care about that?”

you blinked, momentarily taken aback. “no... but i guess i didn’t expect you to be so—gentle.”

jay leaned back in his chair, his eyes glinting with amusement. “gentle? that’s a new one.”

the two of you finished the activity in sync, earning praise from professor flitwick and points for both your houses. as the class ended, you packed up your things and walked out together.  

“thanks for partnering with me,” you said as you turned to face him. “it was surprisingly fun.”  

jay smirked, his hands slipping into his pockets. “surprising, huh?”  

“a little,” you admitted with a laugh.  

just as you were about to turn away, jay called your name. when you glanced back, he was leaning casually against the doorframe, a playful smirk on his lips.  

“so,” he said, his tone casual but curious, “did i change your perspective on slytherins?”  

you smiled, tilting your head slightly. “yeah, you did. and i’m glad to know there’s still someone like you in slytherin.”  

jay watched you walk away, shaking his head with a soft laugh. “a hufflepuff who’s this straightforward... ridiculous,” he muttered to himself, a small smile lingering on his lips as he headed down the hall.

© lvzrii4 — do not copy, translate, and repost my work.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Honestly, I like the idea of Gabriel sacrificing himself to save Nathalie in Season 5’s finale. I think it could’ve worked if Paris didn’t treat him as a hero posthumously and if Chat was present.

(And also if the wish didn’t canonically rewrite the whole universe.)

If the writers had always been consistent with making him sympathetic, it could’ve been a powerful ending for his character.

Thoughts?

I don't disagree, though I would argue for a different sacrifice from Gabriel. So long as the wish doesn't rewrite the whole universe, then I'd fix season five's ending by having Gabriel wish for Adrien's freedom, making Gabriel into a sentimonster while Adrien becomes a real boy.

The reason I'd take this route over the Nathalie one is that saving Nathalie is horribly anticlimactic. Canon didn't build up to saving her, it just randomly happens. The show wouldn't feel incomplete if Nathalie suffered the consequences of her own fully-informed choices. She was only saved because Adrien needed a new mommy and Emilie couldn't come back without outing Gabriel as a villain to Adrien, so he gets Nathalie instead because heaven forbid the wish do something interesting. Five seasons of buildup and all it does is maintain the status quo of Adrien living in the mansion with Nathalie overseeing his life. What an asinine way to end the Agreste arc. This is not how you tell a satisfying story!

To explain what I mean, let's talk about my fix for a bit and how it actually fits the story we've been watching for five seasons.

Two major focuses of the show's first five seasons were Gabriel controlling Adrien and Gabriel choosing Emilie over Adrien. Saving Adrien is how you show Gabriel having a change of heart that demonstrates actual character growth. The sacrifice canon went with doesn't mean shit for Gabriel's character because he still picked his wife over his son without a single thought for what it would mean for Adrien's well being. It is not brave or kind to abandon your kid to your villain partner who never expressed interest in being a mother.

You want Gabriel's sacrifice to feel meaningful? Then it needs to be something that actually costs him happiness or that actually increases Adrien's happiness. Saving Emilie at the cost of his own life would be better than what canon went with because at least that would see Gabriel being willing to be apart from her for the sake of their son! Dying to be with her is not giving up on his goal of being reunited with his wife!

For the curious, here's a rough outline of how you could do this fix while leaving season five mostly intact:

Adrien and Marinette learn each other's identities during Kwami's Choice and start dating.

Gabriel is fine with them dating and even likes Marinette, but views her as a non-serious first relationship. He and Adrien conflict over the fact that Gabriel is not willing to let Adrien include Marinette in major life events. For example, Adrien is banned from bringing Marinette to the Diamond Dance not because of Adrigami, but because Gabriel doesn't think the relationship is serious enough to let Adrien bring her around his rich friends even though Adrien will be miserable without Marinette there. Gabriel is also still planning to ship Adrien off to London in spite of Adrien's protests. In other words, focus the conflict more on Gabriel respecting Adrien and his choices without needless complications like Adrigami. Really hone in on Adrien's personal freedom as the defining theme and let Adrien be the one to fight with Gabriel, not Marinette. Adrienette should not feel like the source of the conflict.

Marinette learns Gabriel's identity from Felix and immediately finds Adrien to tell him and figure out next steps. They decided to face Gabriel together right as the Alliance bullshit goes down.

Chat Noir's identity is outed to Gabriel during the conflict because the sight of Emilie's body gives Chat Noir's identity away. Gabriel immediately uses his newfound knowledge to control Chat Noir, freezing him in place so that he can't help Ladybug. Before Gabriel can think of another command, Ladybug takes the ring of the black cat and becomes BugNoir leaving Adrien to watch the fight between his father and his Lady. He will be watching this fight from his mother's side.

Because Adrien knew his father's identity going into the fight, he's more lucid than he was in Chat Blanc plus the command Gabriel used didn't stop Adrien from being able to say what he's feeling. He's constantly calling out encouragement to BugNoir and begging his father to stop this madness. Gabriel tries to command Adrien to stop, but BugNoir never lets him finish a command.

We get to the scene where Gabriel uses the bee on Marinette, only this time that happens because Adrien is present. It's not his fault, it's just that him being there is why she tries to reason with Gabriel. She can see and hear her boyfriend's pain and it's killing her, making her take a risk she really shouldn't.

Gabriel goes to make his wish while looking at Marinette, Adrien, and Emilie's body. Before he can make his wish, he sees and hears Marinette and Adrien talking. Marinette is crying and apologizing to Adrien because she couldn't help him. She wants to free him, but the senticommand is still active, leaving him frozen in place as he tells her to run away or some other emotional scene focused on Adrien's lack of freedom. Cue a flashback to a near identical exchange between Gabriel and Emilie from when she was dying from the peacock and he was desperate to free her.

Gabriel suddenly realizes just how messed up Adrien's status is and that is what gets through to him, not some dumb video telling him something he'd doubtless heard from Emilie before. On the heals of this realization, Gabriel is given the option to make a wish. One wish. One change. He looks between Emilie and Adrien and picks Adrien. Adrien becomes a real boy, Gabriel becomes a sentimonster and ascends into the light with Emilie.

Cut to the canon ending. Nathalie and the Gabriel statue are gone, but other than that it plays mostly the same. Everyone is happy, Amelie is Adrien's new guardian, and Adrien is being allowed to stay in Paris because she's willing to live there until he comes of age or because the Gorilla agreed to stick around. After all, being someone's guardian doesn't actually require you to be present

End of outline

There are better ways to do this fix, but those would require larger changes to canon and I wanted to show that canon could have done this fix without massive rewrites. Yes, the love square would be revealed, but so what? Who even cares about that anymore?

The tension around the reveal came from how it impacted the romance, but Adrien and Marinette are happily together on the side that lets them date freely, so the reveal isn't even going to be fun anymore. The most it will bring is depressing complications because of the events of the season five final and I doubt canon will pull those complications off well.

The secrets between Adrien and Marinette should have ended with season five because, at this point, Adrien and Marinette having secrets keeping them from happiness is boring, awkward, and makes their relationship wildly unhealthy. From what I've heard, it's not like the secrets are even getting that much focus in season six. The secrets could be gone, season six could be about figuring out the new team/dating drama, and the show would probably be better for it.

Since it was in the ask, I'll note that saving Nathalie would work if you rewrote the show to make it feel like character growth for Gabriel. As is, saving Nathalie is completely in character and requires no growth. You'd also want it to feel like something Nathalie deserved through a change like actually letting her try to stop Gabriel in season five. Those are some massive changes making saving Adrien the easier fix by far. It's also the only way making him a sentimonster works in my opinion. A big dramatic removal of control is fitting for a kids show with a theme of parental control.

[talshiargirlfriend]

The first time… she mentions their relationship to someone else.

Dress uniforms, wine glasses, and a hulking - and frankly, kind of tacky - Xindi War Memorial. Trip does not want to be here. He just hopes he has honed his diplomacy skills well enough over the past few years that it doesn’t show on his face just how badly he does not want to be here. He doesn’t want to chitchat with various dignitaries. He definitely doesn’t want to walk over to the ostentatious stone monument and highlight Tucker, Elizabeth Allison, but of course he will.

The large column is slightly more tasteful up close; the screen displaying the names is subdued in appearance and cool to the touch.

He still doesn’t want to be here.

He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he catches T’Pol’s gentle voice coming from the other side of the pillar.

“I grieve with thee.”

There’s a bit of rusting and sniffling. “Thank you.”

The second voice sounds young. “My cousin and his wife,” she explains. “They were talking about having a baby. I was so excited to be an auntie.”

After a moment the young woman continues, “Did you lose someone?”

“I lost several crewmates,” T’Pol answers quietly. “… and my sister-in-law was killed in the Xindi attack on Earth. I did not have the opportunity to know her, but my partner loved her very much.”

He can hear the sympathetic smile in the second voice. “Then I grieve with you too.”

This is the first time he’s ever heard T’Pol reference their relationship. He’d like to revel in the moment, but a fresh surge of grief washes over him, wondering what Lizzie would have made of T’Pol and how they would have gotten along. He suspects his sister would have been charmed by his partner’s dry wit and quiet warmth. In turn, Lizzie would have worn T’Pol down with her relentless good cheer and impertinent sense of humor. He’ll never know.

Of course, if Lizzie had lived he wouldn’t have leaned on T’Pol to cope with his overwhelming pain and rage. They might not have come to understand each other so deeply or learned how well they complement one another. There’s a peculiar sort of grief in that as well, in considering a life in which he never loved T’Pol and was never loved by her.

“Are you all right?” T’Pol has finished talking to the girl on the other side of the column and joins him, her face full of sympathy.

Trip sighs.

“I am,” he answers honestly. “Just paying my respects to your sister-in-law.” He flashes her a crooked smile.

T’Pol looks down uncertainly. “It seemed the simplest description. Do you object?”

As if he would deny her this or anything, regardless of their legal status or complicated history.

“Of course not. I think she would have liked you, ya know.”

“I sure do,” he adds softly, and she meets his eye with a hint of a smile.

He reaches out to briefly take her hand, and she grips his with a firm squeeze, a tangible reminder that for all his melancholy thoughts of what could have been, he is loved by her here and now. That’s enough to get him through the next few awkward hours.

“Come on, let’s go find our table before it’s time for Jon’s speech.”

“I hope it’s the one with the gazelles,” T’Pol deadpans as she falls into step with him.

His snort of laughter draws a few curious looks.

[weebsinstash]

Ok! OK! Back to normal posts! Or at least normal for over here!

So I've been getting a lot of Hazbin and Helluva content in my YouTube feed recently and, as an interesting but also kind of disappointing fact, the way a Sinner dies directly influences how they appear in Hell. If you drown on a sinking ship like Baxter (scrapped side character who still has an enamel pin for some reason?), you might have an aquatic fishy look. Angel Dust died of a drug overdose, and he now has a prominent heart on his chest symbolizing the heart attack he died from

So, like. Obviously there are cool ideas on how maybe you could catch attention or appear down there, but, could you imagine how fucked you would be with like literally any yandere HH/HB character if you go down there very obviously dead from suicide. Platonic, romantic, sexual, it doesn't matter. You can't keep that shit secret

Charlie meets you and you're like a zebra with horizontal stripes and she thinks you just look so neat and interesting, and wow you're so sweet amd fun actually, what are you doing down here? And then she sees you have stripes going vertically down one or both of your forearms and she suddenly feels a little hope die inside of her because, what does it MEAN for someone like you to be in HELL for... suicide? That's not your fault! That's so sad! She would vow to be your new best friend and do her best to give you an amazing afterlife to make up for all the time you didn't get to have "up top"

Angel accidentally walks in on you changing and sees you have a heart on your chest and is in instant sibling mode because he knows the second Val sees that he'll go crazy for it since he loves that aesthetic (Also extra bad luck if you're chesty and the heart is like in between your boobs or like you know nestled in your cleavage or whatever because then you're getting forced into constant push-up bras) but, also, if you were an addict, that means you're vulnerable. For Val, that makes you a target, and for Angel that means you're probably miserable and spiraling like him and he doesn't want to see you go down the same roads he has

Alastor who meets a version of you that has a certain old timey kinda twang or is kinda theatrical and showtuney in your voice/mannerisms and maybe you glow a little and it's because you put your radio in the bathtub 💀 definitely don't let your extra special "platonic friend" find out you killed yourself from crippling loneliness, partially caused by not having a partner!

Valentino who sees you're literally blue-faced with a certain pattern around your neck and instantly knowing that this interesting little cutie he's curious about is an emotionally vulnerable mark. It won't be TOO hard to pour drinks down your throat and maybe lend you some of this joint until you're spilling all your intimate secrets, he figures

Blitz already has multiple instances of family trauma and feeling rejected and isolated, so how do you think he's gonna empathize if you're some.... yellow skinned aquatic demon who literally drank like a fish and died of liver failure/alcohol poisoning. The imp watching you get piss drunk all over again and bawling how you're a failure and no one will love you? You're crashing on his couch tonight cuz he doesn't wanna leave you alone. And also the next night. And the next. And the next.

Stolas certainly would be awfully sympathetic to a teen or adult child abused by their family and ending their life because of it, coming down to Hell with spots like a dalmatian or leopard from where you were beaten, and bright red on one specific patch of your hair from where you hit the ground after jumping from a great height

Annnnnnnd as a bonus, Asmodeus and a Darling with visible handprints on their neck who was choked to death during sex, so not only is he horribly protective of you as someone killed by a lover, the act of even being lovers something he considers pretty intimate and important, but also because you've now got these horrible sex related traumas and.... honey baby cutiepie, he's gotta fix all that if the two of you are gonna bone down something nasty. You're at least gonna let him cuddle, right 🥺

[sxcret-garden]

4th Desire ღ Hush, My Dear [M]

ღ Aspects of Desire series ღ Ateez Jongho x fem!reader ღ words: ~5.8k ღ genre: established relationship, college AU, fluff, some humor, slice of life, a bit of angst, smut (dom!Jongho, sub!reader, semi-public (they have to keep quiet cause reader’s family is literally in the other room), quickie, clothed sex, fingering, unprotected sex, pain kink, biting (idol receiving), he’s lowkey mean… again askjfkljas, orgasm denial, praise) ღ warnings: reader has a difficult relationship with her family, mentions of her mother trying to convince her to wear a dress to an event even though reader doesn’t like wearing them, mentions of a bad experience Jongho had in his past relationship, (him running his fingers through reader’s hair)

Desc.: Dinner with your family goes about as you expected - you’re slightly uncomfortable because of their choices in conversation topics and very much bored. Luckily, your boyfriend tagged along and knows just how to make you feel better, and in the process he too seems to be able to finally let go of his worries.

Author's note: This has a bit of a different pacing than the chapters so far... fun fact! It's also the first chapter I wrote for this fic... no I don't write them in order, that would be way too simple kalsdjflksda

← prev chapter ღ next chapter →

“Necklace or no necklace?” you ask, raising your voice a little so your boyfriend would hear you in the other room. You hear footsteps, and not much later his figure appears in the doorframe to his room, where you’re looking yourself in the big mirror next to his wardrobe, trying to decide what to wear.

“Y/N…” he mutters your name, and as you shoot his reflection behind you a look, you immediately respond,

“I know…”

“It’s just your family,” he says it nevertheless and he walks over to you. Coming to a halt right behind you, his palms find your waist as he lets his gaze take in your figure through the mirror. “You don’t have to dress up for them.”

“I know,” you say once again, peeling yourself out of his hold in order to walk over to the far end of the closet, pulling out yet another different necklace. “This one?” you ask and Jongho gives you a huff, a sympathetic smile showing on his face.

“Did you hear what I said?” he questions, coming closer to put his hand above yours. “Wear what’s comfortable. Your parents won’t expect you to look like you’re going to some big event.”

“Well you’re the one talking…” You shoot his outfit a look - neat black pants paired with a knitted sweater in dark colors and a button-up shirt underneath it. You can tell he put at least some thought behind it.

“Hey,” his gums show as he smiles at you. “I’m trying to leave a good impression on your parents, okay? You’re their daughter, not the boyfriend who needs to make sure they like him,” he chuckles.

“They already love you. You could show up in pajamas and they’d be fine with it,” you retort.

“I wouldn’t take it that far.” You put the necklaces back to their assigned space in your boyfriend’s wardrobe, before closing its doors. You decide against wearing one after all.

“Actually… we still have time, so I want to ask you something,” you start, turning towards him. “Let’s sit down first?”

“Sure.” You notice by the way his stance changes ever so slightly that your partner can sense you have a more or less serious question. Really, you’re just curious about something that’s been on your mind for a while now. Making yourselves comfortable in the living room, you clear your throat and pose your question.

“You’re being very careful… ever since we started experimenting more while having sex,” you state. “And I appreciate that! It’s just making me wonder if there’s a reason to that, other than for general safety’s sake? Because I feel like you really don’t have to check in with me as many times as you do.” You were afraid he might not share your opinion on this, and feel criticized for something that seems perfectly reasonable to him. But to your relief he seems to know what you’re trying to say.

“Ah… you’re right,” Jongho responds, and then he thinks for a while. “There is a reason for that, actually,” he then says. You guess it might have something to do with his previous girlfriend, and it looks like you’re correct in that assumption. “I told you about how me and my ex tried going in that direction too, right?”

“Right.” The way he suddenly becomes very serious makes you tense up as well - it’s like a barely noticeable darkness reflecting in his gaze.

“So we didn’t want the same things… a lot of the time. There was this one specific thing - I’ll spare you the details here - that she kept wanting to try out but I always said no because it felt too risky for me.”

“Makes sense.”

“And one day we were out with friends, drinking.” You have a hunch what his story might lead up to, and you furrow your eyebrows as you listen on. “And we came home tipsy. Not totally drunk, we were still aware of what we were doing, but also not sober. And this time I gave in, thinking if it’s something that will give my partner pleasure, it will be fine.”

“It wasn’t fine…?” you guess, and a short and regretful laugh escapes him.

“No…”

“Oh,” you breathe.

“I hurt her that day. Not seriously, and not permanently. But it could’ve been avoided… and I think that’s why I’m being so extra careful with you. I swore to myself after that, that I wouldn’t do certain things if I’ve had something to drink or I’m too tired.” He glances up at you now, one finger swiping his hair covering his face to the side as his features soften, and he looks at you as if you were the most precious thing he’s ever laid eyes on. “But I guess I’m more afraid of hurting you than I thought I was.”

“So that’s why…” you respond. “I thought you were overdoing it a bit,” you admit. “But now I get why you’re so focused on making sure I’m okay at all times… thank you.” Grasping his hands in yours now, you look him right in the face. “I mean it. Thank you for keeping me safe.” He can only watch and blush when you bring your joint hands up, brushing a kiss onto his knuckles with your lips. “But now I’m wondering… can you enjoy it like that? I mean.. it must be stressful to always carry that fear with you.” There’s a complicated expression on his face now, and he hesitates for a second before he speaks.

“Yes and no,” he answers honestly. “I am enjoying it, please don’t misunderstand! But… yeah, I think you noticed that overall I’m not letting go as much as I might be able to without those fears. Except for last time…”

“When I called you-”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t let you say it out loud, and you wonder why. Does it really affect him that much?

“Then…” You give him a reassuring smile. “When you’re ready to let go of that fear, you can. I trust that you won’t hurt me. And I promise I will say something if you’ve overstepped a boundary or I feel unsure about something. Okay?”

“Okay,” he mouths. You get up to take a step towards him, closing the distance between the two of you, and you put your arms around him, bringing your hand up into his hair as he leans into your embrace. “Sorry for overcomplicating things and not telling you sooner,” he mutters, but you shake your head.

“No, it’s okay,” you reassure him, fingers combing through his locks. “You have a very good reason. Don’t feel pressured to go against your gut feeling, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you too for understanding.”

You remain like this for a while, and the longer you stay in this position, the harder it becomes to tear yourself away from the warmth of the hug. However, eventually you force yourself to step back anyway, because it is soon time to make your way to your parent’s place.

It’s half past 6 on this Saturday when the two of you arrive at your destination to have dinner with your parents and your grandparents. The invitation had come suddenly, and not completely unrelated to your cousin revealing that she and her long-time boyfriend would get married soon. Your mother had already warned you over the phone that she wanted to discuss some “details” with you, and that you and Jongho should come over for dinner on the weekend. You could only guess that those details would be mostly about trying to convince you what you should wear for the occasion according to her, and once you arrive at your childhood home, it doesn’t take long for that fear to come true. 

“Oh my, who do we have here?” your mother greets you and, mostly, your boyfriend, who she seems to like a lot. It’s really no secret that ever since you first introduced him to her, she too wishes her daughter would get married soon. Though you’re nowhere near ready for taking such a huge step, so whenever the topic arises, you do your best to quickly switch to a different one. However, today her concerns aren’t of your marital status, but of - as you had guessed - your planned outfit for your cousin’s wedding. 

Pulling you aside after making sure everyone else is seated at the dinner table, entertaining themselves with a conversation about who knows what, her demeanor immediately changes and she becomes serious.

“So, Y/N…” The moment she calls you by your name, you startle just a little bit. “I’ve been thinking.” Whenever she uses that line, you know something uncomfortable is about to go down.

“What is it?” you reply, acting as if you didn’t already know the answer.

“For your cousin’s wedding… you’re not gonna show up in that suit again, right?” Memories of the last occasion you decided to go with neat dark blue dress pants and a fitting blazer instead of the dress that multiple people apparently expected you to wear come back to you and you gulp. 

“I was going to,” you say, and your mother sighs. It’s a condescending sigh, one that’s supposed to tell you how naive and young you are and how you should trust your mother’s words, who surely knows better. 

“You should wear a dress at least for her wedding,” she says. “Don’t you think? I mean… every young woman there is going to wear one!”

“How do you know that?” you dare to talk back at her, but she raises her eyebrows at you in response. Evading your question, she continues,

“You’re so young and such a pretty girl! It would be a waste if you went in pants.” With a bitter taste in your mouth and a glance towards the living room where the conversation seems to be dying down a bit, you retort,

“Mom, can we talk about this another time? I think everyone’s waiting for us to join…” Not expecting your attempt at getting out of this uncomfortable conversation to work, you’re surprised when she gives in and you find her agreeing with you. 

“Okay, I’ll call you about it during the week. Don’t even think about not picking up!” she adds, lifting a finger as a silent warning, and then she lets you off the hook, walking into the living room where everyone else is gathered. Letting out a deep sigh, you too follow.

Eventually you reach the part of the evening where the conversations of your family members are starting to bore you. Just because you've moved past the uncomfortable questions (at least you know your mother won’t bother you about your outfit for the wedding in front of the others) doesn't mean you feel particularly up for engaging in their small talk and occasional political debate. If you're being completely honest, you just might've been fine if it was only the small talk.

Yet here you are, watching your parents and grandparents argue about economics and politicians, and from the way Jongho is reaching over to place his hand on your thigh and gives it a gentle squeeze as he tries not to frown too much at what's unfolding at the table, you can tell he notices your discomfort too. And it's not like you didn't warn him, it's not like he didn't assure you multiple times that it's fine, he doesn't mind, he wants to come to your family dinner anyway. But now you can't help but feel apologetic to him. 

As if he knew what's going through your head when you shoot him a look, your eyebrows furrowed, he shakes his head and leans in to whisper in your ear,

"Are you okay?" Frankly, you're not okay per se. Used to this is what you are, and equating one with the other in your mind, you give him a weak nod.

"They'll stop... eventually," you whisper back, so the people in question wouldn't hear. And they really do stop a mere moment later. To your dismay, they pause their noise only to comment on you and your boyfriend instead.

"The two lovebirds... look at how they can't wait until they're alone." It's your grandma of all people who makes the comment, a knowing grin sitting on her face and you feel uncomfortable. You know it's just how people act when they see a young couple - they tease. But that doesn't mean you particularly appreciate what's probably just an expression of them being happy for you.

"Mom!" your mother exclaims and everyone laughs. You glance over at Jongho, and you see him smiling along to their bickering. It's a polite smile, nothing more, because he knows how much you hate receiving this kind of attention.

"Well it's true, isn't it?" your grandma defends herself, the creases around her eyes deepening with mischief. "We were like this too when we were their age." Now she shoots your grandpa a look, one filled with warmth as he gives her a somewhat awkward laugh because of her straightforwardness, and then puts his arm around her frame to pull her in close for a moment. You can't help but wonder if you too will still be as in love with your partner once you've reached their age, and your gaze naturally wanders over to your boyfriend sitting next to you. The familiar sight of his smile, the way he lowers his head ever so slightly because after all he's still a little shy around your family, and the way he sits up straight the exact moment your father asks him a question to start a conversation all fill your chest with warmth. Without thinking, he lets his palm glide up and down your thigh once as he answers, and just as you're about to put your hand above his, he deprives you of his touch, gesturing along with the way he talks instead. You listen to them chat as the rest of the family returns to political debates, and in your father's face you can unmistakably see that, just like your mother, he's taking a liking to your boyfriend, and it fills you with relief. And yet you soon find your mind drifting off again, wondering what would happen if your boyfriend put his hand back on your thigh, letting it wander just a bit higher. Wondering how far he could technically go without anyone else at the table noticing - though you know he’d never cross the line in front of other people. And so instead you fantasize about how he would continue unknowingly riling you up, or maybe he’d be aware of it, he is Jongho after all. He’d tease you and keep an eye on you all while making sure to keep the conversation going naturally, so that not a single soul would even guess that you’re craving for him to touch you, and he’s craving for you to beg for it. And then, after dinner is finally over, he’d pull you to another room, and-

Jongho’s hand actually returning to your thigh pulls you out of your thoughts, and as he glances over to you, noticing how your mind is drifting off further and further from the conversation at the dinner table, he moves his palms a little more towards the inside of your leg. You almost startle at the sensation, and at what it inevitably stirs up inside of you, and so you turn to look at him. As soon as you do, you find him already staring back at you, the expression on his face having changed almost unnoticeably. He leans in to mutter something in your ear again, and with it, his fingertips move towards your middle just a bit, sparking desire deep inside you once again.

"Shall we get out of here for a minute?" Thankful for his suggestion, you nod, and with the excuse of you having a headache along with assuring everyone that you'll be fine, you just need some quiet, so as to prevent anyone from following you two, he leads you out of the living room and towards the bathroom at the other end of the corridor. As soon as you close the door behind you, locking up as well, he pulls you towards him by the hand he's already holding.

"You okay?" he asks, his eyes wandering to your lips instinctively, and with his free hand he captures your chin.

"Whatever..." you breathe.

"Don't say that," your boyfriend retorts, tilting his head to the side a little, now looking you in the eyes instead. "I can tell you kept zoning out in the middle of their conversations."

"Can you blame me?" You give him a huff and a weak smile as you look away and he lets go of your chin to comb his fingers through your hair instead.

"No, to be honest." Now he as well shows you an apologetic smile. "What were you thinking about when trying to drown out the sound of their arguing?" 

"Just... nothing much," you answer, suddenly worried about whether he saw right through you or if his question didn't have so much meaning behind it after all.

"You sure? I noticed that you were upset when I took my hand away earlier... you sure it was nothing much?" You gulp at his tone, the way his voice alone reveals that he very much has a pretty good guess about what you've been fantasizing about for most of the evening. And at the same time he's now taking a step towards you, forcing you to back away and eventually your behind hits the edge of the sink, with your boyfriend now towering above you.

"I..." you try to say something, but it seems your body language already tells him everything he needs to know, because now he's placing one hand on the small of your back as he leans in, his lips hovering just beside your ear.

"Cause I've been thinking about dragging you off to somewhere else and putting you in a better mood for a whole while now." You swallow thickly, and when he takes a proper look at your face to see your reaction to his words, all you can do is part your lips and whisper a confession.

"Me too." He retrieves his hand from behind you, his palm wandering to your sides and then to your front, dragging it up across your chest and letting his fingertips graze your throat on its journey to finally cupping your face. Your eyelids flutter shut almost instantly as his thumb brushes across your bottom lip, and then he leans in, coming to a halt a mere inch apart from you.

"Want me to entertain you for a bit?" His enticing offer leaves you unable to do anything but nod, and when you take a glance at his face you don't miss the look he’s giving you, knowing he already has you under his spell. However, Jongho doesn't leave you much time to think about it as he kisses you slowly, a pace meant solely to make you crave for more. You throw your arms around his shoulders as you let him part your lips to deepen the kiss, and still it ends too soon. The pleading expression in your eyes only makes him chuckle, but for now he gives you what you undeniably want and he kisses you again. 

His hands wander towards your hips eventually, and after pulling down your pants and underwear just enough for comfortable access, one of his hands keeps you in place while the other finds your core. A mere finger, dragged up and down your folds painfully slowly, is enough to have you moan into his kiss, and next thing you know he pulls back and ceases all motions. Shaking his head at you, he mutters,

"They might hear us."

"R-right..." you whisper an answer, already having forgotten all about your family still chatting merrily not too far away from you. 

"Let's be careful," Jongho says, shushing you while momentarily removing his hand from your side. Not letting you wait, he continues his teasing motions, and you bite your bottom lip as you try not to make a sound under his touch and his more than curious gaze scanning even the tiniest of your reactions. "What?" he whispers, a somewhat mocking tone in his voice. "Didn't think you'd already be that wet just from thinking about me all evening." And before you can even come up with anything to say in your defense, he dips a finger inside you quite effortlessly, and your hips instinctively buck into his hand. The act makes him smirk, and he pushes you back into the edge of the sink to keep you from moving around. Clicking his tongue at you as quietly as he possibly can while the amusement in his gaze is apparent, he says,

"So impatient." Furrowing your brows, you shoot him a pleading expression that causes his features to soften, and he adds another finger. "That what you want?" Nodding, you can see his eyes growing darker, and you squeeze yours tightly shut as he watches on, slowly pumping his fingers in and out of you. "Feels so good, hm?" he keeps talking, his voice low and quiet, and you dig your fingertips into the fabric of his shirt where it covers his shoulders.

"Y-yeah..." you answer, doing everything in your might to keep your volume at a whisper.

"Shh," he, however, shushes you. "Don't talk. You don't wanna risk getting caught, do you?" And so you do as he says, merely shaking your head vigorously, and earning yourself a kiss brushed against your lips.

"Good girl." And then he picks up the pace just a bit, thumb now pressed against your clit, and the way he curls his fingers against that perfect spot deep inside you makes your head spin.

"Fuck," you mouth, and you earn a sharp look from your boyfriend, but he keeps going nonetheless. You can feel your knees getting weak as you melt under his touch, heatwaves rushing through your body with every time he pulls out and pushes back inside. And then, just as your high starts building up in your stomach and you throw your head back, he pulls out just as slowly as he started. For a second you stare at him blankly, but when he takes a step back, you immediately find yourself protesting.

"Don't do this... not now, please..." You can tell exactly how satisfied he is with himself for riling you up like that and then withdrawing just as you were about to find your sweet release by the cocky grin he's giving you, head leaned back ever so slightly so he could triumphantly look down at you even better.

"Why?" he asks. "It's far too risky to let you lose control. Remember?" He leans in closer now, his fingers that have just been inside your pussy merely a few seconds ago now brushing against your lips just before he leans in, the tip of his tongue licking your juices off your mouth. "They might hear us." Unable to say a word, all you can do is reach out for him, cling to him as he tries to walk backwards.

"No, please... baby... need you so bad..." You press your thighs together tightly as you speak those words, his gaze immediately dropping down to your legs as he registers the movement, and as his pupils darken, he slowly lets his eyes wander back up to your face.

"Then what do you want?" 

"Just fuck me please... do whatever you want but please fuck me..." 

"Love..." he calls out to you rather softly now, quite in contrast to the firm grip on your ass that he pulls you towards him with. You suck in a breath as you can unmistakably feel his bulge against your lower stomach, but Jongho doesn't waver. "I don't think you can keep quiet if I do whatever I want with you."

"I can... please..." you push him, and he seems to ponder on your plea for a moment. Just when he lets go of you, you think this is it, you're not getting what you want tonight, but then you see him unzip his own pants, and before you can think any further, he orders, 

"Turn around." You don't hesitate. All you do is do as he says, facing yourself in the mirror as you bend over the sink as far as the insufficient space between its edge and the glass surface in front of you lets you. You can see his eyes being glued to you from behind, one hand moving to your back and pulling your shirt up as your boyfriend moves it towards your shoulders, while he's giving himself a few strokes with the other. His palm wanders back down, fingertips tracing your spine, and you arch your back for him as he follows your shape, eventually letting his hand rest on your ass.

"That's right," he mutters, rubbing circles onto your skin before squeezing the flesh. For a second there you prepare yourself for impact, but he's already steadying your hips, aligning himself with your cunt. Even just his tip parting your folds makes you shudder, and so he leans forward, until he can comfortably place his hand over your mouth.

"Is it okay if I do that?" he asks, whispering, and you nod your head in desperation. At this point you think you'd comply with almost anything if only he finally filled you up, and at the same time you feel warmth spreading in your chest as he checks in on you and makes sure you're comfortable. And then he pushes up into you, forcing you to bite down a moan that would've almost escaped, and you find yourself agreeing with his earlier words. There really is no way in hell you could keep quiet when he has his way with you. And yet you manage to keep it down as he settles inside you with his full size.

"One sound and I won't let you cum, got that?" he warns, and you can barely nod as he begins rolling his hips into you. Though he starts slow, he too seems close to losing his composure as he picks up speed, using you to chase his own high as well. And even though the pleasure keeps gradually building up deep inside of you, you can keep it together so far. However, when his other hand lets go of your hips so he could rub circles against your clit instead, you know he's about to drive you insane. And so, as a moan threatens to escape your throat, you do the only other thing you can think of as an alternative - you sink your teeth into the palm of his hand. With him bringing you closer to the edge with every repetition of his movements, you don't pay attention to the impact of your actions, but when you bite down harder you can suddenly hear your boyfriend hissing a curse above you.

"Fuck..." Finding the reflection of his face in the mirror and the way his features distort in pleasure as he fucks you harder only causes you to apply even more force to how you’re biting down on his palm, and in turn he tightens his grip on your face. Squeezing your eyes shut as you're about to roll them back from all the sensations coursing through your body, your orgasm comes crashing down on you, shaking you whole. Only a mere second later, a strained grunt escapes your boyfriend as he cums inside you, halting at once to allow for you both to come down from your highs.

He pulls out carefully as you release his hand, and grabbing a few paper towels, he begins cleaning you up. With one arm around your waist he helps you stand, the other wiping clean the insides of your thighs, making you shake whenever he grazes your still sensitive core. 

"You okay?" he asks finally, placing a kiss just below your ear as he holds you close, letting you rest with your back against his chest.

"Yeah..." you whisper, before remembering his hand. "What about you?" You turn around, reaching for his wrist to take a closer look at his palm, only to find very apparent bite marks there. You can't help but snort at the situation, remarking, "Well, I guess it's not the noise we need to worry about now." 

"Ah... right..." Taking a look at the mark himself, an embarrassed smile now graces his face, gums showing as his ears take on a soft shade of pink. You take a hold of his hand again, bringing it up to your mouth now.

"It's okay," you say, blowing some cool air onto it, before placing gentle kisses all over the mark. "I'll make it better."

You return to the table significantly later than what would’ve been a timespan where you could be sure nobody would get suspicious, but thankfully the only question you receive is whether your “headache” is better now or not as everyone’s busy cleaning up the table. Your boyfriend immediately takes a heavy looking stack of dirty plates from your mother’s hands and carries them to the kitchen instead, and once again it makes you happy to see what a good impression your parents have of him. 

“You really picked a good guy, Y/N,” your mother tells you as she moves over closer to you, and you agree silently as you glance over to where his back is disappearing in the kitchen. Caught up in your feelings, you startle as she claps her hands together next to you, the loud sound immediately makes you look at her. “You get to work too! You’re gonna have to be a good wife to him!”

“Mom!” you call out, finding several things that bother you about that sentence, but in the end only addressing one. “We haven’t even been dating for that long!”

“Oh,” she throws one hand over her mouth, before smiling with a hint of mischief in her eyes, just like your grandma had done earlier. “Sorry, I got ahead of myself. But can you blame me?” Now putting her hand on your shoulder, she points in the direction of the kitchen, and following her movement with your eyes, your gaze soon comes to rest on your boyfriend, who gives you a smile upon noticing.

“Jongho,” you call out to him to make him come over to you. “Can you tell my mom to stop simping over you?”

“What?” they ask, in unison, but very much for different reasons, as your boyfriend can’t help but smile in amusement, whereas your mother adds, “What’s simping…?” And before you can explain, your boyfriend chimes in,

“It’s a good thing, I promise.” 

“Ah, well,... either way, someone’s gonna have to get dessert ready, and I assume it’s not your father,” your mother switches topic, shooting you a look. And then, glancing at Jongho and then back to you, she adds, “But that won’t be a problem you’re gonna have, right?” Walking away with that, she leaves you to protest in vain and to internally die of embarrassment, and when you see your boyfriend merely laughing at the situation, you’re not sure if that makes it better or worse. 

“God, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have brought you here…” you mutter, but he shakes his head, one arm snaking around your body loosely.

“Don’t worry, I’m okay,” he tries to reassure you, and yet your mood won’t change.

“But I’m not… I hate it when they are like this. They act like we’re already married…”

“Hey…” He pulls you aside, fingertips dancing down your arms until he takes a hold of your hands. “They like me. That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess…” you say, averting your gaze because you really don’t want to keep discussing this, but at the same time you can’t shake the feeling that they’re taking this too far too quickly. And instead of dwelling on the topic, your boyfriend now finds reason to complain about something entirely different.

“You guess?” he asks, his tone making it sound like he’s upset, but the playful spark in his gaze as he raises his eyebrows at you tells you he’s just fooling around. 

“I mean… no, it’s a good thing,” you correct yourself, shooting him a thankful smile for attempting to cheer you up and then letting him pull you into a quick hug, before your mother starts calling everyone to the dinner table again in order to have dessert. It’s self-made chocolate cake, sweet just as you like it, and even though you know it couldn’t possibly match your boyfriend’s tastes, he still finishes his entire plate.

“This is why they like you so much,” you mutter eventually, when people start moving again to get ready for bed. “You’re risking a tummy ache just to make them happy.” He can’t say anything to that, having been caught red-handed by you, who wouldn’t not know his ulterior motive behind forcing himself through sugary hell. So instead, you get up, touching his shoulder lightly as you do. “Let’s get ready for bed too?”

You help your mother put the remaining plates and cutlery into the dishwasher before brushing your teeth and eventually moving to your old room with your boyfriend. Making yourselves comfortable under your blanket which is that much fluffier than the one you’re using at his place, you immediately feel sleep tugging at your bones and you let out a content sigh.

“Say…” you mumble, facing him as you’re both rolled over onto your sides. “You didn’t seem so anxious about possibly hurting me today.”

“Oh, you’re right,” he whispers a response, sounding as if he hadn’t really noticed that fact himself.

“Is it because we didn’t have much time?” you ask, grinning at the thought of your dirty little secret that you’re keeping from everyone else in the house. Jongho thinks for a short while, but then he shakes his head along with an “mh-mh” coming from his side.

“Because I trust you.” Your smile widens at his words. “I think the trust that you’ll say no if you want me to stop is finally bigger than the fear of accidentally hurting you…”

“That’s good,” you respond, reaching out to place your palm onto his cheek, squishing it lightly between your fingers and contrary to the expected reaction, Jongho merely raises his eyebrows at you slowly, as if he couldn’t properly process what you just did. Letting go of him, you move your hand towards the back of his head instead and your partner shows you a delayed shy smile. “I’m really glad for that,” you whisper, before you roll onto your back and he reaches out for your hand in order to place a goodnight kiss onto the back of it.

“Me too.”

[munsonluhvr]

MATCHMAKER, MATCHMAKER (DAY #3: LOVE LETTER EVENT)

contents: steve harrington x reader. nsfw! At a matchmaking event in Hawkins, you and Steve are introduced to each other for the first time and let's just say - the sparks fly. for clarification, steve is about 27, 28. word count - 2.3k

notes: welcome to day 3 of the love letter event; i hope you all have enjoyed it so far! i dont even care if this fic is hasty in the plot, i love a good hook up with stranger!steve. point blank period.

love letter event masterlist

“Could this get any worse?” A blonde girl with a name tag that reads ‘Anna’ says, shaking her head as her eyes scan the room. “I thought we would be meeting real men not these boys.”

You can’t help but laugh, feeling pleased that other’s feel similar to you. You’re at the first matchmaking event in Hawkins, standing in the gymnasium at Hawkins High School as you mingle with the opposite sex in hopes of finding a potential partner. However, the selection was less then subpar, and you were debating going home.

“I couldn’t agree with you more, the concept sounded a lot better when I saw the flyer, now I’m wondering what I’m doing here.” You respond to ‘Anna.’ The girl sighs in response, swirling the wine in her glass, her bracelets clinking together. A beat later, Anna speaks up again. “Happy Valentine’s Day to us, I guess.”

Your eyes look around, seeing the large group of people that mingle about the room. Cutout hearts made from red and pink construction paper are taped to the walls, adding color to the bland gymnasium. Many tall, standalone tables are scattered around the room, covered in tablecloths, host Valentine’s decorations in the middle of the tabletop, chocolate Hershey kisses scattered around. It looks like a high school dance.  

There must be a hundred people that attend the matchmaking event, you had overheard the hosts of the event that it was a bigger turnout then they initially expected; an even fifty men and fifty women. When you saw the flyer for the event when you walked out of Melvald’s General Store, you thought it would be interesting, something to get you out of your comfort zone and meeting people. An event created just for young adults to meet each other, spark conversation, and foster romantic connections; what could be better? Though, now you stand in the gymnasium, watching poorly dressed men, men who couldn’t even make eye contact, exert larger than life egos and flaunting how they’ll ‘get lucky’ tonight. It didn’t help that you got all dressed up, spent close to an hour picking out the right outfit, applying your makeup flawlessly, styling your hair just right. It was a bummer; the night had had so much potential.

 There wasn’t a single cute guy you saw at the event, and you had really tried to be open minded too. You let men sweet talk you, let them think you would give them a chance, but none of them peaked your interest, none made you curious. That is until Steve.

You are about to throw in the towel, standing against the wall with several women who were feeling identical to your feelings, but something tells you to give it one more go. “Wish me luck,” you whisper to Anna, pushing yourself off the wall. Anna offers you a sympathetic smile, lifting her glass towards you. You spy an empty table, deciding to park yourself there and allow anyone to approach you. You wobble in your high heels, the color of them pink to make your outfit cute and colorful, but you confidently stride over to the empty table that is at the other side of them room.

Once you reach the table, you take a sip of your wine, letting the liquid trickle down your throat. You wish you drank more when you walked into the event, it would have made the experience so much more tolerable.

You play nonchalant, casually resting on the tabletop. Instantly, Steve Harrington is captured by your presence as he notices you from the across the room. He notices you’re all alone and he is quick to get to you before anyone else. Steve rounds behind you, stepping off to the side to announce his presence to you. “What is a beauty like you standing all alone over here?”

You smile, a hot flush washing over your body. Not only is this man that stands in front of you the most attractive man at the event, he’s also the most attractive man you’ve seen in your entire life. “Waiting for a guy like you to come talk to me.” You say, a playful smile lingering on your mouth.

Steve laughs, running a hand through his hair. “Well, I’m glad I came over here then. You’re y/n?” Steve says, squinting to look at your small nametag. You nod, mimicking his glance, you squint and get a look at his nametag. “And you’re Steve?” Steve leans towards the tabletop, nodding. “Steve Harrington. Also known as your next boyfriend.”

You raise your eyebrows, amused by his answer. There was something that was different then the other guys you have met so far. He’s seemingly got an edge to him, something that makes you curious and want to get to know him. It also doesn’t hurt that he’s incredibly attractive, a sweet twinkle in his chocolate brown eyes. “Is that so?” you say, tilting your head to the side.

Steve nods, taking a sip of his wine. “If you let me.”

You smile, feeling a blush creep across your cheeks. You laugh softly, shaking your head. You like that he’s confident, playful, but not arrogant. “You’re just cute enough that I might let you.” You say, placing your glass on the table beside you. You decide in this moment that you’d let this ‘Steve Harrington’ ruin your life.

Steve smiles, amusement playing across his face. Steve is slightly mad at himself as he lets his eyes graze over your body. Steve had come to the matchmaking event to find a partner, a girlfriend, it was time for him to settle down. He had left his playboy habits in the past, trying to mature over the several years he has been single, but Steve can’t help but let thoughts of bending you over enter his mind; it’s hasty, Steve knows that. 

“Is that so?” Steve says, mimicking you. You smile, laughing lightly. You nod; giving it up easily was not part of your plan for tonight but as the minutes pass by with Steve in your presence, your plans change quickly. “Met anybody tonight that peaked your interest?” Steve asks, looking past you to the crowd that continues to mingle behind you.

“Just you,” you say, biting your lip.

“Ah,” Steve says, putting his attention back onto you. “So, there’s a chance I could ask you to dinner and you’d say yes?”

You shrug. “There’s a possibility.”

Steve continues to be amused by you, shaking his head. “Is there a chance I could drive you home before anyone else approaches you and takes away the small possibility I have?”

You laugh. You had already been ready to leave and you were grateful that you didn’t have to take the bus back home. “Certainly.”

After retrieving yours and Steve’s coats, you take a walk across the parking lot, instantly greeted by the brisk, February air. You close your coat across your body, attempting to conserve any body heat. Steve walks beside you, ushering your body across the parking lot to his station wagon. Once you approach the car, Steve walks you to the passenger seat but he pauses.   

Steve gives you a look, one that you received many times from men. His eyes exhibit hunger, a deep interest in getting to know you beneath your clothes. You debate it in your mind, though you already know you’re going decide. Should you ignore Steve’s inviting look, only accepting his proposal to drive you home? Where’s the fun in that? Sure, it’s a bit crazy to hook up with someone after you met him only a short while ago. It is Valentine’s day after all, love is indeed in the air.

You let Steve grab ahold of your hips, his mouth finding yours with ease. Upon contact, you taste the light flavor of the wine they severed inside at the event, his tongue swiping across the bottom of your lip. It has been so long since you’ve been touched, your body instantly obliges by making your cunt slick with arousal. Steve leans you up against the side of his car, his body pressing against yours. His strong hands cup your face, your arms wrapped around his middle, as you help bring your two bodies together. There is a sense of urgency in his movements, his fingers tremble with anticipation.

Maneuvering around your body, Steve pulls open the door to the backseat of his station wagon, gently pulling you to the side to encourage you to get in. You break your mouth from his, backing yourself into the backseat of his car. Your heart pounds against your chest, the anticipation beginning to take a toll on you. Steve climbs into the car after you, letting his body hover over yours. Leaning back slightly, Steve pulls the car door shut, and begins to pull his jacket off, tossing it into the front seat. You follow, your fingers fumbling as you unzip the side of your dress, shrugging it off your body. You’re left in your undergarments, watching Steve as he strips his clothes of piece by piece.

Once Steve’s shirt is off, exposing his bare chest, which your hands immediately explore, and he’s shrugged his pants off, leaving him in his boxers, you lean back on the seats, parting your legs. Steve positions himself over you, letting his mouth re-connect with yours. “You’re so beautiful,” Steve mumbles against your lips, his fingers toying with the straps of your bra, gently pulling each strap down. You hook your fingers into your panties, pulling them off swiftly. Your fingers move quickly to the band of Steve’s boxers, working to pull them off too. At the same time, Steve continues to work at pulling your bra down, pulling it further down your torso, exposing your nipples. Steve breaks his mouth from yours once more, planting kisses from your jaw, down your throat, to your chest. Cupping your breast with one hand, maneuvering your breast into his mouth, his tongue brushing across your nipple. Upon contact, your head throws back, your fingers moving from his boxers into his lush hair.

Steve can’t take the anticipation any longer, reaching down his body to shrug his boxers off. Before you have any time to process, Steve pushes himself into you, your legs tightening around his waist. You gasp, your hands gripping Steve’s biceps. Steve moves inside of you at an even pace, beginning to stroke your sensitive spot, encouraging your eyes to roll into the back of your head. You whimper, his large size asking your cunt to accept his size, though you had never delt with anyone quite as large as Steve.

Your grip around Steve’s bicep tightens, his cock stretching you out. With each stroke, you feel Steve immerse himself deeply in you, small grunts escaping his mouth. You moan softly, against Steve’s skin, as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, placing kisses in between grunts. Though it’s freezing outside, cold breezes finding its way into the car, the heat from yours and Steve’s bodies makes the inside of the car hot, fog beginning to form on the windows. The pleasure courses through your body, you reach up in response, your fingers brushing the cold glass of the windows. As Steve moves between your thighs, your legs part, your leg resting against the front seats of the car. “Fuck, Steve.” You whisper, your back arching against his movements. Steve’s name feels foreign rolling off your tongue, though you feel as if you could get used to saying it on a regular basis.  

Steve can barely contain himself as he ruts into you, taking glances at your face which enamors him. Steve has known you for a short while, in reality – less than half an hour, and Steve hopes he gets to know you mor just beyond sex in the back of his car, but at this moment, Steve has never experienced a cunt that wrapped so tightly around him. Steve leans up off your body, lifting your legs so he’s cradling your legs against him, as he strokes into you. He gazes down at you, watching your eyes flutter shut, your lips part, soft moans escaping your lips, your breasts bouncing rhythmically. Underneath the two of you, Steve’s vehicle rocks, reminding Steve that you are in a public place, and that your activities go unnoticed.  

Steve shortens his strokes, his breath becoming ragged as he begins to get closer to finishing. Your body craves him more, your skin tingling under his touch, as your core begins to tighten in your lower abdomen. You whine softly, the pressure building inside of you by the second. Steve’s slow movements aren’t curing your need for him, lifting your hips you grind against him, making up for his slow movements. Steve moves his hands down, his fingers locking around your hip bones, pulling your bottom into him. Steve groans, his eyes fluttering shut, his eyebrows knitting together, as he feels you move against him, at your own temp. And it feels heavenly to him, curing his intense lust for you. Without warning, Steve finishes deep into you, one last moan escaping his throat.

At the same time, your body tenses, an orgasm ricocheting through you. Your legs twinge, shaking around his body. You slump against the seat, your hair sticking to your sweaty forehead. You’re breathless, your chest rising and falling, as Steve removes himself from inside you. Steve inhales several times, attempting to regain his breath. “Wow,” is all Steve says, his limbs loose and weak, as he leans against the car door.

You sit up, noticing the handprint you had made on the window, the bottom of the handprint dripping down, similar to the horror movies. You smile softly; the sex had been that good.

“Can I still take you home and out for dinner later this week?” Steve says, pulling his clothes back onto him. You smile again, looking towards Steve. “Definitely, I’d love that.”

[goodeapple]

someone could come love me, if somebody knew me (aemond t. pwp o.s.)

AS IT WAS PROMISED, SO SHALL IT BE BESTOWED.

"Aemond has a dragon dick, send tweet."

pairing : Aemond x Ysilla (Rhaenyra'sDaughter!OC)

warnings : Pretty tame I'd say- handjobs, slight oral play, fantasy of exhibitionism, Aemond's dark little mind & his big ole dragon dick.

word count : 3,000+

title from "fue mejor", Kali Uchis & SZA

Ysilla’s line of sight darts to his crotch, peering intensely at the leather holding him in. She stares, gaze unbroken and unbothered, even as he fidgets under her scrutiny. 

“Can I see it?”

Her inflection is curious, lacking a lustful lilt and somehow, that makes this all the more humiliating. 

“I am not a thing for you to study, wicked girl.” The Dragon Prince snarls. He feels heat pulsate in his face. As if he is a monster, reduced to the oddity of his anatomy instead of the man, the scholar, the fighter he has fashioned himself to be by his own will and his own way. But now, he is nothing but a butterfly pinned in place as strangers pick him apart with a sickened curiosity. The socket of his absent eye aches wildly, a sympathetic partner to the abnormality between his knees.

“Pleaseee, Uncle.” His niece’s pleading compels her to her feet, her fingers lacing together to bring a begging fist under her chin. Her heart-shaped face is cherubic, lips parted in a prayer that Aemond wants to answer with his tongue. Or better yet, his cock. The vision of that, of him feeding every fat inch of his pole downdowndown her throat, until she would choke on him and make sweet tears roll down her cheeks… it seems so real, so well within his limits to make true. 

Aemond snorts, tossing her a disdainful look, one he musters from his very tangible dislike for her and those she holds closest. 

“Don’t beg, Silli, it doesn’t suit you. I said no- I’m positive you’ve never heard that before, but I’m not your papa.” His sneer twists his thin lips down, transforming his regal visage into something ugly. “I won’t give into your every whim just because you bat those pretty eyes at me.” 

Ysilla gazes blithely back at him, swaying on the balls of her feet. Her dress flutters around her ankles, the delicate chains wrapped around the fragile bone there catching the candlelight. She’s barefoot- curiously. Her amber satin slippers were shucked off at the door before she had sunk into the too big chair in the center of his room. To quite simply make herself comfortable- to carve out a space wherever she lands, is a trait Aemond finds irritating but commendable. 

At once, an impish smile illuminates her face, her irises lavender in bloom. “You think my eyes are pretty?” 

Aemond bottles in a groan, gritting his teeth in exasperation. Such a little brat. 

“That’s swell because… I think yours are pretty too, Uncle. Especially your hidden jewel.” Ysilla draws closer and closer, and the walls seem to cinch around them. She shouldn’t be here- he may be her blood but Ysilla is unwed and young and beautiful beyond her means. He should have sent her away when she came knocking, a small bound journal promising something of importance to him, her ticket into his den. Giddiness had manifested in the trembling of her fingers and he couldn't lie- he was intrigued. If only to watch Ysilla’s fire extinguish when he paid no thought to whatever had caught her fancy. 

“I dreamt about it last night. It adorned my crown- not my tiara- my crown as Queen. Nestled front and center, staring down any man, any woman, who kneeled before me. Guarding me, protecting me, loyal… to me.” 

Aemond puts desperate distance between them, her words striking a match within him.

Ysilla’s spiraling locks threaded through the Conqueror’s Crown, refined but still imposing, seated on the forged throne. Aemond gleaming in white, a striking savior at her side, first Lord Commander of the Queensguard. And even when he cannot be there, his jewel watches over all. An All Seeing Eye. He does not replace his surrogate orb. It be a piece of himself he shells out to shield her, and then, when they’re together, he’s comple-

The back of his knees meet resistance and he stills, refusing to bask in the jasmine gust brought forth by his niece’s closeness. She brings her palm to his jerkin covered chest and presses- urging, asking. Aemond stares down at her. She’s so tiny compared to him, so much smaller, weaker but she might as well have a blade to his throat.

He gives, settling into the armchair, wishing to become one with the buttons and the stitchings. When she drops to her knees, it is with a grace that is ingrained in her, blended into every shift of her body. 

“I want to touch you, Aemond. I want to make you feel good.”

Her hand creeps along, fingertips dancing over his clothed thigh, conquering the distance to his laces like a soldier riding through a battlefield. Aemond feels himself start to surrender, a loss he will still win as the heat from Ysilla’s palm leeches through the hide of his breeches. He’s warm all over, tongue heavy in his mouth, words too much to muster. Beads of sweat lick their way down the nape of his neck. 

Ysilla stares at him, her chest level with his knees. There’s too much light in here. He can see every delicious inch of her. No shadows to hide in, no darkness to dim her. She’s all propped up and on display in the late evening sun beaming through the balcony doors. Every beauty mark dotted along her spun sugar skin is penciled in by hand from the Gods, each strand of blackblue hair dancing away from the heat of her blistering surface. It makes this dream too real. He doesn’t know what he’ll do when he blinks and she blows away like a puff of smoke. He breathes out, nerves spiraling in his stomach and spreads his knees. 

Aemond doesn’t make a habit of looking at himself. He washes and dresses with a detachment perfected over the years. When he realized how he differed, when his voice dropped and his bones stretched him to the brim and something else grew right along with him, he had floundered on how to handle it. 

Who was he supposed to ask? His mother was out of the question- Aemond would rather crawl through smoldering embers after scooping out his other eye before he went to her. Aegon was self explanatory; his brother’s failed attempt to drag him down the Street of Silk was enough humiliation to last a lifetime. He toyed with the idea of going to Ser Criston or his grandfather, and some days it did seem tempting but his shame always held him tight by the throat. He was already different, already looked down upon with a pitiful gaze and whispered poor Prince Aemond, such a waste and no eye, no prospects, no future. He didn’t feel like piling on to his already stacked deck. 

“You have to… yeah, and then untie me from, right, just like that.” The back of his eyelid and the pitch of his patch are a comforting darkness as he cycles through the prayers in his head. Warrior, grant me the strength to emerge- no. Mother, I ask your mercy- definitely not. Father, may you judge me justly. Yes, it’s solid, spans the points he needs to make. Aemond settles on it and repeats it, backwards and forwards as the tension imprisoning him in his breeches releases and he feels something spring up and off the flat plains of his abdomen.

“Aemond… Uncle, look at me.” He sucks in a breath through his teeth, ending his litany. It’s no use, his Gods are not listening. He hopes, he regrets, and he caves as he looks down at his lap.

The tip of it curves into a point, not sharp but defined. Blunt thickness runs through his shaft, until the base of him flares garishly into a hard knot. It’s as long as his forearm and thicker than his wrist. He always seems to be at attention, at mast at every surge of adrenaline, every lingering puff of perfume, every dashing neckline of Ysilla’s gowns when she curtsies- no, reign it in. A viciously red mushroom-tapered head splits to allow a bead of excitement to form and trickle down the lengthy march to his stones. He winces, his cock giving a readied pulse as his niece’s palm settles over his groin. 

“Oh, Gods,” Ysilla looks upon him with a wonderment he’s never seen. It stills the air in his lungs. “Aemond, you’re beautiful.” 

Shamefully, that sends him whimpering, the honeyed praise in her tone wrapping him in a caress that stokes the heat in his belly. She glances up at him with a gentle curiosity, but her attention quickly returns between his legs as he jerks from her proximity and the damp warmth of her exhaling breath. 

“Ooohhh, he’s happy to see me.” Her grin is wicked, a toothy pluck of her mouth. Her cheeks are pinker than the Dornish dress Baela gifted her on her nameday last week. 

Cheeky brat. 

Ysilla hocks spit into her hand and Aemond grimaces. Being raised with only brothers has certainly left an impression on her. It's not oil but it’ll do in a pinch. Her fingers are lithe and thin, hands dainty already but seeing one trying to wrap around him? It’s laughable. It’s arousing- painfully so. 

“You didn’t let me finish earlier.” Now that he has nothing to do but listen, his crafty little niece seems to have taken advantage of his predicament. Aemond can’t help but feel a tiny bit impressed. “So when I found the book in the Dragonstone stacks, after I cleaned off the layers of dust, I read all about the many men in Targaryen history who have been… afflicted by this… hardship. Aegon the Conqueror, Maegor the Cruel- which may have played a part in the six wives- but the last documented entry was well over 50 years ago. A tale forgotten to time and dismissed all the same as just another peculiarity with our family. But this Aemond…” she pumps him slowly, demanding his attention, making him bow for her even when she’s the one on her knees. 

“We are closer to Gods than to men. By our dragons of course, but by this as well! You are something special, can’t you see that?” He likes to hear her excited. Her passion is appetizing, drawing him in to take a bite.

His ego perks up at her attention, but so does his pride. Dragons don’t like to share. Aemond doesn’t like to share. “How do you know if it’s not just me who's been ‘afflicted’?”

Ysilla shrugs, and he doesn’t know her well enough to tell if she’s being untruthful. “I’m very thorough in my research. Just not as quite… hands on as I’m being with you. You’ve always been my favorite uncle.”

Aemond could take her by the hair, twist it nice and tight around his fist, rise to his feet, keep her down on her knees where she belongs- not just there but with him and thrust down her throat until he taps her heart.

“Did you ask my brother the same way you’re asking me?” Aemond growls, nudging at her knee with the side of his boot. He wants to touch her but he has to be careful. His resolve is thinning by the minute and he fears that if he can actually feel her- the suppleness of her skin, the silkiness of her hair, he’ll give way and start something that cannot be undone. 

“Nope, I asked Helaena. Girls talk, Aemond, especially over a flagon of wine.” She elbows his thigh in retribution, but it’s gentle and frivolous and the smile she gives him is all teeth. Fuck, she’s lovely. 

Aemond’s hips jump off the chair, chasing the heat of Ysilla’s hands. She smirks, stroking him softly, the delight in her eyes dimming down to lusty pools of amaranthine.

“So you’re doing this out of what, kindness?”

“I like to think of it more as academic curiosity. But, if I can help you become more comfortable with this part of yourself and maybe even aid your future wife in the process, well that’s just all sugar then, isn’t it?”

“I won’t marry, I will bear no children. I might as well take the Black.” Aemond recites, his tone bored to tears. His future fizzled out to ash once he realized there was no way in any Realm that he could ever properly lay with a woman. He couldn’t, wouldn’t damn any wife to a hopeless tomorrow. Occupying himself with other things helped- he’s a resourceful man. After all, great men never got anywhere by thinking with their cocks. 

Ysilla’s brow furrows and her jaw ticks, an unhappy look passing over her face. “Never say never, Aemond.”

His dick pulses, and Ysilla’s eyes go wide, feeling the might of him in her own grip. She raises her gaze back to this face, and the dazzlement there makes him feel taller than tales. 

Aemond smirks, his straight laces loosening. “I like when you call me that.” 

She pumps him, tightly, and he shivers, a gasp slipping through his drooping jaw. There’s a burn at the base of his spine, a familiar one he would entertain only when his needs raged a war within him.  

Her lips are pouted, shimmering in the dusk drawing the room into darkness. He wants to see the stars sparkle over her skin, the moon crest over her breasts in a gauzy beam. Wants to peel off every offending layer until she’s naked, slick and soft and starving for him and the beast between his legs. 

A stranded curl sways in front of her eye, caught in her fanning lash. His fingers twitch, starting forward before he anchors his nails through the furniture’s stuffing and right down to the frame. Ysilla’s tongue flicks out, wetting her parched lips.

“Do you want to touch me?” 

She wears the crown as she rides him, the Throne Room’s chandelier haloing her dramatically. He’s not sure if they’re alone- the embrace of her hand about his throat keeps his attention on where it is demanded. On her. If there are any stragglers stupid enough to hang around, what an honor it is for them to witness a mating, a claiming. The Dragon Queen taking what’s rightfully hers, for the Gods and everyone to see. 

“No.” 

“You’re a liar, my Prince.” That’s even better than his name, fuck him. 

“I think you want to touch me. I think you want to feel me. I think you want to see… just how far… I’m willing to go.” One solid lick of her tongue, from the root of him to the tip, sends him careening over the edge. Aemond gasps raggedly, a man broken apart. His cock jerks, nearly knocking him in the jaw. Thick ropes of creamy pearl stripe his chest and coat his throat. 

His niece milks him, left hand rubbing up and down his shaft, feeling the veins jump and throb against her palm. And the right, fucks sake, the right squeezes around the flared part of him and the tremors jolt right down to his sack.

“Mmmm, good boy, Aemond.” 

A final burst of cum bubbles up and over the tip of him, and he tries not to shout. Sweet relief blankets the scald from his peak, and the Prince can breathe with a newfound ease.

Ysilla spreads her fingers apart, and his spend webs between them in a milky film. Aemond can’t be sure what she’s thinking, how she’s feeling. But what he certainly doesn’t expect is for her to bring up her fingers to brush at her mouth, plush lips spreading to peek out her tongue. He catches her wrist before she can commit the act, and if he bruises her with his grip, she deserves it for her lustfulness. 

“Don’t.”

Ysilla studies his face, weighing if she can push her luck some more tonight. She concedes, peppering a butterfly kiss across his knuckles, wiping her soiled hand on the fur under her knees. Aemond’s chest tightens and he can’t understand why her simple kiss sends him blushing more than her fist around his cock. 

“Next time, then.”

Hunger nips at him harshly, all the ways they can come together, and cum together, flashing through his mind. 

“There will be no next time-”

“Mmmm, I don’t know if he agrees with that.” She presses her puckered lips just shy of his wet slit, and his hips buck from the sensitivity. Her giggle is demented and a dark part of the silver prince wants to push something down her throat to shut her up. 

“Don’t you have something better to waste your time with? Aren’t you supposed to be looking for a husband?” Aemond rumbles, slouched in his seat. All tension drained from him, his legs weak and wobbling from the force of his climax. He feels as if he is up in the clouds, no dragon necessary. 

Ysilla sniffs, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a twist. “I will marry whomever I tell my mother I have accepted. And if no one has caught my eye, we will try again next year.” 

She maneuvers him back into his breeches, and if Aemond were a lesser man, he’d whine at the loss of her smooth touch. The leather suffocates him immediately and it feels so wrong. 

“Who better to guide me in the art of pleasing my husband,” Ysilla looks deep into his eye as she speaks the title, and the Prince feels caught, “whomever that may be, than you? No mere man will ever compare to you, in this aspect.” Ysilla finishes his laces off with a bow, hands tucking behind her innocently as she sits back on her toes. 

“In any aspect.” Aemond thinks he means to snarl in a self-righteous manner, but it’s clear to his own ears what he intends. The thought of Ysilla being on her knees for another, warm and wanting and welcoming for someone that is not him, blazes him with envy.

Ysilla beams, and Aemond feels like a trout swallowing the worm- hooked, reeled, and gutted.

“I’m glad we have an agreement then.”

.

.

.

[blinddreams24]

Stranded

A MerMay Prompt

Masterlist

Previous / Next

“Hey. Hey, dolphin.” The girl whispered at your curled-up form. “Come on, you need to get up.”

You weren’t asleep. You just weren’t in the mood to get up when you barely had enough space in the tank to stretch.

“You’ve got to get up now before they get here.” She whispered urgently.

Now that caught your attention. You stirred and looked over at the girl.

She looked at you with confidence, a plan in her eyes. “It’s almost mealtime. They’re gonna come in here and open the tank but I need you to listen very carefully. I’m going to help them and I need you to get your hands as close to me as you can. I’ll give you something and you’ll use it to free yourself when we leave. They're almost here! Just act normal!” While she had somewhat confused you, any plan was better than no plan. She quickly put her headset back on and stood up as if she wasn’t just talking to you.

The heavy boots of a few crew members, the two that caught you, trudged down the stairs. The human man with dark brown hair and heavily tanned skin had a bucket while the aquatic monster, which looked like if the famous Undyne had a red cousin, had one of those poles with the loop at the end that dogcatchers use. You planted your hands on the floor of the tank and pushed yourself away from them.

“Oh, look. Another coward siren. Are they all this wimpy?” The man said into his mic.

The red monster chuckled. “Don’t care. Makes things easier for me. Jewels,” He nodded at the girl, pole at the ready. “Open the hatch. Let’s see how hungry this one is.”

Jewels gave you a sympathetic look and pushed the mic away from her face so the others couldn’t hear her. “Don’t freak out. Just play along.” She opened a small hatch on one side of the lid.

The red monster stuck the loop into the water and pushed it towards you.

Absolutely not!

Twisting in the tank, you pressed your face as far away from the loop as possible. You were not about to be treated like a dog! You smacked the pole with your tail, shoving it to the side.

The monster cursed. “What the hell??” He glared at you and you glared right back. He turned to his partner. “Bait it out.”

The man pulled a strip of fish meat out of the bucket and dipped it in the water. The second it touched the water you could smell it. Tuna. You hadn’t had tuna in forever.

“Come on, little siren~. Take the bait~.” The monster teased, dangling the loop in front of the food.

There was no way you were falling for this bullshit.

Jewels covered her mic. “You have to do it. I know you know it’s a trap but you have to fall for it so you can escape. Otherwise, they’ll wait until you're starving to feed you. Please.” She pleaded. “You have to do it now.”

You hated it. You hated it all so much, but she was right. For her plan to work, you had to get caught and close.

You couldn’t believe you were doing this.

Forcing a curious look on your face, you swam closer to the food. You could see them grinning and it made you sick.

The second you got close enough, the rope looped around your neck and yanked you close. You thrashed at the painful yank on your neck and a hand grabbed the back of your neck through the hatch.

The tank lid started rising off of the tank with a mechanical whirr, giving the crew space to lift your head out of the water.

“Don’t fight it, please! It’ll only hurt you worse.” Jewels’ voice reached you through the churning water.

You struggled to calm yourself. This wasn’t exactly a calm environment. The less you fought though, the less your neck hurt. So you forced yourself to breathe and stop struggling.

“Aw, I think this one’s a domestic. See how fast it calmed down?” The man grumbled, grabbing the muzzle on your face a tipping your head up.

“Ugh. Why would you release it back into the wild? They are the ocean’s biggest predators.” The monster growled and shook the pole in his frustration, which flipping hurt.

“Guys, stop it! You’re hurting them! Hook wants them unharmed.” Jewels snapped at them over her mic.

“Ugh. Fine. Waste of time, anyways.” The man removed your muzzle.

“Let me go! My pod will find me and when they do it will be hell on earth, you lousy drifting seafoam! Release me!” You snapped at them, knowing they couldn’t hear you but hoping you could get the point across anyway.

“Aw, look at it’s angry face.” The monster mocked you.

The man laughed. “Shut up and eat your food. We can’t hear you anyway, siren.” He shoved that piece of tuna in your face.

Remembering the Jewels’ plan, you pressed your body against the side of the tank, putting your hands as close to the girl as you could get them.

Despite the terrible situation, the tuna wasn’t too bad. It just tasted a little old which was fine by you as long as it wasn’t spoiled.

You felt something sharp land in your hands and quickly covered it with a fist. It felt like some sort of blade you could use to cut the ropes.

The crew was not in any way gentle with you as they fed you. However, they did eventually run out of food and the man grabbed the muzzle again. You tried to pull away but the rope on your neck dragged you back.

“Oh, no you don’t!” The monster laughed. “Can’t have you going back under without silencing you first.” He kept the rope tight around your neck and lifted you back out of the water. The man strapped the muzzle securely on your face and they lowered the lid again before letting you go.

You quickly retreated from the two and backed as far away from that pole as possible. Your neck hurt from that.

They both laughed at you and left with what they’d brought in. Jewels nodded at you and left quickly.

The second they were out of sight, you fidgeted with the blade in your hands. It had to be a razor of some kind.

You dug it into the ropes and sawed through them as fast as you could. The ropes came away easily and you quickly used the razor to cut away the muzzle as well.

Rolling your jaw, you turned your attention to the lid. You pushed it with one hand and it gave way. She hadn’t sealed it shut! You pushed the lid up and dragged yourself out of the water. You hated how heavy you felt in the air but you had to get out somehow.

You dragged yourself to the stairs and looked up them. Someone walked past and you ducked back. They weren’t wearing the headsets. As more people walked by you realized none of them were wearing the headsets anymore.

You were a siren. You could sing and they wouldn’t attack you. Then you could slip right off the boat and into the water below. It was flawless.

Minus the massive flaw of you having never sung a siren song before.

No worse time to learn than now.

You thought of a popular song and started humming it. Nothing seemed to happen until a dog monster walked by and froze. She slowly turned and looked at you, face blank.

Yes! You were doing it!

“Doggathy? What are you doing?” A bird-like head peeked around the corner at you. His eyes widened in fear.

Shit!!

You raised your voice, singing louder. The bird monster froze and relaxed. You hurried to drag yourself up the stairs. If the bird didn’t immediately fall for it, there might be others that won’t.

As you struggled to keep singing and drag yourself up at the same time, wishing they could have carried you on deck earlier, the two monsters walked down the steps. You hesitated but kept singing.

They stepped down, grabbed your arms, and lifted you. Then they started carrying you up the stairs.

They were obeying the intent in your voice. You used it to your advantage and sang louder as they carried you up the stairs.

When every person you saw slowly stopped what they were doing and made sure you could reach the water. It was insane and terrifying but you had to get out somehow.

They held you over the railing and your eyes caught on one person.

Jewels watched you with a headset on and a tranq gun at the ready. She watched you carefully but gave you an opportunity to leave.

You stared at her for a moment, still singing. If you had the opportunity to, you’d find a way to pay back her skeptical kindness.

With barely a sound, you dove into the water and vanished into the depths.

[angrywhispers7]

Horoscope for Thursday, April 17, 2025

Aries (March 21-April 19) Today Mercury and Neptune are lined up in Aries, which enhances your ability to communicate to others. This is why you will speak with originality and greater subtlety today. This is an excellent influence for any kind of artistic expression. Remember: You are the artisan of the zodiac.

Taurus (April 20-May 20) Tread carefully today because you’re more curious about mysterious subjects like the occult or spiritual philosophies because your imagination is heightened. This might introduce new areas to you, or it might create an element of confused thinking. Postpone important decisions for another day.

Gemini (May 21-June 20) This is a tricky day because Mercury is lined up with fuzzy Neptune, which can make you admire and idealize a friend or be inspired with a group or an organization, especially if it’s charitable. Your common sense might be skewed, or you might put a friend up on a pedestal. Caution.

Cancer (June 21-July 22) Be careful about conversations with authority figures today (parent, boss, teacher, VIP or the police). Because Mercury is lined up with Neptune today, your idealism and expectations are heightened. Others might not grasp where you’re coming from. They might question your judgment.

Leo (July 23-Aug. 22) Today your ability to appreciate beauty is heightened, which is why this is an excellent day to visit museums, art galleries, beautiful buildings and pristine parks. Give yourself a chance to enjoy the beauty of your surroundings as well as the artistic creations of others. Appreciation is a healthy state of mind.

Virgo (Aug. 23-Sept. 22) When it comes to decisions about how to divide something like an inheritance or jointly owned property, give things a sober second thought today. Confused thinking might tempt you to give away the farm or weaken your confidence to defend your best interests.

Libra (Sept. 23-Oct. 22) You appreciate beauty because more than other signs, you’re affected by your immediate surroundings. You like pleasing harmony. Today discussions with partners and close friends might include the appreciation of beauty. Nevertheless, postpone important decisions for another day.

Scorpio (Oct. 23-Nov. 21) Today you might see ways to introduce creative ways of doing something at work. You might also feel sympathetic to a co-worker and be willing to listen to their concerns or help them in some way. Note: This is a poor day for financial or legal negotiations. Be suspicious of “way-out” ideas you might have today.

Sagittarius (Nov. 22-Dec. 21) Today your ability to deal with creative projects is superb. You will express yourself with sensitivity and subtlety. You will see original, fresh ways of doing things. It’s a fantastic day for artists and all creative activity. It’s also a meaningful day to deal with the needs of children.

Capricorn (Dec. 22-Jan. 19) Family discussions will go well today because people feel mutually sympathetic with each other. (It’s easy to see what it’s like to walk a mile in someone else’s wedgies.) Admittedly, there is room for confusion and over idealism. Bottom line: Be generous.

Aquarius (Jan. 20-Feb. 18) Today you’ll express your ideas in a way that you usually cannot because your spidey sense is heightened, along with your artistic appreciation of your daily surroundings. Be careful of falling prey to illusions. Enjoy your heightened imagination, but don’t do anything you will later regret.

Pisces (Feb. 19-March 20) Although this is a wonderful day for creative expression and working in the arts — and having sympathetic discussions with others — it’s a poor day for important financial decisions or important, practical negotiations. Caution against spending too much money on luxury and art or rescuing someone else.

[satansamwriting]

hi! saw your post from yesterday and im fairly new to ur blog :) can i ask for headcanons for kung lao and liu kang with a gender neutral reader who gets a lot of bug bites?? like in the summer they get bit a lot and it annoys them

HC Kung Lao and Liu Kang with a gn s/o who keeps getting bug bites.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

HI! I wasn't expecting someone to ask me that quickly. I'm farely new to writing headcanons so I tried my best and I hope you enjoy it as much as I had fun writing it.

Kung Lao

This man would find your "suffering" entertaining.

Like you two would be training together and suddenly the urge to scratch your bug bites would distract you enough to stop the fight and he'd be there watching you curse summer and all the bugs on Earthrealm with a grin.

Bug doesn’t seem to bite him and it annoys you. 

Amazed by how many bug bites you get

"(Y/N), the bug charmer"

Enjoy hearing your creative swearing as you discover new bites. 

It gets to a point where you discover bites in odd places like in the palm of your hand or in between your toes. He tries his best not to laugh as you complain about them.

Eventually, Kung Lao would take pity on you, seeing how much it bothers you and would try to find ways to help. 

Kung Lao  asked around the temple for anything that could help with (y/n)'s bug problems. It took some time, even after asking Liu and Lord Raiden, before finding someone that could help. A small bottle of diluted citronella oil in hand, he thanked the monk before making his way back to (y/n). He finds them sitting on the training ground currently trying to fight off the bugs that surrounded them.  “Here, this should help.” Taking a seat next to them, he pries open the bottle and poured a small amount in the palm of his hand.  “ I think my last option is to ask Grandmaster Liang if I could live at his temple during summer. At least bugs would leave me alone.” Rubbing the oil on the several bites covering their body, Kung Lao tries to hide his grin.  “ And leave me here all alone for months?” Satisfied with his job, Kung Lao closed the bottle, pocketing it in case they would need it again. His grin never left his face as he looked at them. (Y/n) seemed to be weighing the options in their head. Signing as if they made the most difficult decision in their life (y/n) stood up and stretched.

“Oh the sacrifices I make for you.”

Kung Lao couldn’t help but laugh as he took  (y/n) extended hands.

Liu Kang

Similar to Kung Lao, this boy doesn’t get bug bites. 

Although, he is more sympathetic toward you whenever you get new bites or complain about the itch. 

Would start to worry if the bites become more apparent on your skin.

Liu Kang is curious to know why, despite the both of you being outside together, the bugs only bite you

Even though he himself doesn’t get bitten , he knows you shouldn’t scratch them. And so, he tries to keep your mind off the bites by training with you.

Secretly finds it entertaining as long as it doesn’t get worse.

Asks around the temple for any advice on how to appease your itch 

It  was a warm day at the temple. Liu Kang and (y/n) were meditating, hiding in the shade to avoid getting sunburn. The meditation was going smoothly until Liu Kang's concentration was broken by a loud smack. Opening his eyes, he turned toward (y/n), who was trying their best not to scratch the newest bite. Liu Kang could see how annoyed they were and, with a soft smile, decided to help with their discomfort.  “Wait here.” The chosen one left his partner for a short while, knowing full well that they would take this opportunity to scratch the bite. He came back soon after with a small bowl filled with cold water and a towel in hand.  “I heard cold water help ease the itching sensation.” Wetting the towel, Liu Kang gently wrapped it around the bite and watched as they smiled in relief. “ Thanks, it does help a bit.”  Too distracted now to continue their meditation Liu Kang and (y/n) spent the rest of the time enjoying the warmth of the day sitting in the shade. Whenever the itching sensation got too intense again, (y/n) would simply remove the towel and wet it again. If the water in the bowl became lukewarm, Liu Kang would stand up and change it for cold water. When other bites started to show up, Liu Kang searched for ways to repel the bugs. One of the monks, who overheard him talk about the problem to Kung Lao, offered him straws of lavender. Thanking the monk, Liu Kang left his friend to find his partner. (Y/n) was scratching at one of the bites when he arrived. The smell of lavender slowly filled the air around them.  “I told you not to scratch yourself while I'm gone.” Placing the flowers in between them, Liu Kang took hold of (y/n) hands in order to prevent them from worsening the bite.  “In my defence,you were back when I started to.” Smiling, Liu Kang kept holding their hands as the two of them continued their conversation.  Despite how annoying it was to get bug bites all summer long, (y/n) enjoyed the care Liu Kang gave them.