#because that's what reading that book felt like

[dirtyvulture]

The Maid - Part 2

Socialite!Wanda Maximoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

Maid!Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

18+ only, read at your own risk

Word count: 4705

Summary: You are married to a wealthy socialite, but your newly hired housemaid doesn’t approve of the marriage.

AN: Thank you so much for the response to part 1! And thank you to everyone who was so patient and understanding for this part taking a while to write. I hope you all like it.

*Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.

Wanda seems to be in a better mood lately, Natasha notices, probably because the two of you rekindled whatever complicated romance you had going on. And as sad and lonely as it had made Natasha feel, at least Wanda was being less rude to her, and that would always be a win in her book.

The grocery trips and errands she sends Natasha on are less demanding, although Natasha’s unsure if she’s becoming more comfortable or Wanda’s gotten less picky. Wanda still requests Natasha’s help for her weekly meetings, and Natasha cannot understand why someone who is unemployed goes so out of her way to find the most mundane, meaningless things to participate in. But it keeps Natasha paid and busy, and she still gets to see you a few times a week.

“What are you doing this weekend, Natasha?” Wanda asks while the two of them are in the kitchen. Wanda is on her laptop while Natasha stands at the counter, cutting vegetables for dinner.

“Um…” Natasha knows better than to tell Wanda the truth, which is that she’ll be sitting alone in her apartment for the next two days and eating ice cream on her couch. “Some friends invited me to go shopping with them at the mall,” she lies. She doesn’t have friends and she certainly doesn’t have the budget to shop at a mall after all the debt she still owes.

“I’ll be gone all weekend with some girlfriends,” Wanda says, not even acknowledging Natasha’s plans, which makes her wonder why she had even bothered to ask in the first place. “I’m not into wine tasting much, but the girls go nuts for it. I’m just going for the spa at the resort, between you and me.”

Natasha has no idea what to do with this information. But she’s spared from answering when the garage door rumbles open.

Wanda slams her laptop shut. “Oh, Y/N is home early.” She gets up to greet you. Natasha can hear your voices carry through the hall.

“You’re early tonight,” Wanda says. “I was just telling Natasha about my weekend plans to Vermont with the girls–”

“Your weekend plans?” you interrupt. “Since when did you have plans to go to Vermont?” Natasha has never heard you sound genuinely angry before. She stops cutting the carrots to focus on eavesdropping.

“Carol wanted to go for her birthday!” your wife says.

“Wanda,” you say, your voice lowering. “Our anniversary is this weekend. I booked us a stay at the Ritz and got us tickets to see Wicked–”

“Well, just ask for a refund!” Wanda hisses. Natasha is stunned that this is her first response to forgetting about her entire anniversary with you. “And we can celebrate when I get back–”

“‘Get back?’” you repeat. “That’s not the point, Wanda. Why don’t you ask for a refund for your trip���”

“I can’t do that to the girls,” Wanda says. “Carol’s been looking forward to this for months!”

You mumble something that Natasha can’t hear. She feels awful for you. Clearly, you had spent a lot of money and time planning a nice outing, and your wife didn’t seem to care one bit. In fact, she tried to put the blame on you for intruding on her plans. Natasha felt herself shaking with rage for you. You deserved so much better.

The two of you trudge into the kitchen and Natasha hastily goes back to cutting the carrots. Wanda is hanging onto your arm, tiptoeing to whisper into your ear but you shake her off and walk through the kitchen to the staircase. Natasha knows that Wanda is glaring at the back of her head, probably upset that she had overheard, but for once she doesn’t say anything and disappears after you.

The mood is particularly subdued when Natasha serves up roasted salmon with a colorful vegetable medley and mashed potatoes. 

“Thank you, Natasha,” you say as she hands you a loaded plate. 

Wanda doesn’t say anything when Natasha gives her a plate.

While the two of you eat in awkward silence, Natasha cleans up the kitchen, her final task of the day. She grabs her purse and heads towards the door, when she hears footsteps behind her.

It’s you.

“Can I walk you out to your car?” you ask. “I know it’s a safe neighborhood, but I don’t want you walking out in the dark by yourself.”

Natasha is so flattered by your offer she doesn’t stop to consider how Wanda might feel about this.

“Sure, I really appreciate that. Thank you.” She leads the way out of your house.

“Sorry you always have to park around the corner,” you add, maintaining a respectful distance from her on the sidewalk. “I’ve told Wanda the whole neighborhood knows you work for us. But she’s…” you trail off, clearly not wanting to speak ill of your wife.

“I’m sorry she forgot your anniversary,” Natasha blurts out. 

You seem startled that Natasha had been eavesdropping, but quickly recover. “Well, it’s…it’s not the first time she’s done it,” you admit in a soft voice. “I don’t know why I bother trying to do anything special anymore. It’s just another day to her. And it seems like she’d rather spend it with anyone but me.”

“She’s missing out,” Natasha says, surprised by her own confidence. “You’re a wonderful person and you deserve someone who will appreciate the efforts you go to celebrate important milestones like that.” She stops before she can offer herself up.

“Oh. Well, thank you. That’s very kind of you to say.” 

The two of you stop at Natasha’s beat-up Nissan. 

“Thanks for walking me to my car–” she starts.

“Are you busy this weekend?” you ask suddenly, in a rushed whisper as if Wanda is around the corner listening. “If you’re not, would you like to see Wicked with me at the Gershwin Theater? I told Wanda I could probably get a credit with the Ritz, but I don’t want to deal with the hassle of exchanging the tickets, too. You can come over Saturday night and I’ll drive us?”

Natasha is so shocked by your proposal she doesn’t even have the words to agree at first. Growing up, she had loved watching musical movies until the VHS tapes wore out, but she had never had the opportunity to see a live performance. Even now as an adult, she still didn’t have the time nor the budget to see a show. To hear you ask that you wanted her to join you, when you had bought the tickets for you and your wife to enjoy on your anniversary she had forgotten, sounded almost too good to be true.

But if Wanda found out you had taken Natasha instead of her…Natasha shuddered at the thought. Maybe this was stepping over the line of professionalism. Natasha wanted to keep her job (and her head), and as much as the opportunity was a dream come true for her, she didn’t want to take advantage of your kindness or weakness.

“Um, I’m supposed to go shopping at the mall with some friends on Saturday,” Natasha says, cringing at the patheticness of her life. “But really–thank you for inviting me. I’m sure you have friends you’d rather take over your maid.”

“I don’t have any friends,” you say, so deadpan that Natasha almost laughs but quickly turns it into a cough when she realizes you’re being serious. While you seemed more reserved than your wife, Natasha refused to believe you didn’t have a strong social network. You were in charge of your own company and clearly doing well if you lived in this neighborhood and could afford a personal housemaid like her.

“Good evening!” The two of you startle when a cheery voice comes out of nowhere.

“Hello, Mr. Vision,” Natasha says, spotting the eccentric man first as he walks by at a rapid pace.

“Late night walk, Vis?” you call out, and he nods with a wave, pumping his arms faster and milling away. The only thing Natasha knew about Vision was that he lived by himself at the end of the street. He had no wife or kids that she knew of, not even a job as he was constantly seen walking around the neighborhood at odd hours. But he never approached Natasha or made her feel uncomfortable, which was more than she could say for most of the people living here, so she was happy to ignore him.

When Vision moves out of sight, you say, “Well, if your plans happen to change…” You fumble in your pockets awkwardly, pulling out a bent business card and handing it to Natasha. “My cell number is on there. Text me before Saturday if you’re still interested.”  

“Okay.” Natasha doesn’t want to get your hopes (or hers) up, but she still isn’t convinced this is a good idea. “Have a good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, Natasha.”

She loves the way her name sounds coming out of your mouth.

***********************************************************************

Natasha is still unsure she made the right decision to turn down your offer to see Wicked. She even called her only friend, Clint, to ask if she should’ve said yes.

“Well, you’re just seeing a show together. Think of it like a work bonus or something. Bosses give their employees nice stuff like that all the time,” Clint says as Natasha picks at a box of takeout in front of the television. Cooking at home was not her favorite chore after doing it all day for her clients.

“Yes, but it’s just the two of us,” Natasha stresses. “Y/N got the tickets to celebrate an anniversary and Wanda already hates me as it is–”

“Nah, she doesn’t hate you,” Clint says.

“You haven’t met her! You don’t see the way she treats me.”

“Exactly. Maybe this is Y/N’s way of apologizing for her behavior,” Clint says.

“I don’t know…” It was already Friday night. Natasha didn’t have much time now to change her mind if she was going to.

“Be nice to yourself, Nat. Let someone do something for you,” Clint goes on. “You work so hard for these people all the time. And I know how much you’ve always wanted to see a live performance.” Natasha feels tears well up in her eyes. She wishes Clint was here in person so she could give him a hug. “Nothing bad will happen. Just tell Y/N you want to go before someone else takes your spot.”

Natasha takes a steely breath. Clint is right. It wasn’t a date. It just was her nice boss treating her out to a Broadway show. Never mind the fact that you had intended to take your wife initially. Wanda would never have to know, right?

“Okay. Thanks, Clint.”

“Enjoy!”

As soon as she hangs up, Natasha goes into her texts. She already created a contact for you the night you gave her your business card. Her anxiety is through the roof as she types out a message to you, then deletes it and starts over. She gets more and more frustrated trying to find the right words, before she finally throws in the towel and clicks “Send.”

Less than a minute later, you respond.

Happiness explodes inside of Natasha. She can hardly believe her luck. Not only does she get to see her first Broadway show, but she gets to see it with you, and have dinner on top of it. She darts over to her closet, looking for the nicest dress she owns.

Wanda be damned. Natasha was going to have a great night with you. 

***********************************************************************

“Table for two, please.”

“Did you have a reservation?” the blonde woman at the podium asks.

“No,” you respond.

“Oh, well, I’m so sorry, but we’re all booked out for the evening,” she apologizes. 

Natasha stands behind you meekly. She can’t even pronounce the name of the restaurant and doesn’t know what kind of food they serve, but it’s probably far beyond anything she could ever afford. She’s wearing a dark green dress that almost reaches her ankles and is conservative in protecting her assets, and spent over an hour doing her makeup, and she wonders if strangers will look at the two of you and assume you’re a couple. She wouldn’t go out of her way to correct them.   

“That’s okay. This was a last-minute plan for us,” you explain. “If Tony is working tonight, can you please tell him Y/N stopped by to say hello?”

“Wait, you know Mr. Stark?” the woman pales. “Don’t go anywhere. You said your name is Y/N?”

You smile and nod. The woman steps down from her podium and dashes into the back. 

“I thought you said you didn’t have any friends,” Natasha boldly teases. 

You turn and wink at her. 

“Tony and I went to college together,” you explain, although this implies you shared a friendship of some kind. “And clearly, his business is doing better than mine–”

The woman quickly returns with a short bearded man wearing a gray suit with red-tinted glasses that match his tie. 

“Y/N!” Tony shouts, embracing you in a dramatic hug. “You should’ve told me you were coming tonight! I could’ve put together a private booth in the back–”

“It was last-minute,” you say. “This is Natasha, by the way. She’s a friend.” Natasha is thrilled at the way you associate her with you.

“Hello, Natasha, I’m Tony.” He takes her hand and gently kisses her knuckles. He doesn’t seem surprised you haven’t brought Wanda along instead. “I take it you haven’t been here before, Miss Natasha? You won’t need a menu, I’ll have the chef bring out the best dishes we have tonight.”

“That’s very kind of you,” you say. 

“Follow me! You can have a table in our east wing. Where’s Wanda?” Tony says rapid-fire, turning around and leading them deeper into the restaurant. You step out of the way and motion to let Natasha go first, and she feels your hand graze her back as she walks past you. 

“She’s out with her girlfriends for the weekend,” you answer from behind Natasha. 

“Your anniversary is coming up, right?” Tony asks.

“Yes,” you respond, your voice suddenly tense.

The restaurant is packed, every visible table filled with customers, until they turn around a corner to a quiet, completely empty area.

“Pick any table. I’ll have a waiter come out with some drinks shortly,” Tony says.

“Thanks, Tony.”

“Thank you, Tony,” Natasha echoes, unsure if she likes this special treatment. You pick a table near the corner and pull her chair out for her. As soon as the two of you are seated, a waiter in a vested suit appears with a few bottles of wine, making suggestions and pouring samples into the glasses. Natasha doesn’t have enough knowledge to understand what he’s saying or differentiate the tastes, but she enjoys the experience. It feels strange to have someone serve her, when she’s normally the one waiting on people’s every demand. 

The two of you share several appetizers together. Natasha feels like she’s floating in a dream. You have been nothing but generous and respectful to her, but every time your left hand reaches across the table for the caviar, the wedding ring on your finger taunts her. 

The dinner itself is a four-course affair, including a rich chocolate cake that Natasha devours faster than she can fully enjoy. When the bill arrives (which Tony has already chopped in half), Natasha still asks if she can chip in (despite knowing full well she doesn’t have the money to cover even her portion), but you push her card away and give the waiter your black card.

The theater is three blocks from Tony’s restaurant, so you leave your car in valet parking and ask Natasha if she’s okay walking. She had not planned ahead very well, so she only has a thin cardigan to cover her shoulders. You notice her shivering and offer her your heavy black jacket that completely engulfs her frame. Your scent completely surrounds her now and Natasha swears she won’t wash this dress ever again.

The line into the theater moves quickly and Natasha follows you all the way down to the front, where your seats are perfectly center to the stage. She crawls over a few people, feeling a little smug about getting some of the best seats in the house. You had truly spoiled her tonight and she was never going to forget this. 

She leans over to whisper to you before the show begins. “Thank you for everything tonight. I’ve already had so much fun and the dinner was amazing.”

“You’re very welcome. Thank you for joining me, and thank you for all the hard work you do for my family,” you say and Natasha beams. “Me and Wanda really appreciate it.” Natasha deflates a little at the mention of your wife, but she pushes her out of her mind to focus on her time with you. 

As they wait, Natasha props her arm up on the armrest between you two so she can hold the playbill at a comfortable angle to read. Suddenly, your arm drops heavily on hers and she looks at you in confusion. You’re reading your own playbill and don’t seem to notice that your massive arm is practically crushing hers.

“Um, Y/N?” she prompts, clearing her throat.

“Hmm? Oh!” You quickly move your arm off hers. “I’m so sorry, I thought that was Wanda’s arm,” you explain with a nervous chuckle. Natasha laughs too, although she isn’t sure if she should be happy or worried that she reminds you of your wife. She’d be happy to take Wanda’s place any day, though. 

The musical is amazing, impressive beyond anything Natasha had ever expected. She cries when Elphaba defies gravity, and after the whirlwind of the second act, she is among the first to give a standing ovation. She’s floating on cloud nine as she walks with you out of the theater back to the car.

The drive back to your home is quick at the late hour. Just as you're about to pull into the driveway, you slam hard on the brakes, jolting everyone forward. Vision power walks past the beams of your headlights, only breaking the pump of his arms to wave in thanks.

“What is he doing out so late?” you ask, and Natasha is relieved to know she’s not the only one who thinks his habits are a bit odd.

“No idea,” she mumbles, watching you pull onto the driveway and stop.

“Thank you so much, Y/N,” Natasha says, still giddy with excitement.“This was the best night of my life. I’ve always wanted to see a Broadway show, ever since I was a little girl. I never thought I’d get the chance, even after I moved here–”

“You’re very welcome,” you interrupt, seeming almost shy with the praise.

“I’m sorry Wanda wasn’t able to join you for your own anniversary,” she adds, although she’s not sure why.

You shrug. “Nothing we can do about it now. Besides, I’m glad you were able to join me and had such a fun night. I don’t think this would have been nearly as fun by myself.”

There is a pause and Natasha has to force herself to stop looking at your lips. If she had no self-restraint, it wouldn’t have taken much for her to lean over the center console and kiss you.

“Have a good night, Natasha. Drive home safely,” you say as the two of you get out of the car.

“Thank you again!” Natasha doesn’t even listen to music on her way home, riding out the high of what was easily one of the most memorable nights of her life in over a decade.

***********************************************************************

A few weeks later, Natasha is working a double shift: the first one at Steve’s house, and the second at yours. You’re away at work, as usual, but she knows you’ll be home before she leaves for the day, and she never takes any glimpse of you for granted. Wanda is also back to being demanding and cranky, and Natasha has no idea if you told her about the night the two of you had together. She had felt the silent instruction from you not to blab about her taking Wanda’s place and was happy to keep the memories to herself.

She’s in the front hall, mopping while quietly humming “Defying Gravity” to herself, when Wanda clacks by in high-heels.

“Natasha!” she hisses. “Didn’t I tell you to start in the kitchen? If I slip out here because the floor is wet–”

“So sorry!” Natasha apologizes, hoping that she doesn’t finish her sentence. “I’ll put a fan on.” She rests her mop against the wall and darts off for the $300 Dyson fan in the closet. After pointing it towards the gleaming floor, she pushes her cart into the kitchen and continues mopping. She makes sure to open the window to air out the smell, and notices Steve across the street mowing his lawn. 

She stares at him, wondering if he can see her, and her question is quickly answered when Steve waves to her. She returns his wave with a smile, then goes back to her task before Wanda can complain she isn’t working hard enough. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him back away from his lawn mower and answer his phone; he disappears into his house hurriedly. 

“Natasha! Always make sure you open a window when you mop!” Wanda’s screech comes out of nowhere. “The chemicals you use give me a headache!”

“Oh, but the window is open–” Natasha tries to explain, but Wanda silences her with a wave of her hand.

“I’m on the phone!” she says, pointing to the cell phone held up to her ear. Natasha bites her lip, but holds her tongue. “Sorry, honey, what was that? No, I was talking to the maid,” she says. Natasha perks up despite the way Wanda titles her. You’re clearly on the other line, and maybe you’ll be home sooner than expected.

But Wanda disappears into a guest room (your house had so many of those), and Natasha can no longer hear her conversation. She dutifully continues to mop the floor, careful to fan the mop in a semi-circle pattern so as not to trap herself in a corner. She moves the chairs to the hallway one at a time, cursing their awkward shape that makes them difficult to carry and taking special care not to scrape the feet along the floor. 

Wanda’s shrill voice carries through the house again, this time covering a topic that makes Natasha’s cheeks heat up.

“Oh my God, yes, I’m still thinking about last night,” Wanda says. “When you had my legs behind my head–”

Natasha tries not to picture Wanda folded up like a pretzel while you plow into her. But she can imagine herself in a similar position (she’s not so confident in her own flexibility, but she’d make it work for you). Your hands could probably fit around her whole thighs as you push her legs apart wider, thrusting your hips in long strokes to fit your big dick into her. Natasha is embarrassed to admit that the last time she had masturbated, she had thought of you the whole time.

How much more you’d fill her compared to the flimsy toy she was using. How you would feel throbbing inside her, your body pressed hot and heavy against hers as you beg for her permission to finish. Imagining having you like that, with that kind of control, brought Natasha to the most amazing orgasm of her life. If only you had been there to share it with her. 

“I didn’t know if you’d be able to go another round, but you proved me wrong,” Wanda continues, and Natasha picks up on how breathless she sounds. She wonders if she’s touching herself right now, with Natasha mopping in the kitchen. Somehow, that wouldn’t be shocking to her. “You were still so hard when I put you down my throat.”

A lightning bolt of arousal strikes Natasha’s core. She can’t focus on mopping anymore, staring blankly out the kitchen window, lost in the new filthy fantasy playing in her head, guided by Wanda’s narration. 

Natasha lies between your legs, her lips barely brushing your hips as she takes your cock down her throat. She prays her gag reflex doesn’t protest at the obstruction in her airway, but despite the slight discomfort, she wants to do this all day. Your pants and moans are like music in her ears, urging her on to suck harder and take you deeper.

“Please Nat,” your voice wavers. The muscle fibers in your thighs are visibly tensed and your back arches off the bed when Natasha pushes your hips down, trying to maintain some kind of control over you. But your body seems to have a mind of its own, with only one goal in mind. 

“It’s almost like I can still taste you.”

You poke at the back of her throat and Natasha can feel the hot throbbing of your cock in her mouth. She’s so eager to swallow anything you’ll give her, she’s almost embarrassed in her desperation, but when your hands cup the back of her head, pushing her down so she can fit the last inch down her throat, she knows the two of you are on equal planes of passion.

Your entire body flexes and the anticipation for Natasha is overwhelming. You finally inhale sharply as the first hot spurt lands on her tongue. 

“Being on your knees for me is a good look for you.”

Natasha tips her head back against the wall, her fingers tangling in your hair. One of her legs rests on your shoulder while the other is spread far apart so you can kneel between them, your mouth pressed against her heat. Your tongue swirls around her clit and Natasha fears she won’t be able to stay standing much longer. 

“Y/N,” she pants, clutching your head tighter and rocking her hips forward. “I need you.”

Your fingernails dig harder into her thigh to still her. You look up into her eyes and Natasha thinks she’s going to finish right there. “You have me, baby. I’m all yours.”

“But there’s really only one place you belong.”

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” you grunt, almost sending Natasha headfirst into the headboard with every one of your thrusts. “I could stay inside you forever.”

Natasha hums at the praise. She’s holding on the bedsheets for life, spasming and clenching around you, trying to pull you in deeper. You fill her so perfectly, she’s convinced her body was made for yours. 

“Tell me I’m better than her,” Natasha gasps, fighting to delay her own release.

“Fuck Wanda,” you grunt, pulling back on Natasha’s hips at the same time you thrust forward, burying your entire length into her. “I love you, Natasha. You’re the only one I ever want to be with.”

A noisy car engine pulls Natasha out of her head. Her face feels flushed with arousal, and she knows what she’s doing the second she goes home. Your green car suddenly pulls into the driveway but stops. You get out and walk to the street, grabbing one of the trash bins and pulling it towards the house.

“I can’t wait for you to fuck me again,” Wanda says in the background.

The realization crashes down on Natasha’s head like a cold shower. She watches you grab the second bin with both hands, carefully walking backwards with it.

You’re not on the phone and you’re standing 30 feet away from Natasha. If Wanda’s not on the phone with you, then who is she talking to?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Who do you think Wanda was talking to? 👀

To be continued...(hopefully)

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[chrissturnsfav]

omg imagine missionary with chris and you ask him if he’s mad at you mid fuck 😭

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐘 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐔𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃

you ask chris if he's still mad at you during apology sex over a silly argument.

ᰔᩚ smut, unprotected p in v (wrap it b4 you tap it), bf!chris, apology sex, slight angry sex, softdom!chris, fluff, pet names

ᰔᩚ w.c. 939

you and chris had gotten into a stupid ass argument not too long ago. it was dumb, over him making plans with his brothers without letting you know. he knew you felt comfortable when he told you his plans, but he failed to do that today.

so now, he's most definitely going to be late to dinner reservations with nick and matt. this wasn't anything unusual—you and chris almost always had sex after a fight.

but this argument was different because you both hadn't come to a settlement before the sex started. all the other times, you and chris made sure to apologize to each other before fucking.

that's why you were confused why chris impulsively just grabbed your face while you were in the middle of yelling at him, kissing you hard as his tongue delved into your mouth without asking for entry—but you reciprocated, of course.

and now, he's got you flat on your back against the silk bedsheets, thighs pushed up to your chest as his fingers dig into the flesh. your hands are flailing around helplessly as you pant, your eyes squeezed shut and lips parted.

but why is it so unenjoyable today?

with every tight and hard thrust he gives your weeping cunt, it feels off, different, almost wrong. it feels good—sure. but it's not the typical take-your-breath-away fuck that chris always provides.

and he can tell you're not feeling it. you're faking moans, you're trying to focus on the sensation of his cock filling you to the hilt, trying to tell yourself it feels fine—feels perfect as usual. but you know it doesn't.

chris groans from above you in annoyance, leaning his face down closer to yours, messy waves in front of his eyes as he tilts his head, studying your exaggerated expression of pleasure.

you can feel his minty breath fanning on your cheeks, making your heart pound as your hands find their place on his shoulders, fake whines leaving your kiss-swollen lips.

"fuck is up with you?" he breathes in a grunt, narrowing his eyes at you. there's a lingering annoyance in his voice—presumably from the argument you two had minutes ago.

"h-hm?" you squeak, your voice shaky. it's so obvious you aren't feeling this. he can read you like a book, and you know it, so the fact that you'd fake pleasure when you know he would find out annoyed him a little more.

chris rolls his eyes, scoffing as he completely stills his hips, loosening his bruising grip on your hips as he frustratedly runs a hand through his hair, "asked you a question," he says dryly, furrowing his brows at you in annoyance.

you chew your bottom lip nervously, crossing your arms over your chest as you avoid his gaze. you know exactly why it feels off tonight, but you think what's on your mind sounds stupid, and would sound even more dumb out loud.

chris huffs, prodding the inside of his cheek with his tongue, trying to contain his growing frustration, "why won't you look at me?" he asks, his tone dripping with annoyance—some leftover from your earlier argument, some from your feigned pleasure.

you swallow thickly, exhaling a deep breath before forcing your eyes on his icy blues that are swirling with curiosity and irritation. "i just..." you mutter, chewing the inside of your cheek now.

"c'mon," he mumbles, softening his tone a little to try and get the words out of you, but staying firm. he speaks, patting your cheek, "talk to me. can't help you if you won't tell me what's wrong, baby."

the softening of your tone provides a bit of reassurance, your body slightly loosening up as you speak with a tiny ounce of confidence, "are you still mad at me?" you mumble softly, nervous of his reaction.

but to your slight surprise, chris' face softens completely, his face dropping. he furrows his brows in confusion, shaking his head, "what?" he scoffs, placing a hand soothingly on your knee, the pad of his thumb rubbing over your smooth skin. "nah, why would i be?"

you feel a slight rush of relief, your body loosening up even more as you drop your crossed arms from your chest. "well...we didn't apologize...you know, before," you tell him quietly.

a slight soft smile tugs at the corners of chris' lips, his other hand coming up to gently cup your jaw as he shakes his head, "you think i'm still on that shit?" he chuckles, reassuringly stroking your cheek. "i'm not mad at you. at all."

you feel completely at ease now, exhaling a breath of relief you weren't even aware you were holding in, "oh," you chuckle awkwardly.

chris smirks, scoffing as he shakes his head again, "truth is, i probably should've told you about my plans. know you like knowing what i'm doing, since you're so obsessed with me," he snickers, teasing you to try and lighten the mood.

you roll your eyes, a slight heat rushing to your cheeks as a smirk tugs at your lips. you playfully shove his shoulder and shake your head, "shut up," you mumble.

chris laughs in amusement, "i'm just fucking with you. but no, i'm not mad, baby. way over that," he tells you softly, smiling reassuringly at you.

"okay," you sigh softly, relief washing over your body like a tidal wave as you smile up at him—which slowly turns into a suggestive smirk. "can you finish now?" you giggle coyly.

chris scoffs, rolling his eyes as he smirks, now gripping your thighs, "legs up," he says, pointing to his shoulders.

thank you for reading!! <3

tags 🏷️: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott , @forgottxen , @sophand4n4 , @sturnsrecord , @purpledragon222 , @faiyaz555 , @jocelyncsblog , @freakiolos , @slut4chris888 , @chriss-slutt , @ilovedanielcaesar , @annsx03 , @snoopychris , @chrissweetheart , @slutformatt17 , @mattsturnii , @dominicfikeenthusiast , @mattsbratt333 , @ivysturnss , @mattysketchup

@chrissturnsfav ™

[sunshine6ixty]

i think this is where i've landed with the whole gaiman thing.

some background, i was a gaiman girlie. i paid money to see him speak, i volunteered for a signing, i've taken pictures in front of the world's largest carousel; hugely formative, resonated on a level that nothing else i've encountered did, and so on and so on etcetera. (i got to say "mr gaiman i wouldn't be who i am today without your books" to him, which is a Different Flavored Memory now than it once was, i can tell you)

and like. though his books had a familiar and fond place in my life, i'd already gotten to a point of... nebulous disenchantment? not disgust or anything-- just that nature was taking its course, and i was drifting away. i started reading neil gaiman at age... what, thirteen? maybe eleven? and i read his work consistently for a while. i'm in my thirties now, and i haven't been keeping track, but i've read american gods once a year for at least the past five years. it was just... kinda time, in a way. he seemed like he'd said what he had to say, and was coasting in a perpetual victory lap, which i was fine with. i'd just... keep picking at the gaiman books again when i was bored.

and i remember thinking, around when i first noticed this distance i'd been feeling, that i was just... running dry. things felt stale and i didn't know where to look to change that.

and then this all happened.

and all of a sudden, my perception of this person has been wrenched into a completely new perspective. just, twisted sideways, seams popping, eyes bugging, can't-unbreak-the-action-figure wrenched. the spell is broken, in an ironically gaiman-esque way, and this mythic figure (~*nEIL GAIman*~) is revealed to be just a shitty, spoiled brat of a complete fucking monster.

i've read the article, i've heard the stories about how weird he was for doctor who, i've seen not-unreasonable allegations of plagarism floating around-- suffice it to say, he's just a shit of a dude. he's... not special. not really. he's a good writer who said one thing with his work, and lived another. who saw something that resonated, and put his name on it. who said something that we felt, and said he gave it to us.

and i realized, from this angle, that the reason i was feeling so dried out was likely because neil gaiman (some might say purposefully) took all the fucking air out of the room. like, nobody was neil gaiman, right, so what right could you have to try to do a neil gaiman? he was the only gaiman. the apex of gaiman. peak gaiman. the mystical, profound, monotheistic god of dark poetic storytelling.

but like. he wasn't. it turns out, he was just a shitty dude. magic or no, he was mostly just entitled.

and i think that sort of broke something in me. if the curtain was pulled back and there was just a weird, shitty little dude in there, then what the fuck have i been doing? in an... i-should-probably-talk-to-a-therapist-about-this sort of way, neil gaiman kept me from writing! like-- i was a kid who took pictures of graves at age five, who made up a story about a child bricked up in the school belltower who's ghost still wandered the halls (and published it in the school newspaper, next to what flavor milk does mrs k's 5th grade class prefer), who believed there was a door to another world beneath their neighbor's ornamental bush, who mapped the lost city (/junk dump) in the open space drainage ditch! this is the stuff i did before i knew gaiman! i liked gaiman because i was into this stuff already, and then after a while, without me really noticing it, neil gaiman became this stuff. the only source of it. the only rightful creator of a gaiman.

and like... if you know you can't do it like neil gaiman, because he's him and you're not, you kind of start despairing before you even begin, right?

fuck that.

i think, what i can take away from the whole debacle is this: it's time for all of us who have ever felt like this to do a gaiman.

... by which i mean, make our art. not the other stuff.

you have every right to be as audacious as neil gaiman with your art. take it as seriously, tell everyone it's as important. put that thing down on paper; the thing you otherwise wouldn't.

look, chances are, you're actually a better person than neil gaiman. he sucks. he was a skilled craftsman, but skill can be learned. what he did was practice and talk himself up. and there is nothing magical about neil gaiman that hasn't also run beneath our fingertips.

there was never anything unique about ~*neiLGAiman*~. not really. neil just made him up to be the special-est most darkest and dreamiest boy there ever was, and it was a fucking lie, and its insidious the degree to which it ate an entire genre.

because, honestly? i want to read more shit like neil gaiman! i've been hungry for more of what he said was solely his for so fucking long! i want to see what weird, fever-dream stories we've all been sitting on because he ate the entire ecosystem! i want to read all of the beautiful, terrible, fucked-up magical things from everyone that never saw the light of day because neil was too busy basking in it!

and now that the mask is off, it's fucking time. i'm going to take my shit back, neil. fuck you.

in a weird, fucked-up way, what a relief.

[armpirate]

Borrowed Skin || JJK

pairing: JK x fem!reader || Obsessive love, Impersonation

w.c.: 6.3k

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, oral sex (female receiving), protected sex, teasing (Minors DNI! Refrain from reading if you're not +18, and ignore if you don't like this type of content)

Aprox. time of reading: 28 minutes

Summary: Something felt different about your boyfriend, Junghoon, after not seeing each other for four days, though you couldn't quite put your finger on it. Familiar gestures felt slightly foreign, shared memories were met with hesitation, and the faintest shadows of someone else lingered in his eyes. What you didn't know was that Jungkook, his twin brother, had killed your boyfriend to take his place. Hungry for a life he could never have any other way, he came up with a plan in order to claim the love he had always desired.

MASTERLIST

It was late evening, and your phone buzzed with a message from Junghoon, your boyfriend. You met a few years ago. It was like the first scene of the couple in a romantic movie, with your hands brushing momentarily as you both went to pick up the same thing in the supermarket. You could almost say it was instant, just one look and a bit of conversation, and you both knew neither wanted to move away from each other.

Everything was perfect, except for his brother, Jungkook. They were almost identical, except for the tattoos on Junghoon's arm that covered his full sleeve, which his brother didn't have. Same with their piercings. Jungkook only had a few on his ears, while Junghoon also had two on his lips.

The differences weren't only physical:

Junghoon was always the responsible one, the kind of person who double-checked plans and took pride in being dependable. He had a steady, grounded energy that made you feel safe. You loved that about him. He was attentive, but not overly sentimental, he showed his care through actions, not words. Although, lately, that side of him was also fading.

Jungkook, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. He thrived on chaos, living in the moment without thinking of consequences. He'd always been a wildcard, the kind of guy who could light up a room but also burn it down. And the kind of guy who would constantly get Junghoon in trouble constantly when they were still close.

You remembered the tension between them vividly: Junghoon often vented about Jungkook's reckless choices, saying things like, "He thinks life's a game, but it's not. One day, he's going to go too far." Jungkook would retaliate with sarcastic remarks, mocking Junghoon for being too uptight.

Their arguments weren't just sibling spats, they were deep, filled with years of unresolved jealousy and blame. It made it easy for you to tell them apart, not just in personality but even in how they carried themselves. Junghoon's calm demeanor was worlds away from Jungkook's restless energy, which always ended up with your boyfriend also being dragged in whatever problem he was in.

You sighed when reading your boyfriend's text. He had been away all weekend, he actually canceled plans with you at the last minute on Friday, which you simply shrugged off, because it wasn't the first time it happened. He always had a last minute conference for his book, a last minute presentation or interview he couldn't place.

Junghoon: What are you doing?

Y/n: I'm coming back home... Where are you?

Junghoon: I went to the gym

Y/n: You? To the gym? You hate it...

Junghoon: Yup. Thought it'd be time to give it a chance

You simply rolled your eyes, leaving your small bag at the passenger's side of your car, your lip trapped under your teeth as you looked at the screen.

Junghoon: Do you want to do something now?

Y/n: Like what?

Junghoon: Prepare some blankets and some snacks, we're cuddling until dinner time.

You were confused, but you weren't going to oppose him. You actually liked the idea of doing something together after so long.

Junghoon: I'm on my way

Y/n: Okay. I'm shopping, but I'll be there in 10. Use your keys if early

Jungkook smiled at the text looking back at him, his smirk widening at the idea of seeing you after so long, for the first time in Junghoon's skin. He had always seen you from afar, always hooked on his brother's arm, but that night things would be different.

Even if it took him erasing Junghoon from the equation and taking his place, Jungkook would be finally able to be right where he belonged: right next to you.

His heartbeat kept beating faster as he approached your building... And a question popped up: would you be able to tell he wasn't Junghoon? Or would he be able to play your boyfriend so well that you wouldn't notice?

After he parked the motorbike, he played with the keys in his hand, the item tingling in his fingers as he looked at the mailbox to confirm which one was your door.

The house was a reflection of you: warm and orderly, with small imperfections that spoke of a life lived rather than curated. He exhaled slowly, steadying the tremor in his fingers. That wasn't the first step; that had been weeks ago. But this was the moment he crossed the line, fully stepping into Junghoon's life. Into your life. Officially adopting an identity and a personality that didn't belong to him only so he'd be able to be with you.

"Love?" his voice sounded a bit deeper than usual when calling for you.

After not hearing from you after a few seconds, he assumed you didn't arrive yet and closed the door behind him. His helmet rested on the backrest of your couch as he planned on walking around. You didn't have many details in the living room, but it was obvious on the small frames placed on the shelves on both sides of your TV that you liked to make it known that house was yours. Guilt and worry held onto his chest as his eyes fell on a picture you had with Junghoon, then to a new one.

And he wondered... was he going to be able to play the perfect boyfriend his brother always was?

Before he could think any deeply about it, the door clicked behind him, and he suddenly turned to see you. Your small frame was bent more towards one side than the other, because the weight of the bags you were carrying in one hand was too heavy.

Jungkook walked to you before you could open your mouth, his hands brushing against yours and forcing him to ignore the electricity to act as normal as he could.

"Thank you, love" you whispered, closing the door.

His walk was intuitive, thanking himself for being early and taking a look around your place to know where things were. Your tracks stopped when you spotted the helmet, ignoring the rustle from the bags in the kitchen.

"What's with the helmet?" you asked confused.

For a moment, he didn't respond, his face unreadable. Then he laughed, a little too quickly, a little too loud. "Oh, that? It's not mine. It's... a friend's. He brought me on his motorbike. I've been meaning to return it."

You frowned. "A friend's?"

He shrugged, still moving inside the kitchen, knowing his lie would be caught as soon as you looked him in the eye. "Yeah, someone I met at the gym" he said, mentioning it like it was no big deal.

And it wouldn't be... if it weren't because his brother wasn't the perfect boyfriend he always showed off to be.

He assumed you'd already know everyone in Junghoon's workplace and his group of friends, adding someone in the picture from a background you didn't know of was a quick way of escaping, without any more questions.

You nodded slowly, still trying to process the oddness of it all. You didn't want to be paranoid. Hell, you promised you left behind all of your insecurities and doubts after what happened, but you couldn't help but let all of those feelings come back at you again with Junghoon's strange behavior that night. Showing up in the middle of the night, so eager to see you, with that same nervousness... It almost felt like a throwback to...

You shook your head, trying to erase those thoughts.

"Do I know this friend?" you asked, half-joking, trying to shake the strange feeling gnawing at your stomach.

He paused, the rustle of bags suddenly stopping. "I don't think so," he said lightly. "I told you it was someone from the gym."

The answer should have satisfied you, but it didn't. Something about the way he avoided any type of honesty when he spoke made your chest tighten. You didn't push further, though. You told yourself it was nothing -Junghoon was just tired. Maybe he really had changed, even in small ways. People did, right?

The rustle of the bags came back as you started making your way to the kitchen, his wide back completely eclipsing whatever he was doing on the counter. "Come on," he said, flashing you that familiar smile over his shoulder, "I'll let you pick a movie to watch until it's time for dinner."

You returned his smile, letting yourself be pulled into the comfort of the moment. Although it lasted just a short moment, because your teeth trapped your lower lip before you could even control yourself.

"Babe" you called him, getting his attention. "You know you can tell me anything, right? I mean..." you readjusted yourself in the kitchen, resting against the wall, shifting your position so you'd be able to look at him "There's no secrets between us".

Jungkook hesitated, knowing what your gaze meant. Yet, at the same time, he knew that look wasn't because you were suspicious of his fake personality. It was something else he couldn't decipher, but it made his heart shrink with a guilt he wasn't the owner of.

"I do have something to tell you" he finally said.

As much as you'd have loved to be relieved by that sentence, it made your pulse quicken. Because last time it started the exact same way.

"The helmet" he said, trying to control himself by redirecting his thoughts on the conversation "is mine. I didn't want to tell you, because it was going to be a surprise, but I'm a mess and ruined it. I've been studying to get the license" he finally admitted. "I bought a motorbike recently..."

"You did what?" you frowned. "That's..." definitely better than everything you had imagined. "Oh god, that's great" you smiled widely. "The amount of things we'll be able to do, and all the places we'll go".

Jungkook's heart fluttered at the way your expression changed, opening the door to an excited rambling with several ideas you were clearly already thinking of.

"You liked the surprise, baby?"

"Yes, yes" you nodded repeatedly. "You kept it to yourself so well, I wouldn't have seen it coming at all".

"Yeah... I thought it'd be better for all the plans I want to do with you, hmm? We could go on a small trip during your holidays, I could pick you up from work..."

"I... You didn't even hint at it. You're usually so bad at keeping secrets" you sighed, relieved at what he was keeping from you.

"It was a surprise worth of keeping from you"

"I'm happy though" you smiled at him, started to take out all the groceries you bought. "I'm happy you finally got a license. I would have rathered it to be a car, you know, it's safer. But it's great" to prolong the comfort and happiness, you turned to him with a smile, finding him supporting himself on the doorframe "It's really great" you nodded again. "You know what?"

"What, baby?"

"I bought you your favorite dessert"

He tried to hide the surprise and confusion, knowing damn well you're referring to Junghoon's. Trying to keep himself from messing it up, he opted for a neutral answer: "You're spoiling me, baby".

As he watched you pacing around the kitchen, putting all the things perfectly in the drawers, he couldn't help but notice how you seemed comfortable in his presence, unaware that he wasn't your boyfriend, a little too happy with the domestic aura it all gave. For one second, he could only feel guilty of not doing what he did earlier.

"You're not going to ask why I showed up unannounced?" he buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent, trying to push away the guilt that gnawed at him. But at the same time, the feeling of having you in his arms was exhilarating.

"Why?" you asked softly, leaning into his body.

"I missed you" he murmured in your ear, his voice low and filled with desire. His arms tightened around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

His eyes shut close when your fingers moved up to his hair, enjoying the feeling. Your touch sent shivers down his spine, making him crave more. Instinctively his body against yours, his lips finding their way to your neck, planting soft kisses along your skin.

"I love you" he subconsciously said, with his lips attached to your scent while his hands roamed through your curves.

"Baby" you puckered your lips, touched by his words "I love you, too".

He buried his face in your hair, inhaling your scent and trying to commit it to memory, while his fingers ran through it, gently massaging your scalp as you stood there in your kitchen.

He slid his hands underneath your shirt, caressing your bare skin, making you hum at how warm he surprisingly felt. "You're so warm" you mumbled, snuggling closer.

"You feel so nice and soft in my arms" one of his hands made its way down to your thigh. "Hmm, the best" he gave your thigh a light squeeze and then slowly ran his fingers up and down the outside, moving his digits until they brushed against the hem of the fabric of your t-shirt.

"I'm glad you came" you confessed with a soft whisper.

Jungkook smiled against your shoulder, his face hiding in the crook of your neck "Why wouldn't I be here doing what I love the most?"

"Well... You always say your job is so important".

Junghoon loved you, you knew he did, but he also found a million other things more important than you, and he didn't hesitate to remind you. Now, having him behind you, his chest stuck to your back as he hugged you tight when he was supposed to be at work, you felt a warmth in your heart you hadn't felt in a long while.

"Of course it is, but you're even more important to me" he chuckled at your action, loving the way you tried to fit against his body.

You were tired of the amount of times you'd heard that same sentence on him, only to be paid dust all the time. But, somehow, those words felt so genuine that night...

"From now on, I promise I'll focus on you only. I promise" he whispered, with his lips brushing against your earlobe.

"I'm glad our arguments finally got some sense for you" you joked, although you weren't really joking.

For one second, Jungkook wondered how his brother could even think of believing anything was more important than being with you in his arms. How could Junghoon ever think of not putting you in first place?

"You don't know how much I hated those arguments, baby" he looked into your eyes when you turned your face, his gaze and tone both growing somber at the mention.

"Me, too. I hate being mad at you" you kissed his lips.

"Being mad at you was like torture. Those fights felt like hell" slowly, he made you turn on your feet, the feeling of you in his arms already making him feel better.

"What comes after those fights is worth it though" you smirked, hiding your face on his neck.

Jungkook chuckled, endeared by the way you hid how your cheeks turned a lighter shade of pink "Yeah, my clingy baby gets even clingier after our fights" he grinned and his hand rubbed up and down your thigh.

There was something about his touch, his words... or the way he was holding you like he actually wanted you that kept you pushing for more. You started kissing his cheek, but quickly moved down his jaw and throat, feeling him gulp thick under your lips.

"Mmm, baby, that feels nice" he tilted his head to the side to give you even better access to his neck.

You moved back up, your lips rubbing against his. "You like that?"

He brought his hands up to the sides of your face and pulled you closer, his lips hovering over yours, wondering if that was always how you made things up.

"Hmm" he nodded " And I think you're so cute"

He gave your nose a small kiss before kissing your lips softly, gently pulling on your lower lip with his. With every second, he deepened the kiss, gently pushing his tongue into your mouth, pulling and playing with yours. Your fingers sank deeper in his hair, flicking your tongue on his while your hands started moving down his torso. A low hum and a moan escaped his lips as he felt your fingers move, his hands sliding up and down your thighs before eventually gripping your hips. A gasp broke the kiss when you felt his hands on your hips, pressing you a bit harder against his crotch, and as you started to rock your hips against him, you felt that need for him starting to build up.

His teeth crushed on your neck, sucking at the skin to give you a mark as his hips continued to move against yours. His hands traveled down the back of your thighs, digging into your flesh as he started rolling your hips against him, slowly getting addicted to the way you felt against him. He didn't think twice, lifting your body so you were sitting on the counter.

He was left confused when you sat straight in front of him, although your smirk calmed him down almost immediately. His pulse raced up when you started taking your shirt off, his eyes falling down to your chest. His hands moved through your smooth soft skin, traveling up your sides, while his eyes shined as if that was the first time he saw you that way.

You didn't give him time to think, because you bent over to kiss him before he could. His hands were placed on either side of your neck, pulling you back down to his lips, the kiss immediately growing more and more hungry, his tongue immediately seeking access to your mouth again.

"Babe" you whispered against his lips, "what do you want?"

"You, I only want you"

"I'm all yours"

A smirk played on his lips as he heard the words fall so freely from your lips, your eagerness only fueling his hunger for you. The fact that he thought he'd never hear those words from you, and even less dedicated to him, made his head spin. His hands slide up your sides and then down again, his fingers hooking onto the waistband of your pants as he looked into your eyes

"Is that so? You're all mine and mine only?"

"Only yours" you whispered.

You didn't care about how many times you needed to confirm that, because that was the truth.

"Good girl" he groaned, those two words, so simple yet impactful, made your blood run faster through your veins.

He tugged on your pants, signaling for you to lift your hips up a bit so he could take them off, and you helped, supporting your hands on his shoulders to give him enough space to get you naked.

As his eyes traced a silent path through your body, you couldn't help but tilt your head. "Liking what you see?" your hands moved up through his shirt.

His answer, forward yet nervous, came up as if it was the most obvious answer "Shit, I love it"

You didn't need to speak for your boyfriend to help you take off his t-shirt, it was enough with the way you kept moving the black fabric up for him to follow your silent command and do as you wanted, his abs slightly flexing as you exposed him.

"When did you get so bulked up?" you curiously asked when you spotted the difference.

It was then when you realized the big toll routine had on you and your relationship, how you barely noticed the change in his body despite seeing each other almost every day.

"I've been working out a lot lately" he said, smiling nervously, watching your fingers run over his arms.

You could almost hear the pride in his tone as you touched his muscles.

Again, a pang of sadness showed up again across your brain as you realized how long it had been since you were that intimate with your boyfriend. You didn't even notice how toned he was becoming, you didn't even notice the progress as it was happening.

"I see" you chuckled, wrapping your fingers around his neck when you saw him placing himself between your legs.

He hummed and smiled as you wrapped your arms around him, his hands immediately going to your hips, gripping them and pulling you closer to him, his face in line with your neck. He nuzzled your throat, showering the skin there with light kisses.

His lips moved up to your jawline, placing small, slow kisses up your jaw, his hands grabbing your thighs and pulling you even closer, until your hips are rubbing against his again. The mere touching having you whispering in between kisses how bad you craved him, while his hands tightened their grip on your thighs at your words, your desire for him only fueling the lust and hunger for you inside him.

He attached his lips to your neck once more, gently sucking and biting the skin there while his hips rolled up as you grinded against him. The only thing that could ever stop him from devouring you was yourself, and that was exactly what happened.

He let out a soft hum as you touched his back, his hips rolling up against you again at the soft feeling of your fingers. When your digits hit his belt, a smirk played on his lips. "Do you want it off, baby?"

You nodded and you could feel his grip on your thighs loosening to give you space to move in front of him, able to drag your body down his from the counter. He watched you in awe, the movement already sending a wave of excitement through him. When looking down at you, his eyes took in every inch of your bare skin while he undid his belt buckle.

A thick groan left his lips when you played him while undressing him, your fingers barely touching his skin when taking off his dark jeans, earning him calling you a tease with a groan. Your boyfriend didn't hold back, holding your thighs to put you back against his body, the sudden move surprising you, but not letting you back off from teasing him "Yes, I'm a tease, and? You love it".

"Hmm yeah, I do. But I also love you being a good girl"

A smirk immediately plays on his lips as you weren't able to control your legs from pressing together. His hands moved down your body, caressing your bare skin. "Oh? Does someone like being called a good girl?"

It was something... new. It wasn't the type of chat you had while having sex.

He lifted your body once more, making you wrap your legs around him so you'd be steadily placed.

"Grind against me" he said in a deep tone, his hands gripping the small of your back more firmly, wanting to feel you closer.

You positioned yourself correctly enough to do what you were told, your hips almost meeting his, you could feel his hardened bulge, yet you didn't move an inch. "You want this?" you moved your hips down, rolling them for one second before moving them back up.

He took a deep breath, trying to keep his patience even at the feeling of you rolling your hips for a second, his own self-control slowly slipping out of his grasp. He gripped your hips harder, wanting to feel you against him even more "Yeah, I want this. I want you. So move against me and be a good girl for me, baby"

Clearly, you weren't going to make it so easy for him.

You bit your lip, bending over until your lips were almost touching his ear "Use the right words".

He shivered involuntarily at your whispered sentence, your breath in his ear sending another wave of excitement through him, the need to be with you growing stronger "Please, baby. Let me feel you, just move against me. You know I'm a patient man, but this is making me lose my damn mind"

"So this" you grind your hips down, moving them back up again "is making you lose your head?"

He let out a low, almost guttural groan at the slow, calculated move of your hips, the friction created by your movements driving him insane "Yeah, you're making me lose my damn mind, baby. You know what you do to me".

You licked his upper lip, your hand holding his chin before you rolled your hips back down against his.

He moaned in consequence, feeling the way you rolled your hips again, his own hips involuntarily bucking up against yours. "Baby... that's it, just keep going like that. Just a little bit more" he held back the urge to take control of your body and just take you right there, trying to keep a bit of my composure.

Although that composure didn't last long, just enough for him to take you to your bedroom.

You didn't know how or when you ended up underneath him, his body trapping yours against the mattress while his lips ghosted over yours "We're done playing now" he assured you. The air was caught in your throat when he brushed his lips against your throat. "I fucking love the way you're all mine" he groaned. "Mine only, hmm? I'll destroy whoever tries to get between us".

You gulped thick when you heard him saying that, unsure if it was just the pleasure ruling him... because he was looking deadly serious.

"What?" he called you "You like knowing that you're all mine and mine alone? You like hearing how I'll do anything to keep you all to myself?"

In three years of relationship, it was the first time you heard Junghoon being so possessive of you. Yet you didn't hate it. Not at all.

He crawled on top of you, his body trapping you beneath him. His fingers skillfully undid the clasp of your bra with a swift motion as soon as his fingertips found it. Your back arched with need as you felt the fabric caressing your skin before disappearing, and it kept folding as his lips started making their way down your body. He paused for a moment to look up at you, his eyes darkened for all the right and wrong reasons as he admired the invisible path he made from your chest to the edge of your underwear.

He held your gaze for a moment, his eyes searching for a hint of suspicion or doubt, for any sign that could make him back down. But he found none, only desire and trust. His fingers hooked into your underwear and pulled them down your legs, his eyes never leaving yours as he got you naked in front of him.

Jungkook moved back up your body, his hands trailing up your thighs as he went. He positioned himself between your legs, his lips finding your collarbone again, leaving a mark that would be difficult to hide, while his heart pounded hysterically against his chest. His desire for you and the guilt of his identity waging a silent war inside him.

But he chose to silent them.

He lifted your leg over his hip, pulling you even closer to him. His body pressed against yours, and the last remaining layers of fabric between you felt like an unbearable barrier. He nipped at your earlobe, his voice a low, demanding whisper "I fucking need you so bad".

"I need you, too"

The way your words echoed his, the way you sounded so out of breath... It all kept clouding his judgement. He knew those words were dedicated to someone else, he knew your body was craving Junghoon, but the thought of his touch exciting you like that only made him growl deep in his throat.

His lips reached the apex of your thighs as he started moving down, pausing for a moment as he looked up at you. Your face was flushed with desire, your eyes darkened with need. He took a moment to memorize the sight before he gave in completely to his desires. Giving you one last look, he bent enough to sink his mouth sensually among your folds, the contact making you hum in pleasure almost instantly.

He ran his tongue over you, savoring the taste of you in his mouth. Your body writhed beneath his touch, your moans and gasps filling the room.. the combination of it all causing his chest to puff with pride, while his tongue dived deeper in you to get a better taste. Jungkook lost himself in you, driven by the overwhelming need to make you his, to make everything he had always dreamed of a reality.

Your moans, the sight of you, your reaction to his touch... it all drove him crazy with a primal need to possess you, to make you his in every way he had thought of ever since Junghoon introduced you to the family. He delved deeper, his tongue exploring you with a fervor that bordered on desperate. Jungkook craved more of those sounds, those sensations, those reactions.

You almost couldn't recognize yourself. The passion, the way your boyfriend was giving himself to you, the way he was sinking his mouth in you as if he wanted to eat you whole and then eat you again. You swore he made you let out sounds you haven't heard on yourself ever before.

"Baby, I need you" you moaned, almost with a plea.

Your words, the need in your voice, the way your body responded to him -it was like fuel to the fire. He wanted -no, he needed- to give you what you were asking for.

Licking your clit one last time, he moved up your body, making sure he showered with kisses every centimeter on the way to your face. Jungkook positioned himself between your legs again, his eyes holding your gaze. His fingers brushed against you, teasing, but never quite giving you what you want. His voice was a low, almost desperate plea:

"Are you ready for me, baby?"

You dedicated him a soft smile, before you nodded and placed your hands on his shoulders "Always".

Your answer, the look on your face -it teared away the last shred of restraint he had. With one movement of his head, he motioned you to get a condom, which you reached effortlessly at the bedside table to hand it to him so he'd wrap himself on the latex. 

His lips claimed your mouth in a deep kiss, while his length slid into you with one movement, filling you completely. It was strange, but he felt like coming home, finally being where he belonged.

For a second, the guilt installed in his brain, reminding him of what he was doing, of the place he was taking over, but how quickly you pulled from his neck and how you linked your lips together worked to get him back to the only thing that mattered: you.

You broke the kiss, moaning when he started moving, a low giggle adorning the room and making Jungkook the weakest he had ever felt. "Fuck, you feel bigger".

He couldn't help but smirk at your words, the need to hear more, to make you feel even more driving him forward. He lifted your leg over his waist again, his lips finding your ear as he murmured: "Is that a good thing, baby? Does it feel good?"

"So fucking good" you closed your eyes, dropping your head back.

He didn't know how long he stayed moving while just looking at you, drinking up all of your reactions, memorizing every small detail on your face with every new wave of pleasure, or the way your nails digged on his skin whenever he angled his hips to reach the right spot. You were so hypnotizing and addictive.

He was done being a viewer, he was the main character of the most devoted love story to ever exist.

Hearing you moan like that, hearing how good he made you feel, pushed him even closer to the edge. Jungkook bit down on your shoulder, just enough to leave a mark, as he tried to hang on just a bit longer. He picked up the pace, driving into you deeper, harder, his eyes fixed on your face, ready for the smallest sign to give you everything you could ask for.

When you opened your eyes, you didn't recognize the dark look in your boyfriend's eyes as he crashed into you, his pace was relentless, like he had been deprived from touching you for years.

Your hands moved instantly to his wrists, trying to find some stability as your body kept bouncing harder against the mattress. Jungkook intertwined his fingers with yours, holding onto you as if he never wanted to let go. He could feel your body responding to his, and could see how close you were.

"Give it to me, baby. Give me everything you have" he asked softly, your hands moving to each side of your head as his body bent over to cover yours.

He held your gaze, he took care of your body, and he walked with you to your high to make sure you wouldn't miss a single beat. Until you both turned into one, your bodies being a mix of shivers and electricity.

Jungkook held you tight, only letting go of your hands to wrap his arms around you and sink his face on the curve of your neck to inhale your scent. You were so his that it physically hurted.

"That was..." you thought for a few seconds, trying to come up with a word "new".

Jungkook curiously moved back to look into your eyes "New? In a good sense?"

"Yeah... Yeah" you nodded, huffing a laugh "Different, in a good sense though. It's just that..." you started to explain, feeling a bit nervous "you're usually so soft and slow, and careful and delicate".

"Am I?" Jungkook lifted his eyebrow, trying to wonder if he allowed his own needs to take control of himself and risk getting exposed. "I just got carried away. I'm sorry if I hurted you".

"Hoon, I've been asking you to be a bit rougher for months" you chuckled "Why are you apologizing? I liked it" while speaking, you tilted your head, looking at him "Maybe we should get even freakier next time".

For a second, Jungkook's lip twitched at hearing his brother's name on your lips, but he recomposed quickly after, letting a smirk be drawn on his face.

"You felt like a completely different person" you chuckled "I liked it".

Jungkook pecked your lips quickly, trying to get rid of the idea that he was indeed a different person.

"Shall we get something for dinner?" he casually asked, hugging you tight in his arms. He stretched his legs lazily,moving his face down to look at you, his lips curling into a satisfied smile. "How about we order something for dinner? I'm starving."

You blinked, surprised. "Order something? You usually insist on cooking after..." you trailed off, cheeks warming.

He tilted his head, the playful grin never faltering. "Figured I'd give us both a break. Besides, my cooking could use a little variety."

Junghoon always prided himself on his cooking, especially after moments like these. It was his way of grounding himself, of caring for you. Still, you shrugged off the unease. He probably was just trying to be thoughtful in a different way.

"What are you in the mood for?" you asked, shifting to grab your phone.

"Anything but Chinese food," he replied quickly. Too quickly.

Your fingers paused mid-air. "But...you love Chinese food."

Jungkook stopped, trying to think of what to say to get away from his own mess.

He hesitated, barely perceptibly, before chuckling. "Right. I meant, I've had enough of it lately. Craving something else."

You nodded slowly, letting it slide, but a faint buzz of doubt lingered in the back of your mind. As you scrolled through the menu options, he got up, moving to his pants on the floor.

His movements were fluid, confident, but lacked the familiarity you'd always known. The way he grabbed the fabric and tossed it on: it wasn't the usual meticulous way Junghoon folded and set aside his clothes.

"Pizza?" he suggested, his voice easy, casual. "Something simple."

Your lips curved into a small smile despite the growing doubts. "Sure, pizza sounds good."

As you placed the order, you caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. He was looking at you, but there was something in his eyes -a hunger, an intensity- that didn't belong to Junghoon. You shook your head, telling yourself it was all in your imagination.

After slipping into your clothes, the two of you left the room, the warm glow of the moment still lingering in the air. Junghoon walked beside you, his arm brushing yours occasionally as you both made your way to the living room.

"What time should the food get here?" he asked, glancing at you.

"About thirty minutes," you replied, checking the confirmation on your phone. "Plenty of time to relax."

Jungkook moved first, wrapping his arm around your waist to drag you with him over the couch, making sure both of you falled over it, your body almost over his lap, as he cuddled you tight. Something so simple as that had you instantly feeling better, instantly forgetting about any doubts or insecurities, vanishing that sense of unease and anxiety, to welcome comfort and love.

You didn't realize, but you started rubbing your cheek against his chest, while your hands held tight on his arms, your eyes closed while you allowed his scent fill your nostrils.

You were tired of being suspicious, and always ending on the worst of the conclusions, because small changes didn't always have to be for the worst.

If that was the first night of a new phase of your relationship, you'd gladly take it.

And something in him moved at your reaction. He was convinced he'd make you a million times happier than his brother ever did. It was as if the universe was telling him you were always meant to end up with him, because you molded together perfectly.

He, and only him, was everything you ever wanted, and he'd make sure he'd be the only thing you'd ever want. 

[redeemingvillains]

of magic & mayhem - mattheo riddle

summary: the strongest wizard of your age also happens to be hogwarts' playboy, and when he sets his sights on you, you realize neither of you have a choice in the matter.

word count: 3k

a/n: this is like nine of my concepts all mashed into one! heavily influenced by my re-read of fourth wing in preparation for onyx storm coming out, anyone who wants to scream about that in my inbox, please do <3

The Great Hall echoed with the excited chatter of friends and classmates and the general cacophony of breakfast; the sounds of scraping cutlery and the clink of dishes and goblets. You and Pansy sat in genial silence as you read your book and she eyed the gossip column of the Daily Prophet.

You were so totally transfixed on your book that you didn't see the looming figure in front of you until he placed his hands on the oak table and leaned casually across it into your airspace.

"Good morning" he drawled smoothly in a deep voice that caused you to glace up only to see Mattheo Riddle's large amber eyes twinkling at you, matched with a smirk that made you feel like you had pixies in your stomach.

You could smell his cologne from this distance, an undeniable mix of woodsmoke, evergreen and cinnamon that made you feel heady.

"Pansy" he acknowledged, nodding at her as she glanced up at him with a surprise that matched your own.

"Mrs. Riddle" he said, acknowledging you as his electric gaze found yours. You felt a deep blush on your cheeks, even as your face scrunched in confusion and your eyes searched his face for a hint of a joke, finding none.

"What did you just call me?" you asked, cocking your head. As much as you tried to supress it, a small smile graced your lips, which didn't go unnoticed.

"What?" he said in mock surprise. "You don't like it? I think it's perfect."

A pause.

"It suits you" he said confidently. He winked at you as your eyebrows shot up and he turned and walked away without another word.

You turned to look at Pansy who was open-mouthed gaping after him before turning to look at you.

"What was that!?" she exclaimed, excited, like you knew something she didn't.

You shook your head and rolled your eyes despite the hammering of your heart in your chest.

"He's a complete flirt, Pans, I'm not putting a lot of weight in whatever he's woken up and decided to say today."

But even as the words came out of your mouth, you couldn't help but feel excited that you'd caught his attention, even if you knew how delicately dangerous it could be.

"But Mrs. Riddle?! Please. I am dying oh my gods!" she said.

"No, we're not even thinking about this. Not unless you want to listen to me cry myself to sleep in three weeks when I've completely fallen for him and he's moved on to someone else. We all know how this goes and I'm not stupid enough to fall for it."

Pansy pursed her lips as she bounced in her seat with excitement, like she was going to explode.

"Okay, but maybe, just hear me out—" she started.

"—No" you said emphatically, as much to her as to yourself.

She stuck her tongue out at you and you returned the gesture.

It was no secret you were sought after; you had your fair share of dates and suitors. And it was no secret that Mattheo Riddle took the concept of incredibly hot fuckboy to another level, which is why, despite his comment and increasingly insistent stares you kept your distance.

Try as you might to forget what he said, or the way his dark eyes had twinkled mischievously as they drank you in, you found your thoughts drifting to him more times than you'd care to admit, and he had no intention of making it any easier for you, because now every time he saw you, he made a point of using your new nickname.

"Good morning, Mrs. Riddle" he said as he passed you in the Great Hall the next day.

"Have a good day, Mrs. Riddle!" he shouted from the opposite side of the common room, which garnered a significant amount of attention and whispers.

"Let me get the door for you, Mrs. Riddle" he said, pushing your classmates out of the way to do so.

"Mmm, gorgeous as ever, Mrs. Riddle" he whispered walking by you in the library in a way that felt like the words themselves danced over every inch of your body.

Pansy was nearly inconsolable over the situation, egging it on eagerly and even picking it up herself.

"Good night, Mrs. Riddle" she said to you as you crawled into bed in your shared dormitory.

"Lay off it, Pansy! Gods" you replied, even as you grinned like an idiot to yourself.

But then she wasn't the only one.

After less than a week of it, the rumor spread like fiendfyre and now Mattheo's friends were smirking at you in the corridor, waving teasingly to you in the common room and offering you every ounce of preferential treatment befitting of the name: knocking Potter off his chair when he took your seat in Potions, forcing a first-year to stand outside your dormitory holding your favorite latte every morning, and ensuring you had a coveted first row seat at their quidditch matches, including the House Cup, which you were excitedly getting ready for when Pansy burst into your room.

"You will never guess what I just heard" she said, grabbing you by the shoulders.

"What's that?" you asked, humoring her frenetic energy.

"Astoria Greengrass having a sob in the girls lav. You know how she and Mattheo have hooked up a few times?—"

You didn't, in fact, know that and couldn't help the pang of jealousy that gripped your chest.

"—Well I heard her telling Penelope Clearwater that he says he doesn't want to anymore and he told Harmony Norman and Maria Warner the same thing!"

Your face tangled in disgust.

"How many girls is he hooking up with? And why do you look so happy about it? What a mess…" you said, sighing as you turned to resume your makeup.

"Why, all of a sudden is he breaking all of them off, hmm?" she said, cocking an eyebrow at you in your mirror.

"I don't know" you said shiftily. "Maybe he's trying to be a better person?!—"

"—Or maybe he has his eyes set on someone else?!" she said insistently. "You know, someone he's given a special nickname to, his name to?"

You opened your mouth to argue with her but you couldn't deny the logic of her statement.

The boys pulled it off, sweeping Gryffindor in the House Cup for the first time in years and the ensuing celebration was electric.

The music in the common room was loud enough to sway the chandeliers in the ceiling, to feel the bass vibrating in your body.

Every Slytherin you knew and quite a few friends from other houses were there, the normally cavernous room filled in a way that made it feel like some sort of night club, bodies covering every inch of space, melding and weaving between each other and raising the temperature of the normally dank dungeon air.

You couldn't help but search the flashing lights and otherwise utter chaos for Mattheo and you didn't have to look for long the way he stood a head taller than almost everyone in the room, even surrounded by his large teammates; not to mention the way they were walking around like kings, taking turns chugging champagne out of their trophy, raucous, rowdy and loud as people cheered around them.

Mattheo himself was in rare form, his handsome curls were slightly askew and his cheeks were rosy from the alcohol and general liveliness of the night. He was dressed in a fitted black tshirt and dark pants and was exuding an energy that was magnetic, even from where you were standing; undeniably, your heart thumped in your chest at the sight of him.

Had you gotten a little dressed up? Of course. It was a celebration, an occasion, why wouldn't you? But as you wound through the sea of bodies, fingers twined in Pansy's, you garnered enough stares and double-takes that had you thinking you may have slightly overdone it.

"Oh, okay queen!" Pansy had said the minute she'd seen your outfit, the way you'd done your makeup and styled your hair, knowing, perhaps, exactly what or who had been on your mind.

You stopped to grab a drink and your cup had barely touched your lips before two guys came up to you that you recognized vaguely from the year below you. They were admittedly cute and you smiled as they compliment you and chatted with you. You leaned in closer to hear them over the music and the crowd and the one closest to you ducked his head toward you when you felt a tingle run from the base of your neck down your spine and a large, warm hand wound its way around your waist, pulling you firmly backwards into what felt like a pliable brick wall. You were startled for only a moment until you caught the undeniable scent of evergreen, of cinnamon.

"Brian is it? Blake? Blaire? Why don't you go get a drink, buddy?" his voice rumbled near your ear, more of a command than a suggestion as Bradley's eyes shot up over your shoulder to the shadow looming there and nodded quickly, retreating.

"Aww" you pouted sarcastically as you turned around. "He was nice, we were having fun!"

You met Mattheo's eyes which were so dark they looked nearly jet black as they glared at you. Had he been jealous?

And like he could read your mind his lip twitched and he rolled his eyes.

"Even if he had a chance with you, which, let's be very clear, he doesn't, he wouldn't know what to do with it."

"And, let me guess, you would?" you asked teasingly.

"Care to find out?" he asked matter-of-factly.

You felt a wave wash over you from your head to your toes, your body tingling with his proximity, with the way his eyes met yours directly, unfaltering despite the myriad distractions around him.

Gods yes you thought, even as you bit your bottom lip, teetering on the edge of a decision you knew you couldn't come back from.

His eyes shamelessly fell to your lips and you suddenly realized that his hands had never left you as they flexed at your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin like he was holding onto you for purchase.

"C'mon" he said, not waiting for a coherent reply from you, which you may never have been able to form had he kept looking at you that way.

His hands left your body only long enough to tangle his fingers in yours and hold them tightly, pulling you behind him as he headed into the sea of bodies on the dance floor, weaving between some as others offered him a wide berth and a congratulations when they realized who he was.

Then, like he was moving in slow motion, he turned to face you, twining your fingers further in his as he pulled you into him, guiding your hand over his shoulder so you were flush to his chest, and his other hand found your waist again, his grip firm and unyielding as he held you to him as if you would argue or try to be anywhere but right here.

You could feel every dip and curve of his body against yours as you moved against each other in a way that felt perfect and also not nearly enough, even though you couldn't get any closer.

You let the hand on his shoulder wander to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling into the curls there and even though the music was loud enough that you could barely hear yourself think, you could feel as much as hear the growl that released in his chest as his hands tightened on you in a way you were certain would leave a bruise.

The lights flickered for just a second, and a few people stopped dancing and shouted but his eyes never left yours, the only acknowledgement he offered, a small grimace on his face, which made you want to kiss his lips back into his irritatingly perfect smirk.

He leaned in, pressing his cheek to yours as his lips hovered to your ear.

"You look stunning, Mrs. Riddle."

He leaned back and you could see his signature smirk gracing his lips again. You opened your mouth to reply as your eyes met his, but your head was swimming at this point. Everything was him all at once, his body against yours, taught and warm to your touch, his breath on you that smelled like cinnamon gum, his cologne, you felt yourself melting into him at his words, closing the only remaining inches between your hips as your hands came to his face and your noses brushed — and then the lights went out in earnest, drowning you in complete darkness.

"Fuck" you heard him mutter strongly before grasping your hand in his as he started to pull you through the imperceptible forms of people who were yelling and shouting, blazing a path through them, pushing people aside brusquely where necessary. He was on a war path and your feet moved quicky to follow him as he cleared most of the crowd and headed directly for the boys dormitory.

He pulled you into a maze of adjoining corridors before swiping his hand causing an approaching door to fly open as he pulled you in behind him. You were barely through it before he swiped his hand again and it slammed closed behind you, forcefully, the energy pouring off of him in a way that reminded you just how strong of a wizard he was, and exactly why absolutely nobody fucked with him.

He turned to you finally, his chest rising and falling as he gripped your waist and pushed you gently against the closed door with a thud. He let his other hand rest beside your head, caging you in. The look of lust on his face was still there, tangled with the same grimace from before, like he was angry, like he was holding something in.

"Mattheo...?" you whispered and he ducked his head away from you, his eyes squeezing shut as the hand at your waist squeezed again, the touch sending an electric tingle up your side that made you gasp.

His gaze came back to you and then he was leaning in, his nose brushing yours again and your hands came to wind around his neck. You caught a glimpse of a smile on his lips as they hovered over yours, barely grazing them, and you could feel static electricity there between you, the air itself alight with energy, vibrating. The temptation was driving you mad, your chest visibly rising and falling against his own and then his lips fell to yours, warm, soft and urgent.

He took your face in his hands and pressed you into the door and you hummed against him. The lights in the room flickered once, then twice, and then rapidly like you were in a horror film before they went out completely, drenching you both in a velvet darkness that was somehow welcoming, like you could feel the shadows themselves dancing over your body, caressing you, enveloping you.

You felt his tongue against your bottom lip and you opened up to him. Your tongued flicked against his and a freezing gust of wind blew papers, books and quills off his desk, hurling them to the ground with a clatter and bang. Mattheo never stopped, his tongue continued to glide over yours and he kissed you like it was the last godsdamn thing he'd ever do.

He hoisted you up so your legs wrapped around his waist and he pressed you back into the door before releasing your lips just long enough to trail kisses down your jaw to your neck that he lavished in a way you were certain there would be a violet bruise in the morning.

Your eyes fluttered in pleasure, lost in him for a moment until you caught sight of the room around you and you froze.

It was midnight black but for the moonlight coming through the window which cast everything in a ghostly shade of white, but what caught your eye was that every object in the room was floating, adrift in the air, the bed, the desk, the bookshelf, all hovering feet off the ground. Lightweight objects like clothing, quills and his books floated higher and higher and then you realized that it was cold enough to see your breath in front of you.

"Mattheo" you breathed, trying to get his attention. Your hand carded through his curls and the chair in the corner took flight.

Wait. Was this him?

"Mrs. Riddle?" he murmured in your neck.

"Mattheo" you said again, a stronger urgency in your voice causing him to relent and look up at you with a puff of air of his own.

"Fuck" he said. "It's – yeah. That's me. Well, that's you actually."

"What?"

"S'no secret that my magic is ... strong. And I'm well practiced at controlling it. With... one exception."

He took your hand and placed it over his chest where you could feel his heart hammering.

You searched his eyes and his eyebrow quirked until he gestured to his room. As if to say 'see?'

This boy had quite literally lost his control at your touch.

"Wait, the lights? The music?" you asked, a small smile on your lips at the realization.

"When you touched me, I just—" he shook his head, exhaling another puff of cold air. "—See what you do to me, Mrs. Riddle?" he said.

"Gods, when are you going to stop calling me that?" you laughed, even as you looked at him and traced a finger over his lips.

"When it's true" he said simply.

You looked confused for a moment until he leaned into you again, his magic radiating off of him.

"What?" you breathed.

"When you're mine, and it's official and I won't have to spend all of my free time reminding everyone you're mine, they'll know. Until then, I'll hedge my bets."

He kissed you.

"Mmpf, but what if I didn't want you to stop?" you murmured against him.

He pulled back to look at you, scanning your face for any sign of a joke, and finding none as your eyes connected with his and his lip quirked in a smile.

"Well, princess,” he whispered against your lips, ghosting them with his, teasing you before biting your bottom lip gently in a way that sent a shiver through you that had nothing to do with the freezing air.

“Whatever Mrs. Riddle wants—” he murmured, kissing you fully, luxuriously, “—Mrs. Riddle gets.”

ˋ°•*⁀➷ I have the tiniest little epilogue that I'll post soon, let me know if you want to be tagged!

taglist: @kenjikishimotoswifey @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @darlingshecried @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @chelawrites @loverliner

[night-market-if]

Recommendations needed

Okay, I'm coming to you guys for this now because I am going out of my mind. I cannot, for the life of me, find good novels with a f/f romantic lead plot. Do they not exist? I've been reading what I can find but I am not enjoying them. It's to the point where I'm wondering if there is something wrong with me. So, I'm coming to all of you. I do not want YA. I get a little icked reading novels about girls my daughter's age. I prefer fantasy but will branch out into other genera's. I'm looking for something that is not a coming of age or a discovering the characters are gay. I just want two leads that are living their life and also happen to be lesbians. I cannot seem to find a story of women falling in love without it being politicized or demonized by either them or other characters in the book.

I've read The Priory of the Orange Tree (romance was decent but I felt most of the story dragged)

I've read You Can't Spell Tea Without Treason (the romance felt one dimensional)

I've read The Stars Too Fondly (the characters were all way too immature for being individuals with their doctorates)

Even Though I Knew The End (It felt like it was written as a hetero relationship that they just switched the pronouns to female in the editing phase)

Legends and Latte's and Bookshops and Bonedust ( I loved this one. Peek cozy fiction. Believable romance)

Noteworthy read is a Dowry of Blood but that was more poly than lesbian and there was a male involved.

[sad-wet-cat-hannibal]

(Essay incoming so I'm adding a read more)

I think you've said some good stuff here, and I too get annoyed or even angered by people using the term in a way that I interpret as flippant; but I'd like to add that as someone who frequently described distressing books and films as "traumatising", it turned out that that word was rather apt - because my intense response was caused by my trauma being triggered by those very same things, too often in ways that felt like reliving it.

Here's the kicker. I didn't know I *had* any trauma. All I knew was that engaging with these works made me feel distressed and disturbed as if I were personally traumatised by these things. Like they were real. Like they damaged me. Just from reading them or seeing them. They'd haunt me for weeks, sometimes months, sometimes years. Sometimes they gave me weird symptoms I couldn't explain. So, naturally, I was hyper-avoidant as fuck.

That intense sensitivity and hyper-avoidance, combined with my ignorance to the fact that my psyche was not experiencing these things from an untraumatised position, meant I thought that "intensely distressing/traumatising" was just the normal effect these things had - except lots of other people seemed oblivious, and even delighted in the exact same works. Sometimes none more so than the kind of motherfuckers who actually like traumatising people.

So I figured, as incomprehensible as it seemed, everyone else had to be either too numbed out/oblivious/naïve to realise how awful this shit was, or were actually big fans of bad things happening in real life.

Because if to me it felt too real, capable of destroying my peace of mind for weeks, then surely to some extent that must be the same for everyone else, right? (Obviously not, but I was younger and working with what limited knowledge I had.) From that logic it's really easy to buy into censorship, into propaganda that claims that the symptoms of a society with a dysfunctional approach to life are often born of the media that echoes them, rather than the other way round. It's real to you. It's your only explanation. (You don't want to feel like this. You don't want anyone to feel like this. It's inhumane.)

What I'm trying to say is that not everyone knows they're traumatised. I think as many as those who do, do not. Perhaps far more. And for those people, the only time they are able to touch on the truth of their half-veiled iceberg is when they tell you that The Bridge to Terabithia "traumatised" them.

(I know it "did" me.)

Telling them they're exaggerating, and misusing language that doesn't apply to them runs the very real risk of making it harder for them to treat their feelings with the consideration and weight they deserve, and enabling them to begin the process of unraveling their denial and tending their wounds. It runs the risk of reinforcing the (potentially forgotten or minimised) messaging they may have already received, during and after the trauma, that it doesn't matter. They're exaggerating. They're making things up. Other people have trauma, other people have it so much worse, other people suffer - but not you. Your account of your experience is unbelievable. Silly. You will not be seen or heard or understood, not by anyone else, and not by yourself...

Yet. Hopefully one day. But I think it often takes other people being willing to shine a light on the pain, and say, "Yeah, it's real. It's caused by things. You aren't alone and you aren't exaggerating."

I think the flippant watering down of the word is potentially very unhelpful too, but there's a section of society who want to push the narrative that the vast majority of people speaking seriously and from a place of relevant psycho-education about their trauma are just special snowflakes jumping on a trend. Maybe I shouldn't, but I feel wary of adding fuel to their fire by trying to gatekeep trauma. I don't know what the solution to these two conflicting uses of the word is, or if it's even possible to create a solution that doesn't simultaneously police the traumatised out of expressing their pain the only way they currently know how. Which would set back the whole thing of trying to help people... We get enough trauma olympics ingrained into everyone as it is.

Oh yeah!! Just remembered, Gabor Mate said in either his book from 2024 or an interview about it that he considers everyone to be traumatised, the question is simply one of degree (if I'm remembering correctly). So from that it may in fact be possible to argue that books and films can traumatise people, although perhaps not necessarily to the extent we might associate with PTSD or CPTSD.

I'm wondering if, as a society who cares about vulnerable people, we could stop saying "traumatize" when we truly mean "upset"?

I am sick of hearing sad books or movies "traumatize" their readers. I simply do not believe that happens. A traumatic experience might be adjacent to books (I have vivid memories of books I was reading around certain experiences and even how the contents of those books affected my processing of the experiences). But it's not caused by the book. And, y'know. The weather is Christofascist Censorship Attempts outside.

Meanwhile from the other side I continue to be surprised at just how badly people fail to understand trauma and traumatic experiences in general. Watering down the term isn't helping. Find other hyperbole to express that The Bridge to Terebithia gutted you, chewed on your heartstrings, and made you cry your first pair of contact lenses right out of your preteen eyes.

[gf2bellamy]

enough ( part two ) — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: it's been a week since your conversation with spencer content warnings: mention of insecurites , very emotional , a/n: a lot of people asked for a pt2 so here it is :) hope you guys enjoy this <33

part 1

A week had passed. Seven long days. It could have been a peaceful week—a rare break from the chaos of working in the BAU.

No cases, no unsubs, just quiet.

But instead of enjoying it, you found yourself curled up on your couch, staring blankly into the void of your living room. 

The words Spencer had spoken haunted you. “I’m in love with you.” They played on an endless loop in your mind, each repetition like a dagger twisting deeper into your chest.

How many times had you cried in the past few days? You’d lost count somewhere around five, but it hardly mattered.

The tears came in waves—sometimes in the middle of the night, sometimes while staring at a book you weren’t reading, and sometimes when you least expected them, triggered by the smallest of things. 

You hated yourself for how you’d handled it. For how you’d shut him down, pushed him away. For the look on his face when he left your room that night. 

And then there was the dread. The gnawing, suffocating dread of what came next. Because at some point, your phone would buzz.

At some point, someone from the team would call or text, and you’d have to go back to work.

You’d have to see Spencer again. 

The thought of being in the same room as him made you feel like you were unraveling. Would he act like nothing had happened? Would he be distant? Could you even bear to meet his eyes? 

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your palms to your temples as if you could physically push the thoughts away.

It didn’t work.

The memory of his voice, his expression, the sheer vulnerability in his confession—it all came rushing back, sharp and vivid. 

And then there was your own voice, trembling as you’d told him you weren’t enough. That you’d ruin him. That he deserved better.

That was the worst part. You wanted to believe him.

But the fear was still there, gnawing at the edges of your resolve. You couldn’t stop questioning yourself, your worth, your ability to give him what he deserved. 

You let out a shaky breath, your hands dropping to your lap as you stared blankly at the coffee table. A half-empty mug of tea sat there, long since cold. Your phone lay beside it, the screen dark and mercifully silent. 

For now.  

Two days later, the thing you’d been dreading finally happened. 

Your phone rang, the shrill sound cutting through the quiet of your room. You groaned, rolling onto your side and blindly reaching for the device on your nightstand. Your fingers fumbled for a moment before you grabbed it and pressed it to your ear. 

“Hey, we’ve got a case,” Derek’s voice came through. 

Your stomach dropped. 

“I’ll be right there,” you mumbled, your voice groggy. 

As soon as the call ended, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and sat there for a moment, gripping the phone tightly.

Your heart was racing, the feeling of panic building in your chest. 

You stood, your legs feeling heavier than usual as you made your way to the closet. Pulling on your clothes, you tried to focus on the motions—zipping up your jacket, tying your shoes—but your mind kept drifting. To Spencer.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you brushed your hair back and grabbed your bag. 

Get it together, you told yourself, but the words felt hollow. 

The drive to the office was a blur. You barely registered the streets you passed, the familiar route offering no comfort as your thoughts swirled endlessly.

By the time you pulled into the parking lot, your hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly that your knuckles had turned white. 

Once parked, you killed the engine and sat there, the silence pressing in around you. Your fingers started tapping on the wheel—a nervous habit you couldn’t seem to shake. 

Focus. You’ve done this a hundred times before. Just... put your personal stuff aside. You have a job to do. 

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment as you tried to calm the racing of your heart.

The memory of his voice, his confession, his heartbreak—it all came rushing back, and your stomach twisted painfully. 

Stop it. You shook your head sharply, trying to push it all away. There was no room for this now. 

You grabbed your bag, stepping out of the car and shutting the door with more force than necessary. The crisp morning air bit at your skin, grounding you slightly as you made your way toward the building. 

Each step felt heavier than the last, but by the time you reached the elevator, you forced yourself to stand a little straighter. The doors opened, and you stepped inside, pressing the button for the floor where your team worked. 

As the elevator doors slid open, you took a deep, steadying breath.You stepped into the bullpen, your shoes clicking softly against the tiled floor as you made your way to your desk. 

Setting your bag down, you instinctively glanced at Spencer’s desk just across from yours. His bag was already there, a clear sign he’d arrived earlier than you—no surprise there. But seeing it sent a fresh wave of panic rolling through your chest. 

You headed straight for the conference room. The case briefing would be starting soon and you did not want to get in trouble with Hotch for being late. 

You pushed the door open slowly, almost hesitantly, and peeked inside. A relieved breath escaped you when you saw only Penelope sitting there, her bright, cheerful presence immediately calming you. 

“Morning, Pen,” you greeted, stepping inside and letting the door close behind you. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” she chirped, looking up from her laptop with a warm smile. Her outfit, as always, was a kaleidoscope of color and patterns, and just seeing her made the room feel a little less heavy. “How are you this fine morning?” 

You hesitated, forcing a smile onto your face as you slid into a seat across from her. “I’m... here.” 

Penelope raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying your vague answer. “Uh-huh. And how’s the rest of you?” 

You blinked, caught off guard by how quickly she’d zeroed in on your mood. “I’m fine, really. Just tired,” you lied, avoiding her gaze. 

Penelope didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press—at least, not yet. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, watching you with a knowing expression that made you squirm. 

“Alright,” she said finally, her tone light but her eyes sharp. “I’ll let you off the hook for now. But you and I both know that when you say ‘fine,’ you mean the opposite. And as your friendly neighborhood tech queen, it is my duty to investigate further.” 

Despite yourself, you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Noted.” 

The door opened again, and you tensed instinctively, glancing over to the door. But it wasn’t Spencer—it was Hotch, followed closely by Derek and Emily. 

You relaxed slightly, turning your attention to the case file Penelope slid across the table. But even as you flipped it open and started scanning the details, a small part of you couldn’t stop bracing for the inevitable moment Spencer would walk through that door. 

Two minutes later, the door opened again. 

Spencer stepped inside, clutching his bag and muttering a quick, “Sorry I’m late.” His voice was soft, almost hoarse, and he moved quickly to take a seat at the table without making eye contact with anyone. 

Penelope paused for just a beat, her eyes flicking toward him in concern, but she quickly resumed her explanation, her usual enthusiasm a little more subdued. 

You kept your gaze glued to the file in front of you, but it was no use. Your heart was pounding so loudly in your chest that you were sure everyone could hear it. 

Don’t look at him, you told yourself. But the pull was too strong. Slowly, cautiously, you let your eyes drift up, stealing a glance at him across the table. 

And that’s when you saw it. 

Miserable. That was the only word for it. 

He didn’t look like himself. His usually bright, curious eyes were dulled with exhaustion, framed by dark circles that told you he hadn’t been sleeping well—if at all. His hair was a little messier than usual, strands falling into his face as he bent over his files

Your chest tightened painfully. 

This was your fault. 

You tore your gaze away, looking back down at your file even though the words blurred together. Guilt churned in your stomach.

You’d been so wrapped up in your own fears and insecurities that you hadn’t stopped to think about what all of this was doing to him. 

Penelope’s voice carried on in the background, but it sounded distant, like you were underwater.

You heard snippets—details about the unsub, the profile they were building—but none of it stuck. Your mind was too busy spiraling. 

You glanced at him again, unable to help yourself. You watched him go through each page of the file. For a moment, his hand stilled, and he glanced up—just for a second. 

Your eyes met, and your breath caught in your throat. 

It was quick, barely more than a flicker of a moment, but it was enough. You saw the hurt there, before he quickly looked away.

Your fingers tightened around the edges of your file, the paper crinkling slightly under your grip. 

You knew deep down that if you’d just told Spencer you didn’t feel the same way, he wouldn’t be acting like this. He’d be hurt, yes, but he’d move on. He was kind, understanding—he’d respect your boundaries. 

But that wasn’t the truth. 

The truth was you did feel the same way. And because of your own fears, because of the deep-rooted insecurities that whispered you’re not good enough for him, you were both caught in this endless cycle of hurt.

You barely registered Hotch’s words as everyone started shuffling out of the room. Spencer didn’t waste a second—he was the first to leave, his long strides taking him out the door without so much as a glance in your direction. 

You sat there for a moment, staring down at your files, as the sound of footsteps and conversations faded into the background. The knot in your stomach tightened. 

Standing up, you gathered your things, forcing yourself to focus on the task at hand.

You stood up slowly, clutching the file to your chest like a shield. You had just taken a step toward the door when Derek’s voice stopped you in your tracks. 

“Hey, hold up,” he said, leaning casually against the edge of the table.

You turned to face him, doing your best to keep your expression neutral. “What’s up?” 

Derek tilted his head slightly, studying you with those sharp profiler eyes that missed nothing. “You tell me. Something’s been off with you lately.” 

You blinked, caught off guard. “Off? I’m fine, Derek.” 

“Uh-huh.” He crossed his arms, giving you a pointed look. “Fine doesn’t look like you zoning out every five minutes. Or avoiding certain people.” 

You froze, your grip tightening on the file in your hands. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Come on.” Derek said, his voice softening slightly. “We’re all profilers here. You think we haven’t noticed what’s going on between you and Reid?” 

Your heart dropped. 

“There’s nothing going on,” you said quickly, too quickly. “We’re just—” 

“Don’t even try that,” Derek interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. And I’ve definitely seen the way you're avoiding each other.” 

You opened your mouth to protest, but no words came out. Because he was right. 

Derek sighed, stepping closer and lowering his voice. “Look, I’m not trying to get in your business. But whatever’s going on, it’s messing with both of you. And that’s not good—for the team or for you two.” 

You looked away, your chest tightening. 

“I don’t want to hurt him.” You said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “

“And what do you think you’re doing now?” Derek shot back, his tone gentle but firm. “You think this is easier on him? On you?” 

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. 

Derek sighed again, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Just... think about it, alright? Talk to him. You two are better than this.” 

With that, he gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before walking away, leaving you standing there with your thoughts swirling. 

You stared down at the file in your hands, Derek’s words echoing in your mind. 

What do you think you’re doing now? 

Half an hour later, you were sitting in your seat on the jet, staring blankly out the window as the rest of the team filed in. You had deliberately chosen a seat as far away from Spencer as possible, and you weren’t surprised to see he’d done the same.

The jet lifted off, the familiar hum of the engines filling the cabin as everyone settled into their roles. You opened the case file on your lap, pretending to read, though none of the words seemed to stick in your mind. 

“Alright,” Hotch’s voice broke through the silence, snapping you back to reality. “Here’s the plan. Rossi and Emily, I want you to head to the crime scene and coordinate with the local police. Derek, you’re with me—we’ll talk to the victim’s family and follow up on their statements. And you two—” he glanced between you and Spencer—“work on the geographical profile. I want a better idea of where the unsub might be operating.” 

Your breath hitched. You felt Spencer stiffen from across the cabin, but neither of you said a word. 

“Understood,” you managed to say, your voice steady despite the anxiety bubbling inside you. 

Spencer gave a small nod, his expression unreadable. 

Once you landed, the others dispersed to their respective tasks, leaving just you and Spencer in the small conference room.

You both moved around the table quietly, spreading out the maps and working in parallel, careful not to cross paths. The markers in your hands squeaked softly as you outlined possible areas of interest. 

“Do you think this area here could be significant?” you finally asked, breaking the silence and pointing to a spot on your map. 

Spencer looked up briefly, his gaze flicking to where you were pointing. “It’s possible,” he said curtly. “It’s close to the highway, so it would make for an easy escape route.” 

“Right,” you said, nodding. You added a note to the side of the map, trying not to focus on how detached he sounded. 

The silence stretched on again, but it wasn’t the comfortable kind you used to share with Spencer.

This was heavy, awkward, and filled with all the words you weren’t saying. 

By the time the rest of the team returned, you were so mentally drained that hearing Hotch announce you’d pick things up in the morning was a relief. 

You didn’t waste any time. The moment you were dismissed, you grabbed your things and headed straight to the hotel.

Your body felt heavy, not just from the day’s work but from the emotional weight of the tension with Spencer. 

When you finally made it to your room, you let the door close behind you with a soft click and dropped your bag onto the floor.

You collapsed onto the bed, letting the plush mattress engulf you as you closed your eyes. For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to exhale, to let the day melt away, but it didn’t take long for the familiar ache in your chest to return. 

You could still see his face in your mind—the way he’d looked at you, the hurt in his eyes. You squeezed your eyes shut tighter, willing the image away, but it was no use. 

Why did it have to be like this? Why couldn’t you just let yourself be happy, let yourself take the leap? 

You groaned softly, burying your face in the pillow. It was no use. No matter how much you tried to push him out of your mind, Spencer was always there. 

Shaking your head, you sat up and swung your legs over the edge of the bed, trying to force yourself to snap out of it. You reached for your bag and rummaged through it, pulling out a big hoodie and a pair of oversized sweatpants.

They were your comfort clothes, and right now, you needed all the comfort you could get. 

Once changed, you padded into the bathroom to brush your teeth. The fluorescent light buzzed softly above you, and as you stared at your reflection in the mirror, you froze. 

It had been a long time since you’d really looked at yourself, and the sight before you was startling. Dark circles framed your tired eyes, and your face looked drawn, as though the life had been slowly drained out of you. 

You looked miserable. 

As miserable as Spencer did. 

You gripped the edge of the sink, your toothbrush dangling limply from your other hand. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut.

The hurt you saw in his eyes earlier today wasn’t just his—it was yours too.

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them away quickly.

You set the toothbrush down and splashed cold water on your face.

You leaned against the sink, water dripping from your chin, and stared into your own eyes.

How had it come to this? You’d faced down killers, survived unimaginable danger, and yet here you were, completely unraveled by the thought of loving—and being loved by—Spencer Reid. 

You thought back to the conversation you’d had with Derek, his words echoing in your mind. He wasn’t wrong.

You were hurting Spencer. And in doing so, you were hurting yourself. 

But what could you do now? How could you undo the damage you’d caused when you weren’t sure you could even face him again? 

While you sat in your hotel room, wrestling with your thoughts, Spencer sat in his, just a few doors down. 

He couldn’t shake the image of you today—how your eyes had darted to his when you thought no one was looking, how you’d quickly looked away the moment he caught you.

It wasn’t just the silence between you that hurt; it was the loss of the friendship. 

His heart ached. He missed you so much it felt like a physical pain, a hollow ache in his chest that wouldn’t go away. 

Spencer leaned back against the headboard, his hands resting limply on his lap as he stared at the ceiling. He’d replayed the argument between you two a hundred times in his mind.

At this point, he wasn’t even sure if confronting you about his feelings had been the right decision.

Part of him wished he could go back to the time when he wasn’t certain if you liked him back.

At least then, he could cling to hope, to possibility. 

But now? Now he knew the truth—that you loved him too—and yet it felt worse. Because while his confession had brought a fleeting moment of joy, it had been snatched away by the words that followed. 

Spencer squeezed his eyes shut at the memory, his chest tightening. It hurt him that you thought of yourself that way. That you couldn’t see what he saw in you. 

To him, you were everything. Kind, intelligent, brave—more than enough. And it pained him to know that you didn’t believe that.

That you thought you weren’t good enough for him, as if he were some perfect, untouchable figure who couldn’t see his own flaws. 

He sighed, rubbing his temples as he tried to clear his mind. But no matter how hard he tried, your face kept appearing, your words replaying in his head like a broken record. 

A knock on his door startled him, and he quickly sat up, hoping it was news about the case. But when he opened the door, what he saw left him momentarily frozen. 

You. 

You stood there in your oversized hoodie and baggy pants, your hair slightly disheveled and your eyes red from what was likely hours of crying.

The sight of you, so vulnerable, made his heart twist painfully in his chest. 

Without a word, Spencer stepped aside, opening the door wider to let you in. You hesitated for a moment before walking past him, your steps slow and uncertain as you stopped near the edge of his bed. 

He closed the door softly, turning to face you.

“Hi,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“Hi,” he replied, tilting his head slightly as he studied your face. His tone was gentle, but there was a hint of confusion in his eyes. 

You fidgeted with the hem of your hoodie, your gaze darting around the room before finally settling on him. “I’m sorry for... just showing up like this. I didn’t know what else to do.” 

Spencer shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize.” 

Another beat of silence passed. He could see you struggling to find the words, your brows furrowing as you looked down at your hands. 

You stammered, your words tripping over each other as you struggled to meet his eyes. “I... uhm,” you began, your voice shaky, barely above a whisper.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the intensity of his gaze made it nearly impossible. 

His heart ached as he took in the sight of you—disheveled, vulnerable, and clearly torn apart.

“Spence,” you finally said, your voice trembling as you clutched the hem of your hoodie to ground yourself. Hearing his nickname from your lips again made his heart skip, though it was bittersweet.

He missed it, missed you. 

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, the words tumbling from you as if they’d been trapped for days. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you like this, and I—” Your voice cracked as you rambled, your breathing uneven. “That’s exactly what I was trying to avoid—” You broke off, tears slipping down your cheeks as you looked anywhere but at him, avoiding the weight of his gaze. 

Spencer’s chest tightened at your words, the pain and guilt evident in your voice cutting through him.

He stepped closer, his movements slow, cautious, as if afraid you might bolt. “Stop,” he said softly, his voice calm but firm. 

You shook your head, the tears falling faster now. “I was trying to protect you,” you whispered, your voice breaking again. “From me. From all of this. I didn’t want to hurt you, but I’ve done exactly that. I have ruined everything” 

His brows furrowed deeply, and he took another step closer, the distance between you shrinking. “You haven’t ruined anything,” he said, his voice gentle but resolute. 

You finally met his eyes, your own filled with guilt and anguish. “How can you say that?” you asked, your voice barely audible. “Look at us. Look at what I’ve done. I’ve hurt you, Spencer, and that’s the last thing I ever wanted to do.” 

Tears continued to spill down your cheeks no matter how much you tried to wipe them away. Your hands trembled as you fumbled to control your emotions, but it was useless. 

“Stop,” Spencer said gently, his voice soothing yet firm. He stepped closer, the hesitancy in his movements showing how carefully he was treading around your fragile state. He stopped just inches away, searching your face for permission before he reached out. 

His fingers brushed against your cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch was soft, careful.

Then, with both hands, he cupped your face and used his thumbs to wipe away the tears streaming down your cheeks. His touch was warm, making it impossible to focus on anything but him. 

Your breath hitched as you opened your eyes, meeting his. His gaze was soft, filled with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

You could see the concern there, the care, the love he had for you. It made the guilt in you swell. 

“I’m really sorry,” you whispered again, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. 

His hands stayed on your face, steady and unmoving, as though he were anchoring you. “You don’t have to keep apologizing,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Yes, I do,” you insisted, your voice trembling. “I hurt you, Spencer. I pushed you away. I—” 

“Stop blaming yourself,” he interrupted, his voice breaking slightly, though his tone remained gentle. “Please, stop. I know you’re scared. I know you think you’re not good enough, but... do you realize how incredible you are? How much I—” He paused, closing his eyes for a moment as he steadied himself. “How much I love you?” 

Your lip quivered, fresh tears threatening to spill as his words washed over you. You wanted to believe him.

You wanted to let yourself believe.But your doubts lingered, the years of insecurities weighing you down like an anchor. 

“I don’t want to ruin you,” you whispered, your voice so quiet it was almost drowned out by the sound of your shaky breaths. “You deserve someone who can give you everything, someone who—” 

“Stop,” he said once again, his voice more insistent now. His thumbs brushed your cheeks again, wiping away another round of tears. “You don’t get to decide that for me. You don’t get to tell me who I should love or what I deserve.” 

You blinked at him, staring into his hazel eyes. 

“I don’t want someone else,” he continued, his tone softening but his resolve unwavering. “I don’t care about perfect, and I don’t care about whatever you think you’re lacking. I want you. With all your flaws, all your fears, all your messiness. I want you. And the only thing that’s ruining me right now is the idea that you don’t believe me.” 

You swallowed hard, his words hitting you like a wave. He looked at you with such sincerity, such unshakable devotion, that it left you speechless. 

What could you possibly say to that? To the sweetest, most genuine man alive, standing in front of you, telling you he loved you and no one else? You felt the words lodged in your throat, tangled with fear and disbelief.

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts, trying to make sense of the storm of emotions swirling inside you. 

“Spencer,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I... I don’t know how to do this.” 

He didn’t move, didn’t take his hands from your face and you felt the way his thumbs gently brushed against your skin. 

“You don’t have to know,” he said softly. “We don’t have to have it all figured out. I just need you to let me in. To trust me.” 

His words were a plea, gentle but so full of emotion that it made your chest ache. You opened your eyes and looked at him, his face inches from yours, his expression filled with a vulnerability that matched your own. 

“I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “I’m scared I’ll mess this up, Spencer. Scared I’ll hurt you again..” 

“You won’t,” he said firmly, his voice steady despite the crack of emotion in it. “You can’t. Do you have any idea how much you mean to me? I’m standing here telling you that I love you, that I want you, and nothing you say or do is going to change that. Not your fears, not your doubts, nothing.” 

You shook your head slightly, tears brimming in your eyes again. “But you deserve so much better—someone who isn’t this... this mess. Someone who can—” 

“Stop,” he interrupted, his voice gentle but firm. “Stop deciding what I deserve. Stop convincing yourself that you’re not enough. Because you are. You always have been.” 

His words broke something inside you, the walls you’d built around your heart crumbling under the weight of his love. A sob escaped your lips, and you brought your hands up to cover your face, trying to hold yourself together, but Spencer wouldn’t let you retreat. 

He gently took your wrists, pulling your hands away from your face as he stepped even closer. “Look at me,” he whispered. 

You did, reluctantly, your tear-streaked face meeting his unwavering gaze. 

“I love you,” he said again, his voice softer now, but no less certain. “and I love all of you.” 

You stared at him, your heart pounding, his words sinking in deeper than you thought possible. 

For a moment, the air between you was heavy with emotion, neither of you speaking as you stood there, so close yet so unsure of what would happen next.

Then, slowly, hesitantly, you stepped forward, your arms wrapping around him as you buried your face in his chest. 

His arms came around you immediately, holding you tight, as though he was afraid you’d slip away.

You could feel his heart beating against yours, steady and sure, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, this could work.

[widebrimmedhatsblog]

ONYX STORM ⚡️⚡️⚡️

My thoughts below the cut! Spoilers galore. This is all from my first read through, so we’ll see what changes by the time I finish my second read. I’m still pretty jumbled up about the book (I am physically incapable of opening up goodreads and giving it a rating) and, frankly, I think my notes are going to reflect this! Also, this is thoughts for the WHOLE BOOK, so please don’t open the full post if you’re not done with the WHOLE BOOK.

I’m pasting my notes directly from the doc I took them on while reading , and adding extra post-read commentary when I feel the urge! Also this is your warning that I swear quite a bit in these! For they are candid.

ch1-10:

- i will say i thought the ch 2 epigraph was an inntinnsic clue but now im not so sure bc it’s not that rare it’s just that they kill everyone who has it ??? (commentary from future helena: this is about lilith…right?)

- tell me something, violence. why is it always you? 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

- what IS a soul. how can you take a soul apart piecemeal. why do you think he gave up part of his soul. who told you that. (CFFH: i stand by this. none of this makes any sense to me.)

- hmmmm no red post fingering! curious…very curious (CFFH: i still don’t know about this one dawg)

- the kiss beneath her ear after he helps her get dressed somebody sedate me

- god DOES garrick like imogen because mans does NOT act like it poor im (CFFH: I seriously cannot stop wondering when the hell Rebecca decided to make immrick canon because i LIKE the ship, but on my fw and if re reads it does not read like Garrick likes her, and I would say that holds true till the very end of the damn book)

- VIOLETTTTTTTT I LOVE HER she’s so fucking back (CFFH: violets characterization was my favorite thing about this book. i was really scared about xaden leaving because frankly rebecca writes violet best with him, but she held her own so much better than she has in the other two books. i always love her, but she was incredible here.)

- the bits about vi being a good duchess i Knew that was him saying he wanted to marry her (CFFH: this is an example of what i like to call RY’s “gotcha ass foreshadowing”)

- also i have always characterized fen in my head as loving the movement more than xaden i know what’s up

- i’m soooo excited about him being the duke this is so embarassing im pumping my fists

- did NOT see the samara field trip coming what the fuck

- EVEN HUNDREDS OF MILES AWAY HES STILL TSKING CARE OF EMD EKDNRNRNRN (CFFH: yeah.)

- hey guys what the fuck was that dream? did RY see the cat/violet shippers and get ideas

- WHAT THE FUCK. i saw NONE of this coming

- GARRICKS A WIND WIELDER ???? (CFFH: obviously did not age super well…however garrick was acting so sus here and his dialogue felt so off that i genuinely thought he was the traitor for a fat minute)

11-20

- WHETS RNRJRNRNRNRNRNRJEKEKKRRN

- IS THIS THE MARKED ONES SECOND SIGNET TNEORY (CFFH: can you tell i was a big fan of the marked ones second signet theory. also what’s xadens third signet then? also i feel like if EVERYONE has 2 vi will have 3! i have a theory explaining it below somewhere)

- WLSO DID XADEN FHCKINF KNOW (CFFH: they actually handled this really well i was so nervous they’d have the fight again)

- dude im like short circuiting sick to my stomach HES SOOOOOOO BOYFRIEND ? (CFFH: what on EARTH was this about?)

- well the fuck aware!!!!!!!!!

- i can’t breathe

- i need my inhaler

- LIAM WIELDINF ICE (CFFH: again, can you tell i was a big fan of the marked ones second signet theory? fun fact, i actually wanted to write it into ITHOIA but then i realized a. how much work it would be to concoct that many signets and b. i’d have to give xaden THREE, and decided to pick my battles. however i did brainstorm what signets had xaden energy for giving him a third one and immmmmm immmm having ideasssssss)

- YOURS X

- why do i agree with JFBs venin logic man

- god halden is her traumatic ex relationship goddddd (CFFH: i edited out most of my complaining, but i was super against the halden idea (per my predictions). this might get me cancelled, but it did feel fan service-y? to me? which is fine! fans deserve to be serviced! there are moments of this book in which i am the fan being serviced! but when it become clear RY was going in the halden direction, i was super stressed about how she’d handle it, and im thrilled she made him toxic. THRILLED.)

- SECOND KROVLAN UPRISING

- knowing miss yarros and her gotcha ass foreshadowing ridoc is going on that quest lmdao

- PRFOEOEKEENDJEJEN PROFESSOR RIORSON PROFESSOR RIOROSN (CFFH: not only do i stand by this, but i actually wanted to write teacher roleplay for kinktober and i didn’t bc i didn’t think the fandom would take a liking to it, but CLEARLY rebecca didn’t have those concerns)

- i am going to commit crimes against humanity your relationship did not just END SJEJEJEJENR R (CFFH: i’ve noticed miss yarros has begun to really lean on chapter cliffhangers, and frankly, it pisses me off. i understand she needs to get her bag with kindle unlimited and all, but it makes for a stressful reading experience imo. however, this one got me. this one got me SO bad i had to take a walk to calm down. i have been looking forward to professor riorson for MONTHS and i was convinced it was crashing and burning before my eyes. maybe this is why i shouldn’t read past 1 am. i know rebecca has given interviews and has said she needs there to be constant tension in their relationship or else there’s no story, and while i know what she means, THIS tension felt so manufactured to me. i also think she could pull off a war story with them just like …together. i believe in her. the story needs tension, but it doesn’t need to be between them like this, imho.)

- we live by the codex/i live by you 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫I AM YOURS AND YOU ARE MINE AND THERE’S NO LAW OR RULE IN THIS WORLD OR THE NEXT THAT CAN CHANGE THAT

- you know what we might get shadow sex in this book. we might. (CFFH: we do! and i think we can get more with asim!xaden)

- fun fact about me it took till my THIRD RE READ to see that xaden controls the shadows with his hands.

- there’s been like 3 indirect marriage references if my fucking empire of storms prediction was correct im going to scream (CFFH: so i actually didn’t get to scream because i was too busy MOURNING the lack of a RIORGAIL WEDDING.)

- PAPA SORRENGAIL HAS NAME AND ITS ASHER ?????

- ridocs blow job joke was funny i cackled

- papa sorrengail (im going to deadname him) i do love you man

- SHADOW HANDCUFFS OH MY GOS i had a seizure in my reading hammock

- he is my choice. that got me. that felt good.

- DRAAAAAAAAKE (CFFH: i may say this later, but alli (no tag bc she’s not done reading yet) made drake so sexy to me (and amy! also no tag) and i was kind of disappointed lmfao)

- vi rlly out here playing cousins or dating

21-30

- i loooooove him calling her love all the time

- it’s so crazy to me that he’s relaxed without magic but im glad! since i do think this is his ending over all

- helena bets time: the deal the krovlan rebels didn’t uphold was smth to do with the irids or the feather tails

- “xaden riorson is a lot of things, but happy usually isn’t one of them” hey man what the fuck

- this feels like a fever dream this is the dragon show christmas episode that isn’t relevant to the plot what do you mean they’re bonding over horses

- hey guys is this…capitalism?

- i can’t get over the isle kingdoms being kerch (CFFH: if you haven’t read six of crows this won’t make any sense, but if you have….)

- ARETIA IS THE SECOND MOST BEAUTIFUL THING I MVE EVER SEEN AND MY HOME IS THE FIRST (CFFH: he was ON ONE in this)

- maybe im toxic but he’s being so nice im so anxious about something going wrong 💀 like he stays in the isles or something jesus

- “even if we did, we can’t be in two places at once” + xaden acting weird ….. (CFFH: i want to say third signet but i don’t know)

- what the FUCK is going on with him like it’s really hot but it’s freaking me out

- IM GIVING DIPLOMACY A TRY NOT SURE ITS FOR ME THOUGH (CFFH: dare i say lilith parallel)

- HE WOULD HAVE IF HE’D MET HIM. knocked me on my ass.

- i have an idea i just dont like being wrong baby violet i need to give you a forehead kiss

- why is violets dad the grandpa from the inheritance games

- im going to bed fr fr now but my last minute prediction is that he marries vi to make her an aristocrat (this is wishful thinking) (also we don’t HAVE to rescue halden) (like it’s fine if we don’t)

- MY CONSORTTTTTTTT

- WHEN WOULD BE. can he propose for real. please. (CFFH: this is hurting my feelings)

- bro his LINES IN THIS ???? who do you swear fealty to/VIOLET

- he’s acting less sus…i did NOT like that epigraph abt “returning to his true nature” (CFFH: maybe im on something but idk if this was meant to reflecrt him draining the alloy or whatever it was orrrr if it was abt vi channeling somehow!)

- im almost worried he’s trying to marry her before he kills himself or something but he keeps telling her how selfish he is so maybe not (CFFH: close!)

- her EDS is also a lot better done this time around (CFFH: from a layman’s point of view, obviously, but her injuries were much more graphic, and her other symptoms were actually on page. i really appreciated this)

- oh my godddd sloane and dain.

- i feel like the bond fuckery is vi’s second signet ???? i ALSO feel like it’s sexy

- DAXTON

- PAPA SORRENGAIL HAS A MAIDEN NAME

- also bodhi TOTALLY has a second signet that little LIAR i wonder if he’s an inntinnsic too or smth.

- god imagine bodhi has resurrection

- im trying to be normal but i feel like its insane we’re just now learning where violets family is from idk!!!

- why is dain sweet in this idk also this happened earlier but vi’s dad teaching him languages FOR violet makes me want to cry

- im so fucking proud of violet holy crap

- is violet ??? unnbrian????

31-40

- FOREHEAD TAT LIKE THEOPHANIE!!!!

- violet absolutely can wield there im calling it rn shawty is MAGICAL (CFFH: i guess maybe it’s her touched by dunne ??? thing ??? and she’s somehow ??? half god ????)

- god xaden and dain love her so much

- why does rebecca never let me see xaden do her wraps for her i want to seeeeee

- they’re all in couple pairs so obviously dain and garrick are fucking next (CFFH: this was a joke but tbh…i could be convinced idk)

- god so timing wise DID papa sorrengail meet xaden’s mom !/!:!3&3’ejd (CFFH: i don’t think so ??? but maybe ???)

- not sure my thoughts on the name talia (CFFH: this is bc i picture my bestie Thalia Grace)

- the mommy issues are churning my stomach

- i loooooove aaric holy

- dude i totally thought ridoc was dead

- babe! this isn’t you!

- oh my god ?????? i was NOT expecting violet to give them the old kazzledazzle (CFFH: this is another six of crows reference in which Kaz uses someone’s child as leverage by implying that he’ll kill them, basically, except Kaz is on page morally gray. in THIS book violet is, but i don’t think she had been before now)

- this is genuinely honest to god NOT how i thought their relationship would go and it’s freaking me out

41-50

- you’re my soul JESUS what is he ON

- god poor andarna

- I KNEW HE WAS AN ARIES AND NOT A PICSES I KNEWWWW ITTTT

- she wrote him a letter 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

- i will say i’ve been wondering if the venin effects xaden experiences are more of a ptsd metaphor than anything

- is cuir trans bc i totes thought she was a woman

- ….it would be a shame to kill my last living relative….

- god the adaptations to the running landing mean so much to me im so proud of her

- violet baby i love you to pieces

- you do some of your best work on that throne 😭😭😭😭 (CFFH: the amount of callbacks in this book was very intriguing to me)

- WERE HOME VI ACT LIKE IT

- i was actually rlly against xaden telling anyone he was venin but it’s all gone surprisingly well

- if lindell and lewellen are xaden and liam’s gay foster dads….dont call don’t text

- shadow handcuffs………………..

- im a fan!

- god i did NOT expect that to be the route they took? with the sex ? (CFFH: i thought they were gonna handcuff XADEN. )

- she is absolutely having xaddys dreams but idk what the FUCK the cat one was

- IS XADENS THIRD SIGNET PROPHETIC DREAMS. (CFFH: im leaning towards venin mindfuckery but who knows)

51-end

- i am actually really enjoying tairn and adarna this read although id like a dragon punnet square

- violet is so venin. xaden IS power she says while she says SHE IS power mmmmm rebecca i know your secrets (CFFH: see yall after book 4 idk)

- hi who the fuck was the high priestess and why does it matter im so confused i can see the puzzle pieces and i am flipping the table

- also crack pot theory entered my head. if xaddy gets 3 signets then vi has to get 3 signets. tairn never says naolin he always says “the one who came before” what if…hear me out…somehow it was papa sorrengail???? and not naolin ??? at least not naolin the whole time so then she’s getting a third signet from tairn

- why the fuck did vi not listen to aaric in the first place mans clearly knows what he’s talking about (CFFH: #drama)

- okay is violet a demigod. is that what’s going on

- IS HER HAIR NOT ACTUALLY SILVER (CFFH: i feel like it has to be ????)

- okay wait im thinking about the dedication thing they said earlier -> lilith is sick -> they think fetus vi is going to die -> they ??? dedicate ??? her ??? to dunne ??? (CFFH: i still don’t know actually except she’s two and not a fetus? and it was just papa sorrengail. also i think they rode tairn there LMAO but maybe im insane)

- i cant get over garrick being a distance wielder i need to check on the immrick girlies (CFFH: immrick girlies i hope you’re well!!)

- god how are the irids involved in rsc ???

- i exist for tairn, but i live for xaden okay girl okayyyy

- god does she get to keep being an inntinnsic now ?????

- THRILLED about her sleeping in xadens clothes

- were past the break up stage he’s sooooo real i love him

- core. memory. (CFFH: this is the biggest sin rebecca’s committed anachronism wise my god)

- god DID they get secret married ????

- god when they said bring your brother and i thought she meant liam was being resurrected i actually started to enter cardiac arrest (CFFH: am i the only one 😔)

- is bodhi actually his secret brother and garrick knows and we don’t because what the fuck (CFFH: i guess it could just be vibes?)

- my heart is not in my chest cavity after the liam business

- COLONEL DAXTONS GUIDE TO EXCELLING IN THE SCRIBE QUADRANT!!!!!

- i knew that was how it was going to go purely from alli’s take the second they said they had mira i was like reciting the sitq ending (CFFH: obviously i was slightly wrong but still! this is controversial but the fact that she let everyone were close to (mira/ridoc) live and only killed off tertiary characters kind of undercut the experience for me idk!)

- oh my god dain and sloane 🥹

- come back to me/only ever you

- DUKE OF ANGST

- is garrick’s distance wielding how they dealt with the fuck ass trips to aretia that didn’t work with the timeline bc that’s brilliant actually god damnit

- the bullshit about being everywhere at once means something i can feel it

- RHIANNON?????

- cannot believe that line is feirge

- hi so fun fact i don’t think jm meant to read for this many hours straight i feel like im locked in a trance

- THE ONLY PERSON I TRULY LOVE ???? ABOUT QUINN??? IMOGEN ???

- what on earth is imogen’s second signet bc i don’t think that’s how fire wielding works ????

- i cannot believe the marked ones all have second signets what the ever loving fuck

- i feel like quinn’s death was just not that impactful however imogen saying her mom and sister will know who she is made me tear up jesus

This is where I stopped taking notes!! I’m SO confused about the ending. To be quite honest, I think I’ll reblog this with my thoughts on the ending after I’ve re read it, because I’m LOST. What did Xaden show Sgaeyl ???? Who turned venin with him, because I thought Bodhi but maybe Garrick but maybe both??? how DARE rebecca now show me the riorgail wedding ?/??2?3?3$33&:! WHO does he have a DEAL with???

misc thought that didn’t make it up there:

- i LOVE how she handled Sawyer’s amputation and rehab.

[zorilleerrant]

"You consider me your priestess?" the girl - the old woman, now, but you can still see her rosy cheeks the first time she came to visit you - asks you. It's hard to determine her tone of voice. She doesn't sound offended, at least, although she also doesn't sound like she believes you're a god. That, at least, is expected.

You wave your hand vaguely. You didn't get the gesture quite right, but humans always change their body language, and it's been too long since you needed to be human for anything. "It's not that you are. But you're the closest I've had in generations, and I would mark you one, if you want me to." You sit, casually, on a bench that wasn't there a moment before, hoping she'll do the same.

The old woman eyes it suspiciously. She's been here for every birthday since she found the place, and many informal days besides, and she knows there was never a bench here. Still, with a weary sigh, she sits beside you. "I'd like that, I think. I never had the test scores to join any of the big priesthoods. Get one over on them, a little bit." She laughs, and her teen years, writing scathing takedowns of theological papers, come back into view for a moment.

You touch her hand. There's a spark of magic. You don't need to, you never used to, but humans are more skeptical these days, and even your most devoted follower doesn't remember the old ways.

For a moment fleeting even by her standards, you wonder if she might have brought them back. But the fishing town isn't what it once was, and no one much makes the hike up here anymore, save curious children and nostalgic adults.

"Do you want me to do anything?" your priestess asks you, a wry smiling wrinkling the still plump curve of her cheeks. "Carry a sign, maybe? Rush into the town and curse their names for not giving you your due respect? I can do a mean scolding these days."

You laugh, hand still resting over hers. "If you like." The idea of her running among the fishmongers, giving over amulets with every sale, making rude gestures when they're refused, is incomparable. The only thing she really needs is The Book, though. You fold open your altar, the way she's done so many times, and bring out the box she admired enough to start polishing gently when she came to visit, telling you about her travels and her art.

"Oh, you again," your priestess says, in delight, laying a delicate hand on the smooth wood. "I learned woodworking and inlay because of you, you little scamp." When she draws her fingers down the sides, this time, the box opens, with a click she can barely hear. Her ears aren't what they once were. Her gasp is the same as it ever was, though, and she taps The Book reverently.

"I never had many rules, even back in the beginning," you tell her, opening the cover so she knows it's safe. "What ones I had don't matter so much, I think - although I'd ask you to be careful where you summon storms, if you try it." You don't know if she has the power for that, anymore. She delved deep into magic in her mid-life crisis, but you've rarely seen her use it since, and you don't know if hers has waned or blossomed in her twilight years.

She looks over the spells. She can read the annotations, still, at least. "It's a lot of power for one person." She flexes her fingers, summoning wisps of what might be the core of some major working, if she concentrated a little harder. "Would you mind if I taught these to people? Not to join your priesthood, mind, just so there could be a little more magic in the world."

You pause. You should have considered that. Many of your siblings have left their words and their magics to the world as their respect faded away, and even more have begun recovery as lost arts. You didn't know your priestess was a teacher. You knew she'd taught a few times, when the calling struck her, but never that she felt the need in her heart. "Of course," you say. The spells are mostly weak now, you think. The time for hiding them is long past. If there's something in there that can help, so be it.

She grins at you. Her teeth are still hardy, and the candlelight flashes pleasingly against them. "Of course you'd mind, or of course you wouldn't? Don't give me any loopholes, now, Your Divinity," she laughs at her own joke, the way she started doing when she broke free of childish attempts at maturity, but still, she waits for your answer, taking your hand in hers again.

"Share them however you'd like," you tell her, knowing that it means she'll record it down to scans and recreations, "the knowledge within is yours." It's clear she'll get years of delight out of it. You don't know how much she might change the world of the handful of enthusiasts she chooses to work with her. It's a nice bookend for a life full of adventure, you think, a discovery like that.

She kisses the book, gently, on the gilded cover. Then, almost as an afterthought, she kisses your cheek as well. "Thank you," she says. Then she opens it again, absorbed in the pages, well past when the evening grows dark. You keep the candles burning higher for her, so she never has to stop her perusal. It's soothing, to watch a priestess once again hard at work. She looks up. "Is this the gift?"

"What?" you ask, caught off guard. Even through all your disciples, you never managed to learn which times connect to each other in the mind of a human. You'd thought that question long forgotten, and hadn't planned on answering right now.

"The gift you said you wanted to give me. Is The Book the gift?" she asks, in confusion. Books are wonderful, powerful things, of course, but they aren't secret. Hidden, often, and protected, and sometimes held to only the most intimate of worshipers, but they're nothing unexpected, not for a deity to give.

You lean back on the bench you never rose from, and wonder if you should bring in desks for those she plans to teach. "No. I was going to offer you your choice of afterlife, when the time comes." You watch her as she frowns. You wonder if she already has an answer in mind. You wonder if she knew since she was knee high with a scraped arm, or since she was a teenager bent on escaping her classmates, or since she was learning to grow and just choosing her passion. She just looks at you, not answering.

Then, weary minutes later - weary for her, where each night brings aches the day didn't; you're happy to wait - she asks, almost rudely, "not soon, I hope?" Her chin juts out as it used to.

"Not so soon for you," you say, thoughtfully, "although too soon for me, I must admit."

She nods, still cradling The Book carefully. "I thought, once you'd made me your priestess, I'd end up going where all your servants go," she says, sounding, of all thing, patient about it. You don't know how much she knows about your afterlife. You've never discussed it with her. Even when you were popular, once, that was never much of the details that caught people's eye.

"Normally only monks go there," you say, not that you'd discourage her, if she wanted to stay always by your side. "It's a place for quiet contemplation, mostly. Even of my priesthood, only the ones who valued their silence ever stayed." You can see her, in a long gown, roaming the halls in a circle, thinking. You can't see her enjoying it for more than a short time.

"You'd have to send me away," she says, ruefully. Then she pauses to think. "You won't pick for me? I can pick?"

Still, you think, she might have you picking her home, anyway. So many of yours did. Even the ones who earned the highest honors left everything in your hands, and here she is a priestess of moments only, ready to upset everything. Or nothing, if you ask her not to. You close her hands around The Book again.

"Think on it," you say, and wait for next year.

While other god's shrines are magnificent, yours is a bit too humbling. And yet a little girl visits you every year after stumbling upon it, never missing a year even as she grows old. Deeply moved, you decide to give her a parting gift greater than what any other God would dare to give.

[sweetdispatch]

His special day - J. Hughes

Purple Chemistry | Previous Chapter

summary: Jack finally realised how much you mean to him after showing up in a hospital

warning: mentions of injury

words: 1.5k

note: last chapter has arrived!

---

For the next few weeks, the tension was visible between you two. Just like a kiss showed you that you’re more than friends with Jack. You tried to act normal around him but you couldn’t. Your feelings were going crazy while you were around him. Jack was lost in this situation. The kiss you shared was full of emotions and he didn’t know what to think.

Jack started to see you as a future girlfriend but he wasn’t sure if he’s ready for commitment. You two had different lives and opinions and he didn’t want to ruin the dynamic you two share. He was wondering if it would be bad to stay as friends. He didn’t want to take the risk of losing you because your relationship hadn’t worked out. 

The last game of the season between New York Rangers and New Jersey Devils ended up 4:3 which means that Rangers beat Devils in all four games this season. This match was way tougher than the previous ones. Jersey was leading 3:2 before the third period. In the last part of the game, they lost 2 goals and Rangers were celebrating. 

You knew that Jack would be bitter about the result. Last time he was sad over their 3:1 loss and now, he’s either gonna be heartbroken or mad as hell. You were at this game but this time, he didn’t ask you if he could come home with you. You thought that he had to be back with the team in New Jersey and decided not to push him to see you. 

The truth was that Jack was struggling with his shoulder and that’s why he didn’t come to see you after the game. He hadn’t told you anything about it because he didn’t want to bother you. He kept this as quiet as possible. Couple days later, he played his last game of the season before he required surgery on his shoulder. 

You found out about this from social media. You were scrolling your twitter when you saw a Devils post that Jack is out for the rest of the season because he needed a surgery. Your phone fell from your hand when you read it. You froze in spot. You were scared of him and his health. When you came back to your senses, you called Luke to ask him about it. 

“Hi, I know I never call you but I need to know what’s happening with Jack. I read that he needed surgery” You were rambling.

“Y/N calm down. Everything is fine. He needs surgery on his shoulder but he’s gonna be alright. He’s at home with parents to take care of him. Nothing to worry about” 

“Wait, he’s in Michigan? He hadn’t told me anything” You sighed.

“Yes, he’s in Michigan and he didn’t say a word to you because he knew you’re gonna be panicking. I told him it’s a bad idea to keep it from you but that was his choice” 

“Can I visit him?” You asked.

“I guess. I can call my mom and get the information in which hospital he is and send them to you” 

“Please do, I owe you” Luke laughed at your words.

Before Luke messaged you with the information, you went to ask your boss if you can have a free week due to personal reasons. He agreed on that and you ran into your apartment to pack your suitcase and booked a plane ticket to go and see Jack. While doing this, Luke sent you all the information you needed. 

The next day you had a plane. You were scared of Jack’ reaction when he saw you. You felt bad that you're doing this behind his back but this was to calm your nerves and make sure that he’s alright. When you landed, you took a taxi and went straight into the hospital. You didn’t care about the luggage you had with you. All you wanted was to see him.

From Luke, you found out that Jack had his surgery yesterday so he was resting in a hospital room. You stood up in front of the door and knocked. You didn’t want to interrupt him while he’s sleeping or someone else is in the room.

“Mom you don’t need to knock, I’m not 5” You heard and took it as a yes. Slowly you opened the door and Jack froze when he saw you. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“I took a free week to check on you. I read that you had an operation and I was scared of you and I just needed to see you” Tears spilled from your eyes.

“Hey, don’t cry. I’m fine” He tried to calm you down. “Come, sit next to me” You saw a chair and sat while wiping away your tears. “You seriously took a free week just to see me? How did you even know where I am?”

“I talked with Luke and he told me everything since you were dead silent after the game” 

“Sorry for that, I just didn’t want to bother you” He shrugged but while doing this he hissed in pain.

“Don’t use your shoulder. You’ll make it worse” You grabbed his healthy hand and started caressing it. “You should tell me, I was thinking that you’re mad at me because Rangers won” You tried to lighten the mood. This time it worked because he laughed. 

“No, I was mad after the game but I could never be mad at you” He smiled at you. 

You spent the next two days next to him in the hospital. You didn’t want to leave him alone while his parents couldn't be there. You were only leaving Jack to go and get sleep in a hotel but even in this situation, he had to push you off the room because you wanted to stay. You saw that he’s in pain and can’t use his left arm, that’s why you wanted to be there for him. 

Jack finally could go back to his house and you were delighted hearing that. He was feeling less pain and you could get proper sleep knowing that he’s alright. You were hanging out with him in your last free days and helped his parents with everything in the house. His mum was smiling at the sign of you two but she didn’t know that you’re just friends. 

After a week, you returned to New York but still, you were checking on him every day calling him after work and asking how he’s feeling. It became tradition between the two of you to have a conversation each evening. Jack was thankful to have you by his side and he realised that all the time he had feelings for you.

You were always there for him, no matter what. Jack stopped caring about the fact that you might hate his team but he was sure that you love him. When you took off the week to be with him, he knew that he had to ask you to be his girlfriend. He didn’t care anymore that this might ruin your dynamic if things won’t turn the way he wants but he was willing to take the risk.

On his birthday in May, you flew for the weekend to celebrate with Jack his special day. He knew that you’re coming and he was prepared to ask you the question. That was the birthday gift he wanted from you. You meet his older brother Quinn and thank Luke for help. Four of you had fun this whole day on the boat. Seeing you getting along with his brothers was confirmation that he had to make you his. 

When you stepped out of the boat, Quinn and Luke went inside. You wanted to follow them but Jack stopped you. You faced him and looked into his eyes. He smiled. 

“Thank you for everything you’ve been doing for me for the past month. Actually thank you for everything. Thank you for being by my side in good and bad times. We might had arguments earlier but I know that you’re my person Y/N” 

“It’s so nice that you see me in this light. Anything for friends right?” You joked but his face fell when he heard the word friends.

“About that” He took a deep breath. ”You’re much more for me than just a friend. It took me long enough to realise but I have strong feelings for you and I want you as my girlfriend” He grabbed your hand and you didn’t know what to say. You stood like that for a minute. 

“You don’t have a clue how long I wanted to hear those words” You chuckled. “I would love to be your girlfriend” You answered and he smiled widely at you. 

Jack placed his hand on your cheek and pulled you into a kiss. First kiss as a couple. No more kisses as friends, enemies, situationship. From now on, kisses as a relationship full of love.

[philistiniphagottini]

Flustered

Hiya, I wanted to do a little writing practice for Sunday so I wrote some fluffy little piece. I know it has probably been done a hundred times before but I also want to tease his wings a little. Positive feedback would be appreciated if you want to see me write more for Sunday.

Comments/reblogs highly appreciated

cw. fluff, established relationship, gender neutral reader, chubby reader, minors do not interact with me or any of my works

Sunday didn’t expect you had ulterior motives when you beckoned him to move closer to you. You were sitting side by side in the parlor car, a respectable space between you both yet close enough orbiting in each other’s company that you were clearly something more than just friends. You were completely alone with each other, late into the evening while the other crew members had retired to bed only a short time ago. You could speak freely without having to lean in so close but Sunday decided to indulge you. 

The book Sunday had been reading closed with a soft thump as he placed it to the side, beckoned closer to you by the crook of your finger. You were bold enough to scoot closer to him, your plump body almost squished against his side as you leaned closer. Sunday tilted his head to the side as you cupped your hand around your mouth, signalling you intended to whisper something in his ear. Your plump lips puckered softly as you leaned in close, until you could smell the scent of his cologne invading your senses, before you blew a puff of cool air against the small bend in his wing. 

To say the Halovian got flustered was an understatement. His reaction was instantaneous when he felt the air you produced ruffle his feathers, the unexpected huff of air sending tingles to run straight down his spine and make the base of his skull tingle from the unexpected jolt against his wing. He immediately wrenched himself away from you like you had stung him, the feathers of his wings puffing up in sordid content. He slapped his hand over his mouth, hoping to stifle the pathetic noise that tried to crawl out of his throat. His attempt failed and the sudden sharp rasp of air that whistled through his teeth cut through the sounds of your delighted snickers. Your ears perked up to the sound and you stopped laughing, blinking at Sunday with wide, doe eyes as he continued to shrink under your gaze. 

“What was that?” you questioned. 

Heat crept over Sunday’s cheeks, the tips of his ears burning red hot as the heat even started to creep down his neck. The collar of his shirt suddenly felt too tight and he continued to burn under your inquisitive stare. You suddenly scooted closer to him once more, now invading his personal space as you continued to poke and prod him for answers. He vehemently tried to fight off the cherry red tinting his cheeks as he twisted his head away from your view. 

“What was that just now, Sunny?” you questioned again. 

He averted his gaze, trying to hide his flushed expression behind his hands but being thwarted when you grabbed his wrists and pulled them away. 

“Please, don’t call me that” he mumbled. 

There was no malice to his words and he was finding it harder and harder to fight you off as you practically crawled into his lap by now, your plump body perched on his knees as you grabbed at him with soft hands. Your soft giggled made his ears ring and head feel dizzy as you tried to get a closer look at him. He refused to look at you, his wings coming to cross in front of his face and hide his flushed cheeks when you leaned in closer. A small pout tugged on your lips when you wrestled his hands away, only to find another obstacle in your way. 

“Come on, I just want to have a peek~” you cooed playfully.

“Why?” Sunday asked, chancing a peek at you over the soft flutter of his wings. 

You continued to smile down at him, fingers intertwined with his as you gently squeezed his hands. 

“Because I never see any expression on your face other than passive indifference” you complained with a soft whine. “Pretty please? I promise I won’t laugh.”

Pools of molten gold stared back at you. Sunday was quite endeared to you. He found it hard to deny any request you made when you spoke to him in such a sickeningly sweet tone it made his head feel a little dizzy. Many thoughts crossed his mind and it took a long moment for him to gather his composure before he decided to indulge you for the second time this evening and adhere to your request. His wings slowly lowered from his face, the soft, white feathers brushing against his hot skin as they revealed what lay hidden beneath them. His lips were pressed into a tight, thin line, red cheeks almost glowing in the dim lights of the parlor car as his fair lashes fluttered over his cheeks. You had never seen such a flustered look pulling at his soft features before and you couldn’t help the smile that tilted your lips. You leaned forward, kissing the tip of Sunday’s nose and causing the Halovian beneath you to fumble and stutter in a flushed mess. 

“Wh-What was that for?” Sunday asked. 

You continued to smile. “You’re really cute, Sunny~”

Sunday hadn’t been called cute since he was a child. He thought the word was a little childish, if he was being quite honest. But hearing the words fall from your parted lips? He liked how it sounded, his heart beating a little faster as the feathers of his wings puffed up in content. You traced the movements of his wings with your eyes, only for your gaze to be drawn to his mouth when you saw his lips twitch with a ghost of a smile. 

“Thank you. You certainly know how to flatter me.”

His gaze was still shy and it was slowly dawning on you that perhaps you had teased him a little too much for one evening. A soft hum stirred in your throat as you leaned forward and kissed his nose again, noticing how he leaned up and into your touch this time as he squeezed your hands close. 

“You should smile more often too” you mentioned. “Frowning will give you wrinkles.”

A soft huff breezed past Sunday’s lips., the heat in his cheeks dying down yet still making his skin simmer with warmth. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

[scribeofmorpheus]

I hate how LLMs have made it very untrustworthy to regard what one comes across as genuine craft anymore. i know artists are struggling big time with scrapping. I even wrote a paper on how openai was scrapping ao3 based on their early story prompt structures reading like a lot of popular fanfics i'd read before.

i was actually so paranoid that i locked most of my fics on ao3. sometimes i roll back the lock when i work on a fic again, but i usually lock em back up again after a while. scrapping is abhorent and i hate how much ai has shifted digital art paradigms and is now seeping into fandom culture.

I will say that i do find the "nonsense description" portion of this post a bit hard to align with. I'll get into it below the cut. but this is purely discursive, I'm not condemning or abstaining (I'm on op's side here), I'm just pointing out some factoids of my own for perspective!

here it is:

""her nimble fingers worked with quiet precision" (ct. 1), "his grip firm but tender" (ct. 33), "her gown pooling around her like embers" (ct. 1)."

See, I write like this, becuase i was trained in poetry first and then moved on to prose later. i use imagery, i use atmospherics, i use sensation in place of actual telegraphed motion or action that one expects of an action alone--it flows better, sounds sweeter and sometimes, yes, nimble fingers can move with quiet precision (not quiet as in "sound" but as in "understated", as in "draws little attention to the movement"). Firm but tender is another of my favourites--juxtaposition, contrast between the outward seen and felt execution of the action and the internalised, more personal mode of emotion conveyed so as to angle how we broach the situation. "firm but tender" is assuring, it's safe. "firm and rough" is more edged, and since we're left with little assumption of the setting and intent of such action, we cannot tell if the action and the emotions align--if its sexual, is it also consensual? if it's violent, is it because of haste to act, fear, annoyance, etc, etc. now "pooling like embers" is odd. embers spark and bristle and fly and catch things on fire, they disperse and scatter, never hold a body of matter congealed enough to pool. pooling like unfurled flame from dragon's breath? yeah, now that works! especially if it's a magic setting.

all this to say, ai is making it exceeding harder to prove craft is genuine if you work outside structural modes one can fact check. if you try to be more experimental, there's high chance you'll end up like me, and chip away at rigid writing structure in order to form your own voice. repetition and favoured descriptions is also a known trait of writers. one of my fav fanfic writers back in the day used to love "hard" after a pause. like: "he slammed the door, hard." or "his kiss pressed deep into me, hard." and it was noticeable and i loved seeing they had a tell.

though, i do agree that one of the things that need the least repetition in fiction is hair colour. but even published books like to remind readers of physical traits id it's something the author is so beguiled by. poor writing, but writing none the less.

i did suspect something was off with TSATS because of how fast the updates rolled. because damn! 23k word update after a 13k word update with less than 48 hrs between? crazy if true. but alas, i don't think i have it in me to be disappointed if i go seeking and do indeed find a pattern that proves LLM usage.

but to all my fic writers that take like half a day to write 3 pages and the other half procrastinating, if you (like me) got notified of all the updates and wondered if you weren't "productive" enough, you are not making a product, these are labours of love, keep at it, at your own pace, with your own skill, the process is the process!

we need to talk about The Silence and The Song

as per my last post, i have received a lot of encouragement to go public with this, and the more disappointed people i have in my dms, the angrier i get. so i will.

the silence and the song is an ancient arlathan au DA fic on ao3 by luxannaslut, and it is partly, if not entirely, written by an ai. i have no wish to be involved in any kind of fandom drama or witch hunting or bullying, but as a writer myself there are few things that piss me off more than watching people steal the work of others because they can't be fucked to write. it's disrespectful to your fellow writers, it's disrespectful to your readers, and it's disrespectful to the authors of the works the ai is stealing from.

ai is a plague that has no business being in creative spaces and you must do better.

the writing pattern

there was something very odd and monotone about the sentence structure of tsats that i couldn't quite place, so i fed chatgpt a prompt along the lines of "two people in a fantasy novel hate each other, but they secretly desire one another, and they kiss", and the screenshots above are the results. the third one is an excerpt from chapter 40 of tsats. the writing pattern is identical and it doesn't seem like the "writer" has even bothered to pretend they wrote it. if you're going to use ai, at least be sneaky about it. you know, paraphrase a little.

nonsense descriptions

"her nimble fingers worked with quiet precision" (ct. 1), "his grip firm but tender" (ct. 33), "her gown pooling around her like embers" (ct. 1).

fingers don't make sound, so what does quiet precision mean? as opposed to what? her joints cracking with every movement? how is a grip firm but tender? what does that mean? since when do embers pool?

the entire fic is littered with these adjectives that contradict each other or just straight up do not make sense, because all an ai does is generate descriptive language with no understanding of what the words it's spitting out actually mean. i could spend hours picking out examples from the seven billion pages worth of text, but i quite frankly have better things to do and would simply challenge you to try getting through a chapter or two without noticing the pattern.

repetition at structure-level

all the scenes in this fic are described in pretty much the same way. they open with purple prose vomit of the surroundings; solas is standing somewhere looking "unreadable as ever"; ellana's fiery golden molten fire copper ember ginger red hair is flowing this and that way; there's some dialogue with whoever is present and it leaves ellana feeling different variations of "something she couldn't name". this is, once again, a blatantly obvious sign of ai. below is the result of me feeding chatgpt the line "write me a scene from a fantasy novel where a woman with red hair is sitting on the ground in a magical garden at night", and side by side with that is the opening scene of the fic. make your own judgement.

repetition at word-level

this one speaks for itself. we fucking get it. her dress is orange, her hair is red, mythal's presence is heavy in the room, solas looks unreadable, compassion is sitting on her head like a crown, solas' ears are betraying him and ellana's move with every thought she thinks. we get it. the issue here is that an ai remembers the info you feed it, but not necessarily the info it shits out. if it's being told to write scene after scene of an elven woman with a gown that looks like fire doing xyz, it's going to do so with no regard for how many times the reader has already been informed of these details.

lastly: the breakneck speed

359,6k words in four weeks by a person who allegedly is employed and married and hasn't pre-written anything? no. any writer will tell you that this simply isn't possible. it absolutely infuriates me to see how much praise this "writer" gets for posting up to three full chapters in a day without anyone calling bullshit. i am pulling out my hair, you guys.

why i'm not going to live and let live this one

perhaps i would be less angry if the fic was some silly bullshit court intrigue Y/A stuff, but this is a text that handles very heavy and triggering topics such as SA, coercion, domestic abuse, and other things of the same vein. to sit back and put your feet up while having a robot write these extremely sensitive and very real human experiences with words it has stolen from texts written by actual persons is fucking heinous. the "writer" should be deeply ashamed of themselves and i'm sick and tired of watching people eat up their bs.

and on that note: the amount of people in my dm's telling me that they feel stupid and naive for not clocking this has infuriated me more than anything else. you're not foolish for this. being fed ai-generated bullshit is not what is supposed to happen on any creative platform and much less a fandom-centred one, so of course no one approaches a fic through that lens. fandom and fic writing is supposed to be about passion and the only person in this situation who needs to do better and change their behaviour is luxannaslut. polluting our creative spaces, wasting the time of your readers, and minimising the effort of actual writers who are working hard to provide content for us all to share and enjoy is vile and so, so lazy. i beg of you: do better.

[justallihere]

Okay, I did some laundry, I've had lunch, I've breathed fresh air and taken some deep breaths (did not touch any grass because it's covered in snow), and we're back. My wrap up thoughts of Onyx Storm are below! Be warned it's chock full of spoilers, and these are all my honest opinions. I haven't even given this a rating yet because I don't really know what I want to rate it! Nothing's really in order so sorry about that. But I look forward to hearing everyone else's thoughts!

I loved that the importance of the bond between dragon and human was emphasized so heavily in this book. That Asher called Aimsir Lilith's first love, Violet telling Tairn he's the gift of her life, that even Halden knew that the true barrier to her would be the dragon bond - and especially that when Xaden channeled again, in a way that he knew would irreversibly damn him, he did it for Sgaeyl. To keep her safe, because she chose him before and above everyone else.

I adored the Riorgail of it all. They were open and honest with each other, saying I love you practically every other breath, declaring their loyalty and devotion to each other in front of anyone who would listen. I loved that we got them as a team, facing stuff together and trusting that what they couldn't the other could handle it.

On the other hand, it may just be me but they didn't quite feel like themselves. Maybe because it was the first time we've truly seen them be public about their feelings, but they didn't feel like the same Xaden and Violet from the previous two books. Xaden felt so intense that everything he said gave me anxiety, devoted to the point of obsession. I would actually call Violet morally gray here, but it came out of nowhere; there wasn't a great transition into that change in her character, none of the hesitation or guilt I'd expect.

In short, they kind of felt like my Xaden and Violet and not canon? I loved them, but I'm not sure it matches what we know of them from FW and IF and the change in character didn't feel entirely smooth.

But Xaden IS her sword!!!!

The worldbuilding was ridiculous. Violet was dropping facts left right and center like the details of the aristocracy and politics at play were common knowledge - and maybe they are in world, but if they're that obvious then I feel like those details should've been worked into earlier books. I felt like I was floundering trying to keep up with all the new names and titles and roles.

In the same vein, the lore about magic made no sense. So only the Continent has magic but why? Was it drained from other places? Does it only occur naturally in certain areas? Dragons don't have magic that exists within them - they also draw from the source which? Hello hypocrites much? That was another thing that was said so casually, but that should've been one of those things we learned in Fourth Wing, at Threshing or right after.

There was too much happening with the plot to the point that I lost it completely. The trips to the isles were overwhelming. I know the venin and the irids were tied together, but those two things competed so much that I kept forgetting about whichever one we weren't talking about. Literally just. . . forgot about the venin there for a bit in the middle. We were looking for a cure but we were looking for Andarna's kind but we were trying to stop the venin and we were also gathering allies and making trade deals and none of those points were fleshed out completely.

The ending was vague and confusing in a way that made me frustrated instead of interested or anticipatory. I read the last two chapters three times and I still don't know what the fuck was going on there. So the Sage is. . . Fen? Is Garrick the one who also turned? Bodhi? Brennan? Ridoc? Fuck if I know. I understand the point of the marriage, to give Violet control over Tyrrendor legally, but I'm also pissed at the way it happened.

I know we don't want anyone to actually die, but I literally didn't even flinch when Mira's throat got cut open because I figured she'd be fine. There were no important deaths. Trager and Quinn didn't hit that hard. Not putting any of the main characters in significant danger makes the stakes feel lower than they should.

The fan service made me roll my eyes. I get it to a certain extent, but there were several times when I legitimately kind of felt like RY had been in fandom spaces or someone on her team was just feeding her popular theories to include.

The marked ones having second signets was. . . not my favorite choice, because logistically it doesn't make much sense. We should statistically see at least one of them go mad from the power instead of developing a second signet. And I actually think if that had been included it would have been more interesting! I'd like to see the reality of the risks that were taken to make the rebellion happen, but instead they just got really really lucky a bunch of times?

The use of the word Riorgail in print sent me to the fucking moon. No.

Violet's second signet. . . I don't want to talk about it.

Actually no I do. Since when are signets based on situational need and not who a person is at their core? Was that not what we were told previously? Am I tripping? I don't mind the power itself but I am confused.

Professor Riorson had me on the ground laughing. What the hell was that. There are enough barriers to their relationship, and that one felt too forced (but great fodder for smutty fic).

The characters and their relationships are the standout of the book and the series. I already said I loved Xaden and Violet here, but I also loved their friendships and how real especially the relationship with Brennan and Mira and Violet felt. The humor and the quips and the squad's constant support of each other was wonderful.

I'm holding onto those Sloane and Dain crumbs like a teddy bear you all have no idea. I love them.

Aaric being the one with precognition I didn't see coming, but I surprisingly liked it! I loved him stepping more into his role as prince and seeing how cunning and smart he really is.

Halden was unnecessary but I live for possessive and jealous Xaden.

Overall I think the pacing was crammed and the worldbuilding left me with more questions than answers, but did I still like it? Yes! I don't think it's my favorite in the series but it still was an enjoyable read. I'll want to read it again at some point I think, but not immediately!

[ihopesocomic]

I'm curious if you guys know about Clouded Moon, Shifting Roots? The book just came out and I read it, I thought it was pretty good

I read it. And I did not care for it. It read more like it was something for people who are already fans of these characters and not for people who were looking for something separate from Warrior Cats. Which would be fine but then I wouldn't have bothered.

It read like they felt like they had something better than Warrior Cats when in reality it was no different from Warrior Cats. Which is the problem with many Warrior Cats adjacent things. They end up making the exact same mistakes. 

There is an unneeded amount of telling and not showing. There was so many instances where a character would explain something that happened to them prior to the events of the book. The writers of Warrior Cats are beholden to a narrative structure of following a linear timeline that is not a standalone story. It requires context from other books. Since this is a story independent of Warrior Cats, I have to wonder why this writer didn't just. Start from the beginning. It would explain the actions and feelings of characters better without having to dump exposition on your readers. This is especially obvious later in the book where the main characters get attacked by coyotes and snakes and we see none of it happen lol it's all third-hand accounts of what happened.

It still has an unnecessarily large cast. Warriors has a problem with too many characters, so why did you CHOOSE to have the same problem? Characters sharing the same prefix is a huge mistake. There is only one instance where it made sense because eventually something changes. But I've been in WC RP groups before and there's a good reason the ones I was in disallow the same prefix lol it's fucking confusing. If you're not gonna trim the fat, it does the reader a disservice to not do your best to make sure no one gets confused. I don't care how attached to the names y'all are. V*viziepop did this shit and I'm gonna criticize the book for doing the same thing.

You can barely focus on the protagonists. They were basically interchangeable, which was not helped by the constant changing of perspectives, because they all essentially have the exact same thoughts on top of a cast you can barely keep track of. They barely had personalities to speak of, so all of them are surprisingly plain. And I'm supposed to believe at least half of the main cast were close friends at some point. Even characters that should at the very least be morally grey like Dawnfrost and Goldenpelt felt like the writer(s?) didn't want to make them "TOO" bad so that people would still like them. Cuz god forbid we have characters that have to grow to become better people. They're essentially a cult in the woods who are at constant odds with each other and you don't want to have Dawnfrost have some questionable thoughts about anything? 

Since the protagonists barely have a personality, character deaths happening around them have such little impact, even the ones I was surprised by. I imagine if this was remedied by telling the story from the start, I would probably care at least a little. I had stronger feelings about Duskwater dying and she had no dialogue and died pooping.

It is only because I have read Warrior Cats does it make it obvious where this story's roots came from. Because all of it is disappointingly interchangeable with Warrior Cats. You can't just change a few words and claim that something doesn't have ownership of something and then keep it virtually the same anyway. Aside from a few minor differences like queer characters having a Mike Wazowski cameo in the background, and magic being more widespread, nothing about it is different. To its detriment, without the context of Warrior Cats, there is no reason characters should be having half of the problems they currently have. A lot of the problems would be solved by simply making choices the cats in Warriors wouldn't. There's too many examples to give, but one that kind of drives me crazy is Windclan Field Colony leaders captains allegedly dislike Spottedshadow for her questionable loyalty, but they trust her enough to train their youth? Any other story would have leadership, no matter what the consequence, withhold that kind of power and make the protagonist find ways to subvert that.

And speaking of the queer characters, the cast is embarrassingly vanilla. You have the luxury of not being beholden to a publishing company's whims, you could have one big ol' polycule, or whatever the fuck, and you just. Don't bother? I know they've had these characters for a long time but like. None of the main cast is gay? Trans? Nothing? I guess Spottedshadow and Dawnfrost are bisexual since they had a relationship at some point, which again we the readers are not even present for, but it is entirely inconsequential to literally everything. I don't even recall whether a character brings it up in conversation. Neither of them barely spare a thought for each other, but their male romantic partners get plenty, even Goldenpelt. I guess to be fair, even the f/m romances are about as deep as the ones in WC. But did we not all decide this was tokenism? Or does it get a pass because it's "independent"? I've always said if you're not going to give your queer characters quality, you're better off not having them at all. I know they had these characters for a long time, but to advertise it as being queer is grossly misleading. People got more from the queer subtext from Frostdawn (god) and Whistlebreeze than queer context in this book. Again, if this was started from the beginning, where we got to see their relationship and it's just not working out, I wouldn't even be having this conversation right now.

And worst of all, it was boring.

I really need people to read books that are not Warrior Cats to have an idea of what good books are. Because if the line is "not warriors" then this book can't even cross that. - Cat

-

Basically all of what Cat said. I also didn't care much for the worldbuilding changes from it being a Warrior Cats RP story either. Like Cat said: if you're going to make it not Warrior Cats, you may as well just start from scratch so you can do things differently more efficiently.

Not only are the changes superficial at best but... they either make no sense or are very cumbersome. Like the Captains have these titles like 'Elmtail the something or other Branch' and I'm just like why? I mean, I get it because it's meant to imply something about their personality and leadership strategy but this is an example of how this story tells but does not show.

It also bothers me how we have mismatch of rank titles like Captain, Second, Envoy etc., which may sound like a nitpick but... it makes it really hard to remember what rank does what and what order of seniority they're in. It wasn't until quite far in the book that I realised that an Envoy appears to be something of a third-in-command of the colonies after the Second and the Captain. Even though - traditionally - an envoy is a low-ranking title in most situations. I know a rebuttal to this would be that the Envoy is simply 'in training' but nah, they're on the Council with the Second and the Captain and Goldenpelt even lords over Spottedshadow by using his seniority as Envoy at one point.

I would've just liked an explanation for these new choices in rank titles because they don't seem to correlate well at all. Like with our WC rewrite - The Nefarious - we went with a medieval ranking system because the two Colonies we have date back to medieval times so it makes sense for them to carry those titles throughout their history. Same goes for Warrior Cats itself, which isn't entirely necessary because it's pretty easy to follow what the titles mean but it's still nice we get to see how the Clans established themselves in Dawn of the Clans and Moth Flight's Vision.

And what makes things even more complicated on top of remembering all of the main cast and their respective deals is that - in place of the Leader, the Deputy and the medicine cat arriving at decisions for their Clan - each Colony has a Council that you have to keep up with that is made up of the Captain, the Second, the Envoy and an Elder. WindClan Field Colony even goes that extra mile and adds the Herbalist (medicine cat) to their Council. Good luck remembering which cats are on which Council for each Colony because I sure as hell don't.

We also have a stand-in for StarClan and the Nine Lives ceremony or w/e but I don't remember much about this. It was just more lore and more characters I had to keep track of.

To sum it up all: everything you're familiar with in Warrior Cats has just been taken and renamed but made even more needlessly complicated so that it seems 'different'. It's certainly different... it's just harder for me to keep track of everything. But congratulations, I guess? shrug - RJ

[hkthatgffan]

What's actually your opinion on Stanford Pines?

Oh, that's an interesting question. Short answer; I like Ford and think he's a great, flawed but lovable character who has endured a lot and come out of it a better man than he was before. Now, if you want my long answer...keep reading beyond this for why I feel that way.

Back when I first saw Gravity Falls, I thought Ford was okay. He wasn't so much a favourite of mine (that title then and still belongs to Dipper and Mabel for me), nor was I as interested in him. I did love reading up everything in Journal 3 about him and all his antics.

During the Mabel hate era in 2018, I did somewhat sour in my opinion on Ford as I felt fans were being too harsh on Mabel and not realizing some of the negatives about him and how Dipper and Mabel were drifting into the same direction Ford and Stan had become. I felt angry that fans were hating on Mabel and calling out her mistakes but downplaying other characters', Ford included.

But then, if you were around in 2018 and remember the Mabel debates that raged on then...you know how messy it was no matter what side you were on, lmao. Be it anti or pro Mabel or Ford, people really debated long and hard during that time and it's an era I'm glad we're more or less past.

In the years since and having heard more takes from fans who like Ford and get him in ways I didn't, I do find myself appreciating and liking Ford a lot more than I did back then. I'm still always gonna be defensive of Mabel and firm on my stance that Dipper staying behind in Gravity Falls with Ford was the worst outcome that could've happened in that scenario, but I see Ford in a lens less of hatred and more realization that...the whole situation was a learning experience for everyone in that situation. Ford learned something from it, Mabel did, Dipper did...all of them did.

To me, Ford is a character that is good at heart. Like every member of the Pines family, he's flawed and has made mistakes that he's overcome and improved from. And as we see again in The Book of Bill...there is one major new thing we really see that makes him all the better in my eyes now than he used to be!

I've spoken about this before when someone asked what my stance on Billford is, but I think as someone who has survived being in toxic situations with people who made my life worse the same way Bill was a toxic person to Ford, I understand him more so now than I used to.

What we see is Ford and Bill having a partnership (or friendship or relationship depending on how you see it) that was toxic. Bill was manipulative, took Ford and tried to mold him into what he wanted him to be. And Ford eventually realized that but Bill made his life hell for trying to escape. Ford eventually being able to and learn to find happiness in his family and friends was an incredible thing to see and that single thing, having been through such shit myself as others probably can relate too, changed Ford in a huge way for me for the better.

Ford to me is a guy who managed to overcome the worst thrown at him and be able to let go of that whole situation and escape it to become better. And we all deserve that. We all deserve to escape the Bill Ciphers in our life, find our Pines family and grow and become better and happier from that.

That is what I think of Stanford Pines. He's a character who is flawed. He's a character who has his ups and downs. But at his core, he is a guy who overcame adversities thrown at him and found a way to live a better and more fulfilling life with those who appreciate and love him for who he is. For a character I once felt no real connection or understanding for and more so hatred...he sure has come a long way for the better and I couldn't be more proud of him.

I know for others this may not be how they see Ford or you may even look at what I said and think I missed the whole point. But that's okay. Because these characters are for us as fans to relate and find aspects in them we can understand. Headcanons exist for a reason. To me, that's how I see Ford. To you, he may be something else.

That's the beauty of this show. Headcanon these character the way you please, without fear or worry of being told you're wrong. Alex has said no headcanon to him will ever be confirmed or denied...so headcanon and perceive these characters the way you feel. Because we all are Gravity Falls fans...and love them the way we do.

But FR, we need more Mabel and Ford bonding. That's all I want from this show now...these two just having fun and being awesome, lol!!