#but i am carrying on as if i will be able to

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

For King and Kin

22/12: Party and Position Changes - Aemond Targaryen Word Count: 1.6k~ | Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, smut, prince regent aemond, doggy

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

“She is of a weak disposition, I heard. Perhaps she is with child.”

“The Prince Regent certainly needs an heir.”

“He has looked sour since his Lady Wife left the celebrations.”

Aemond scoffed from his spot at the high table, circling a finger over the rim of his cup, half-filled with wine. They spoke as if he did not hear them, whispering such gossip. It was infuriating.

It was true that his lady wife suffered from sickness, especially in the mornings, but not exclusively. The maesters had told him in quiet confidence that they suspected she was with child, but that it was sensible to wait until the quickening to confirm.

What an excruciating wait.

She had graced the court with her presence earlier in the evening, but when she began to feel her stomach churning, she need only pay him a furrow of her brows in pain and he was more than happy to allow her rest if she needed it.

He was willing to carry her even, excuse himself from the celebrations himself. But she reassured him she was still able to walk, with a small, amused smile.

Even with the conqueror's crown planted firmly upon his head, all he could think of was the sweet curve of his wife's body in his. How warm she is. How smooth her skin. How plush her thighs. How tight her—

“Your Grace.”

Aemond blinked, swallowing thickly as he felt his breeches tighten at the mere tangent his mind was about to embark upon. Nothing softened him faster than the sight of Ser Tyland Lannister though, smug and stood tall as if he himself had been crowned instead of him.

“I wish to congratulate you on your Regency. As always your council will remain steadfast and trustworthy. And should you ever desire a Hand—”

“Thank you, Ser Tyland,” Aemond half-smiled, half-grimaced, “your loyalty is appreciated.”

Aemond nodded curtly to Ser Tyland, signalling the conversation was over, though the Lannister lingered a moment too long for Aemond’s liking before finally bowing and stepping away. 

His good eye drifted across the festivities. Everyone was drunk at best, smiles too wide, laughter too hollow, and he was overcome with the sudden desire to leave it all behind. He glanced in his mother’s direction as he pushed his chair out, her brown eyes wide with curiosity and judgement perhaps. 

She had given him no other look since Rook’s Rest.

“I believe they’ve seen enough of me tonight,” Aemond said, his tone firm. “The realm will not crumble if its Regent retires an hour early.”

“Aemond–”

“Mother,” he interrupted, his voice low but final.

It was only in the hall where he felt he could finally breathe. Air flowed easily, no longer stifled by the pomp and proper of the evening he had just sought to leave. He opened the heavy door to their chambers and stepped inside. The fire had burned low and she was already in bed, lying on her side, her hair spilling over the pillow.

“You left early,” he said quietly, closing the door behind him.

Her eyes opened slowly, and a small smile curved her lips. “And yet you followed.”

As he reached the bed, she shifted to sit up, the blanket pooling around her waist. “I thought you’d stay longer. Your mother will have words, I’m sure.”

“She always does,” he replied, sitting on the edge of the bed. His hand reached out to brush a strand of hair from her face. “Are you feeling unwell?”

Her gaze dropped for a moment, her fingers grazing her stomach in that way that had haunted him all evening. “No,” she said softly. “Just…tired.”

He hummed, “when will the maesters give their opinion?”

She looked up at him then, her expression caught somewhere between apprehension and hope. “They said it would be unwise to speculate for a few more weeks,” she replied. “But I am aware patience is not your strong suit, is it?”

He smirked faintly. “It is not.”

“You’ve waited for so much, Aemond,” she said softly, her voice warm and soothing, eyes glancing up at the conqueror’s crown sat atop his head. “A little longer won’t harm you.”

“Hm,” he murmurs, crawling over the bed towards her delicate form, pressing his face to her stomach with his hands on her hips, “spare me, dear wife. Have the maesters forbade coupling? I do not think I can wait.”

Her fingers threaded through his hair as she let out a soft laugh. “No,” she said, “but we must be careful. They warned against anything too…strenuous. Until we know for certain.”

“I am no beast,” he muffled against her shift, bunching it up as if desperate to touch her flesh, “I know restraint.”

“I seem to recall differently,” she countered with a teasing lilt.

With a hand to his chest, she pushes him back, enough to be able to straddle his lap as he sits with his back against the bed frame. For a moment his pupil widened slightly and she relished in the warm pride that spread through her at his reaction. 

She wasted no time. Unlacing his breeches was the simple part, but in this position, face to face, it was novel and intimate, more than usual. It was always Aemond on top, commanding her body to his. She wasn't sure how her husband was likely to cope with the change.

His breath hitched, eye closing as she pulled his cock free and worked him to full hardness, her slight palm massaging the ruddy tip, knowing what he liked. He was surely about to speak before she rose her hips, and the tip of him kissed her waiting slit, and slowly, slowly took her husband to the hilt.

Her movements were slow, deliberate, her hands braced against his chest as she guided them both into a steady rhythm. Aemond’s hands gripped her hips, his fingers pressing into her flesh as he resisted the urge to take control. He let her lead, his lips parting as a low groan escaped him.

“Ābrazȳrys” his voice caught, his eye blazing as he gazed up at her. “You are perfection.”

She leaned forward, her fingers threading through his silver hair, and pressed her lips to his. The dark crown brushed her fingertips, and in her annoyed breath, she slipped it from his head onto the bed. An action only the wife of the Prince Regent in this intimate moment would ever get away with.

Their breaths mingled, their shared movements growing more heated, more desperate. It felt good to roll her hips against him, each slide home was easy, aided by her unending desire to please him. But soon, she began to slow, the strain in her thighs becoming too much.

Her brows furrowed, her rhythm faltering as she let out a shaky breath. “Aemond.”

He must have felt the shake, as he was already moving her off his lap, “enough. Allow me.”

He guided her off him carefully, laying her down on her side before helping her onto her hands and knees. She looked over her shoulder, her eyes wide, and for a moment, uncertainty flickered across her face.

Her cheeks burned as he pulled the shift over her backside, pulling her legs apart so he might see the wetness that glazed her womanhood. She felt exposed and utterly at his mercy in such a compromising position.

Not to mention, this was uncharted territory.

“We’ve never…” she began, her voice trailing off.

Aemond smirked, his fingers trailing down her spine. “No,” he murmured, his tone low, “but we will now.”

He positioned himself behind her, and watched with curiosity and admiration, as for from this angle, he was able to watch himself disappear inside, swallowed by her silky walls. She gasped in turn, this was deeper than she had ever felt him, with her spine curved and backside held against him. Her fingers clutched the sheets as his pace began slow enough, before his restraint began to ebb away.

“Alright?” he rasped, leaning forward to press kisses along her shoulder, his voice rough with both pleasure and concern.

Her hips instinctively pushed back, “don't stop…”

Her approval shocked him, but ignited his confidence all the same as he began to push into her with renewed vigour. She was surprised at how much she liked it, the way he fit against her, the way his hands held her so firmly. It felt raw, intimate, and utterly consuming.

His hands slid up to her waist as he felt her peak quiver through her body, her walls spasming around him and in the force of it, her arms gave out and she pressed her front to the sheets. She swore she felt the palm of his hand on her lower stomach, stroking lovingly as he reached his, pushing hot, pearly ropes of his release so much inside her, that she felt it dribble down her thigh.

Aemond helped her shift onto her side, gathering her into his arms as they both caught their breath. His hand instinctively returned to her stomach, his thumb brushing over the soft skin in slow, soothing circles.

“You will let me know once the maesters give their opinion, won’t you?”

“Of course,” she replied, leaning into him. “But tonight, you are Prince Regent. Let us celebrate that.”

Aemond shook his head, his lips curling into a rare, genuine smile. His gaze softened as he looked at her, his wife, who had managed to calm the storm in him more times than he cared to admit.

“Tonight, I am your husband. Nothing else matters.”

General Taglist: @1lluminaticonfirmed @aemondsfavouritebastard @all-for-aemond @bellstwd @blackswxnn

@blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @cl-0-vr @eddieslut69

@emmaisafictionwhore @eponaartemisa @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @justbelljust

@minholy223 @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @nixiefics

@primonizzutto @qyburnsghost @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @sheshellsseashells

[d-z20]

Neighbourly Care part 5 (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: Things become official with the MILFS but there's an unexpected guest. Back at college, your friends are still trying to set you up with someone which Agatha and Rio will NOT let that slide, so they remind you exactly who you belong to again but Rio's been scheming

-OR-

Your girlfriends take you back to fuck you but somehow it ends with Agatha tied up and Rio getting railed...

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, tiny bit of angst, smut, fluff, possessive Agathario, power bottom Rio, switch reader, implied phone sex, marking, bondage (A recv), strap on (Rio recv), mentions of overstimulation, brief edging, oral (Reader recv)

Words: 5.1k

A/N: I am BACK baby, and what better way than with an update for this fic. I thought it was about time we got to fuck Rio :)

AO3 | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Master List

Back Again

You stir faintly, the ache of exhaustion mingling with the cosy warmth of the couch. A shift in the cushions pulls you further from sleep, and you vaguely register the sensation of being lifted. Strong arms cradle you, the familiar scent of Rio’s shampoo grounding you even in your half-asleep haze.

“Shh, baby,” Rio murmurs, her voice a soothing balm. The gentle sway of her steps lulls you closer to rest, though faint snippets of conversation anchor you to the moment.

“They’re out cold,” Rio says softly, her tone carrying a rare mix of amusement and concern.

“I’m texting their parents,” comes Agatha’s voice, punctuated by the soft click of her nails on a screen. “Letting them know they’re staying here.”

The sound of soft sheets and the familiar scent of cedar envelop you as Rio lays you down on the bed, careful and deliberate. You feel the weight of the blanket pulled over you, and then the mattress dips beside you. Rio’s warm arms encircle you, pulling you close, while Agatha presses a kiss to your temple, her lips lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. Between them, you drift back into a deep sleep.

—

You can hear the sound of birds as you blink yourself awake, the warmth of Rio’s body beside you grounding you. Uncertainty knots in your stomach as you fidget with your hands, your mind racing with thoughts you’d been avoiding. What is this relationship you have with Agatha and Rio? Is it just sex? Or is there something deeper?

“Good morning,” Rio’s voice is soft, her head propped on her hand as she lies on her side facing you. Her honeyed gaze watches you with open affection.

You mumble a greeting, rubbing at your face as a familiar knot of unease tightens in your chest. Your hands continue to fidget of their own accord, fingers twisting over each other. Rio notices instantly.

“Hey,” she says softly, her brows knitting together. Her hand finds yours, stilling your nervous movements. “What’s going on?”

You hesitate, unsure of how to articulate the tangled thoughts that kept you tossing and turning in your dreams. Finally, you turn onto your side, meeting her gaze. “I don’t know what this is,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “With you and Agatha, I mean. It’s amazing and I don’t want it to end, but is it just sex? Like it’s obvious you’ve done this before; I just want to be able to set my expectations.”

The words leave you feeling vulnerable, your cheeks warming as you search Rio’s face for a reaction. She blinks, clearly taken aback, but then her expression softens. Her thumb rubs gentle circles over the back of your hand. “Sweetheart,” she starts, her voice thick with affection. “I didn’t realise you were worried about that.”

Before she can say more, a low groan rumbles behind you. Agatha stirs, wrapping an arm around your waist and nuzzling into the crook of your neck “Mornin’,” she murmurs, her voice gravelly and laced with sleep. She presses a soft kiss to your neck, her hold tightening slightly. “What are we talking about?”

Rio glances at you, silently asking for permission to explain. When you nod, she tells Agatha about your concerns. Agatha hums thoughtfully, her lips brushing your skin as she speaks. “Well, yes, we’ve had people join us in the bedroom before,” she begins, her voice steady. “But never someone who’s become part of our lives the way you have.”

Rio nods in agreement, her hand resting lightly on your hip. “We’ve been talking about this ourselves, you know,” she admits. “About how much we like you, how much we love having you around. You’re not just a fling, cariño.”

Agatha tilts your face to meet her gaze, her eyes warm and sincere. “We like you, baby. A lot,” she says, her lips quirking into a small smile. “So, what do you say? Would you want to start dating us? Properly? ”

For a moment, all you can do is stare, their words washing over you like a warm tide. Your chest tightens, but it’s not fear—it’s overwhelming relief. You nod, your voice shaky but resolute. “Yes. I’d like that.” They both smile, their joy evident as they pull you into a tight embrace.

—

The three of you make your way downstairs for breakfast, the warm morning light filling the kitchen. Agatha and Rio are particularly handsy, their touches more purposeful now, as if relishing the newfound claim they have on you since officially calling you theirs. They brush against you, steal kisses, and touch your waist or hand at every opportunity. The domesticity of it all feels surreal but wonderful.

It perfect. Almost too perfect.

“Hey, Mom. Hey, Ma,” a voice calls from the hallway, startling you. You step away from Rio’s touch instinctively, a flush creeping up your neck as a young man with dark hair and a broad smile steps into the kitchen.

Nicholas pauses, his gaze darting between you and his mothers. “Uh, hi,” he says, his brow raising slightly. “Didn’t know you had company.”

Agatha clears her throat, stepping forward smoothly. “Y/N, this is our son, Nicholas,” she says. “Nicky, this is Y/N; your mom’s helping them with their Spanish.”

Your heart stutters, but you manage a polite smile. “Hi,” you say, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach.

Nicholas grins, though there’s a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. “Nice to meet you,” he says easily. “Hope they’re not giving you too hard a time; I remember how strict they were with me.”

You laugh nervously, shaking your head to rid yourself of memories from last night. The conversation shifts and though you find yourself easing into the flow, you can’t ignore the way your chest tightens with the realisation that you might be intruding on their family time.

When breakfast wraps up, you use the opportunity to excuse yourself. “I should probably get back to my parents’ place,” you say, standing. Agatha and Rio share a look but nod in understanding, both walking you to the door to say goodbye. Out of view of Nicholas, they each press a lingering kiss to your cheek before you leave.

—

The weeks that follow are a whirlwind of classes, assignments, and finals, but Agatha and Rio are never far from your mind—or your phone, which buzzes constantly with texts from them. They visit when they can, their presence a soothing balm to the ache of missing them. On the nights they can’t, they always call, their voices filling the empty spaces of your apartment.

One evening, you’re sprawled on your bed during a video call. Agatha’s voice is low and teasing, her words dipping into a register that makes your breath hitch and sends heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Careful with that blush, sweetheart,” she purrs, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “It’s too easy to tell what I’m doing to you.”

Rio, ever playful, leans into frame, her expression positively wicked. “You’re squirming. I can see it. Wanna tell us how much you miss us, cariño?”

Their voices twine together, their suggestive remarks growing more insistent, coaxing soft whimpers from you. The call becomes a delicious blur of teasing, their words a heady mix of affection and temptation, leaving you flushed and aching for more by the time the night ends.

—

The next day, your phone buzzes with a series of texts from your friends.

Kate: Hey! You coming out with us tonight? We’re celebrating the end of finals!

Peter: We’ve barely seen you lately. Come on, you need to unwind.

You hesitate, glancing at your phone with a pang of guilt. They’re right; you’ve spent every spare moment with Agatha and Rio or on the phone with them, wrapped up in the intoxicating rhythm of their affection.

You: Fine, I’ll come. But only if it’s just a casual hangout. No matchmaking schemes.

Their replies are immediate.

Peter: Casual, I swear. Just us. Drinks and good company.

Kate: Yeah, totally chill. No schemes… maybe just a little chance to meet someone new?

You groan at the last message, already regretting your decision.

You: Seriously. No setups.

Peter: Relax! We just think it’s time you got back out there. When was your last date? Oh, right—that dickhead at the bar.

Kate: Exactly. You’ve been single forever, and we’re just saying...

They don’t know about Agatha and Rio and you dodge the topic with practiced ease.

You: I’ll come, but I mean it: Just. Hanging. Out.

Kate: Okay, okay! Pinky promise.

You shake your head, sighing as you set your phone down. It feels a little disingenuous to let them think you’re single, but explaining your situation—or even trying to—feels impossible. Besides, the thought of a casual night with friends doesn’t seem so bad... as long as they stick to their promise.

MILFS Anonymous

~ 18:49

You: Going out with my friends tonight :)

Agatha: Have fun, gorgeous. And don’t let anyone think they have a chance.

Rio: Remember: ours and ours alone. 😘

Their words make your chest warm with affection, and their possessiveness is thrilling in a way you can’t quite articulate.

—

When you arrive at the bar, the atmosphere is lively, music pulsing through the air. Your friends greet you with excited hugs and chatter.

They guide you to a table, where you’re introduced to someone new—a friend of a friend—and your group makes sure you’re seated next to them. As the night progresses and the drinks flow, your friends keep glancing at you expectantly, their unsubtle hints making it clear they’re hoping for sparks to fly. 

You deflect every attempt at their flirting, dodging their questions with vague answers, your heart too full of Agatha and Rio to even entertain the idea of anyone else.

Excusing yourself to the restroom, you pull out your phone and snap a quick picture. Your hand rests suggestively at the base of your neck, the angle teasing but not too revealing.

MILFS Anonymous

~ 20:04

You: *click to open image*

You: hey ;)

Rio: I think my hand would make a prettier necklace 👀👀

Agatha: Hello sweetheart, having a good night?

You: No :(

You: My friends are trying to set me up again 🙄

Agatha: Address. Now.

Rio: Behave yourself

You: Okay Daddy ;)

Their messages make you smile, a surge of comfort and amusement replacing the frustration. You return to your friends and the not-date, time slipping by in a blur of small talk and laughter.

Your head feels a bit fuzzy from the alcohol so when your phone buzzes, you answer it without checking who was calling.

“Hello?”

Agatha’s voice is sharp and commanding, cutting through the din. “Come outside, pet.”

The line goes dead, and your heart stutters as you make your way to the front of the bar.

The cool evening air brushes against your skin as you step out of the bar, your eyes immediately catching sight of Agatha and Rio leaning casually against their sleek black car. The sight is magnetic—Agatha’s sharp features softened by the glow of the streetlights, Rio’s gaze sweeping over you with that familiar, knowing heat.

Agatha straightens, beckoning you closer with a crook of her finger. Your legs carry you forward almost instinctively, your heart hammering in your chest. The moment you’re within reach, her hand snakes to the back of your head, fingers tangling tightly in your hair. She pulls you forward, crashing her lips against yours in a possessive kiss that leaves you breathless. Her grip tightens slightly, a subtle reminder of her dominance, and you whimper into her mouth, too stunned to resist.

She pulls back only slightly, her lips brushing yours as she murmurs, “We told you to behave.”

Before you can form a reply, she spins you around with practiced ease, your back pressed firmly to the car. Her lips claim yours again, harder this time, her tongue sweeping past your parted lips with an intensity that leaves your knees weak. Her thigh presses between your legs, eliciting a desperate moan that you barely manage to stifle.

Agatha chuckles darkly, her mouth trailing down to your neck. She lingers there, her teeth grazing your sensitive skin before sinking in just enough to leave a mark—a clear, unmistakable declaration of ownership. Your world narrows to the sensation of her lips, her tongue, and the faint sting of her teeth. Somewhere in the haze, you hear Rio’s voice, her tone low and amused.

“We’re going to have to keep a closer eye on you,” Rio says, though her words barely register in your muddled mind.

When Agatha finally pulls back, she smooths her hands over your arms, steadying you as she takes in the flushed, dazed expression on your face. Her eyes gleam with satisfaction. “I’ll see you later,” she says, her voice soft but commanding. Without another word, she climbs into the car and starts the engine.

You turn to Rio, expecting her to follow, but she doesn’t move. Instead, she leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to Agatha’s lips through the open window. The kiss is slow and intimate, leaving no doubt about their connection. When Agatha finally drives off, Rio turns back to you with a knowing smile.

“Come on, sweetheart,” she says, taking your hand and leading you back into the bar.

The atmosphere feels almost surreal as Rio adds a chair to your table, effortlessly inserting herself into the group. Your friends are gawking, their eyes darting between you and Rio with barely concealed curiosity—and amusement.

“Hi, I’m Rio,” she introduces herself, her tone casual yet self-assured. She slides into the seat between you and the would-be date, her presence commanding as she rests her hand on your shoulder. “I’ve heard so much about all of you.”

Your friends exchange glances, their smirks widening. They know. They’ve always known about your soft spot for older women, and Rio’s arrival explains why you’ve been rejecting all of their attempts to set you up.

Rio’s touch is constant—her fingers brushing against the back of your neck, her hand settling on your thigh. The warmth of her palm seeps through the fabric of your pants, sending a steady pulse of heat coursing through you. She trails her hand higher, her grip firm but teasing, and when she squeezes the sensitive flesh at the apex of your thighs, your breath hitches audibly.

“You okay?” Kate asks, her tone laced with mischief.

You try to answer, but the words come out in a stuttering mess, your thoughts scrambled by Rio’s touch. Her lips twitch with amusement, her fingers giving one last squeeze before she straightens, glancing at her phone as it buzzes.

“Well,” Rio says, tucking her phone back into her pocket. “I think it’s time we were off.” She stands, extending a hand to you with an easy smile.

Your friends exchange knowing looks as Rio says her goodbyes, her tone warm but unmistakably firm when she glares briefly at your would-be date before leading you out. The Uber is already waiting outside, and the moment the door shuts behind you, Rio’s hands are on you.

She cups your face, her lips crashing against yours in a kiss that’s all heat and urgency. Her hands roam over your body, pulling you impossibly close as the car speeds away. By the time it stops outside a hotel, your skin is flushed, your breaths coming in shallow gasps.

You realise it’s the same hotel as last time, and as Rio comes to a stop and knocks on a door, you see it’s even the same room. Agatha opens the door, clad in the same purple lace lingerie that had stolen your breath the first night you were together, her eyes glinting with anticipation.

“Welcome back, sweetheart,” she purrs, stepping aside to let you in.

Rio’s hand settles on your lower back, guiding you into the room. The door shuts behind you with a soft click, and you barely have time to process the warm light and familiar scent of the suite before Agatha steps closer, her sharp eyes raking over your body as she trails her fingers along your jaw. Her lips crash against yours, rough and unyielding, and you can feel the smirk she wears as you melt into her touch. Rio’s hands slip around your waist from behind, her warmth grounding you even as your knees threaten to give out, pulling your pants and underwear down, exposing the small wet patch on the crotch of the fabric.

“Look at you,” Agatha murmurs, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “So eager for us.”

Before you can respond, Agatha grips your chin, tilting your head to expose your neck. Her teeth graze your skin, and then she bites—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to leave another deep, blooming mark. You gasp, the sting mingling with the heat pooling low in your belly.

Rio’s hands are no less demanding, sliding beneath your shirt to trace the curve of your waist. “Ours,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your ear. Her nails scratch lightly against your skin as she pulls the fabric over your head, leaving you exposed to their hungry gazes.

The two of them manoeuvre you effortlessly toward the bed, their touches a coordinated symphony of dominance and affection. Agatha’s lips find yours again as she pushes you down onto the soft mattress, her weight pinning you in place. Rio climbs onto the bed beside you, her hands stroking over your thighs, her fingers curling possessively into your skin.

“You’re going to let us make you ours all over again,” Agatha whispers, her voice a low promise that sends shivers down your spine.

Agatha’s mouth trails lower, her teeth and tongue marking a path down your collarbone and chest. Meanwhile, Rio’s lips find the sensitive skin behind your ear, her hands guiding your thighs apart as she peppers kisses along your jaw. Their movements are synchronised and calculated, making you helpless against the overwhelming tide of pleasure they stir within you.

The room fills with the sound of heavy breaths and muffled gasps as they leave no inch of you untouched, no patch of skin unclaimed. Agatha’s marks bloom like flowers across your body—your neck, your shoulders, the swell of your hips—while Rio’s touch is a steady, grounding presence that leaves you trembling beneath them.

Agatha’s lips never leave yours as she manoeuvres you with ease, her strength evident as she pulls you on top of her. You straddle her, hands planted on either side of her head, and the kiss deepens. Her nails rake along your back, leaving a burning trail that only spurs your arousal further. You’re so caught up in the taste of her and the heat of her skin beneath yours that you barely register Rio’s movements around the bed.

The sound of soft rope sliding against the bedframe should catch your attention, but Agatha’s demanding kisses and the press of her body beneath yours make it impossible to focus on anything else. Rio, ever the planner, works quickly and quietly. By the time she whispers in your ear, her warm breath sending shivers down your spine, the trap is nearly set.

“Pin her arms above her head, darling,” Rio whispers, her voice a mix of command and playfulness.

Without hesitation, you do as you’re told, grabbing Agatha’s wrists and stretching her arms over her head. Agatha lets out a low, approving growl. Her darkened gaze flickers to you with a teasing smirk, but before she can retake control, Rio moves in.

In a swift, practiced motion, Rio ties Agatha’s wrists to the bedposts. It takes Agatha a moment to realise what’s happening, her smirk faltering as she tests the bonds. “Really, Rio?” she drawls, though her eyes glint with intrigue rather than annoyance.

“Really,” Rio replies smoothly, a wicked grin curling her lips as she steps back to admire her handiwork. Agatha’s ankles are already tied, spread wide, and leaving her entirely open. “You made me watch and wait, my love; now it’s your turn.”

Rio turns her attention back to you, her eyes filled with a mix of pride and desire. “Off,” she instructs gently, her hands guiding you away.

You reluctantly climb off Agatha, her gaze never leaving yours, though it’s now tinged with a mix of curiosity and challenge. She looks breathtaking, her hair splayed out on the pillows, her body bound and vulnerable yet still exuding power.

Rio’s hands move to her own clothes, slipping her shirt over her head and shimming out of her pants with practiced ease. Beneath, she wears an emerald-green set of lingerie, the delicate lace hugging her curves and highlighting the strength in her frame. The sight leaves you breathless, and you can’t help but stare as Rio tosses her clothes aside with deliberate nonchalance.

“I’ve been thinking,” Rio says, her voice soft but firm as she steps closer to you. “You’ve not actually had the chance to fuck one of us since you failed to do what you were told.”

You blink, caught off guard by Rio’s declaration, your cheeks heating as you stammer out an incoherent response. “Uh… yeah, I guess,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rio chuckles, the sound low and rich as she closes the distance between you, handing you a harness. “That’s going to change now,” she murmurs, her dark eyes locking onto yours. The weight of the harness in your hands makes your heart race and your mind flashes back to the last time you and Rio indulged in each other without Agatha’s participation in this very room—and the punishment that followed.

You glance nervously toward Agatha, who raises a single, unimpressed brow at your hesitation. Sensing your uncertainty, Rio leans in, her breath warm against your ear. “Relax, darling,” she murmurs, her tone soft but firm. “She’ll never admit it, but she likes this.”

Agatha scoffs from her place on the bed, her lips curving into a faint smirk. “Don’t push your luck,” she drawls, though there’s no real heat in her voice. Her eyes gleam with intrigue, even as she pretends disinterest.

Rio doesn’t miss a beat. Removing her lace panties, she climbs onto the bed, positioning herself with her back resting against Agatha’s restrained body, her movements smooth and deliberate. Agatha lets out a soft whine at the pressure, but her gaze stays fixed on you, a mix of challenge and anticipation in her expression.

Your fingers fumble with the harness as you step into it, the straps snug against your hips as you secure it. That’s when you notice, or rather feel, the grinding pad built into the design, its texture brushing against you with tantalising promise. You shiver at the sensation—a rush of heat pooling between your thighs as you adjust the fit. The thought of what’s to come sends a pulse of arousal through you, and you can’t help but bite your lip, your eyes darting between Rio and Agatha.

“Ready?” Rio asks, her voice soft but commanding as she watches you with a knowing smile.

Your hands shake slightly as you reach for the bottle of lube on the nightstand, slicking up the harness with nervous precision. Rio watches you intently, her head tilted back against Agatha’s torso, an expectant smirk playing on her lips. Once you’re ready, you climb onto the bed and position yourself over her, your knees on either side of her thighs. The heat between the three of you is palpable, tension thrumming in the air as you align yourself and sink down onto her.

You start slow and tentative, testing the rhythm. The grinding pad against you is more distracting than you anticipated, the friction sparking waves of pleasure with each motion. Rio exhales a soft, contented sigh, her hands settling on your hips to guide you. But it doesn’t take long for the look on her face—a mix of delight and impatience—to spur you into moving faster.

The sounds Rio makes are intoxicating: soft moans and deep, husky gasps that make your skin tingle. “Harder,” she commands, her voice rough with need. Her nails dig into your hips, urging you to obey, and you do, thrusting harder and faster. The slick grind of the harness against you and the sight of Rio’s pleasure-blissed expression send your pulse racing.

You don’t know why you do it—maybe it’s instinct, maybe it’s the intoxicating chemistry between you—but your hand rises, and you press two fingers against Rio’s lips. Her gaze snaps to yours, sharp and electric, and without hesitation, she takes them into her mouth. The heat of her tongue swirls around your fingertips, and you swear you feel your stomach drop with the intensity of your arousal.

Behind Rio, Agatha lets out a low breathless “Oh, fuck,” her voice ragged. You glance over Rio’s shoulder to see Agatha’s hips bucking desperately against Rio’s back, her restraint futile against her own need. The sight and sound of her breaking composure sends a jolt through Rio, her expression twisting into something feral, manic even. Her nails grip you tighter, and her voice shatters into a desperate moan as her body tenses and she comes undone beneath you.

The clenching of the harness and the relentless friction push you over the edge moments later. You cry out, collapsing against Rio’s chest as you ride out the waves together, your breathing ragged and uneven. Her arms wrap around you, holding you close as you both come down from the high.

It’s only then you notice the faint shuffle of movement. You lift your head to find Agatha free of the ropes, her arms and legs untied. Her lips are curled into a sly smile, and her gaze soft with amusement and hunger as she moves toward you. Before you can speak, she places her hands on your hips and gently manoeuvres you onto your back.

“You two are quite the pair,” Agatha murmurs, her tone carrying equal parts fondness and teasing as she takes off the harness and presses a soft kiss to your hip. She rests her head there, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your thighs. “But I think it’s my turn now.”

You glance down at Agatha, her head resting on your hip as her fingers idly trace patterns across your thighs. “How did you…?” you ask softly, your voice still trembling from the aftershocks of your climax.

Agatha lifts her head, her lips curving into a knowing smile. “Being able to get out of restraints is one of my boundaries,” she explains, her voice smooth and steady. “I’ve never been fully comfortable with giving up all control. It’s just how I am.”

You nod, her words sinking in as you process the vulnerability she’s just shared. “I understand,” you reply sincerely, your gaze locking with hers. The trust between you feels solidified in this moment, a quiet bond of mutual respect and understanding.

Before you can say more, Rio’s presence shifts beside you. Her hands cup your face, tilting your head so her lips can meet yours. The kiss is deep and languid, her tongue teasing yours in a way that pulls you further into the haze of pleasure still clinging to your body. Her warmth anchors you, a grounding presence as your senses start to spiral again.

Meanwhile, Agatha’s fingers trail down your thighs, spreading you open with deliberate care. She presses soft kisses to your inner thighs, working her way closer to your still-sensitive core. “Just cleaning you up,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your skin. But when her tongue flicks out to tease your bundle of nerves, it’s clear her intentions are far from innocent.

A jolt of pleasure shoots through you, and you gasp against Rio’s lips, your hands instinctively clutching at her shoulders. Agatha takes her time, her tongue slow and precise as it circles your sensitive nub. The overstimulation is almost too much, your body trembling under her ministrations, but she knows exactly when to ease up and how to pull you back from the edge only to push you closer again.

Rio’s hands move to your waist, holding you steady as your hips start to buck against Agatha’s mouth. “You’re so beautiful like this,” Rio whispers against your lips, her tone filled with awe and hunger. Her words make your chest tighten, and you feel yourself unravelling again.

Agatha’s tongue works you relentlessly, her rhythm increasing as she senses how close you are. When she sucks gently on your clit, the tension inside you snaps, and you cry out, your body arching off the bed as the climax crashes over you. Waves of pleasure ripple through you, leaving you shaking and gasping for air.

As the intensity ebbs, Agatha places one last kiss on your trembling thighs before resting her head against your hip again, her fingers stroking your skin soothingly. Rio lies beside you, her hand tracing lazy circles on your stomach as she watches you with a tender smile.

“You’re amazing,” Rio murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. Agatha hums her agreement, but instead of her usual sharp quip or teasing remark, she stays quiet, her head resting on your hip and her fingers trailing softly over your skin. You glance down at her, noting the slightly dreamy look in her eyes and the way her shoulders seem to relax completely for the first time all night.

Rio notices too. Shifting her focus, she slides closer to Agatha, her hand gently brushing back a stray strand of hair from her face. “You okay, love?” she asks softly, her voice filled with a tenderness that makes your chest tighten. Agatha lets out a contented hum, leaning into Rio’s touch without hesitation.

“More than okay,” Agatha murmurs, her voice uncharacteristically soft. Rio smiles, her fingers tracing over Agatha’s cheek before pressing a kiss to her forehead. The sight tugs at something deep inside you, the intimacy between them wrapping you in its warmth.

As the moments stretch on, Rio encourages Agatha to sit up, her hands steadying her as she guides her toward the pillows. “Come here,” Rio whispers, wrapping her arms around Agatha and pulling her close. You watch as Agatha melts into Rio’s embrace, her sharp edges softened as she nestles against her chest.

You shift closer, draping an arm over both of them, your hand finding Agatha’s and lacing your fingers together. The three of you lie there in a tangle of limbs, the room quiet save for the steady rhythm of your breathing and the occasional murmur of sweet reassurances from Rio. For the first time in what feels like forever, there’s nothing to do but bask in each other’s presence, your bodies and hearts entwined in a shared sense of contentment.

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I am so sorry for going MIA for a bit there but hopefully this chapter makes up for it my darlings <3 the ending was inspired by Kathryn's iheart interview where she said she thinks Agatha would just want to be babied sometimes

Requests are back open now that I can actually write again :D

and also just my asks in general, I get bored and want to talk to y'all 👀

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taglist: @aceday @valarmorghuli @ctrlamira @lezbean-with-a-side-of-dilfs @noturlondonboy @darkangelchronicles @beezlebee16 @kiaralee25 @4theluvofsapphos @lez-zuha @jujuu23 @gaylorvader

[imsiriuslyreading]

being a POC in the Marauders/HP fandom is really interesting to me because it seems and feels like a really predominantly white space, which, hey, nothing new! and that does come with some challenges. for the most part, they're fairly under the radar.

it's things like being able to count the POC in a discord server on one hand, even though there's 100+ people in the community.

it's people not taking into account racial dynamics whether that be in a fic, or in a tiktok, tumblr, whatever. there are innate power imbalances in our society (regardless of what country you live in) and to assume because this fandom is a largely open, liberal and leftist space, that they don't carry over to fandom, is exceptionally naive. buuuuut, we live and learn, so people can and should be given a certain amount of grace. but what is unforgivable is to have them pointed out to you and for you to dismiss, ignore or belittle them. Not only that, but you as a white person, do not get to be the forgiving voice to another white person when they make one of these mistakes. please please please respect and understand that.

there's also (and i'm sorry if this is controversial and frankly it makes me really nervous to even write this), a trend of assigning ethnicities, cultures and races to characters in stories without having a proper understanding of them, or having a particular reason for doing so. I'm never going to sit here and say "you as a white person shouldn't write about ____ race!", because I don't believe that. but what I would really, really love to see, is for white creators and writers to ask themselves some questions beforehand:

what does the race of this character add to the story outside of me chasing clout with a particular group of people/is it necessary for me to be writing the lived experience of a culture/ethnicity I've never taken the time to learn about?

if so, why?

am i the right person to be doing this?

are my actions outside of my writing towards these POC reflective of this?

i also think it's really important to remember that unconscious bias is a thing, and it's really easy for us to spot in your writing if it isn't something you've addressed. Not only that, but even if you write the most well-researched POC in your fic, even if you're sharing posts about Lebanon and Palestine, none of that matters if your actions when interacting with us show us that you are indifferent to the power dynamics at play with you being a white person, often with a large audience, in this space. virtue signalling is spectacularly unhelpful if you're writing checks your ass can't cash.

that being said, I think throwing 'racist' around as a term at people who make mistakes is really unhelpful. because every situation has context and nuance, and dogpiling never helps anybody. there are opportunities for learning, developing and understanding here. but please remember, if a POC tells you something is upsetting, harmful or offensive - even if other POC haven't said that to you - it's not your place as a white person to dismiss that.

anyway, hope that helps, love u very much xo

[mingoooossii]

ATEEZ comforting you after you have a rough week.

Ot8 x reader

Warnings: hurt/comfort, lots of hugs, reader is overwhelmed in most of these, mentions of exams(scary ik), kinda corny tbh, also not proofread so there might be some mistakes.

A/n: i used most of my braincells 4 this 🫠 yea also this purely depended upon my mood so that's why some of them are just thoughts while the others are full blown conversations. will most likely rewrite this is in the future I think. Also I'm planning on opening taglists so if you want to be included just lmk!! (for ateez or any other group)

Words: 3.1k

Requested ♡ Ateez masterlist.

"When you feel like you're nowhere, Let it go 'cause I'll be there for you..."

⋆˚࿔ Hongjoong

• whenever things get a little too much, you'd usually suck it up

• it wasn't healthy, you know that yet you couldn't afford to fall back now so you did it anyway

• him, who's very sensitive to your every little changes in mood, of course, noticed it too

• you tend to sort of shut down whenever you get overwhelmed, causing you to get moody and quiet, often leading to minor arguments with him

• but he understands (being prone to overworking himself, he was never too fond of the after effects)

• but that doesn't mean he's not going to do anything about it

• ”you're taking a break.” “But I need to finish this-”

• he cut you off by closing your book, making sure to bookmark it before picking you up from the chair

• ”have you looked at yourself yet? you're about to collapse.”

• you fell silent at that, letting him carry you over to the bed, feeling your irritation dissolve at the stern tone, yet you could pick up on the hint of worry.

• ”but I need to finish it, or else I won't catch up on my work. I'm already behind in-”

• your worried ramblings was silenced by his lips pressing against yours for a brief moment

• ”i vaguely remember someone pulling me out of my studio, by my ear, when I was overworking myself.”

• he muttered, sitting beside you once he put you down on the bed, his hand reaching up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear

• ”you should listen to your own advice, you know?”

• you could feel the tears pricking your eyes at his words, making you feel helpless and frustrated

• ”there's just…so much. i don't know if I'll ever finish it…what am I gonna do?”

• you mumbled, your lips trembling as you tried to bite back your sobs

• his expression softened at your words, pulling you into his embrace, stroking your hair

• ”i know. but exhausting yourself is only going to make it harder for you to catch up.”

• ”let's take a break, okay? you need to rest, let your mind calm down first.”

• you felt him pull away from you, his hand wiping your tears away

• ”how about we go for a walk outside? some fresh air would help, i think.”

• you thought for a bit before nodding. you definitely wouldn't be able to get anything done while you were in this state.

• he finally let a small smile break free, standing up, moving to get your shoes for you

“An ice cream could help too, i've heard. and there's a parlour that just opened up, down the street. i think it's fate.”

⋆˚࿔ Seonghwa

• "are you okay?"

• he asked softly, worry lacing his tone as he watched your sullen figure drop down onto the couch.

• "I'm okay."

• your curt response came out as if it was clockwork, removing your bag before burying your face into the comforter

• you obviously weren't. Well, it'd been like that for a while now

• he sighed before coming over to you on the couch. He knelt down and reached out to take off your shoes which you forgot to

• you tried to sit up, suddenly feeling guilty

• "i got it...-" "Let me."

• you paused before laying back down, feeling a bit nervous at his tone of voice. Was he mad?

• "I'm sorry... it's just lately everything's been going downhill..."

• you mumbled, tears pricking your eyes as you let your emotions of the past week finally weigh you down

• "i c-can't seem to do anything right and...i can't muster up energy for anything...i.."

• you sniffled, waiting for a response. He didn’t reply, instead placing your shoes neatly to the side before standing up and sitting down next to you on the couch.

• "Hwa..."

• a tear rolled down your face as he wrapped his arms around you, resting your head beneath his chin.

• it was incredible how the warmth of his embrace contrasted the gloominess you've been feeling all week.

• "I'm not mad. Why would I be?"

• he spoke quietly, his eyes shutting for a moment, his hand tracing patterns on your back

• "and you know... people don't always have to be okay..."

• "if that were the case then, i think we'd be superhumans..."

• you let out a laugh at his words, feeling your heart lighten slightly

• "i guess..."

• he smiled at the pleasant sound, leaning back slightly to look at you, his hand moving to wipe your tears away.

• "so don't put yourself down, i won't let you."

• he whispered, his expression gentle yet firm before pulling you close again, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

• "I'm still gonna worry though. Because I'm a human, a human who happened to be really really really in love with you."

• you chuckled, feeling exasperated yet so so light hearted

"Well, then...this human loves you too, a lot."

⋆˚࿔ Yunho.

• exams were coming up.

• and with exams came all nighters.

• you knew it wasn't healthy at all but your brain refused to listen to you, conjuring up various 'what ifs' each one, bleak.

• yes, exam seasons usually had you stressed.

• he knew it too.

• don't get him wrong, he knew you'd do well (with you being one of the most hardworking people he knows, there was no doubt about that)

• but he knew you couldn't help it. Despite all the assurances, a small part of you always doubted if your efforts were enough

• and he was worried. Of course, he was but he couldn't push you to take breaks even when he knew you needed it

• because he thought it'd be better to be distant than to have you completely shut him out

• but he wasn't sure anymore.

• even more so when he came upon you staring down at your books with teary eyes. You couldn't take it anymore.

• "I'm just so tired"

• you sobbed, burying your face into his chest. He had carried you to the bed from your desk, despite your protests but now you were glad that he did.

• "i know, love."

• he whispered, his hand rubbing your back soothingly, his heart clenching at the sound of your sobs. How could he have let it get this bad?

• but one thing was sure, he wasn't about to let you go through this alone.

• "Take a break, hm?" "But i...-"

• "No buts."

• he replied firmly, his expression showing his worry

• "Baby, it's admirable, it really is...you work so hard and I'm so proud of you..."

• "but I'm worried."

• he mumbled, his voice soft and low, tightening his hold on you

• your words faltered as you sensed the genuine concern in his voice, a twinge of guilt washing over you.

• "You always seem so tired and i...i can't help but feel frustrated for not being able to do anything..."

• his tone was soft, holding you close as if he feared losing you.

• "i don't want anything to happen to you..."

• you heart clenched at the tone of fear in his voice. you felt him lean back, taking your face into his hands carefully

• ”no matter how important it is, pushing yourself beyond the point of breaking will never do you any good.”

•he whispered, his voice quiet as he stroked your face gently

•you stayed silent for a moment, his words going through your mind. you could feel the toll these last few days had on your body. crashing out wouldn't be far at this point.

•so you nodded, reluctantly agreeing, not wanting to worry him any longer and also because you knew you needed this.

•he smiled, seeing you agree (although reluctant) relief coursing through him finally.

“Good. Now, how about some tea? I'll…let you get back to it after a break and this time, I'll help you.”

⋆˚࿔ Yeosang.

• something was wrong.

• he wasn't used to seeing you so...pensive.

• that slight slumping of your shoulders, the way you zone out mid-convos and the quiet sighs that escapes you whenever you think no one's looking

• no, he definitely noticed. It was so unlike you and...he wasn't sure how to react.

• would you be mad if he were to bring this up?

• or would you pretend like there was

nothing wrong?

• he knows that you value your independence very much, often preferring to deal with things on your own

• he respects that and doesn't push in anyway, not wanting to make you uncomfortable

• but he'd also feel a bit guilty (thought it was never his fault) feeling like he was failing as a boyfriend for just watching from the sidelines while you struggled

• though initially, he'd be a bit hesitant and cautious when approaching the matter

• he wouldn't directly confront you but lets you know that he's there for you

• "I'm here, if you want to talk."

• he'll also try to distract you with other activities, whether if it's like a walk in the park or a simply game

• he'll try his best to keep the atmosphere quiet and positive so you'll be able to relax your mind even if it's just a little

• and when you finally open up to him, he listens.

• he doesn't really respond in between and just lets you rant while listening intently

• and you know he is from the way his hand gently squeezes yours in assurance whenever you come to a pause, letting you know that whatever you were feeling was valid

• he isn't that big on physical affection but won't hesitate to shower you in it if you were to ask

• he's just a green flag over all

"I'll be here if you need me. I'll always be here."

⋆˚࿔ San.

• "come here."

• you hesitantly glanced at him before immediately looking away once you met his eyes. How does he know you so well?

• "choi y/n, come. here."

• he repeated, his tone a bit more firm now, spreading his arms wide and looking at you expectantly

• "what's with the choi?"

• you sighed, half-laughing, but you walked towards him, your emotions bubbling up again.

• "you own my heart, so you might as well take my last name too."

• he said softly with a small smile as you finally stepped into his arms.

• "seriously..."

• you mumbled, your voice breaking towards the end as you pressed your face into his chest, tears starting to flow again

• "there we go..."

• he guided you to the couch before sitting beside you. He wrapped his arms around you again, pulling you into him and gently ran his fingers through your hair, whispering.

• "you did a good job, hm? I'm so proud of you."

• "it doesn't feel like that though..."

• you laughed. his words, though comforting, stung a bit, reminding you of your failures yet again

• he frowned, picking upon on the hint of self depreciation in your tone

• "how dare you say that about the love of my life? Do you have any idea how much they mean to me?"

• he spoke, leaning back slightly to look at you, his hand reaching up to pinch your cheeks

• "what're you on about?"

• you chuckled, avoiding his hand, not knowing whether to be amused or exasperated at his sudden burst out

• "I'm serious, my love's the best, the smartest, the kindest, the most hardworking, the prettiest...the list goes on..."

• he continued, his voice firm as he made you face him, wiping your tears away

• "but you know what i like the most about them?"

• he asked, his expression softening considerably

• "they never give up. no matter how hard it gets, no matter what anyone else says, they never give up, because they know that they can get through it..."

• he stroked your face, his eyes never leaving yours, the genuineness in them halting your breath for a moment

• "I know you can..."

• you felt your heart tighten at his words, feeling a wave of emotion wash over you. You hugged him again, tears forming again.

• "why do you always have to be so nice? I hate you..."

• you sobbed, though there was no real heat behind your words

• he chuckled, rubbing your back soothingly

"It's okay, in return, I have lots of love to give you..."

⋆˚࿔ Mingi.

• he knew that things have been rough for you lately

• while he was worried, he wasn't sure to how to bring it up without making you feel even worse

• so he had hoped you'd come to him first

• though nothing prepared him for the sight of you sobbing into your hands infront of him, when you did

• initially he was at a loss as to what to do (it's that T in him)

• but he could feel his heart breaking as he watched you desperately trying to wipe your tears away which seemed to be flowing endlessly at that moment

• instantly he pulled you into his embrace, his arms wrapping around you so tightly like he wanted to shield you from whatever that was hurting you

• "I'm sorry..."

• you weren't sure what he was apologising for and neither was he

• though he wasn't good with words in this situation, he was there for you

• and he hoped you'd know it too

"don't hold back your tears, just let it all out. I'm here."

⋆˚࿔ Wooyoung

• he’s been walking on eggshells the entire week and he wasn't sure how long he could he take it

• your obvious avoidance of him, the curt texts, (hell, he'd prefer it more if you argued with him than this) it was all getting ridiculous

• so, what was the next step? obviously, confronting you.

• though it wasn't going like how he expected it to go.

• ”I'm sorry, i thought it'd be better to avoid you than to let you get affected too”

• you mumbled, your voice a bit hoarse as you brought your blanket covering you, closer

• your face was red, a sheen of sweat covering your forehead as you supported yourself on the wall.

• these past few weeks had taken a toll on you, worse than you thought and before you knew it, you had a fever.

• ”Affect me-...are you serious?”

• he spoke before he could stop himself. really? that's what you've been worried about?

• “I've been worried sick! you think I'd care about some damn germs?”

• you fell silent, feeling a bit guilty now.

• he huffed as if he was in disbelief. he wanted to say more but paused, his eyes falling on your pale face

• he sighed before stepping in, his hands reaching for your face.

• “you're burning up…”

• he muttered, worry lacing his tone as he supported you, making sure to close the door before leading you to your living room, sitting you down on the couch

• you sniffled, rubbing your nose as you watched him bustle around your apartment

• it was weird, seeing him so serious like this, different from his usual playful self

• and it only made you more guilty for worrying him

• ”I'm sorry…”

• he paused, hearing your words, his movements slowing down as he closed the door to your shelf after retrieving the medicine

• “you know? these past few days, I was wondering whether I did something. I couldn't figure it out.”

• he spoke up, returning to the couch, kneeling infront of you, placing a hand on your lap

• “besides, what if you were in your death bed? of course i need to be here.”

• he added, a small smirk forming on his face

• “Hey!”

• you countered, your eyes wide, hitting his shoulder making him laugh out a small ‘sorry!’, lightening the mood slightly

• “no but seriously, you should've told me you were sick. i would've came running.”

• “you always take care of me when I'm sick. I want to do the same…”

• he muttered, his playfulness dissolving into softness, his hand squeezing yours gently

• you felt your heart melt at his words, warmth coursing through you, the pleasant kind this time.

• “Alright then, can you…make me your special chicken soup?”

• you asked, a hopeful glint in your eyes. you’ve been craving it actually.

• his smile returned even more brightly as he stood up, turning to make his way to your kitchen

“I'll make you the damn best chicken soup you're gonna ever have! You won't even need medicine cause it's gonna heal you up right away.”

⋆˚࿔ Jongho

• he knew you were having a rough week

• considering how moody you've seemed lately and you also didn't talk much

• and you were usually the 'affectionate' one in your relationship so the lack of it made him pause

• he was concerned, obviously, but didn't voice it directly or push you to open up

• he trusted that you'd come to him if there was something

• however, it seems like you finally reached your breaking point

• he regretted not talking to you sooner when he came home to you crying one day

• he immediately engulfs you into his embrace.

• you seemed a bit surprised to see him, not expecting him to come back so early

• and you felt bad to burden him with your emotions, surely he had a lot on his plate as well-

• "stupid, you should be worrying about yourself."

• he mumbled, his voice annoyed yet... concerned, pulling you closer when you tried to move away.

• he won't respond with words when you start to pour your worries out

• but you know he's listening with the gentle but assuring squeezes he gave your hand whenever you come to a pause

• well, it wasn't like he really had to talk when his embrace spoke volumes more than any words ever could.

“Don't feel bad for feeling bad, you don't always have to be okay, it's completely normal.”

[wolvietxt]

can you do overprotective with dean winchester?

from this prompt list 🩷: https://www.tumblr.com/wolvietxt/764960124626403328/overprotective-sunshine-is-about-to-do-something?source=share

DEAN’S voice cut through the air, sharp and unyielding, stopping you mid-step on the wooden ledge. 

“what the hell do you think you’re doing?”  

you froze, looking over your shoulder to see him stalking toward you, his expression hard enough to rival stone. his green eyes burned with something between frustration and fear, and it pinned you in place like a physical force.  

“we don’t have time to waste,” you said, trying to keep your voice calm. “i’ll go first and make sure it’s stable.”  

dean’s jaw clenched, and his boots ground into the gravel as he closed the distance between you. “no. you’re not stepping foot on that thing.”  

“dean - ”  

“don’t dean me,” he snapped, cutting you off. “you’re not doing it.”  

“someone has to,” you argued, gesturing toward the rickety bridge swaying precariously over the canyon. “we can’t just stand here debating.”  

“then i’ll do it,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “no way in hell am i letting you go out there first.”  

“why does it always have to be you?” you shot back, your irritation bubbling to the surface. “i’m not some damsel you have to protect, dean. i can handle myself.”  

“it’s not about that,” he said, his voice dropping low, rough with an emotion he rarely let slip. “it’s about me not being able to handle it if something happened to you. so stop being stubborn and let me do this.”  

his words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him. he didn’t look away, didn’t try to soften the intensity of his gaze. it was like he needed you to understand, to take him seriously.  

you sighed, stepping back slightly. “fine. but if you fall, i’m not carrying your ass back up.”  

the corner of his mouth twitched, almost like he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite manage it. “yeah, yeah,” he muttered, turning toward the bridge.  

he tested the first plank with his boot, his movements deliberate and cautious. the wood groaned under his weight, but it held, and he took another step. you watched, your hands clenched into fists at your sides as he made his way across.  

“dean,” you called, unable to keep the worry out of your voice.  

he glanced back over his shoulder, his expression softening for just a second. “i’m fine. just hang tight.”  

it felt like an eternity before he reached the other side and turned to face you.  

“all right,” he called. “your turn. take it slow.”  

you stepped onto the bridge, your heart hammering in your chest as the wood creaked beneath your feet. you kept your eyes on dean, his steady gaze a lifeline as you moved forward.  

when you finally reached him, his hand shot out, grabbing yours to help you over the last step.  

“see? no big deal,” you said, though your legs felt like jelly.  

“reckless,” he muttered, but his voice lacked its usual bite.  

“overprotective,” you shot back, your lips twitching into a smile.  

“damn right,” he said, his eyes scanning your face like he was memorizing every detail.  

you opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, dean leaned in, his lips brushing against yours. it was soft at first, tentative, like he wasn’t sure if you’d pull away. but when you didn’t, he deepened the kiss, his hand cupping your cheek as his thumb brushed against your skin.  

when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and he let out a shaky breath. “you drive me crazy, you know that?”  

you grinned, your fingers curling into the front of his jacket. “yeah, but you love it.”  

he shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “don’t push your luck, sunshine.”  

you giggled, the sound light and unburdened as the tension between you melted away. for once, you let yourself lean into the safety of his presence, knowing he’d always be there to catch you.

ᰔ dean winchester : @person-005, @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing, @jackles010378

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[threestarsinline]

The Word of Your Body

Jason Todd x reader one shot

Summary: Jason comes back from patrol, but something is keeping his mind still somewhere out there. You're always there to bring him back and let him know he's safe. At home. With you.

Word Count: 5.8K

Category: Angst-ish because Jason is going through it but fluff because reader is there to comfort him

Warnings: Jason having a bad time

Author’s note: I know, I know, three fics in one year?? Who am I? Jsjksks truly an achivement for me, very happy and very proud hehe. Thank you for sticking with me and supporting my fics, I love you all. That said, enjoy!

It’s really incredible how much one can know about a person just by their body. From the way they move, to how they carry themselves, to the small gestures that they make in their day to day that reflect who they are, to the little telltale signs of how they’re feeling. A smile, a wrinkle between the eyebrows, a twitch of their hand.

And not just the movements of the body but you can also learn a lot from the singularities and marks that one has on their skin. A child with a scrape on their knee from running too fast on the playground. A chef with hundreds of small cuts on their hands from mastering the use of a knife. A ballet dancer with wounded toes. A painter with watercolors under their nails. A piano player with soft and delicate hands.

You can have a lot of information about a person just by observing them, knowing how they move and how their body reacts to things. A flinch from fear at the threat of danger. A shiver at the gentle touch of a lover.

That’s how you immediately know that something’s wrong when Jason returns from patrol. And you don’t even need to see him.

You’re reading in bed when you hear him come in. Always waiting up for him whenever you can. It isn’t difficult for you since you’ve always preferred staying up late rather than waking up early. Unless you have something to do early the next morning, you always wait for him to come home, to come to you, liking to see him as soon as he returns to make sure that he’s made it back to you safe and sound.

You either read or watch something on TV while you wait despite how many times he’s told you that you don’t have to wait up for him, that you should sleep. And every time you shake your head and say, “And go to sleep without you next to me? Never.” And every time Jason rolls his eyes at your stubbornness while his heart thrums in his chest at how much he loves you and then gently cups your face in his hands and kisses you softly.

And even when you can’t help it and you do have to go to sleep earlier or exhaustion wins over you and brings you to the depths of slumber without warning, Jason always approaches you quietly so as to not disturb you and kisses your forehead to let you know he’s home. If you’re on the couch he brings you to bed, and if you’re already in bed, he settles the covers better over you, just the way you like.

And those times you always smile in your sleepy state and unless he’s injured and needs your help patching him up, you follow semi consciously the sound of his footsteps around the apartment. The sound of the shower as he steps inside to rinse away the Gotham night clinging to him, the sound of rustling sheets as he finally climbs into bed with you, and are finally lulled back to sleep when warmth surrounds you as he brings you into his arms.

You’re no metahuman but you’ve developed a sixth sense for everything regarding Jason Todd. You would be able to easily spot him in a crowd of thousands after having just faintly heard his voice in the distance even if he didn’t have that white tuft of hair singling him out, all your senses zeroed in on him. It’s like your body and mind are always tuned to find him, like tweaking the dial of the car radio to find your favorite station and finding it on the very first try.

You have a master’s degree on Jason Todd and all of his movements, small gestures and twitch of expressions that he doesn’t even realize that he’s doing, you know it all by heart. You know that when the right side of his smirk pulls slightly at his cheek as he’s admiring you doing something mundane, he’s going to kiss you. You know that when he flexes his hands at his sides something is bothering him. You know that he’s going to laugh loudly and wholeheartedly when the sound makes his shoulders shake slightly before making its way up his throat, as if he’s trying to contain it but the laugh is so strong and spontaneous that he can’t fight it. And you know he’s in pain from a bruise on his ribs when he shifts his weight on his feet and a grimace appears on his face for just a second.

That’s how you know that something’s up when you hear him climb through your living room window and his steps don’t sound as if he’s trying to not make too much noise in order to not wake you up in case that you’re asleep, but as if he's trying to make himself as small as possible. It’s a subtle difference but it’s there. You know it because you’ve encountered it before.

Your worry only increases when in the next four seconds that it takes you to find your bookmark between the sheets and place it in your book, you don’t hear him move at all. He doesn’t come find you and he doesn’t call your name.

When you exit the bedroom you find him in the middle of the living room. He just stands there, shoulders hunched, red helmet gripped tightly in hand, head looking down, his hair falling over his forehead.

Something has happened. You don’t know what it is but your first worry right now is making sure that he’s okay. If he heard you come into the room he doesn’t show it. You take a couple of small yet purposeful steps towards him, making sure that they can be heard so that you can alert him of your presence, not wanting to startle him.

But nothing. He stays frozen.

You take a deep breath as your heart clenches at seeing him like this. It’s bad. Whatever has happened is really, really bad and it seems like Jason’s mind is still there. He’s not fully present with you right now.

But you know what you have to do. You have to bring him back here with you. Help him to separate himself, your loving, wonderful, and kind Jason from the horrors that Red Hood has to face every day.

You take another step in his direction. “Jason?” you whisper softly.

He doesn’t react. But he doesn’t flinch either. That’s good. He knows he’s somewhere safe. But he still needs to distance himself from whatever was out there. You finally come to stand in front of him, still not touching him. “Jay?” you try again while assessing him over, trying to pinpoint if he’s injured.

Again, nothing. But the hair that hangs over his forehead moves ever so subtly, almost in an imperceptible way, but you catch it nonetheless. The hair moved because he tilted his head in the slightest of ways. He’s listening to you. Knows that you’re there. You sigh in relief when you see his grip on the helmet lessen too. Good signs.

“I’m going to touch you, okay?”

He releases a deep breath, slowly allowing himself to let go, the tension that his shoulders held not as tight as before. Leaving his body slightly, leaving him at your mercy. He’s saying, Okay. Satisfied at that and at finding that he doesn’t seem to have any major injuries, you nod. Then, you gently and very slowly take his face in your hands to look at him. His eyes acknowledge you for a split second but then his emerald gaze returns to the floor, and you feel a crack forming in your heart at the utter sadness, desperation, and despair that you find in it.

Still, you feel him melt into your touch at his cheeks. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re home,” you offer softly.

He closes his eyes in response, reveling in the comfort that you bring him. Next, you take the helmet from his hand and set it on the kitchen counter before moving to the holster with his guns and very carefully unfastening its belt and leaving it all on the table. Helping him that way to step out of the Red Hood persona and everything that claws into it.

“Let’s take a shower,” you say, wanting to keep him informed of your every move. You take his hand and pull him with you towards the bathroom. He lets you guide him, fully trusting you but still not reacting to anything much.

You don’t ask him what’s happened. You don’t need to know. There are things that Jason doesn’t tell you about patrol. And you have no problem with it, knowing that he wants to separate those two parts of his life. But no matter what it is, you always let him know that he can come to you about them, that you’ll listen. That you’ll always be there for him. Always.

The other few times that you have seen him come home like this, slouched over and not talking much, you later learn, either by context from what you hear on the news and the streets, or by Jason directly telling you about it when he needs to let go and finally feels able share it, that the people he was after got away, that someone got hurt, or something like that.

But this time… This time something’s different. You have never seen him as bad as this. At least not from coming back from patrol. And it worries you. It worries you a lot and it kills you that you can’t do anything more than just be there for him. But it seems that that’s all that he needs right now so you settle on focusing on him.

From the guiltiness that hangs over him, tensing his shoulders and keeping his eyes down, and the distress and sorrow that you see in his gaze, you have a feeling that something terrible happened. Something that he couldn’t prevent. He couldn’t save somebody.

You can almost see how he’s replaying it in his mind, the shame and regret swirling in his head until they stiff all of his body. You need to reassure him, make him see how it isn’t his fault, how he did everything he could, and how he gave his all but how sometimes, despite how much you fight it and try to stop it, Gotham doesn’t let you escape the rot that runs through its streets.

Once you two reach the bathroom, you flick on the mirror light above the sink, casting you two in a soft golden light, not wanting to overwhelm him with the overhead one and its strong intensity.

You stand in front of him and help him take off his jacket before taking his hands in yours. He still doesn’t look at you as you take off his gloves. Once they’re gone, you take a moment to examine his hands, and you let out a sigh of relief at seeing that his knuckles aren’t wounded. Your thumbs softly trace the marred skin, small scars and irregular healing adorning his hands. You can’t help but bring them to your lips and press a long kiss to them, closing your eyes, trying to will away all the mental scars that they hold too just by the touch of your lips.

His hands, that could break bones but also mend and heal the most broken parts of yourself.

Despite what those hands either curled into fists or holding a gun could mean to other people, they’re precious to you. And one of the many wonderful parts of him. To you, they mean soft caresses while you’re laying in bed. They mean warmth when winter comes and he rubs them against your arms. They mean comfort, and safety, as he holds your sobbing body when you break down.

Their roughness both from handling dangerous weapons and using a pan to make you dinner. Jason Todd has a duality that still amazes you to this day, but you love all the multitudes that he contains all the same.

You then begin to remove his equipment. The chest armor, the knee pads, and any other protective gear, putting it all on the pile that you started with his jacket and gloves on top of the laundry basket to sort out later. Jason doesn’t move, only doing the movement necessary to help you undress him, like lifting his feet so that you can slip his boots off after having unlaced them.

But still, his gaze remains lost.

You set the boots to the side and get back up to your feet again. You walk around him to get the tub started for a bath, adding some oils and soap. You pass by him to exit the bathroom and grab some comfortable clothes for him after. Most of the time, unless it’s very cold, he normally sleeps shirtless with some sweatpants or even just his underwear during the hotter months, but you know that tonight he needs to feel covered, enveloped, protected. You begin to plan in your mind. A comfortable old shirt and sweatpants will do.

However, before you can even reach the doorframe and begin your walk to the bedroom, a hand wraps gently around your wrist. You whip back around, both surprised and glad at the same time that Jason has finally interacted with you on his own accord, this being the first contact with the outside world initiated by him. Another good sign.

You see Jason’s eyes fixed on your wrist before lifting his gaze to lock with yours.

Stay.

Your gaze softens and you take another step closer to him, almost being chest to chest. You lift your free hand to caress his cheek. “Of course,” you whisper. “I’m just going to grab you some clothes, okay? It’ll be five seconds.”

As you assure him, without realizing it, your thumb traces his cheek in the exact same motion that he has begun to rub soft circles into your wrist. He nods slowly.

“Okay,” you say and Jason releases his hold on you just enough for you to quickly slip to the bedroom. And just like you promised, you’re back just as fast, closing the door behind you so that the steam from the tub can warm up the room, starting to fog up the mirror too, and setting the clothes on the counter. And Jason still hasn’t moved an inch.

You stand in front of him again and delicately grab the hem of his shirt before looking up at him. And you don’t need words to understand each other. Can I?

Jason’s chin tips slightly. Yeah.

You slowly lift the shirt up his body and he raises his arms to help you. Once off, you leave the shirt with the rest of his discarded clothes. Then, with your hands in front of you so that Jason can see what you’re doing and anticipate your movements, you rest them on his shoulders and then gently slide them down his chest, feeling his well-worked muscles and creases from the scars on his skin.

Jason lets out a deep breath, the skin to skin contact grounding him. His eyes never leave you now, following every single one of your actions. And not because he needs to see what you’re doing in order to prepare himself, not anymore, but because you’re the only thing that seems real right now. The only thing tethering him to Earth.

Because to him, you’re his center of gravity. No matter how far he went, both in distance and into the depths of his mind, he will always come back to you.

You lean forward and press a tender kiss between his pecs. Jason shudders, feeling warmth, comfort, and light blooming from the spot that you kissed and extending through all of his body, from his torso to the ends of his limbs. Your touch like the first rays of sunshine after the coldest and longest night of the year in a frozen landscape, melting the frost and bringing everything back to life. Chasing away the Gotham chill clinging to his bones and the rigidness that holds him hostage. Replacing it all with you, just you. The warmth and safety that you provide.

Jason thinks that he wasn’t actually brought back to life all those years ago, just went through some kind of purgatory on Earth again until he reached his very own personal heaven. You. And he still has no idea what he did to deserve it.

Then you help him out of his pants until he’s standing in his underwear in front of you. His back is hunched, making him lean towards you but this time it’s not because of all the negative thoughts hanging over him, but because of the pull that you have over him, your gravity drawing him in.

You round him again to check the temperature of the water in the tub, though this time, Jason rotates his body to follow you, like a sunflower chasing the sun. Satisfied with both the water’s temperature and quantity, you close the tap.

“You want me to get in with you?” you ask, not minding that you have already showered for the day. Jason nods.

You nod to yourself and peel the shirt of his that you wear to sleep off your body, leaving you just like him, wearing only your lower underwear. And even with how exposed you two are, you’re not vulnerable. The air in the room thick not only with humidity but with the intimacy between you two. A kind that can only come from honest love and a complete feeling of trust.

But the air isn’t humming with electricity like in the other situations in which you two find yourselves with as little clothing as right now. Instead, the air is lulling, like a soft and warm wave gently rocking your body when you lay with your eyes closed in the sea. Comforting and lightening.

You discard both your final pieces of clothing and step into the tub, holding a hand out to Jason so that he can step in in front of you. When he joins you, you two finally sink your bodies in the warm and bubble covered water. You lean back at the edge of the tub with Jason between your legs, his back pressed to your chest, his head resting on your shoulder and your arms draped over his chest, all of you surrounding him, enveloping him, protecting him.

Even though the tub is relatively big, considering Jason’s huge frame, it wasn’t exactly meant for two, so you’re a mess of tangled limbs and warm bodies, but you can already feel Jason relaxing against you. You kiss the crown of his head and he finally closes his eyes.

You two lay there for a while, enjoying the hot water and letting it wash your worries away, the scent from the lavender oil that you used hanging in the air, calming your minds. You’re glad to see how the bath is helping Jason to let go of the events of the night, the remaining tension that clung to his body stripped by the water, and the memories from the night relegated to another place as you see the crease on his brows disappear as you draw gentle caresses on his chest.

You grab the shampoo bottle and start to wash Jason’s hair, working the roots and massaging his scalp to help him relax even further. Soon, hundreds of tiny white bubbles replace the sight of his black locks. You work on his hair longer than necessary but you can see how much it’s helping him, his breathing becoming even more deeper and slower. The only sign that he hasn’t fallen asleep, the hand that settles on your knee at his side.

You then rinse his hair, his white streak majestically poking between the black again. With a sponge you start to wash his body where you can reach, his shoulders, his upper arms and torso. When you’re done you maneuver yourself to sit in front of him, facing each other now. As you start to wash the rest of his arms, you see in his eyes that his thoughts are beginning to slip away, the events of the night calling him again. But you’re not having it. Nothing is taking Jason away from you tonight. Your goal, making him focus on you and only you.

“Can I tell you a story?” you say softly, your voice and the soft splash of water at the slightest movement the only sounds in the room.

Jason just shrugs his shoulders slightly. You nod as you focus on passing the sponge over his hands.

“It’s the story of a boy and a girl. About a wonderful boy and a girl who couldn’t believe her luck,” you begin. “One freezing winter afternoon, the girl slipped on some ice and the guy caught her by the waist, saving her from a pretty hurtful fate, though she almost brought him down with her. She apologized profusely as her cheeks warmed not only because of the embarrassment but because the man who’d caught her was the most handsome one she’d ever seen. But in her haste to step back from the stranger to try and save some embarrassment, she slipped on the ice again and he saved her once again.”

Jason can’t help the small smile that pulls at his lips. Because the story that you’re telling isn’t just any story. It’s your story. The story of how you met.

He wonders how you always knew exactly what to say. Hell, you could just be reading the grocery list out loud and he’d think that you deserved a Nobel Prize in Literature just because it came from you.

The sight of Jason’s smile pulls your lips into one too, and it warms your heart just like his worried gaze had done to your cheeks that very first day.

Both of you remember that day as clear as day, though neither of you could have ever anticipated how important it would be, how it had changed the course of your lives. You can still perfectly recall how he had cleared his throat awkwardly after catching you for the second time and his You alright, miss? How breathy his voice had sounded, as if something had taken his breath away, his heavy lower Gotham accent that had both surprised you and stirred something within you, and how vivid the green in his eyes was.

Just as bright as it is now as you continue the story. The shine that was always there whenever he looked at you.

“She had been pretty awkward, and she still can't believe how she’d managed to pull the kindest and hottest man in all of Gotham, the world even.” Jason snorts and you throw him a look, telling him not to question you because if there is one universal truth in this world—apart from the fact that a single man in possession of good fortune, must be in want of a wife—is that Jason Todd is the kindest and most gorgeous man that you have ever met.

“Though later he would reveal that he had found her nothing but endearing, despite what she might say about her awkwardness,” you continue.

Something about you already drawing him in. But just as quick as it all had happened, the moment passed by, and you two went your separate ways. Though not for long, because some time later, another afternoon, you were walking home when a running figure turned the corner and clashed into you. As you took a couple steps back to stabilize yourself you realized that you were head to head with the Red Hood. Which was strange since the sun was still setting and he had never been seen other than at night.

Jason hadn't planned on starting patrol so early but Tim had tipped him that some guys that he was after were having a meet up and Jason decided to give them a little surprise. Though that plan flew out the metaphorical window in the room of his mind as soon as he saw you again.

He had tried to forget the encounter in which he had saved the most beautiful girl that he’d ever seen from tumbling to the ground, and just as it seemed like he was about to succeed (not really, but at least manage to push the encounter to the back of his mind instead of your soft voice plaguing his every waking moment), he ran into you.

He stared at you bewildered, not believing that it was you, the sweet girl from the ice, and he was at a loss for words.

“Sorry,” you had said and at the sound of your voice he finally came out of his daze and shook his head.

“No need, it was my fault." He tilted his head. “You okay, miss?” You nodded, trying to ignore the shiver that ran down your spine at how similar he had sounded to your ice savior, his voice ingrained in your mind. And as much as Jason would have loved to stay there with you for a bit longer and hopefully learn your name, he had to get going, so he apologized again and you watched as he left.

And that should have been it. But somehow, it seemed like the universe had other ideas, crossing your paths later once again. And then one thing led to another and here you were now, sharing laundry and rent. Who would have thought? Certainly not you, when those strong arms caught you and you had no idea that they would become the place where you would feel the safest in.

Home.

Jason keeps listening as you finish recalling the start of your relationship. “And so their adventure together began. The clumsy girl from the ice and the boy that despite his rough exterior, had the gentlest, bravest, most selfless and most beautiful heart that she’d ever come to know.”

You finish the story with an enamored smile on your lips, the sweet memories fueling even more your love for him. A love and reassurance that you hope you have been able to convey in the story.

Jason sits in front of you with a small smile of his own, his heart beating golden light through his body, the love that you put there. His body finally relaxed and at peace, your hands holding his.

But then the smile falls from your lips as you see his eyes glass over. And even before he starts to tremble you pull him into you, wrapping your arms around him, his face hidden in your neck, his own arms snaking around you, holding you tight. And as the first tremors shake his shoulders, the first tears start to fall.

And you hold him through it. Taking everything that he needs to let go of in stride.

Because without the armor that he had built to keep his emotions at bay, swimming in the guilt and regret, once he finally relaxes, accepts that he’s safe and allows himself to be vulnerable, the dam breaks. And all the feelings come tumbling over.

The impotence. The sadness. The failure.

He’s not outright sobbing, the feelings working slowly but surely through him one by one. His body trembles slightly, a few tears falling onto your shoulder and a couple of sniffles here and there.

“I- I couldn’t-” He shakes his head and keeps silent once again. The first words that he’s said since he came home. The cracks in his broken voice forming ones in your heart. It stings more than salt in an open wound. You hold him as tight as you can. It’s like he needs to exteriorize these feelings and his body is allowing him to, but his voice can’t even go further than repeating that phrase over and over again. You shush him gently, letting him know that he doesn’t need to force himself to say anything. You’re here for him and that’s all that matters.

“It’s okay. You did everything you could, Jason. You’re a good man,” you whisper, trying to soothe the torture that he’s submitting himself to. But he shakes his head even more vehemently at your reassuring words and beautiful thoughts of him. Right now they don’t make any sense to him with how much he failed tonight. He’s not brave. He’s not kind. And he certainly isn’t good. He doesn’t know how you can say all of those things about him when he couldn’t-

You feel his internal monologue with how the time between his trembles, tears, and sniffles stretches. He’s lost in his head again. Thinking instead of feeling.

“Jason, hey, no. Stop,” you whisper gently but firmly. You unwind your arms from around him and take his head in your hands, holding his forehead to yours, looking into his eyes though his gaze avoids you.

“You are good. You’re kind, stubborn, funny, brave, determined, sarcastic, gentle, and loving. You’re all of those things. And sometimes things just go wrong and you can’t do anything to prevent them. You didn’t make any mistakes tonight, okay?” You don’t actually think that he can do anything wrong but you keep that to yourself. “Not being able to prevent something bad doesn’t make you any less of a good person.”

You can see how the thoughts race in his eyes.

“Jason. Look at me.” He finally locks eyes with you. “You know I’m not good at lying so listen to me when I say this. Whatever happened tonight is not your fault. You can cry. You should cry. You have to let go of everything that is storming inside you. What I’m not letting you do is convince yourself that you’re not good enough. Because you are, you hear me? You are.” You can’t help the tears that begin to prick at the corners of your eyes.

“I love you and I’m always going to be here for you for whatever you need, okay?” As a tear slips from your eye, Jason nods and hides in your neck again, letting his tears flow again. Letting himself feel. You envelop him in your arms once again.

“Okay,” he mutters against your skin. You sigh in relief and start to trace long shapes on his back.

You two stay there for a while, until both of you stop crying and his breathing returns to normal. And then you stay a little longer, just holding each other, Jason letting himself get lost in your soft skin and soothing scent, finally, finally, letting the night go. At least for now.

And then even a little longer, until the water turns lukewarm and a chill runs through your bodies.

“Want to go to bed?” you ask softly, threading your fingers through his hair, brushing away the damp strands falling on his forehead.

He nods slowly, lifting his head from your neck. “Thank you,” he whispers. You shake your head and he knows what you mean, You don’t have to thank me, I’d do anything for you.

“Come on,” you say and get up, offering him your hands. He takes them and gets up as well. You let the tub drain and step out of it, Jason following you. You quickly wrap Jason in a towel and then do the same with yourself. When you're done, he takes one of your hands gently and, while looking deep into your eyes, he kisses your knuckles. Thank you.

This time your gaze softens and you rest your hand against his heart. Of course.

After drying off you put your sleeping clothes back on and when you see Jason with the briefs that you brought already on and reaching towards the sweatpants, you gently swat his hand away. Let me take care of you.

He raises his hands in surrender and takes a step away from his clothes. Yes, ma’am.

“Are you hurt anywhere? Do you need me to patch you up?” He doesn’t seem to have any injury but you want to make sure. He shakes his head. You arch an eyebrow. It wouldn’t be the first time that he’s tried to lie to you about that. He nods, extending his arms so that you can examine him, showing how he doesn’t have any wounds. You wait for a beat before nodding.

You help him get dressed and all the while his fond gaze follows you. He’s sure that the best feeling in the world is being taken care of by you. That sunshine feeling blooming again in his chest. You’re so bright and he’s just so- No. He’s promised that he isn’t going to think like that anymore. At least not more tonight.

He follows your directions as you make him sit on the toilet and watches as you comb his hair. But then he can’t help but close his eyes at how relaxed he feels under your care. When you’re done you kiss his forehead and he hums as you run your hand through his hair. When he opens his eyes again, you’re extending a hand to him and he takes it without hesitation.

You turn off the bathroom light and guide him to the bedroom. You climb into bed, your side always the furthest one from the door, no matter where you are, at home, at the manor, or traveling, Jason makes sure of that, and you open your arms, inviting him into your embrace. Jason gets into bed, laying half on top of you, and wraps his arms around your waist as he nuzzles into your neck, your legs tangled. You drape the covers over you both, practically burying yourselves under them and wrap your arms around him, protecting him from anything that could hurt him. Your very own cocoon.

He gives your waist a slight squeeze. I love you. You kiss his hair in return, hugging him even tighter.

And as you hold him tight, the two of you know that what happened tonight out there would still haunt Jason despite all your reassurances. But just as you know that, you also know that you’re always going to be there for him. To love him and care for him. So, for tonight, Jason lets himself be lulled to sleep by the sound of your heart. Each rhythmic thump thump telling him, I got you, you’re okay, I love you, over and over again.

Just like for you with him, your arms the place where he feels safest in. Home.

Please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!

[sinnabarmoth]

Tribute for the Dragon (5/18)

Pairing: Dragon|Sylus x Fem|Reader

Summary: Sylus comes across you in the hot spring but desires burn hotter.

Content Warnings: Adult language. Mutual masturbation.

Length: 2500

Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (6) (7)

Read on AO3

To say that life in the mountain was now much harder for Sylus to stand would be an understatement. After coming into the mountain that first time and finding it filled with scent of your arousal permeating every corner, he did not know how to function around you any longer. Even when you were not aroused he could still remember the scent with clarity, could still hear your voice moaning, and it drove him insane.

He was not angry by any means. No. He was worried that this would end up with him slamming you against a wall and fucking you mercilessly one of these days. He had thought you a pretty little treasure before but now he could not focus around you. The very idea of you was so intoxicating now it made him lose all sense. It was as if that day had unlocked something inside him that he would not be able to get back.

Everything finally came to a head one misty morning when he decided to take a soak in the hot springs. He was halfway there when he caught the scent of you already out there. That would not have been a problem in itself but this time it was not your normal scent. It was your arousal again.

Really, this dragon sense of smell was a blessing and a curse it seemed. Great for tracking food and enemies, and you when you got lost in the tunnels. It was nothing short of a menace now.

Reason told him to turn around and leave. He was already having a problem keeping his wits about him when he was around you now. He didn’t need to tempt the fates by getting closer to you while you were aroused. But did his feet listen to him? No. They carried him right to the hot springs where your nude and wet body was reclining in the hot steamy water.

He stayed in the entrance, claws dug deep into the wall to keep him tethered to reality. You were humming pleasantly, the smell of your arousal getting stronger the more you hummed. He watched for a moment and realized that one of your hands was underneath the murky water. You were touching yourself again.

This constant tension around you had to stop one way or another. And by the hells he was going to see if he could swing it in his favor.

He stood and watched, waited as you worked yourself up. Your eyes closed in rapture as your hand got quicker and quicker. You were close. So close.

Sylus scraped the claws dug into the wall down and your eyes snapped open as Sylus stepped out into the outcropping. Your eyes went wide and you sunk down to your chin in the water. “Oh hello,” you cleared your throat, “I was not expecting you to be out here so early.”

Your eyes drifted down to the towel around his hips. “I um, I’ll leave.” you said.

“There’s no need for that.” Sylus knew he was tempting fate but he could not stop himself. You averted your eyes as he discarded the towel and got into the hot spring with you.

You were keeping yourself pressed against the opposite side of the spring, arms crossed over your chest. Once he was in the water you looked at him again. “Really, master, I’ve been in here for a while. I can leave.”

“If you wish to go you may.” he said.

You looked around, staring at the spot nearby where you had left your own towel. “Um, can you close your eyes?”

“No.”

“Sylus!”

He knew he was getting under your skin when you forewent any title and just called him by his name. It made him grin. “There’s nothing for you to be ashamed about. The naked form is a very normal thing. No one judges the deer for not wearing clothes.”

“That’s because it’s an animal.”

“And so are we. Sentient thought does not excuse that we have instincts. We crave food when we are hungry, help when we are injured, and a companion when we are lonely. That’s about as animal as it gets.”

You groaned. “Well unlike animals, and I guess dragons, humans have a certain amount of privacy when it comes to their naked bodies. So please close your eyes.”

“I will not.”

You huffed, dropping the subject. Seemed you were intent on waiting him out. And all for what? So he wouldn’t see you nude? Granted, he wasn’t sure how he would react to seeing that either but your certain eccentricities were odd to him. Why were humans so cagey about their bodies? It was just another part of their society that he did not fully understand.

“If you’re not going to leave you can lather my hair again.” he said. He watched as your eyes widened, your arms clutching tighter around yourself.

“I’m still naked!”

“And does that really bother you? Do you think I’m going to do something to you?” Well, he may end up doing something to you but he had a feeling that you may not mind all that much if he did. Not if that new wave of arousal that sprang up around you was anything to go by.

“No, but--”

“Then there should be no problem. Come here.” he sent his tail out to wrap around your body, tugging you closer.

You gave a surprised yelp as the water rippled around you as you were yanked. Sylus had to grit his teeth against another fresh perfume of your arousal. You rolled your eyes but he was noticing you liked when he threw you around like this. There was so much he was learning about you.

He turned his back to you so you had some modicum of privacy. You had to sit on your knees to comfortably reach his hair and he could tell that it left the top half of you exposed to the air. All he wanted was to turn around and see more of your body, watch the way your nipples turned hard against the cool air of the mountain wind. Fuck he was salivating just thinking about it.

Deep breath. Control. Don’t scare her.

You grabbed the soap and went about washing his hair like you had last time. Your hands felt heavenly, so soft against his scalp. Fuck! He wanted to feel your touch all over his body.

Without thinking he leaned his head back against you, his head resting on your chest. He could hear your heart hammering behind his ear. You did not stop. Your hands moved further up and around the area of his horns. He took in a deep breath, the sensitivity of it rocketing down his body straight to his cock. It was a good thing the water was so murky so you couldn’t see how hard he was right then. It was made no better that with every small sigh of pleasure that escaped him your arousal grew. It made his head foggy with want. If he wasn’t careful he was going to do something reckless.

He needed to get a handle on this before he snapped. “It has come to my attention that despite the freedoms I’ve given you, I’ve still deprived you of something.” he said.

You tilted his head back to rinse out his hair. “What are you talking about?”

“Then again,” he continued, trying to control the growl in his throat, “you have probably been deprived on if since all the young men went off to fight the king’s war.”

“Can you speak plainly?”

Well, no avoiding it now. Either this was going to go one of two ways. “Do you know that dragons have a unique sense of smell? It is not a myth when people say that we can smell fear. But we can smell lots of other things too.”

“What does this have to do with anything?”

“Oh my dear little wildfire,” he grinned, “You want to know what I can smell on your right now? Your desire.”

“What?”

“It is a strong and heady scent. The other day I came back to the mountain and the halls were choked with it.”

“You must have been smelling something else cause I--”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of.” he turned finally but you had sunk back into the water. “I do not judge. You have urges just like any animal, it’s nothing to be ashamed about. I can smell it now. The steam cannot mask it. It rolls off you like perfume.”

He was closing in on you, your back pressed against the wall as he hovered over you. He leaned in close to your neck and inhaled deeply. “Intoxicating. Even now, I can smell it getting stronger and stronger.”

“Sylus…”

“I didn’t let you finish earlier, so you can do that now before you combust.”

You raised your chin high, an effort at exerting some control over the situation. “The reason I am going to combust is because you are talking about this with me. If you knew the entire time, why not tell me sooner?”

“More fun this way. Now, what are you going to do?” he leaned back just enough to look in your eyes, your pupils dilated wide. “Are you going to finish yourself off like I know you want to or are you going to run back to your room? The scent won’t go away any case, not until your body is rid of the feeling.”

He could see you debating. Your knee jerk reaction was to run but that lovely little brain of yours was not thinking rationally. He knew what you wanted. He knew the idea of it intrigued you. You wanted to touch yourself. You needed to touch yourself and it was driving you mad.

“I…I will do it myself. But you have to leave.” you turned your face away from him.

“Why?” he grabbed your chin and pulled your face back to his.

“Because I’m not touching myself while you are watching!”

“Do you want me to touch you?” he asked. More pleasure rolled off you and his eyes slipped closed as he inhaled it. Fuck he was so hard. “The idea intrigues you.”

“Stop sniffing me!” you shoved his face away.

“It’s impossible to not smell it.” he grabbed the hand that had been shoving at him and gave a small bite to your fingers. “Now, do you want me to touch you or are you going to do it yourself?”

“You think I’d let those claws anywhere near my cunt?” you eyed his hands.

“Oh that,” Sylus concentrated, the armor and claws around his hand retracting to reveal a normal human hand. Fucking hells. There was a reason he never did this and it was because it hurt like hell to do. But if it meant that he could sink his hand into your pussy it’d be a pain worth enduring.

You watched the claws retract into the armor of his arm and your brow furrowed. “If you could do that this entire time then how come I’ve been washing your hair?”

“Because it takes a lot of energy.” You didn’t need to know how badly it hurt to do. “But this isn’t about me, this is about you. Now answer the question. Are you touching yourself, or are you going to let me?”

You ducked out from his grasp and pressed yourself against the opposite wall. You were facing the wall so your back was to him and he worried for a moment you were going to leave. But the smile nearly split his face when he saw one of your hands disappear under the water.

Brave girl.

For a minute he indulged in basking in the scent and sight before him. Though you were facing away he could see the way your muscles flexed as you drove yourself higher. You tried biting them back but you couldn’t stop the hums and small gasps of pleasure.

Sylus could not take it any longer. His cock was aching to be touched. So he took himself in hand and began to stroke himself, all the while watching you.

He groaned aloud as his cock finally found some relief and your head turned to look at him. He caught you looking and you tried to turn back around but he wasn’t losing this too. “Don’t turn around. Look at me.”

You glanced back at him. “That’s an order from your master. Now turn and face me.”

If you had disobeyed he would have been disappointed but he would not press it. So he was so very pleased when you did turn around. One arm was slung over your breasts while the other played with your pussy. All the while you kept looking at him. Your eyes darted down to the place in the water where he knew you could tell he was stroking himself.

The scent of your arousal was so strong he wondered if it would permanently stick to him. You were getting close. And knowing that he was watching you pleasure yourself only turned you on more. He wanted to say something. Encourage you. Tell you to keep going until you finally came. But he kept it back. Another time perhaps.

Your attempts at hiding your pleasurable moans had dissipated and you let the free into the air. Sylus wanted to swallow each and every one. He gritted his teeth, the end almost upon him but he’d be damned if he came before you did.

Your breathing got shallower and your head tilted back, eyes closed as you neared your finish. You had stopped trying to protect the modesty of your breasts, instead pulling and pinching at the sensitive material of your nipples. He imagined taking one of those breasts into his mouth, teasing the nub himself with his tongue until it was a hard peak. Then he’d pull on it with his teeth and watch how you moaned and squirmed for him.

You covered your mouth, muffling the final sharp cry as you came. Sylus was not far behind and he came just a moment after.

You were slumped against the wall trying to catch your breath, your body shaking slightly in the aftermath. By the hells your were beautiful when you came.

“There,” he said, “Does that not feel better?”

Your head whipped to him, remembering that he was still in here with you. “This--this was an anomaly! It won’t be happening again!”

“If you say so.” he reclined against the wall of the spring, “But if you do ever decide you desire a partner for such activities, I’d be happy to provide such assistance.”

“You--you--” grabbed the bar of soap and hurled it at him. Sylus was shocked enough that he reached to grab it, stretching his arm up high to catch it. You had taken the moment he was distracted and leapt out of the hot spring and ran back inside the mountain.

“Well, that went better than expected.”

[httpseungmxn]

Hallucinations 

Yang Jeongin x Reader(afab)

🍰🍬 - suggestive and fluffy

Authors note: Hai Angels, been a while, hm? It hasn’t been too long but I have definitely been denying you guys some works, especially my kpop readers. So to end the long wait for my series, i have decided to write a quick suggestive mini-fic for i.n:3! This will be a part 2 to the one I did a while ago named Sweet Siren! It will be suggestive since its a part two, the first part was suggestive! 

Warnings: Suggestive, heavy spit-swapping, groping, dry humping, touching under the clothes but over the undergarments, not much talking happens except texting, I think thats about it!

Triggers: None as far as I am aware!:3

Despite Jeongin telling you to keep your hands to yourself, you couldn’t help but slide a hand up to your chest, gently groping at your left tit. A soft moan falling from your lips at how sensitive your chest was, your nipples hardening and showing through your shirt, Feeling startled when you heard a knock on your front door not even five minutes later.

Patting your cheeks to get rid of the redness from them and getting up from the couch, making your way quickly to the front door and opening. A yelp leaving your lips as you were nudged backwards and pulled into a kiss faster than you could say the word ‘supercalifragilisticexpialidocious’. Melting into jeongins lips as he shut the door behind himself and leaned back into it. 

His tongue made quick work to slot between your lips and explore your mouth. Humming into your mouth as he sucked your tongue into his mouth, your spit swapping with his. The kiss feeling very sloppy and fast but neither of you seemed to mind at all, that must’ve just been the mood he was in. Your arms wrapped around his neck and your legs wound around his waist as he lifted you into his arms.

Allowing him to carry you to the couch where he sat lazily with his legs spread and you on his lap. His left hand rested on your hip while the other slid under your shirt to paw at your right tit like you had done not too long ago. Parting from the kiss to drop your head back and moan out softly. Lifting your hips when jeongin pulled up your skirt over your hips so he could grope your ass with his left hand. 

Out of instinct you ground yourself down against the bulge in his sweats. Gasping softly at how the friction felt against you. You had never had a dry orgasm before in all of your life but you had heard about it. You wondered if Jeongin would be able to bring you to one over the clothes. Your thoughts melted away as he began to grind up against you lazily.

Your lips met his in another messy kiss as you both grinded in sync with each other. You were already wet before from jeongins texts but now that you guys were in such a position, you were sure you had gotten wetter. Feeling like your orgasm was already fast approaching from the coil winding up in your lower stomach.

When he parted from the kiss it was just to let out a soft moan into your lips while he wrapped his arms around your waist to get you closer. Tears welling in the corners of your eyes from the intense pleasure you were getting right now. His hands gripped your ass and helped guide you in grinding down against his crotch. He must’ve been very pent up because he was the first to let go. Creaming in his pants and causing a wet spot to form in his sweats.

His grinding didn’t stop though, wanting to help you get to the sweet release you craved. Shortly enough he was able to get you there with a soft cry of his name. Your body collapsing against him as he helped grind you through your climax. Panting softly against him while he held you close to his body. The both of you just laying there and relaxing for a while before he laid you down and walked to run you both a bath.

You were definitely in for a long night

Authors ending note; Sooooo, that was mighty intense, huh? This might have made it to the top of my favorite suggestive fics ive ever written! I will hopefully be posting the first part to my new series soon! Putting in the work on these fics so they are perfect for you guys! Also make sure to leave me requests for whatever you want and whoever you want because I get no requests and it makes me sad:( so start requesting! Let me know what you all thought of this in the comments! Until next time, My Sweet Angels 🫶

[the-hinky-panda]

War of the Roses: Part V

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Bill’s already in a pissy mood when he pulls up to Cal Thresher’s home. 

Leaving you alone in the hotel room last night took every ounce of his self restraint. Seeing you with red eyes, knowing they were that way from tears of distress, knowing you needed comfort and he couldn’t trust himself to provide only that. He’s never wanted someone as much as he wants you and it both scares and excites him. There’s something special between you two, something cosmic, as silly as it sounds. He never believed in soulmates before that night in the coat room. 

He’s barely slept, thinking about you tucked up in bed at the hotel all by yourself, so he downs about forty ounces of coffee. It makes it easier to blame the shaking in his hands on caffeine instead of want. It takes some mild threatening to get the guard at the gate to let him and the rig onto the property, which also helps with blowing off some steam. He was hoping by showing up at seven am in the morning, they would be able to load the horses and rose bushes and get the fuck out before Cal even knew they were there. Unfortunately, that’s not the case. Cal’s waiting outside of the barn for them. Bill releases a deep sigh before climbing out of his car. 

“Morning, Cal.” 

“Bill.” His eyes dart over at the truck and rig that’s parking in front of the barn. “Can’t say I’m surprised  it’s you that she called for help, given the…shine she’s taken to you. I am surprised you actually showed up. I didn’t take you for being a soft touch.” 

“Horses should never be caught in the middle of a personal dispute, Cal. I’m surprised you didn’t know that.” 

“And yet, here you are. Smack dab in the middle of a very personal dispute.” 

“Well, that’s the beauty of personal versus business. They’re separate things.” 

“Are they, Bill? Because it seems a little odd that after only two weeks of becoming business partners, you’re stealing my wife away.” 

“Can’t steal something that doesn’t belong to you.” 

“Land comes with deeds,” Cal says, putting his hands on his hips. “Women come with marriage certificates. We had a business deal for the land usage, not for my wife. And I can assure you, Bill, she’s not worth putting our deal at risk.” 

“That so?” Bill laughs and turns to his barn manager. “Load up all four horses. And when you’re done, there’s three rose bushes in the courtyard that are coming with us, too.” He then turns back to Cal. “Listen to me, our business deal isn’t at risk and here’s why. I am the only fucking marajana supplier in this territory. You don’t have anyone else to sell your product to right now. I’m it, Cal. And I don’t need you or your fucking start-up weed farm. You need me. So here’s the actual fucking deal, you let me take the horses and the rose bushes, and leave me and your soon to be ex-wife the fuck alone. See? Personal,” Bill emphasizes the word with his right hand and then holds up his left hand. “Business.” 

Cal seems to consider his options for a few moments before nodding once. “Fine. If that’s the direction you want to go. Good luck with her.” He starts to walk away but pauses a few paces away. “Do you have any kids of your own, Bill?” 

Bill knows where this is going and if Cal doesn’t keep walking, Bill’s going to enjoy laying the asshole flat in the dirt. “No, Cal, I don’t.” 

“Neither do I. And she’s the reason why. Our businesses are similar, we need people to carry on after we’re not able to anymore.” 

“That the bargain you were referring to the other day, the one that she’s not keeping up?” 

“It is.” 

Bill remembers his mother, curled up on that couch and crying that rainy afternoon. His father coming into the laundry room, soaking wet from the rain and fresh mud on his boots. A couple rose petals stuck to his pants, tears running down his face and mixing with the rain when he washed them down the drain in the stationary tub. “Actually Cal, there’s three rose bushes that are getting dug out today that prove she did keep up her end of the bargain. You want get mad at someone, get fucking mad at God.”

“What good will that do me? God’s not going to give me anything.” 

“And she is? What’s she got? You took everything from her. Even her parents don’t want anything to do with her.” 

Something changes in Cal’s stance, a renewed sense of arrogance or self-righteousness. It causes him to walk back to Bill and stare him down. “And what exactly do you want with her? Are you doing this just to piss me off because you can? Because I can’t find another weed dealer in backwater Oklahoma?” Cal takes another step towards him. “ I can’t imagine she was a good enough fuck last night in the barn to warrent a second round. She’s as barren as a desert and won’t give your family any continuance. So what is it, Bill?” 

“You want to know what it is?” 

“Yeah, I do.” 

Bill closes his right hand and hits Cal square in the nose as fast and as hard as he can. When Cal collapses on the ground, holding his nose, blood starting to spill between his fingers, Bill leans over him. “Because fuck you and your antiquanted fucking ideas about what she fucking owes you.” 

But the truth of the matter is, Bill doesn’t really know what it is about you that is driving him to do this. He just knows he has to because it’s you.

[chaotictempleknight]

Some advice for writers

I would like to offer some advice to my fellow writers. Caution: this post is a bit on the longer side.

If you have any type of series on the internet, please have a master post for that series, or at least some form of organization. No, I am not going to go endlessly scrolling through your blog or website to find the first chapter/page.

Please have links to chapters if you are writing a digital novel/novella. It makes it easier for the reader to get through the story. This is assuming you're not using a website dedicated to literature.

Tag your work with what genre it is. I see a lot of stories and chapters on the internet that don't do that or only tag one genre. I would like to know what genre your story is as I have preferences for what I read.

When writing a synopsis or a pitch, please establish the stakes. Tell me what the conflict is and why I should read. What are the consequences if the protagonist fails? Also don't describe what your story is. I'll find that out as I read.

Plan your story out before you write it. You are not that 1 in a million who's going to be able to write a story as you go along. PLAN OUT YOUR STORY BEFORE YOU START IT. Here's my advice: Establish your plot and ending, write the plot, write your characters, then write an outline for the story. Make sure you're happy with it, iron out any last minute details, then write a rough draft.

Have multiple drafts and don't post the first thing that comes out of your head. Don't worry if you mess up during the rough drafts, you can fix it later. How many drafts you have is up to you, just don't get carried away with them as you'll never finish the story.

The protagonist must succeed. It doesn't matter what they succeed in, they must succeed in something. There's no two ways about it. The protagonist can be anyone, be it a hero or villain. protagonist versus antagonist is not good versus evil, it's a clash of egos and ideals. It doesn't matter who they come from.

Write an evil villain and a strong hero. Let your villain be evil and let your hero be heroic. This is storytelling 101, but so many stories these days try to make everyone morally gray and indistinguishable from each other. You can have sympathetic villains and questionable heroes, just make it clear where the lines between good and evil are drawn.

Stop trying to be relatable and POST SOMETHING. I don't care about how many WIPs you haven't finished or about how your cat keeps interrupting you. Post your story. If you're more concerned about being relatable than actually writing, you're not a writer.

If you're expecting overnight success, you are in for a very rude awakening. No, you will not have overnight success. AND NO, you are not that 1 in a million. It takes time, effort, and dedication for your work to get noticed. I should know: have you heard of ULTRAMagic Alternate? I didn't think so.

If you are writing to make money and become famous, get out. I'm serious, leave. If you just want to make money, go get a regular job. You are legitimately getting in the way of actual writers who actually have a story to tell.

Having beta readers is ideal for improving your story. Find people interested in the genres you're writing and see what they think. You can always go back and fix the story if there is something wrong with it.

This one is for readers: If an author asks you to be a beta reader, they are NOT asking you to edit their story (although you can if you want to). You don't have to be an author, the writer is looking for your perspective as an average Joe off the street. Tell them what you think of the work, even if you have no knowledge of writing.

DO NOT USE AI IMAGES. The instant I see an AI image attached to your post I'm immediately scrolling past it. Either learn how to draw or hire a real artist.

DO NOT USE AI WRITING. I will ignore your entire existence if I catch you copy and pasting stuff from an AI chat bot. I'm okay with asking a chat bot for assistance as long as what is written on the page came from your head and human hands, however. Also newsflash, if AI becomes truly sentient, you are stealing ideas and work from another individual. Let that sink in.

[moriartyluver]

FALSE LOVERS CHAPTER XXIX

"SO, DID YOU TELL WILLIAM?" Josephine asked as she walked through the Moriarty Manor with (Name) "you know, about your condition.." 

"What?" (Name) blinked, clearly invested in her own thoughts whilst her friend spoke. "Oh...my condition.." she paused, standing still on the stairs, her hand rubbing at her neck nervously, then moving to fidget with her hair. "see..the issue is.." She trailed off, trusting to explain. Josephine furrowed her brows, noticing a fresh bruise on her neck. 

"Oh my god." She huffed under her breath. "You didn't tell him, did you? You slept with him! Again!!" 

(Name) frowned, getting a little defensive "It's a very difficult position to be in-" 

"Oh I bet you know a lot about difficult positions.." The brunette remarked. 

"Josephine!" 

"Sorry, sorry. I've never been pregnant before, surprisingly, so I can't judge.." she hummed 

"Don't say that word out loud. If my own husband doesn't know, I'd rather nobody but you or James know either." (Name) said, moving her hand down to fiddle with her sleeve "I did try to tell him, I really did. But then he started being all flirtatious and he somehow has this way of making me feel all funny, and honestly he may be the best man I've ever had, in a weird sort of way.." 

"I'd never imagine you describing William as such," Josephine giggled "Still, how did things escalate so much..?" 

"Well, I went to his office, made some small talk about the incident with Whitely, before he was assassinated, then he starts making some jokes, and we reminisced on our university days together. He brought up this one memory I feel quite fond of, and then I realised that I must have been very..mean to him, more so than I am now. As if I crossed the line a few times, so I apologised and then we kissed, and then.." (Name) spoke very, very quickly, her demeanour flustered "Well, you know.." 

"I'd rather not know," Josephine pulled a face. To her, this was like walking in on one's parents doing it. "Also you should tell him to be more discreet..you have a huge bruise on your neck, it almost looks painful.." 

"You should see the ones I gave him." She joked, before noticing josie's flat expression. "Sorry."

She rolled her pale blue eyes, walking down the staircase with her to the lounge. "It's fine..it's quite nice to be able to gossip for once, especially with how busy things have been lately. With Fred now gone more often, I've been used as messenger girl whenever I'm available.." 

"Yes, well, we did recently confirm to the public that this urban legend of the Lord Of Crime is real..it's a shame my old persona hasn't made a return. Now she is just the Lord of Crime's wife," (Name) chuckled dryly, her silk gloves sliding across the bannisters. 

"Most women could only dream of such a thing," Josephine reassured with a soft laugh whilst they walked into the lounge whilst the others discussed matters regarding milverton. 

"..but I would never choose that option. I'll kill Milverton whether my name spread or not." William spoke, pausing as (Name) entered the room. Everyone went silent for a second or two as she sat down beside her husband, confused as to what they were discussing. 

"I'm afraid I missed a few chapters." (Name) stated calmly. "Are we really going ahead with such a plan, provided the risk?" 

"(Name)," William placed his hand on her thigh reassuringly. At this point in time, he didn't care if people knew of their odd relationship. "It was bound to happen at some point." 

"Right." She nodded stiffly. She was clearly unhappy with the idea but she couldn't say much. It was part of their contract and pre existing agreement before they started their affair — could one even have an affair with their spouse? 

"As Louis said, this mission will carry unprecedented risks, but I can't keep Milverton alive much longer." He said. (Name) honestly was quite fond of Milverton at first, but upon finding he was responsible not only for the deaths of the Whitleys, but also the Jack the Ripper scandal, she could care less if he died. She just found him intriguing. 

Sherlock used the correct means to achieve moral goals, William used unethical means to achieve moral goals and Milverton purposely would use horrible means to achieve horrible goals. 

She couldn't help but wonder why. 

Regardless, he was to die, hopefully at William's hands, because she'd rather not have Milverton be Sherlock's first kill.

"Let's take action as soon as we're ready." William stated, snapping (name) out of her thoughts. 

Louis parted his lips, about to protest before William cut him off again.  

"We all knew this was coming, Louis. It was going to happen sooner or later," He said. "It's all according to the moriarty plan." 

"So this is it.." (Name) muttered as she sat on William's bed, surprisingly clothed. 

"This is it." He repeated. "When you signed that contract, you knew it would come to this..I apologise."

It didn't exactly feel sincere when he apologised, almost as if he was speaking to an acquaintance or associate — not his wife. 

"I suppose I'll have to remarry.." She hummed. She knew she probably wouldn't, couldn't. She was finally pregnant, with an heir. That's all she needed. 

William's jaw clenched at the mere idea of another man stealing the life he wanted. "I suppose you will." He nodded, shutting the book in his hands, getting out of his chair and approaching his bed on the other side of the room. "I.." He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again, like a fish. 

"I know." She looked up at him. "I know." 

He nodded, sitting down beside her and wrapping an arm around her waist apologetically whilst she rested her head on his shoulder. "Who would've thought..you and me.." 

"I never took you as the sentimental type." she laughed dryly. 

"I am a dead man walking, after all," William rubbed her shoulder soothingly. "Speaking of which..." 

"I'll pay for the funeral, don't worry. I can even have you sent to (home country) so you can have a tomb where it won't be destroyed by angry people." She said in a soft, melancholy tone. 

"That's alright. I'll let my gravesite be destroyed and ruined." He smiled. "Actually..I was thinking." 

"You always think." 

"So do you," he chuckled. "But in all seriousness, this is important. I'm going to have to ask you to do something a little bit difficult."

"I've never failed any mission you've given me," (name) reminded him. "I'm your strongest soldier." 

"That you are," He kissed her forehead. "But this isn't a physical thing..I mean, you'll pick up a pen, and write a few sentences, but it's.." William trailed off, his scarlet eyes shifting away from her and onto the equally red wallpaper. 

"What is it?" she asked curiously. 

"I'm going to need you to write a letter," He explained, rubbing her thigh. "To one of the main newspapers. I'll need you to write about how you recently discovered I was the lord of crime, how you plan to annul the marriage, and how you want the public to know you were never involved." 

He paused, looking into her eyes, searching for a reaction. She took a moment to process his words, her eyebrows furrowing in an angry glare.

"No! Why would you ask me to do such a thing? I may be a killer but I can't lie to an entire nation!" She exclaimed, standing from the bed. "I was just as involved as you were, and I've been killing since I was 16!"  

"You've lied numerous times before, I don't see how this may be any different," He pointed out. 

"But it's different—" She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "What am I to tell my parents? My friends? Should I just continue to live a lie after you...you.."

She couldn't even bring herself to say it. 

"You can tell your parents the truth if you like, (name). They're good people, they wouldn't cast you out." He reassured her "And it's for your own sake. What will society think of a woman who knowingly let her husband kill people? What will they think when they find out you helped too? What will they think when they find out you married me because you just wanted to keep your parents happy and the men away? This is for your sake, I only ask that you write one letter." 

"William.." She whispered his name. 

"If you don't, I'm afraid I'll have to forge one." He stated. "You're already in enough trouble with parliament and her majesty herself, what will they do to you or to (home country) if they realise you were involved, that you were the lady of crimes."

She sighed. He was right. 

"I have business to attend to in Manchester, tomorrow afternoon, which I can always say was done out of fear of my husband being upset with me. I may have time to write a letter then and send it off as soon as possible to all the newspapers possible." She rambled. "And I'm telling my parents. They're going to be in Manchester too." 

"Everything?" 

"Everything." 

"I knew something was wrong." Grand Duchess (last name) sighed. "I told you, didn't I, (Father's name)?" 

"You're right. I apologise for not believing you, my love." He rubbed his wife's shoulder, kissing her cheek apologetically. 

(Name) couldn't bear to even look at them. She kept her head bowed and her eyes on her shoes. "I'm sorry, again." 

"No, (Name). I'm sorry." Her mother reached her hand out to hold her daughter's. "So is your father. This wouldn't have happened if we.." 

"There was nothing you could've done to change anything." She reminded them. "I had to do what I did, regardless of how horrible and wrong it was.." 

Her parents shared a look, before turning to their daughter again. She looked so small, so vulnerable. It was as if she was 9 years old all over again. 

"But we should have been there." The grand duke spoke. "At such a young age, you witnessed something so traumatising, and you lost your brother too..then we encouraged you to go to Britain for the sake of your education, and didn't contact you regularly, only visiting a handful of times, and even then we weren't around long enough for you." 

Her mother nodded in agreement. "If we had been there, if we had made you feel safe and welcome with us, you wouldn't have killed as many people as you did, you wouldn't have felt the need to marry a man you despised, and you wouldn't be in the situation you are in right now." 

"It wasn't your fault.." (Name) whispered, holding back tears. "There's this man, Charles Augustus Milverton..he would spread rumours about me through a magazine he owned, solely to torment me..it just made matter worse and now he's going to expose William's wrong doings to the entire country, and that..I can't imagine how he must feel right now.." 

The grand duchess sighed. "You love him, don't you?" 

"I do." 

"For how long?" 

"I..I'm not entirely sure.." She glanced down to her stomach. "But I know that I can't let him die..I just can't." 

"There's something else you're not telling us, isn't there?" Her father asked. 

"You can tell us, we won't judge you or be upset." Her mother reassured. "We're your parents." 

"I haven't even told William..Josephine, and another close friend that I work with, they're the only ones who know..." she trailed off. "I mean, how could I tell him. I haven't even told him I love him yet..He's convinced our relationship is just a facade for the public with some extra benefits for the both of us.." 

"(Name).." 

"I'm pregnant." 

"It's a shame this comedy doesn't have an audience," Milverton laughed as William and Sherlock turned their pistols to face him, rather than pointing at each other. They had both been inside Milverton's villa for a while now, with two very different reasons yet seemingly the same outcome. "The light and dark that symbolise London..the two of them are here together." 

"Make that three." A voice spoke from behind Milverton. He glanced over his shoulder, smirking as he saw his main target, (Name) (Last name). 

His smirk widened as he noticed a gun in her hand, pointing straight at him, finger on the trigger. "It's splendid you could join us. You seem so innocent but upon further inspection, anyone could tell that you had been aiding your husband's 'activities' all along, perhaps even the match that lit the fire." 

"I'm not here for him." She assured "You know exactly what you've done." 

"I do indeed." He chuckled, watching as (Name) slowly walked through the dimly lit room so she was stood in front of him, beside William and Sherlock. "And I'm glad you turned up. I was worried, really, that you weren't going to be here when I saw your husband without you." He paused. "Can I even call him that? Your 'husband'?" 

"There are legal documents to prove it. I'm sure one of your lapdogs can retrieve them for you," she retorted. 

"Yes, legal documents." Milverton hummed. "I found a rather interesting one earlier this week...Although, not nearly as interesting as a criminal couple, even if you may not be the most romantic." 

(Name) glanced at William who didn't seem to pay her any attention apart from the initial surprise she was here despite orders given that she wouldn't. 

"It was you, wasn't it?" She asked, her finger trembling on the trigger, her hands uncharacteristically shaky "You who tried to expose me for taking down that trafficking ring, you who had my name plastered over the tabloids, and for what? I didn't do anything to you." 

Milverton's eyes darkened for a moment before he grinned again "because it's fun." 

"So are theatre productions not good enough for you anymore?" She asked sarcastically. 

He laughed. A sickening laugh.

"Why watch a measly play when I can make my own?" He smiled. "Tragedy, comedy, romance...All three seem to apply to your life." 

"What—?" 

"For example, sweet and innocent nine year old (Name), bright beyond her years, possibly the most intelligent woman, maybe even person, to ever live." Milverton continued, interrupting the woman, a bead of sweet running down her forehead. "A box turns up one day, her dead brother's head inside. How Tragic. She swears to take down the British empire, and has quite a lot of fun in the process. Most of your little boy toys ended up dead or missing, though. It was no coincidence that Theodore Arden, your little male friend, happened to have the father who ordered your brother's grizzly death. And it was no coincidence that they had been tortured to death soon after, aswell as blown up by a few bombs, how comedic." 

How did he know this? How did he know any of this? Even with a photographic memory, she still couldn't remember the exact details of all these occurrences, her brain had blocked them out for the most part. 

And (name) swore she only brushed over the surface of all this with William. Because she trusted him. She glanced at him, an expression of hurt on her pretty face, then forced her eyes back to Milverton. 

Did William tell him? 

"And of course, he wasn't the last man in your life, but he was certainly your first." He enunciated the last word, highlighting the double meaning. "I can barely count them on one hand. But then, after a strange disappearance of Lord Ashfordshire, You found the one. How romantic," Milverton looked between (Name) and William. "You were married, but seemingly didn't consummate, and I wasn't the only tabloid following your love life around, but I certainly got the most information. How would your husband," he gestured to William "feel about that?" 

"You know nothing." She hissed between clenched teeth. 

"Oh? I know nothing, do I?" Milverton chuckled. "For a genius, you make this so easy, my lady. The jokes just write themselves." 

William looked uneasy. He had long since settled in his feelings for his wife, which felt ridiculous if he said them out loud. He had confided a few times in his brothers, his friends, and he knew he was in the worst possible circumstance right now. He was in love with. And he was the Lord of crime. The Lord of crime, in love with a girl he originally perceived to be rude and spoilt and cruel and promiscuous. 

And he loved her, with his entire soul. 

"How would your husband feel, knowing he was likely your last option for a prospective husband? How would your husband feel," Milverton continued, each word leaking venom. "Knowing you only consummated your marriage because a few rumours fuelled your need to become with child?" 

William and (Name) made brief eye contact, with her looking at him apologetically. He didn't look at her with anything more than a neutral expression.

"How would your husband feel knowing you had an affair the entire time you were in (home country), towards the end of last year?"  

Her gaze could no longer linger on the blond, looking straight at Milverton with a mixture of anger and shame. 

William's eyes widened for a moment, waiting for her to say something in her defence. 

Nothing. 

To the people of The British Empire, I apologise. 

I, Lady (Name) (Last Name) Moriarty, have recently discovered something no woman would want to find. 

Recently, I had been lead to believe my husband was having an affair, due to the secrets he kept and the life he concealed. This, like most marital issues, was to be kept private. That was until I discovered something far, far worse. 

A few days ago, I had caught my husband, William James Moriarty, arriving home late, drenched in blood. Naturally, I was suspicious, and this event had led to me uncovering a truth I cannot keep to myself. 

William James Moriarty is the Lord of Crime. 

Had I known earlier, perhaps I may have been able to prevent the unjust murders of many innocent people, such as that of Adam Whitely. The guilt I feel is immeasurable, and I intend to financially compensate all those involved as well as provide evidence for this conspiracy to the authorities. 

Once again, I apologise for all the harm my ignorance has caused, 

Lady (Name) (Last Name).

"I assume this was all fabricated," Mycroft placed the newspaper back on his desk after reading from it aloud. 

"You know me so well," (Name) chuckled. "I do intend to repay all those who need it..deep down you don't really have an issue with what transpired. I know you don't." She said, her voice dropping a tone. "William himself asked me to write that, so don't think I'm sacrificing him to save myself." 

Mycroft scoffed. "Well you've never had a good history with men and their feelings." 

"Why would I? Most of the men who were involved with me in some way were all horrible. It makes no difference that I married a serial killer," she smiled, taking another sip of tea. "I have all I needed now. I won't bother you again, Mycroft dear, I assure you...although you will miss me. I was the only opponent to the British Empire who actually entertained you." 

"I don't consider destroying merchant ships entertaining," He recalled. "Or how about that time the new prime minister said something unkind to you and you set Parliament alight?" 

"First of all," (Name) defended herself. "I had valid reason for destroying those slave ships, you know very well what trades they're involved in. I'd rather not look away from such devastating practices, there are real people involved, not just figures and statistics," she argued "And second of all, that wasn't the prime minister, they were something else, Home Secretary I think, and they were very offensive to me. You know how I get when I'm angry." 

"Well at least he managed to survive." He muttered. 

"I've not killed that many people." She retorted. 

"I can't even give an exact amount, but most of the people you killed were important people, and it affected our economy, our politics, and our society in  multiple ways," Mycroft explained. "Which returns us to the main issue...Your husband — can I even refer to him as such?" 

(Name) hummed to herself "Well, I was thinking of having the marriage annulled, but William seems to have other ideas. Regardless, he is, unfortunately, still my husband and the future father of my child." 

"I gathered as much. Hopefully they don't inherit your spitefulness." He rolled his eyes. "Anyways, your husband has murdered more nobles than I can recall, some of which we still have yet to confirm. Albert has been vague with me on the issue. What do you suppose you'll do when the economy comes crashing down? What about if the people, the working class population, blame you for their issues? They'll revolt soon, riot around your family home..Now what must you do?" 

"They won't blame me if the elite don't do it first. That's how it always happens anyways, blame the marginalised when in reality, it's the rich's fault. The only reason it's causing issue is because the time between the murders has shortened to a mere few hours. Previously, it had been much longer, so another rich old man could fill the void and everyone kept their low paying jobs," she explained. "And the rioting is part of William's plan." 

"So that's it? You'll let him die and return to (Home country), have that unfortunate child, then raise it as an heir?" He asked, although she wasn't supposed to answer. "Your life would be so much better if you had married one of her majesty's sons." 

"No thanks, they're all hideous," (Name) shook her head, making a face. 

Mycroft fought back a laugh, trying to maintain his serious persona. "They are members of the royal family." 

"And the inbreeding caused their unfortunate appearances. At least William was handsome. Now I'll have a son with perfect features," She half joked. She did choose William over so many other men because of his superior breeding, which is ironic with his background as a commoner. 

"How are you so sure it'll be a boy?" Mycroft asked "wishful thinking?" 

"No, I'd much rather a girl, a sweet little girl with beautiful hair I can style, but I know, it's just my intuition. It's never been wrong," (name) flashed a smile. 

"No, I suppose not," He nodded "So, you're visiting my brother after I dismiss you?" 

"You don't get to dismiss me, but yes, I am." She said. "I need to ask him a favour." 

"Very well. We're done here," Mycroft stood up opening the door to his office. "Please keep me updated." 

"I shall." She gave him a nod, bowing her head a little before leaving "farewell, and have a nice evening."

Although that morning she had her letter published by the press, 'confessing' her lack of involvement, she knew some would not be entirely convinced. After all, who better to place the blame on than a foreign woman? Yes she was far from innocent, and she didn't exactly want to be perceived as such, only going along with William's plan for the sake of her parents and home country. 

So, she decided it would be much less likely that any rioters spot her if she secretly entered Sherlock's apartment, rather than from the front where anyone could see. He had been cleared of his murder charges that same day, now likely at home. 

(Name) peered into the window, knocking slowly after a moment. The curtains drew open, revealing a slightly amused Sherlock. He opened the window wide enough for her to enter in her cloaked disguise. She slid inside, walking towards him and pulling her hood down. 

"I wasn't expecting you, especially not like this," Sherlock laughed. 

"Well, hopefully after all this blows over, you'll expect a lot more from me," she smiled, combing her fingers through her hair. 

"Mhm..you're here about Liam, aren't you?" He asked, still remembering the incident with Milverton, but he decided against mentioning it. After the confrontation, ending in Sherlock shooting Milverton, he had heard (name) apologising to William from afar as they left, trying to get him to say something, but merely brushed her off with a claim he was busy. 

"I am." (Name) nodded. "I just finished talking to your brother actually, apologising for the whole ordeal." 

"Oh yeah, you sent that letter to the papers, right? I could tell most of it wasn't true, no wonder that brother of mine wanted to talk to you," Sherlock said, leaning against a wall. "You knew about this since the beginning." 

"And I participated too. William used me as the whistleblower because nobody would expect such things from a woman." She explained, brows furrowing. "Actually, I'm probably worse than he is. Which is why I think it's unfair that he must sacrifice himself, and only himself, for the sake of everyone else. I don't see a crown of thorns on his head, he isn't obliged to do so." 

"Classic Liam." He hummed. "So, let me guess. You orchestrated the Arden massacre, and were involved in the disappearance of Ashfordshire?" 

"Amongst other things, yes. I also was the main planner with that whole sex trafficking scandal a while back, and I was the one who set us all up on the Noahtic." (Name) confessed. 

"They never did find Ashfordshire's body..I assume you killed him though." 

She sighed, recalling the story "If you had seen what I had, you'd kill him too. It still haunts me sometimes. And although I did kill him, William dealt with the body. It was so badly damaged and wounded that nobody would recognise it even if they found it." 

"How intriguing. You know, (Nickname), I really wish I had met you sooner." Sherlock smiled. She reciprocated it with a bitter one. "So, what is the favour you're planning to ask me?"

"I don't know if Louis has already asked you to do so, he's been on edge all week so it's only reasonable to assume he's upset," She trailed off "I have my own plan, to convince William to stay, maybe just fake his death instead, I'm not entirely sure considering he hasn't been speaking to me much lately..But, if that fails, I want you to be there, when he tries to die. I want you to do everything you can to save him, and I'm sorry for asking so much of you." 

"Who's to say I wouldn't do it regardless?" His smile widened. 

(Name) let out a dry laugh. "In that case, I haven't anything to worry about.." 

"You really love him, don't you?" 

She nodded then glanced to the door, footsteps slowly creaking up the stairs. She glanced at Sherlock, nodding goodbye before climbing out the window, gripping onto a tree branch outside as he said his final words to her. 

"Congratulations, by the way. That kid's going to be a genius." Sherlock whispered. 

She hummed, a little surprised at first that he knew, but shook it off. He was the world's greatest consulting detective after all. She parted her lips to speak, but noticing the door slowly freak open to reveal William, who had yet to spot her whilst she slipped out the window, ready to return to her carriage home.

Once she arrived home, she waited in William's bedroom, that which could have been a shared one between the couple if their marriage had taken a different route. The sheets clearly hadn't been slept in for days, likely due to the recent killing sprees William had been on. Honestly, nobody had slept much recently anyways. (Name) couldn't remember the last time she had gotten in a full 8 hours of sleep without interruptions. She had been plagued by nightmares as of late, and she had too much to do so sleep seemed like a waste of time. She had made arrangements for the following morning to board a ship back to (Home country) with her parents and hopefully with William too. Her room was empty and everything was now packed away and on the ship somewhere.

William eventually returned home, darting straight to his bedroom to clean up, only to be met with (Name) waiting for him. She saw the blood staining his cheek and the tired look in his eyes which once shone so brightly, now making him resemble a corpse rather than the man she had finally come to terms with being the one she loved with all her heart. 

"The moon is beautiful tonight, isn't it?" 

He didn't respond. 

"William?" She called out to him again, approaching him, but strangely enough it seemed there was a boarder preventing her from coming too close. "We need to talk about this whole situation...I.." she bit her lip, voice cracking as she tried to find her words. She felt nervous, reminded about how he reacted after finding out about the affair. 

"What?" William muttered softly, albeit exhausted. 

(Name) almost seemed startled at how different this current William was to how her usual William was. "I'm somewhat offended you didn't tell me about this plan of yours earlier." She said, although that wasn't really what she intended to do. It was in typical (Name) fashion, in a sense. 

William spoke again, his voice aching as he wiped some blood off his face with his palm "You had known this since the beginning, it was in the contract after all..besides, we spoke about this earlier, a few days ago when I asked you to write that letter to the press." 

"You're right..my mistake." The noblewoman whispered "The plan was that I either marry again for an heir or have a child and remain a widow." (Name) recalled, stood before William, her hands interlinked as she fidgeted with the fabric of her gloves "But..it's not what I want anymore." 

She couldn't help but become incredibly aware of how selfish she continued to sound, with every sentence, every word, every syllable. 

"Not what you want?" William repeated curiously. Although he could barely bring himself to speak, he still attempted to keep this conversation afloat, in hopes of completing one of the last phases of this plan, his final problem. 

(Name) took a deep breath "You're not dying. I prohibit it," she said harshly, her voice slowly raising, something William noticed happened every time she was frustrated. Once again, she felt selfish, but selfishness may have been the only way to counteract the selfless sacrifice of William dying. "You're not allowed to die like this when there is clearly another way!" 

"Another way?" The blond mocked "(name), there is no 'other way'! I have the blood of hundreds on my hands, and the only way to compensate for all the lives I have ruined and all the pain I have caused is by dying!" 

(Eye colour) eyes widened momentarily. (Name) took her husband's hands in hers "And you won't let me help you clean these hands?" She asked, kneeling before him as he sat on the bed. "William, please just listen to me for once!" She pleaded, begging him on her knees, an image that (Name) from a year ago would have deemed impossible.  "My parents have already heard of what we have done, I spoke to them a few nights ago, and they helped me formulate a plan in which nobody else has to die for the sake of this stupid class system!" 

"We..We can run away! We'll go to (home country) with mother and father and...and we can take Albert and Louis and Josephine and everyone else!" (Name) continued, her grasp on his hands tightening "I don't care about the tension between (home country) and this pathetic empire anymore! If any conflict breaks out, I can deal with it! I'll do anything, I just want you by my side. We won't have to worry about anything anymore, William!" 

Williams lips parted, then shut, then parted again, as if he was choosing his words cautiously before finally muttering no more than her name, in a whisper so silent that it would be overpowered by the sound of a mere draft, leaking through the window. 

"(Name)" 

She looked up at him, her eyes glassy with tears that were threatening to spill, another word and the dam would break. 

"William, please," (Name) whispered, her voice cracking, squeezing his soft hands gently "I couldn't bare it if you were to die...didn't you consider that? There's so so much to live for, even if the nobility has made you feel otherwise..." 

"(Name), please don't do this," He whispered, blinking slowly and opening his eyes once more, the ends of his eyelashes sticking together with shiny tears. 

Even being sat there now felt more torturous than any form of pain he had ever felt. William had been hurt so much to the point physical pain had no effect on him anymore. He had been smacked in cruel orphanages, kicked by passers by, cut as a result of both his pride and his namesake's sadistic nature, whipped by his own adoptive mother, and yet he was being caressed so gently, but felt this pain was much more unbearable than anything he'd ever experienced in his twenty four years of pitiful existence. 

Seeing (Name), his beloved wife, sat in front of him, begging him to continue to live, something most men around him could do without a second thought (which he felt envious of, and then guilt for his envy), was devastating.

He had considered her proposal, imagining a life where he and (name) could exist peacefully. They could read at one of the many libraries in the (Last Name) Manor, whilst (name) would teach him (mother tongue), and be by her side on her travels to various countries. He'd play chess with (name)  until she finally won against him. He's finally be able to sleep peacefully in her arms without fear for his comrades and nightmares riddled with guilt. He'd live a life without needing to stain his hands with a single drop of blood again...

And yet he couldn't.

The more William imagined a future with her, the more it hurt knowing this was simply impossible for him to have. He wasn't allowed to be happy. He wasn't allowed to move on. He had killed too many, there was no turning back, no matter how badly he wanted to do so. It was cowardly, William knew that, but so was running away and leaving England in shambles because of his own selfish plans. 

"Don't you understand, William? I'll do anything.." (Name) looked into his eyes once more "I.." she took a deep breath, voice shaky 

"I love you."

[jeonjaemark]

let it snow || wen junhui

content warning: nothing (really), reader has mild asthma, might have a few errors || masterlist

i carefully roll my big ball of snow towards the small row of ducks i had made earlier. i squat down using both hands to lift the heavy snowball onto another snowball. i grunt smashing it in place into the other bigger snowball.

for the better half of the day jun and i have been outside trying to build our own snowman family. i lost track after five of how many members i was making. it didn’t occur to me to look at jun’s side i was so focused with rolling out the snowball to make the snowmen.

after placing rocks into the eye socket of the snowman, i turn around finding jun groaning and grunt as he tries to carry the snowball he made. he steps away revealing his snow family only for it to be a bunch of cats. there were all sat up with pointed ears. i giggle to myself looking at each snow cat with rocks as their eyes.

“jun, what are you doing?” i arched an eyebrow.

“building a snowman. duh!” he sweeps his hands over the snow cats he has made.

i laugh skimming each one, “you were supposed to make an actual snowman and their family not a snow cat family.”

“we all have creative minds and differences. i didn’t want to do just a normal snowman family and i love cats so much.” he spat standing firm on his creative direction.

i shake my head pressing my fingers to my temples. leave it to jun to think outside of the box and follow what his heart desires. jun continues to gather more snow to shape and build the rest of his cat family. i walk back to my side to build more.

i finish up patting extra snow into the snow daughter when an idea comes into mind. i roll a few snowballs into my hands when i look back at jun. he was busy in his own world building his large cat family.

i toss the firm snowball between my hands when idea pops into my brain. my arms reels back and i hurl a snowball in jun’s direction: he walks away before the snowball could hit him and instead takes a corner of the ear of a smaller snow cat. i gasped, my hands flying to my mouth out of shock and guilt.

“y/n!” he shouts.

“i am so sorry. i didn’t mean to hit your cat family member. i was trying to aim for you.” i giggled.

“i am a part of that cat family.” he hissed tossing snow in my direction.

i shout jun’s name trying to take cover from his attacks and reach down to grab my own ammo against him. jun chases after me through the cold thin air tossing snow at me. my arms and legs start to feel heavy as i trudge through the snow. my chest tightens a little making my skin feel warm. after a quick few minutes i fall into the snow feeling the air from my lungs shorten.

“okay! okay! okay! truce?” i mumbled between each harsh inhale.

jun notices my struggle to breathe. he drops whatever snow he had left in his hands and drops to his knees next to me. his face etched with worry and concern.

“truce.” he mumbles helping me to sit up. “are you feeling okay? do you want go back inside?”

“i am okay. the running just tired me out. i just need to catch my breath for a minute.”

“do you need your inhaler? the air is a bit thinner than it was yesterday. i can run inside the house to get it and —“

“i just need you. i can breathe fine on my own.” i reassure him.

he nods and starts to talk me through different breathing exercises. he breathes in and out slowly with me before moving on to the next exercise. halfway through the exercise i meet his eyes a smile shyly as he breathes along with me.

once i was able to breathe at a normal rate and my body didn’t feel like it was going to lose oxygen, he helps me to stand on my own. we walk back to our little snow family. jun starts up building the rest of his cat family. i quietly count ten cat members and raise an eyebrow over how many he is gonna build until it hits me. i walk over to him helping him the build the rest of his cat family. i try to shape the pointy ears on one of his cats as he smiles silently thanking me.

[httpvomitello]

Hey, honey! I saw that you accept requests inspired by songs, so can I get an intense romance with Daemon x poc fem reader (who is as notorious, bold and rogue as he is). inspired by "Menina veneno" by Ritchie, please?

Hello, hello! I can also write without meaning to be inspired by some song, feel free to come back more often! Hope you like it ~ ♡

Venomous Love *⁠.⁠✧

daemon targaryen x f!reader

Daemon Targaryen had never been afraid of fire.

It coursed through his veins, the blood of Old Valyria, and he carried it in every reckless step, every bold word, every dangerous decision. But he hadn’t known true danger—not until the day he met you.

You weren’t from Westeros. The moment you’d stepped into the halls of the Red Keep, draped in silk the color of midnight, your skin gleaming like polished bronze, and your eyes sharp as a Valyrian dagger, Daemon had known you were trouble.

Trouble came naturally to him. He thrived in chaos, but you? You were chaos incarnate.

The first time he saw you, it was at a feast in King’s Landing. You had been seated at the far end of the table, your laughter echoing above the dull murmur of courtiers and lords. You had arrived as the representative of a distant kingdom, sent to negotiate trade routes or something equally dull.

Daemon hadn’t cared about the details. What mattered was the way you moved, the way your voice cut through the air like a blade, effortlessly commanding attention.

When your eyes met his across the room, there was no mistaking the spark that passed between you. You tilted your head, a small, knowing smile tugging at your lips, as if you were daring him to approach.

Daemon Targaryen was not a man to back down from a challenge.

He found you on the balcony later that night, gazing out over the city with a goblet of wine in hand. The soft light of the moon bathed you in silver, making you look almost otherworldly.

“You don’t strike me as someone who enjoys courtly nonsense,” he said, leaning casually against the stone railing beside you.

“It seems your words are right, my prince,” you replied, your tone playful but laced with a hint of sarcasm.

He smirked. “I take it you’ve heard of me, then.”

You took a sip of your wine, your gaze never leaving his. “Prince Daemon Targaryen. The Rogue Prince. The man who courts scandal as if it’s a lover. Yes, I’ve heard of you.”

“And yet, here you are,” he said, stepping closer. “Talking to me alone in the dark. Does that make you foolish or brave?”

You smiled, a slow, wicked thing that sent a thrill through him. “Neither,” you said. “It makes me your match.”

From that night on, the two of you were inseparable, drawn to each other like moths to a flame. You matched him step for step, word for word, your boldness rivaling his own. Together, you were unstoppable—a storm that swept through the court, leaving chaos and whispered scandals in your wake.

The first time Daemon kissed you, it was in the shadow of the Dragonpit. You had just returned from a ride on your horse —a gift from your homeland—and your hair was wild from the wind, your cheeks flushed with exhilaration.

“You ride like a madwoman,” he’d said, his voice full of admiration.

“And you love it,” you’d shot back, grinning.

He hadn’t been able to resist you. His lips crashed against yours, fierce and demanding, and you’d responded with equal fervor. Your hands tangled in his hair as you pressed yourself against him, your bodies alight with the fire that always burned between you.

The court was scandalized by your relationship. They called you his poison, his downfall.

“She’ll destroy you,” Viserys warned him one night, his tone weary. “She’s reckless, unpredictable. She’ll bring ruin to our house.”

Daemon had laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. “And what do you think I am, brother? A saint? We’re already ruined.”

But even as the whispers grew louder, you and Daemon only grew bolder. You flaunted your love openly, daring anyone to challenge you. Together, you were a force of nature—wild, untamed, and utterly intoxicating.

There was a night, late in the summer, when you and Daemon found yourselves alone in the gardens of the Red Keep. The air was warm, heavy with the scent of blooming flowers, and the stars glittered like shards of glass in the dark sky.

You sat on a stone bench, your legs draped lazily over his lap, as you sipped from a shared bottle of wine.

“Do you ever wonder,” you said, your voice soft, “if we’re too much for this world?”

Daemon tilted his head, studying you with those piercing violet eyes. “Too much?” he repeated. “Never. The world just isn’t enough for us.”

You laughed, a rich, melodic sound that made his chest tighten. “You always know how to flatter me, don’t you?”

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “It’s not flattery if it’s true.”

You turned to face him, your expression suddenly serious. “Promise me something, Daemon,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Anything,” he said, and he meant it.

“No matter what happens, no matter what they say or do, promise me you’ll never let them break us.”

His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. “I swear it,” he said. “On my blood, my fire, my very soul—I’ll never let you go.”

You were his venom, and he was your fire.

[evilasiangenius]

Crowley sat on the warm tiled floor on his towel away from the tub, staring at discarded wooden sandals that sat by the closed door. There weren’t benches in this room; someone must have stolen the beautifully carved wood in here, ripped it out of the wall, which gave them more space to put the tub in, but that meant there was nowhere to sit but the floor.

The dark room was lit by a single lamp that they were carrying from room to room, whose flame did not waver in the dark stillness, and the domed room echoed with the sound of water in motion as Aziraphale stepped into the tub.

“Ahhh,” Aziraphale sighed as he sank into the water. “This is so lovely, I haven’t done this in…”

“Forever?” Crowley couldn’t help but speak. He knew exactly when they had gone to the baths together last, he remembered everything that Aziraphale didn’t, and it made him hunch up against himself, tears welling in his eyes.

“Forever,” Aziraphale agreed. “And speaking of forever, I wish this moment would never end.”

“Yeah,” Crowley said, his voice choking on the word.

“My dear. Did you want to come sit by the tub? I can pour some water on you, if you like. Or you can just lean against the tub, the heat feels nice and I think you’d like it.”

Crowley didn’t move for a long time, and then he moved over to the tub, resting his cheek against the smooth wood, surprised to find it silky smooth. This must have been the patch that he had accidentally sanded with the horsetail ferns, the bit that he didn’t have to do but he did anyway, because he was turned around.

“Do you want some water?”

“No,” Crowley said reflexively, but then nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

And cupping both hands, Aziraphale gently poured water over the demon. Tense and trembling with anticipation – and was it fear or something else, the demon did not know – Crowley gasped, flinching at the first touch of water.

It was hot, hotter than his skin, and it didn’t feel like any touch that he had known. It seemed so alien, so strange how unusually gentle it was, as if the water had a kindness for him that it had never had before.

And he hated that the memory of touch, of tenderness, years and years of it, centuries in fact, eons, seemed to be erased in so short of a time by callous cruelty that made him flinch from Aziraphale’s hand even as he wanted so desperately to join Aziraphale in that tub and take the angel into his arms.

As Aziraphale leaned over to pour dripping handfuls of heated water over the naked demon, from head to toe, Crowley felt as if some of the pain, some of the memories of vicious torture and worse were being tenderly washed away though he would never be able to fully walk away from it, even if he wanted to leave the past behind.

But as he sat there, as water slid warm over his skin from gentle cupped hands, he thought that perhaps it was more that the heat from the water that poured from Aziraphale’s hands was seeping into the brittle faults and fractures that ran through his heart.

And then he realized that the precious rainwater that they waited days for now pooled upon the baked earth tile of the tepidarium floor, leaving Aziraphale with less.

“Stop. That’s enough, Aziraphale. I don’t want you to end up with no water at all.”

“My dear, I am still deeply immersed, up to my neck and more if I wanted, even accounting for displacement. There is plenty for you, plenty for both of us..."

more

[enmstorytime]

The Vulnerable Writer: Chapter 6

To my knowledge, I am the only professor in the history of humankind to have willingly subjected himself to being stripped naked and forced to come at the hands of his students. As I sat naked in my office, my students having claimed today's clothing, and my heart pounding as I snuck peeks out of my office window to observe the parking lot slowly empty, I had a lot of time to think.

Most of my thoughts were geared toward thinking about how I would ever live this down. How could I go back to my students tomorrow, strip completely naked and teach them with any hope that they would respect me after they had shredded my clothing today and jerked me off (and if I'm being honest, they hadn't really jerked me off, I got so caught up in the sensation of them looking at me that I didn't even last a full minute from my cock flopping out of my underwear to my seed spilling across the classroom floor). If I kept going back to class and stripping completely naked, how long would it be before a student snuck a picture and posted me online, or before a more pious student decided to report me to my department head, or before I was caught in any of the other million ways that I could be caught.

But if I went back on my word? I knew I was more likely to be reported if I broke my promise than I would be if I kept showing up to class, stripping down to my birthday suit, and trying to carry on like my cock wasn't flopping around in front of my students and my ass wasn't jiggling unsupported with every nervous step I took.

And what if seeing my entire naked body stopped being motivational for my students? What more would they or could they ask from me?

And if this is successful? A quiet voice whispered in the back of my head.

Our faculty has spent the nearly five years since the COVID pandemic trying to find a way to motivate students to care about their studies. Every academic journal I read had a new study about creative techniques on how to motivate burned out students. To my amazement, once my class had calmed down after my little show, that very first day I spent fully naked in front of them, they all sat up in their seats and paid attention to me for the remainder of class. Sure, most of them weren't looking me in the eye, but instead they were watching my cock swing back and forth, but they had participated like no class I've taught even before the lockdowns. They asked questions, they volunteered to read aloud sections from the essays I'd assigned them. Whenever I asked questions, at least five students raised their hands to answer. I'd never taught a better class in my entire career.

Despite the fact that my face was certainly bright red for the entirety of our class period, or maybe because I was so embarrassed and so vulnerable with my students, we had entered into some kind of reciprocal relationship, where my students were graciously giving me support. The small quiet voice in my brain wanted to do more studies, to write an article about my experience, to see if other professors would be willing to do similar experiments with their students.

Of course, that was out of the question. My administration did not know that I had decided to use these methods. They could not know. Without having those conversations with my administrators, I would never be able to to move forward with any actual research. And I wasn't sure I really wanted to, since it would mean even more time naked in front of students, course after course to collect data.

I cracked the window blinds again, leaning back in my chair so my abs stretched and my armpit hair would have been on full display if anyone walked into the door at that moment. I watched my department head cross the parking lot, climb into his Lexus and drive away. I couldn't deny the thrill of pleasure I felt sitting in my work office, stark naked, watching my boss leave work.

For the next couple of months. I'd walk to my class in my new teaching suit. Wait for class to start, and begin the class by removing all of my clothing, folding it, and draping it over the side of the chair. Then, I would teach my lessons. Class after class, week after week, month after month, I would teach the best lessons of my life, with the most engaged students I could imagine. Whenever anyone started to act up, Cody or Seth would tell them to be quiet, and just like that, classroom tension would be resolved. And I'd walk back and forth across the classroom, my bare feet slapping on the floor, my cock at eye level with all my students.

It was near the end of the semester when my students let me know what they had done. They had all submitted their first vulnerable essays, the ones that had gotten me naked and spilling cum in front of them, to the school's literary magazine, and every last one of them had been published. I beamed with pride, and then the panic set in.

The first email came from my department head. I received it thirty minutes after the class period when my students told me they'd all been accepted for publication. He congratulated me on my accomplishments as a professor and let me know that he would be joining my class the following afternoon to learn more about my methods. Four more emails came in throughout the afternoon from other professors in the department, all of them scheduling opportunities to come observe my class.

With each email, my stomach plummeted. I would have five colleagues sitting in my class tomorrow. I imagined trying to start the day without stripping down and imagined the absolute uproar that would ensue from my students.

The next day, as I walked into class, I made eye contact first with Cody, who smirked at me. He was seated in front of my department head. Along the back wall stood four professors, all of them older, all of them men who had been on my tenure board, all of them men I admired.

I had spent the whole night agonizing about whether to inform them of what they could expect and debating whether or not I could ask them to choose not to attend. In the end I had just left their emails on read, and mentally prepared myself for the fact that five more men would be added to the list of people who would see me teach in the buff.

"Class, you'll notice we have some visitors today," I said as class began, taking off my suit jacket and folding it over the back of my chair at the front of the room.

All eyes went back to the department head, and then they settled back on me. They were waiting, curious to see if I was a man of my word.

"Since you've all performed so well in this department, some of my colleagues have asked to see my teaching methods," I continued.

Cody whooped. My department head cocked an eye brow but remained silent.

I unbuttoned the sleeves of my shirts at the wrists and started to roll them up, my forearms exposed. Then I reached up and loosened my tie and unbuttoned my top button.

"I didn't warn them how relaxed we get in this class," I said.

"Damn straight," Seth said, "We get really fucking relaxed in this class."

And too my amazement, Seth stood up, and started to undress. All eyes were on him as his skin came more and more into view, and within fifteen seconds he had stripped completely naked, his toes wiggling on the floor, his penis swaying. He winked at the head of the department and sat back down.

"Really relaxed," Cody said.

He also stood up and undressed completely. His cock inches away from my department head's face, and I watched my department head's eyes tracking the arc of Cody's dick.

Within a minute, every student had stood up and stripped completely naked. I'd never seen so much male flesh in one room.

"In this class, clothes don't get in the way of our learning," Seth said.

"That's right," I said, feeling grateful to my students. "None of us do."

My department head sat behind Cody watching me as I stripped off my own clothing. Within seconds I stood completely naked in front of my boss, in front of my colleagues, in front of all my naked students. I met my department head's eye.

He sat, one of the only clothed men in the room, and I could see that he was enjoying it. At the thought of my boss being pleased to see me in all my naked glory, I stiffened, my penis pointing directly at the department head.

"Let's get this class started," I said, turning to the chalk board and giving my department head the view of every last inch of my skin.

[against-forms-recognizable]

You should read Peter Grey's Rewilding Witchcraft, I think. He's addressing this exact sort of neoliberal recuperative paradigm within witchcraft. To quote:

"How tame we have become. How polite about our witchcraft. In our desire to harm none we have become harmless. We have bargained to get a seat at the table of the great faiths to whom we remain anathema. How much compromise have we made in our private practice for the "mighty" freedom of being able to wear pewter pentagrams in public, at school, in our places of employment? How much have the elders sold us out, genuflecting to the academy, the establishment, the tabloid press? In return for this bargain we have gained precisely nothing. The supposed freedoms we have been granted are empty. Late capitalist culture simply does not care what our fantasy dress-up life is like as long as we work our zero hour contracts, carry our mobile phones and keep consuming. The reason that social services are not taking your children away is that nobody believes in the existence of the witch. We have mistaken social and economic change for the result of our own advocacy. Marching in lock-step with what used to be called mainstream, but is now mono-culture, we have disenchanted ourselves, handed over our teeth and claws and bristling luxuriant furs. I will not be part of this process, because to do so is to be complicit with the very forces that are destroying all life on earth. It is time for Witchcraft not to choose, but to remember which side it is on in this struggle. [...] So what does our world look like? Let me describe to you our power animals. Wolf carcasses bored through with rifle point. Wet piles of golden eagles and buzzards fed poisoned meat. Sharks long-lined and finned by fishing fleets that have butchered through the tuna shoals we have fed to our plague of familiar cats. Barn owls bleeding from their eyes and haemorrhaging their guts down ghost white plumage due to the warfarin in rat poison. Toads and amphibian life mutating into monstrous pained death, whose gelatinous bones do not float back up the river. [...]

Witchcraft is embedded in the landscape, and our witchcraft must recognise that even the landscape of dream emanates from the physical world, and the body of the witch. So when we call our quarters these are what we must include if we wish to honour them: Seawater so acidic that the shells of molluscs are dissolving. Oceans overfished to the extent that they resemble deserts, seabeds ploughed to destruction, microparticles of indigestible plastic poisioning bird life and turtles, reefs bleached, plankton populations which are the building blocks of all ocean life disappearing. Ocean acidification is predicted to double by 2050.Ocean acidification triples by 2100. The death of the seas is inevitable. Of freshwater I will say that the draining of aquifers is ongoing, that fracking threatens the water table and that wars over water are going to rage in the following years. Water, I bid you hail and welcome. The Earth itself is exhausted, soil degradation endemic, washed with its nitrogen fertilisers into our already poisoned seas. Earth is fragile, it takes a hundred years to produce a centimetre of topsoil. Farmland is a limited resource and eroding fast. Industrial pollution has destroyed 20% of the farmland in China, I am not sure that you, or I, can grasp quite how much land that is. Globally, 38% of farmland is now classified as degraded. Human population continues to grow, as our ability to feed it, our infrastructures buckle. Insect populations will soon not be able to pollinate the crops. It is not just the bees; with climate change animals and insects are being born out of sync with their food sources. As I have said before, the wheel of the year has been broken. 

Earth, I bid you hail and welcome.

The air and fire are perhaps what should give us most concern. We thought we had more time, that manmade climate change would be tackled. It has not, and it will not be, as government and corporate interests are one and the same, namely infinite growth. This is where you should feel the knot of fear in your stomach. The CO2 emissions that are wreaking havoc now are the result of what we burned forty years ago. Since then we have engaged in an orgy of denial and consumption. There is no techno-fix in the Anthropocene, the age of manmade climate change. Nothing has been done.

What mainstream scientists are not telling you is that the impact we are having is creating self-reinforcing feedback loops. Essentially, they focus on a single domino when we have an entire array triggered and falling. Air and Fire, I bid you hail and welcome."

I feel like a lot of introdutory books on witchcraft skip those steps to make spells and also the exercises that you should train to help you get in certain head spaces, like meditation, visualization, breathing techniques. I ended up looking at some chaos magic introdutory guides to learn some of those exercises, because the witchcraft ones don't really focus on providing a guide for the beginner.

or if they don't skip they just mention very briefly like oh you should consecrate or charge this, but never really explaining what it is

Its interesting because I got a book that was described as intermediate wicca and in that book they actually explain a lot more in depth all those concepts like dedicating, charging, blessing etc which is weird that is only on the intermediate one because to me it feels like the in depth explanations should be already on the introdutory ones. So even if i'm not necessarily going to the wicca path, the book ended up helping me a lot.

We are definitely in the midst of a Witchcraft craze and many, many "beginner" books on witchcraft are written for the spiritual seeker crowd who are looking for a self-supervised system of nature-based faith and empowerment.

There has been a shift in witchcraft publishing which moves away from whatever the hell was going in in the 70s, beginner witchcraft books telling you how to summon demons and shit. "Welcome to baby's first book on witchcraft! Here's how to summon Vassago, don't fuck it up!"

Many witchcraft publishers now seem to regard actual magic as a bit déclassé, which is why in my opinion the loveliest of witchcraft books now come from indie and self publishers.

And I think all of this is fine.

Witchcraft hasn't gotten smaller. It's gotten bigger. The boundaries have been expanded beyond the mist-shrouded peaks and the blood-soaked thickets, hiding spirits with heads that don't match their bodies.

It's been expanding beyond the rolling hills and the herbs hidden near muddy creeks, guarded by badgers and snakes who might just tell you what to do with the monsters in the mountain above.

It's arrived at the grand sun-drenched meadow, just off the highway; it's arrived at a place with picnic benches and carefully marked trails, where seeing a mule deer far off in the distance will fill people with delight.

The hills have never been tamed. They can't be. It's not how it works.

The boundary just gets bigger. Maybe someday it'll cross the highway. Someday it will retreat again, hidden from the main road.

I think we should enjoy the gentle lands of our domain while they're here.

Don't you think it's so amazing? Don't you think it's a relief and wonderful and warm that so many people now look at witchcraft and think it's lovely and enjoyable and meant for everyone?

I expect in my lifetime, the boundary will retreat far up into the mists. And the benefits we enjoy now by being associated with such pretty meadows will be erased.

But meanwhile, we should also perhaps not have too high expectations for any mass-produced popular witchcraft 101 books. They are typically not meant for people trying to hike in the foothills.