#fic: reckless pursuits

[versedicis]

reckless pursuits.

charles/max | ~150k, hunger games au | rated t tags: hurt/comfort, heavy angst, canon-typical violence, major character injury, getting together (sort of), found family (maybe), other additional tags to be added

It began with a crispness in the old autumn air, the browning of the trees nearly finished. The wind whistled through the Seam, the leaves blowing up cobblestone streets as if they were the tumbleweeds Charles had only ever seen described in illustrations of a faraway District Ten. The pads of his thumbs rubbed at the soft petals in his hands, ruby-red as they bloomed against his skin. They were the only luxury he could afford to give his father’s grave, their stomachs too empty and their clothes too threadbare to consider anything else to adorn the rickety carved wood.  Then, boom. The silence was deafening, as were the screams that came after, wretched voices echoing out around the districts as wives were told that their husbands were dead. Accidents in the mines weren’t uncommon; for one to happen so close to the winter, however, was a death sentence. If there was one thing that he knew from the year prior, it was that. When the widows poured into the streets, all there was to hear was the wails of women waiting for the freeze, their infants carefully swaddled to their chests unlikely to survive the cold, and the crunch, crunch, crunch of their feet as they swarmed the mining company’s headquarters for their husbands’ final cheques. The sounds of a mining accident in the district weren't unusual. Usually, his father would come home early, before his father’s life was claimed by the ashen earth too. When it was time for his brother to join the ranks of the District’s miners, too, he would come home weary and rough, coal-dust pressed deeply into the lines of his already-aged face despite the short year he’d been working. The sight of a man outside his family’s home, face stony and emotionless as he spoke to their mother, however, was. All Charles could see was the little drops of blood spattered on the wooden steps leading to pooled fabric, his mother’s skirt folding in on itself as she collapsed to the floor in grief; behind her, the terrified face of his little brother peeked out from where it was hidden behind the door frame. In the distance, the browning of the leaves around the faded balcony of his house seemed to quicken.  Blood, again, and again. The man’s hands were covered in it. Charles knew, then, that somebody’s life had been swallowed by the earth again. As he brought his hands up to his face in order to choke back his own scream, all he could smell was the clove-like scent of carnations; and with it, the blurry sight of his own fingers stained with the residue of their red, red petals.

like in the coliseum of the old days, pt. 1 | read on ao3 for the lovely @vi0letchemistry <3

[obsessedwhyyes]

The Learned Observer

Fic Request: Voyeurism

Summary: On a sleepless night, Gale notices the distinct sound of hushed voices outside his tent. It couldn't be you and Astarion… could it? When he decides to take a peek - to satisfy his scholarly curiosity, of course - he gets more than he bargained for.

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2623 Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Reader, implied Astarion x Gale x Fem!Reader Content: Gale's POV (first person), voyeurism, dry humping, handjob, public sex, male masturbation, a little bit of jealousy.

A/N: Gale, in my humble opinion, would not use the word, “cock.” I cannot express how hard it was to not use the word, "cock" in a smut fic. I frigging love that word. Anyways, writing entirely in Gale’s voice was honestly the most fun mini challenge I’ve set myself so far, and I would gladly do first person BG3 companion POVs again. Thank you, dear anon, for the request!

Another sleepless night.

The orb pulses beneath my skin, each throb a reminder of my predicament.

I implore my mind to wander to the events of our journey, to the challenges that lie ahead, in pursuit of a worthwhile distraction. But the orb’s hunger grows stronger, like a raging maelstrom, each tribute to its insistent pull a mere ripple against the tide of its endless consumption. Perhaps I should consult the others about–

… Voices drift from outside my tent before I can finish my thoughts. Curious.

Hushed laughter and whispered words. Astarion's distinctive timbre and… you.

The sound is soft, subtle - a quiet exchange. Yet, here I am, catching fragments of something private, something perhaps not intended for outside ears.

I shift, the faintest spark of curiosity pulling me from my solitude. It's innocent, surely - a late-night conversation, perhaps a shared joke. And yet, as the moments pass, I can't ignore the intimacy in your laughter, the way Astarion's voice drops to that silken murmur he reserves for his attempts at enticement.

Just a glance, I tell myself. Merely to understand what could be so amusing at this hour.

Slowly, carefully, I draw back a sliver of canvas, just enough to peek through.

My breath catches as my eyes adjust to the firelight outside. There, on the other side of the campfire, resting against a fallen log, you sit beside him, close - very close - your faces inches apart.

Your legs are entwined, and there’s an intensity in the way you look at each other. I’m taken aback by the hunger in the kiss that follows - one neither timid nor restrained. Your hands begin to explore each other with what I can only call fervour - the kind of urgency I hadn't known either of you possessed, let alone with each other. 

The way you move together speaks of raw desire rather than tender affection - this is clearly a new physical relationship.

When did this start? How did I miss the signs? Though perhaps I was too caught up in my own concerns to notice the lingering glances, the way you always seemed to find reasons to be near each other…

I tell myself it’s simple curiosity that keeps me here, observing. A certain academic interest, if you will. After all, Astarion has always been something of a hedonist - a man who indulges in his desires with a recklessness I sometimes envy, though rarely approve. But to see him like this - in action, as it were - offers a unique perspective on his character.

You murmur something I cannot make out, a teasing lilt in your voice, and Astarion laughs in that rakish, honeyed tone of his, as though thrilled to have you so wholly entranced. His hands grip your waist, and with a practised grace, he pulls you into his lap, the hem of your skirt spilling around you both. As his hands settle on your hips, you grind against what I can only assume to be a prominent hardness in his trousers, judging by the satisfied smirk on his face. 

You seem eager, pliant under his touch, responding in ways I confess I hadn’t thought you capable of - no, not like this. Not with him.

My heart hammers in my chest, a tension spreading through me that’s… increasingly difficult to ignore. And yet, I remind myself, this is mere observation, nothing more. A clinical exercise in understanding the intricacies of interpersonal attractions between a vampire and a mortal; the undercurrent of danger that befalls such an arrangement.

He holds you with a blend of confidence and entitlement that borders on decadent, his mouth at your neck, lips brushing against your skin with a maddening leisure that’s somehow indulgent and teasing all at once. His fangs linger there and, for a moment, my heart stops - surely he wouldn’t… Ah, no. No, he’s not feeding. He merely kisses your neck, fangs scraping lightly against your throat - close enough to tempt and tantalise. I see the goosebumps flare on your skin.

He whispers something low and unintelligible, and you let out a soft giggle, yielding in a way that speaks of trust - trust that’s he’s earned, somehow, despite his nature.

And then your hand drifts between you both, touching him through his trousers.

Gosh. I hadn’t thought you so bold.

Astarion’s body arches into your touch, his gaze darkening as he watches you with a hunger that’s both terrifying and… strangely beautiful. I find myself entranced, my breath shallow as I observe the way your fingers trace over him, the way he leans into you. The noise he makes when your fingers flex, squeezing him gently over the fabric… Gracious. 

There’s a strange, reluctant curiosity building within me. I should look away. I should grant you both the privacy you likely assume you have. And yet, my gaze remains fixed, drawn to the details of your encounter: the way his hands tighten on your waist, the way your breaths synchronise, the way he murmurs softly into your ear…

I am aware - painfully so - of the ache low in my body that has built with each passing moment, each glance, each touch. I am no stranger to restraint - I have spent years tempering my desires, sacrificing comforts in the pursuit of knowledge, of power. Yet, here, now, I feel that restraint begin to falter; to dissolve like ink in water, dispersing until it is all but unrecognisable. It has been so long, after all. So, so long.

When your hands move to the waistband of his trousers, my breath catches. Gods above, surely you won't, not out in the open... but yes. Yes, it seems you will.

When you pull him free, well - I’ve always wondered about vampire physiology, purely academically, of course. But the sight of him prompts rather less scholarly thoughts. He’s impressively endowed - perhaps it is wishful thinking to believe that this is but another gift of his condition. It’s fascinating how vampiric transformation affects every part of the body - he’s almost luminescent in the firelight, every inch of him perfect and unmarred. I notice the veins that trace along his length, faintly visible beneath his skin. He is, even now, a study in confidence, exuding a subtle power that one can only achieve when utterly comfortable in one’s own skin.

Your hand wraps around him, sliding up and down his length at a teasing pace, drawing forth a sound I have never heard our pale companion make - a soft, broken gasp, caught somewhere between a moan and a sigh. It sounds almost reluctant, as though he hadn’t meant for such a sound to slip past his lips. He twitches under your ministrations, and his grip on your hips tightens enough that there will surely be bruises tomorrow.

My fingers rest at my thigh, trembling ever so slightly. A small part of me - a remnant of reason, perhaps - tells me to pull back, to look away, to let this moment pass without surrendering to the need that has taken root within me. But my body, the traitorous thing it is, does not heed such commands. Instead, I find my hand drifting lower.

My fingers trace over the fabric of my trousers, over the aching hardness beneath. A gentle palming, barely enough to ease the tension that coils tighter with each passing moment as I watch the scene unfold.

Your hands elicit quiet murmurs from Astarion that grow deeper and more insistent with each passing moment. For a moment, the two of you share a look - one of conspiratorial mischief, perhaps - and then a soft, shared giggle, the sound mingling with the crackling of the fire. 

You're so utterly engrossed in him; so utterly unselfconscious.

You shift, a question in your eyes, and as he nods, giving his assent, you rise just enough to shift, positioning yourself over him. Your skirts drape around you both, providing a veneer of modesty, though there's no mistaking what follows when you sink yourself down on to him. The way your lips part in a gasp as he enters you, the way his head falls back with a victorious grin - it makes the tightness, the great ache between my legs, almost unbearable.

I find my hand slipping beneath my waistband.

Just a little relief, I tell myself. Just enough to ease this maddening tension.

There is a certain poetry to it, I suppose - this surrender to the pleasures of the flesh. I allow myself to imagine, as my hand finds the throbbing heat of my arousal, what it might feel to be in your place, to have someone look at me with that same confidence, to experience touch imbued with the certainty of one who knows precisely how to elicit pleasure - a knowledge gleaned from centuries, no doubt, of indulgence and conquest.

It’s enough to leave me aching for more than mere observation.

The fervour with which you move against him… it’s hypnotic, each roll of your hips drawing forth increasingly wanton sounds from you both. Astarion's carefully crafted demeanour gives way to something more roguish, a playful daring that glints in his eyes as you rise and fall and rise and fall on his length.

I find my hand instinctively matching your rhythm, every shift and motion, as though I, too, am bound to the undulating tempo that you and Astarion have created.

Gods… what must it be like to be him? To have someone so openly, eagerly drawn to you, meeting every touch with matching fervour? To hold someone close and feel their raw desire, the thrill of each laugh, each gasp, offered without hesitation? I wonder what it must be like to inspire such a response, to be desired so freely, without need for pretence or restraint?

With Mystra, I was ever the pursuer, striving tirelessly to earn even the barest hint of her approval, each moment together feeling like an examination I desperately hoped to pass. But Astarion… well. He needn't chase or convince. Despite his vampiric nature - or perhaps, in part, because of it - he is simply desired, freely given all that I once had to beg for. The inequity of it all would be rather poetic, if it weren't so personally vexing.

“A-ah!”

Your gasp cuts through my ruminations, pulling me back into the scene.

Astarion’s hand has slipped between you, guiding you to that final crescendo with a practised touch. The sight of it is utterly spellbinding: his fingers moving with a precision that speaks to centuries of experience, knowing just where to press, where to linger. The control he exercises over you is enviable, each movement of his hand coaxing you closer to that peak, his attention wholly focused on your reaction, even as your hips rock back and forth on his length with an increasingly frantic, unrestrained urgency.

The way your eyes roll back... Gosh.

The expression on your face, one of pure, unfiltered abandon, is a sight to behold.

Your body trembles as you reach your peak, and a sound - a cry, too loud in the stillness of the night - escapes your lips. Astarion’s palm clamps over your mouth, a futile attempt to muffle you in the throes of your climax. Though he hushes you, his expression suggests that he is not in the least bit concerned. In fact, he seems rather pleased - more than pleased, really. 

There’s a thrill in such a public display for him too, no doubt.

I swallow, the sound almost too loud, my heart pounding against my ribs as though it seeks to betray me. Astarion's head tilts slightly, his gaze flickering to the shadows, and for one heart-stopping moment, I think he has sensed me, that his attention has shifted from you to this invisible interloper, the scholar caught red-handed in his quiet act of voyeurism.

Could he... sense me here, lingering on the fringe of his private moment? Could he smell the stir of my own arousal, feel the faint tremor of my breath as I fight for composure? For several heartbeats, my hand freezes. I dare not even breathe.

But then his attentions return to you, and I breathe a sigh of relief. 

He brings his hands to your hips, holding them firmly in place as he drives himself upwards into you, deeper, with mounting desperation. It seems he seeks to chase his own release, content with the pleasure he has wrought you.

You respond eagerly, pressing closer, your own sounds growing louder, heedless of who might hear, and I can see that thrill in his face - the satisfaction of knowing he’s eliciting every reaction from you, drawing out each gasp, each shudder.

My hand glides hastily across my arousal, my own breathing growing ragged as I watch his control begin to slip. Even from here, I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his head tips back in pure abandon.

In the final throes, he presses himself against you, buried firmly to the hilt. It’s almost animalistic, all thoughts, all calculated movements, making way for one singular goal: to empty himself into you, filling you with all he has to offer with breaths rugged and low. All composure is stripped, replaced with instinct and pure need.

I find my own movements quickening to match his pace, as though some invisible thread binds us all to this moment. My hand tightens as I lose myself in the same tempo, every sound from you both spurring me closer. The sight of his final shudder, the look of utter satisfaction crossing his face as he reaches that height, is enough to tip me over the edge.

For a heartbeat, the night seems to hold us all in perfect suspension - your quiet gasps, his satisfied murmurs, my own silent echo of shared pleasure - all woven together in this clandestine tableau.

Only then, as the euphoria begins to fade, does a most uncomfortable awareness creep in.

Gods above, what have I... A scholar of worldly acclaim, reduced to voyeur, caught up in base desires like some common... No. Best not to dwell on such things. Though I suspect sleep will prove rather elusive tonight, haunted by questions of propriety and... other matters.

With a groan, I roll onto my back, the orb’s steady throb now a minor annoyance compared to the tangled thoughts that flood my mind. Perhaps I can chalk this entire… incident up to fatigue, a wandering mind, even a fevered dream. Yes, that must be it. The product of a restless night and, possibly, a touch of indigestion. After all, who could believe that I, Gale of Waterdeep, would be brought so low as to... well, that.

As morning light spills across camp, I attempt a façade of normalcy, willing my cheeks to cool and my mind to settle. Just as I convince myself the night’s events were nothing more than a peculiar dream, Astarion sidles up, his expression one of leisurely amusement.

"Restless night, Gale?” he murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear. His gaze is as sharp as his tone, a knowing glint in his eyes that makes my stomach twist in the most uncomfortable way. "I thought I heard a... stirring from your tent."

The corner of his mouth quirks up in that infuriatingly smug way of his, and I nearly choke on my response. 

He knew. 

Astarion knew. 

I force a cough, pretending to inspect the morning sky.

"A dream," I reply a bit too quickly. "Perhaps the cheese at dinner was... overly ripe."

But Astarion merely chuckles, a wicked sound, before strolling away with a satisfied air. And as I watch him saunter off, I’m left to question just how much of the night was a dream - and how much, mortifyingly, was very, very real.

Masterlist can be found here!

No Pressure Tags: @roguishcat @davenswitcher @silverfangmarks @sparrowbard @chonkercatto @stokzr @trafalgarussy @asterordinary

[theostrophywife]

little dove.

pairing: tom riddle x reader.

song inspiration: if u think i'm pretty by artemas.

author's note: can't believe this is my first tom fic, but please know that this man awakens the feral, unhinged side of me. let me slytherin to your chamber of secrets and ride that basilisk tommy 😏

This was a stupid, idiotic, and terrible idea. 

Unfortunately for you, those were the conditions in which Harry and Ron worked best under. In your defense, you tried to talk them out of the prank, but the boys were determined to leave their mark. You suppose you could’ve told Hermione, but you didn’t want to interrupt her date with Draco. When it came to talking sense into their thick skulls, you were completely and utterly alone. 

After much argument, you finally accepted that you weren’t going to get anywhere with Harry and Ron. The only thing you could do was supervise their reckless pursuits and minimize the damage as much as possible. So here you were, sneaking into the dungeons under the cover of darkness. 

“This will be the best seventh year prank yet,” Ron whispered as he trailed close behind. “Fred and George are going to be so jealous.” 

“If we don’t die from the cold first,” Harry quipped sarcastically, slightly shivering underneath the invisibility cloak draped over the three of you. “The Slytherins really take the whole cold-blooded thing quite literally, don’t they?” 

You huffed in response, trying your best to muffle your steps. “Can we please focus on not getting caught? We need to be in and out of the dungeons before the prefects start their patrols.” 

The boys nodded as you inched further into the serpent’s nest. Luckily, the corridor that housed Professor Snape’s office was empty. You held your breath as you began to unravel the wards protecting the entrance. You had to give it to him, Snape was incredibly thorough when it came to his security measures. Good thing you were an expert on unlocking charms. 

With a final flick of your wand, the door gave way and creaked open. Ron and Harry wore matching grins as the three of you spilled into the office. Closing the door behind you, Harry’s green eyes crinkled with mischief. 

“Let’s get started.” 

Surprisingly, Harry and Ron’s half-arsed plan was actually coming together. The three of you worked in silence, the boys handing you paints and supplies at the snap of your fingers. After a few more strokes, you flicked your paintbrush over the wall and cocked your head to examine your work. Nearly every single surface of Professor Snape’s office was covered in your illustrations—technically vandalism according to wizarding law. 

The drawings, imbued with the same magic that powered the moving portraits, depicted caricatures of Professor Snape, all of which scurried like rats along the walls, hurtling globs of paint at one another. The head of Slytherin house was going to have a fit when he saw what you’d done to his office. You almost wished you could be there in the morning to witness the look on Snape’s face when he uncovered your masterpiece.

“Bloody brilliant!” Ron exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear as he packed up the paints and brushes. “You’ve really outdone yourself, Y/N.” 

Harry chuckled and nudged your shoulder. “See? You do have a taste for trouble, after all.” 

You rolled your eyes fondly. “Yeah, yeah. Now help me clean up so we can go.” 

As you carefully wiped the office of any trace of the three of you, Harry suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. You looked up, ready to scold him for idling, but fell silent when you saw the panicked expression on his face. 

“What is it?” you asked quietly. 

Harry held up his hand and slowly opened the door, peeking out into the darkness. A muffled clicking that sounded an awful lot like footsteps echoed from the corridor. “Do you hear that?” 

Ron cursed lowly. “The prefects must’ve started their rounds early.” 

You peered over Harry’s shoulder and felt the color drain from your face. “It’s not the prefects,” you said, swallowing thickly. “It’s the Head Boy.” 

Both the boys swore under their breaths. You steeled yourself, knowing that panic was not going to get you anywhere. As quietly as possible, you retrieved Harry’s cloak and beckoned the boys underneath it. 

“We’re so fucked,” Ron mumbled. 

“No, we’re not,” you chided sternly. “Get under the cloak and don’t make a sound.” 

Harry scooted in beside you, clutching the invisible fabric over his shoulders. “Do you have a plan?” 

You nodded. “Run like hell and don’t get caught.” 

“That’s a bloody terrible plan!” said Ron. 

With a glare, you tugged the redhead underneath the cloak. “Then please, let us hear your brilliant idea, Ronald.” Ron stayed quiet, his freckled face etched with fear. “That’s what I thought. Now stay close and for Merlin’s sake, try not to stomp around like a damned erumpent.”

Stupid. 

Idiotic. 

Terrible. 

Every ounce of apprehension you felt earlier that night came rushing back as the three of you cowered in the darkness. It was pitch-black in the corridor, but you didn’t dare cast lumos for fear of getting caught. Thankfully, a small light up ahead provided you with a vague sense of direction. You remembered passing the lit emerald sconce on the way down. All you had to do was get back to the entrance without running into the head boy. 

The glimmer of hope became clearer and clearer as you neared the stairs that would lead you out of the dungeons. You were so close. Barely a few metres away from freedom. 

Just as you thought you were safe, Ron knocked into a table, sending one of the snake sculptures guarding the alcove to the common room tumbling. The marble cracked against the concrete, breaking into a million pieces just like your hope of escaping. 

“Run!” you huffed, urging the boys to go on. 

A solid plan if you hadn’t been nearly blind in the dark. You could hear the shuffling of footsteps beside you. Three sets belonging to you, Harry, and Ron, while an unknown fourth inched closer and closer. Whoever it was wasn’t running, but they were definitely in pursuit. 

You stumbled through the dark, nearly tripping over your own feet. From up ahead, you could hear Harry and Ron urging you on. As you broke into a sprint, paints and brushes came spilling out of your satchel. Under any other circumstance, you would’ve abandoned your art supplies, but leaving them behind would fully incriminate the three of you. In the time it took to pick up the damning evidence, you stopped hearing your friend’s voices. 

It would’ve worried you, but in all honesty, you were relieved. If you could no longer hear the boys, then that meant they made it safely out of the serpent’s nest. A feat in itself given their track record. Those two couldn’t be inconspicuous if they tried. Without the need to worry for them, you were confident that you’d be able to slip out undetected. 

In hindsight, you were perhaps a tad bit overconfident. You were great at sneaking around, but apparently not good enough to slip the head boy’s notice. As soon as you started to creep past the dormitories, you ran into a wall that hadn’t been there before. 

Except it wasn’t a wall. 

It was a strong, firm chest. A chest that belonged to none other than Tom Riddle. 

Leave it to your terrible luck to run straight into the arms of the scariest boy in the castle. 

Determined not to cower, you lifted your chin defiantly and faced Tom head on. “Head Boy,” you greeted in acknowledgment. 

Emerald eyes unflinchingly surveyed you, that intense green stare sweeping from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet. Beneath the faint glow of the Black Lake pouring in through the stained glass windows, you could’ve easily mistaken Tom Riddle for an angel. He looked like an illustration straight out of the Sistine Chapel. Beautiful, intricate, perfect. 

Yet utterly terrifying. 

Danger prickled at your skin as Tom’s lips curved into a sinister smirk. “My, my, what do we have here? A little dove out of her cage.” 

You bristled as he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his voice a seductive caress. It was low, husky, and a little rough around the edges. Just like its speaker. Tom plucked a paintbrush out of your satchel and examined it between his fingers. “I saw what you did to Snape’s office. Quite artistic, aren’t you?” 

A part of you considered denying it, but it would’ve been a futile attempt. There was paint splattered all over your skirt and flecks of it were already drying on your skin. Tom had quite literally caught you red handed. The only thing you could do was to own up to it and face whatever consequences came as a result of your foolish actions. 

“Are you going to turn me in to the headmaster?” 

Tom shook his head, his brown wavy hair falling over one eye. “Not until I catch your two helpers.” 

Panic seized your body. It may be too late for you, but Tom hadn’t seen either Harry or Ron. There was a chance they could come out of this unscathed. 

“I was alone,” you declared with your chin held high. “There was no one else with me.” 

Anger contorted Tom’s handsome features. Those emerald eyes lit up in flames as he backed you into a wall, bracketing each side of your head with his arms as he leaned down. You tried not to cower under the intensity of his stare, but gods was it hard. Tom towered a good foot over you and as if that weren’t intimidating enough, he also blocked every possibility of escape with his body. 

“Don’t lie to me, little dove,” Tom growled, tilting your chin up with one hand. “I heard three sets of footsteps running through the corridor.” 

You swallowed thickly, praying to Merlin to grant you the ability to flawlessly lie your arse off. “I swear, it was just me. No one else. I did it all by myself.” 

Tom hummed as if unconvinced. “Well, you’re certainly on your own now. Your idiotic friends left you down in the dungeons all alone. Don’t you know that dangerous things lurk in the dark around here, Y/N?” 

“Like I said, I was alone.” 

“So it appears,” Tom said, flashing you a smile that told you he was the most dangerous thing lurking in the dungeons. “Poor little dove wandering the serpent’s nest all on her own. Hasn’t anyone told you that us Slytherins have teeth?” 

“Why?” In an idiotic surge of courage, the words slipped out of your mouth before you could pull them back in. “Do you plan on biting me, Tom?” 

Tom grabbed your jaw roughly, making you whimper in surprise. “Insolent girl. You’ll learn your lesson soon enough.” 

Without warning, he grabbed you by the elbow and started dragging you down the corridor. At first, you were certain that Tom was taking you to Dumbledore’s office, but as the minutes ticked by, you realized that you were going in the opposite direction. If anything, he was leading you right into the heart of the dungeons. 

Tom’s grip tightened to the point of pain as he guided you up a set of twin staircases, practically flying up the steps on the right side, which you assumed led to the dormitories. It had a similar layout to the Gryffindor common room, except instead of leading into the towers, the narrow hallway opened into an intricate maze in the lower levels of the castle. 

Nestled into the underbelly of Hogwarts was a large, dark room that was surrounded by more stained glass walls that looked out into the Black Lake. A school of fish swam by as Tom ushered you through the door, which he promptly locked behind him with a series of complicated spells you had no hope of deciphering. 

You were trapped. Alone in a room. With Tom Riddle.

Upon closer inspection, you surmised that this had to be his private suite. It was twice as large as your dorm back in the towers and extremely private. A luxury that only the Head Boy and Head Girl enjoyed. 

“You’ve been very bad, little dove,” Tom reprimanded. "You deserve to be punished, but I’ll tell you what. Give up the names of your accomplices and I might find it in my heart to go easy on you.” 

His drawling voice echoed in the bedroom as he leaned back against his desk, twirling his wand between his fingers. The look he leveled at you is enough to awaken your fear. Plus another emotion that you couldn’t quite place your finger on. 

Merlin, Tom was sizing you up like he was the lion and you were the helpless deer frolicking through the meadow. You steeled yourself and doubled down on your lies. 

“There was no one else, Tom.” 

He smirked as though you’d given him the answer he’d hoped to hear. Tom stopped twirling his wand, tucking it away in his back pocket as he stalked over to you. “Very well, then. I suppose you’ll just have to endure their punishments too.” 

You swallowed past the lump in your throat. It occurred to you that while you had your wand, you were completely and utterly defenseless against Tom. It should’ve scared you shitless, but instead you felt a strange sort of thrill as he came closer. “What…what sort of punishment?” 

A smirk curved at his lips as he fisted your hair between his fingers and tilted your head back to meet his gaze. “I think you know, babydoll.” 

Heat ignited in your veins as your tongue darted out to sweep across your bottom lip. “This is crazy,” you whispered. “Shouldn’t you be telling Dumbledore? Snape? Someone in charge?” 

“I’m the one in charge,” Tom growled as he shoved you against his bookshelf. Your back hit solid wood, disturbing the neatly organized tomes behind you. “You snuck into my dungeons, under my watch, and defaced my home. I will dole out your punishment as I see fit.” 

“And if I refuse?” You asked, hoping that you emulated the bravery that your house was infamous for.

Tom pressed his body against yours, leaving barely a hairsbreadth between you as he flashed you a feral smile. “It’s laughable that you still think you have a choice.” 

“I could scream bloody murder. Wake the entire castle up and alert everyone that you're holding a fellow student against her will."

“You could,” Tom mused as amusement flickered in his eyes. “But we both know you won’t.” 

“What makes you so sure?” 

“You’d never risk such a scandalous act to go on your record. First vandalizing Professor Snape’s office, then sneaking into the Head Boy’s dorm after curfew? You’re on a downward spiral, aren’t you, little dove?” 

“I didn’t sneak into your dorm. You dragged me in here.” 

“Please,” Tom said with a scoff. “Let’s not pretend that you don’t want to be here. I’ve been watching you, you know. The perfect little Gryffindor good girl. You think you have everyone fooled, but not me.” You groaned as he pinned your hips in place, sliding his thigh between your legs. 

“You think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me in class? Bending over in that tiny little skirt of yours hoping I’ll glance your way? Leaving the buttons to your blouse undone so you can give me a view of that lacy red bra? Biting your lip when you’re thinking dirty thoughts about me in class?” 

You flushed at his spot on assessment. Tom might be right on the mark, but you weren’t about to admit that to him. Not when your pride was on the line. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Dirty little liar.” Tom whispered against the shell of your ear. “You know, your mental shields are impressive, but it’s like you can’t help yourself when I’m around. You’re practically broadcasting your filthy fantasies every time we’re in the same room.” 

Fuck. 

This was bad. 

This was really fucking bad.

How many times had you sat in class staring at Tom while thinking the filthiest, dirtiest thoughts about him? Tom bending you over a desk. Tom slipping his fingers under your skirt. Tom making you scream with his head between your thighs.

All this time, he had complete access to those dirty daydreams.

“That’s right, doll. You may be a powerful occlumens, but you’re no match for my legilimency.” He chuckled darkly, caressing your jaw. 

A heavy pressure weighed down the constraints of your defenses as Tom poked around in your mind, teasing and taunting as a lover would. The act of him prodding around in your subconscious was oddly sensual, mixing pain and pleasure together as he waited for you to yield. 

There’s no use hiding now, Tom whispered into your subconscious. I’ve already seen inside your mind, doll. And your thoughts are just as fucking filthy as mine. 

Glimpses of your deepest, darkest fantasies flashed through your mind. The images were a never ending rolodex of filth and smut. Tom fucking you like his perfect little slut. Tom panting above you as he spread your legs. Tom working you with his fingers until you were a sobbing, whimpering mess. 

He was right. You were shameless. 

But so was he. A new image of you on your knees while Tom unbuckled his belt, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip as you stared up expectantly took center stage. Since it was from his point of view, you could only assume that he was showing you one of his fantasies. It was oddly satisfying. Tom was basking in the depravity with you, sharing his equally fucked up thoughts. 

“Tom…” you breathed, leaning into his touch as he continued to pin you against the wooden bookshelf. 

“Not Tom,” he grunted gruffly. “You’ll address me properly from now on, little dove.” 

This was so fucked up and yet so hot at the same time. You were so turned on you could hardly speak. “Yes, sir.” 

“That’s better, doll.” Tom declared with a smirk. “Now that I’ve been inside of your head, I plan on being inside you in every other way as well. Starting with that pretty little mouth of yours. On your knees, little dove.” 

A strange sense of deja vu washed over you as you knelt onto the floor. The concrete nipped at your knees, but you welcomed the pain. It kept you centered as your body buzzed with anticipation. You watched as Tom unbuckled his belt, deft fingers slowly sliding his boxers down as he gripped himself with one hand. 

With a smirk, Tom brushed his thumb over your bottom lip, looking down at you with lust blown eyes. “Open wide, babydoll.” 

Tom pumped himself slowly. The sight of his cock made your mouth water, your head spinning and dizzy with desire as you tried to calculate how you were going to take all of him. The tip of his cock glistened with precum as he rubbed over it. Tom was thick, long, and absolutely delicious. You groaned as he rubbed his head over your lips, the salty taste of his arousal resting on your tongue. 

“I won’t ask again,” Tom warned. “Be a good girl and open your mouth. I’ll make you regret it if you don’t.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

A satisfied smile graced his handsome face before he shoved his way in. Your lips parted for him, opening your mouth wider as you accommodated his size. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

You nodded obediently, eyes filling with tears as you took Tom all the way back. He fisted your hair in one hand and rocked against your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. A garbled sound crawled out of your chest, but it was soon silenced with Tom’s impatient thrusts. 

“Fuck,” Tom cursed. “So wet and warm. Such a perfect little throat. What a pity that I’m about to ruin it.” 

Ruin was an understatement. Tom fucked your throat with precise thrusts, angling deeper and deeper and groaning as you gagged on his cock. He was so deep that you could feel him bruising your tonsils. The more he abused your throat, the wetter your pussy got. You were practically soaked as you moaned on his cock, sucking your cheeks in and bobbing your head up and down to take more of him. 

“Such pretty noises,” Tom said, his fingers curling through your hair to the point of pain. He tugged at your scalp, forcing you to meet his eyes as you sucked him off. “If your mouth feels this good around my cock, then I can’t even imagine what your cunt will feel like.” 

You groaned in pleasure, making Tom’s eye roll back from the vibrations. Controlled, compulsive, and perfectly composed Tom Riddle was fading before you, replaced by a man driven only by his base desires. He was an animal lost to lust and so were you. 

Tom squeezed your throat, groaning when he felt himself moving beneath his grip. “Your throat was made to be fucked, doll. You like that, don’t you? You love it when I’m rough.” 

You struggled to nod in acknowledgement, saliva sloppily collecting in the corner of your mouth as you continued to let him use you for his own pleasure. Tom chuckled at your pathetic attempt to respond. “Don’t bother answering, little dove. You won’t be able to speak when I’m done with you anyways.” 

The filth flowing effortlessly from his mouth made you clench your thighs together. Tom threw his head back, those pretty curls tousled and plastered against his sweat soaked skin. A moan tore through his chest as he got closer and closer, fucking into your mouth with reckless abandon. He chased after his orgasm, shuddering as he spurted hot ribbons down your throat. 

“Fuck. You see what you do to me? Swallow, doll. Every single fucking drop.” 

The fantasies that you’ve been harboring for the past few years finally came to fruition, but none of it came close to reality. Tom was a fucking god. A masterpiece coming undone above you. You’ve never seen such a beautiful sight. All the artwork in the world would’ve paled in comparison to witnessing Tom Riddle at his most vulnerable. 

In awe and wonder, you looked up at him with mascara streaked eyes, tears and saliva staining your face. Tom hauled you to your feet and claimed you with his mouth. The taste of him was still on your lips, but Tom didn’t seem to mind as he parted your lips with his tongue. The kiss was neither sweet nor innocent. It was dark and dangerous and there was an edge of possessiveness in the way he demanded your submission. Almost like he was marking his territory. 

Tongues, teeth, and lips met with a clash as Tom carried you over to his desk. His books and journals clattered to the ground as his teeth grazed the column of your throat. The taste of him was intoxicating and you licked, sucked, and nipped at every inch of skin he allowed access to. You gasped into his mouth as Tom parted your legs, not bothering to warn you as he palmed your soaked panties. 

Your core clenched as he slipped a finger inside of your pussy. A squelching sound filled the room as Tom added another digit, pumping you full and fucking you with his middle and pointer fingers as you begged for more. He knew exactly what he was doing. Tom studied you like one of his books, with meticulous precision and alarming intensity, pouring all of his efforts and attention into making your body sing. 

It wasn’t long before that familiar warmth singed your veins, your moans growing louder and more desperate as you clawed at Tom’s back. You were so, so close. You were practically riding his hand as he brought you closer to the precipice. Just when you were about to come, Tom pulled away and denied you the orgasm. 

“Don’t be mistaken, doll. This is still a punishment.” Tom said as you whined from the loss. He silenced your complaints by bending you over his desk. 

“Tom, please—“ You clawed at the wood as he lined up and filled you with one sharp thrust. “Oh my fucking gods.” 

Tom gripped your hips, the slap of his skin against yours echoing in the room as he fucked you from behind. He was relentless, thrusting in and out and arching your back while he railed the absolute life out of you. It wasn’t long before you were getting close again. The sharp angles of his thrusts had him hitting all the right spots, making your knees weak and your pussy sensitive from the roughness of his actions. Sensing that you were close, he rutted into you, letting that tension uncoil before ripping the orgasm away from you once more. You whined, fresh tears soaking your cheeks as you chased after that high. 

“Like I said, this is still a punishment,” Tom taunted, slowing his thrusts to a snail’s pace. “That’s two orgasms I’ve taken from you, which leaves you with two more. Four for every wall you defaced. It should be twelve, given that you had help, but I’m in a forgiving mood. I think I’ll just spank the other eight out of you instead.” 

With your head bowed, you wiped the tears off of your cheeks and braced yourself. You knew that he was telling the truth. To Tom, this was mercy. You should’ve found it sadistic, but you fucking loved it. Maybe you were a masochist. Whatever the case may be, it seemed like the two of you were a match made in heaven. 

“I’ll be good,” you whispered hoarsely. Your throat was still raw and sore from earlier. “I’ll happily take the punishment. I promise I’ll be good, sir.” 

Tom chuckled darkly, relishing in your submission. His hand came down with a hard smack against your right ass cheek, making you jolt from the contact. Before you could recover, he repeated the action on the left. 

“That’s two,” Tom said proudly. “Can you count out the rest, babydoll?” 

You nodded, biting down on your bottom lip every time his large hand came down on your ass. His rings bit into the soft flesh of your skin, but it was a delicious sort of pain. One that you could easily become addicted to. 

Three. Tom tugged at your hair. 

Four. Teeth nipped at your shoulder. 

Five. Fingers curled around your throat. 

Six. Hips slammed against you. 

Seven. Lips trailed down your spine.

Eight. Moans echoed in your ears. 

When Tom slipped his fingers down to your clit, your eyes rolled back so hard that you saw fucking heaven. “It’s not a punishment if you’re enjoying yourself so much, little dove. I can feel you creaming my cock. You look so innocent, but you’re just a filthy fucking slut for me, aren’t you?” 

“Yes sir.” 

“So. Fucking. Perfect.” 

Tom emphasized each word with a thrust and worked your clit faster and faster, bringing you to the edge. This time, he didn’t pull back. Tom let the orgasm build until it threatened to wipe you out entirely. White hot heat coursed through your veins as stars exploded behind your eyes. You whimpered through the intensity of the orgasm. After being denied four times, the pleasure ripped through your body so fiercely that you nearly blacked out. 

“Fuck, let me fill you up,” Tom growled. “Take it, doll. I want you dripping with my cum.” 

“Yes, yes, oh gods. Please cum inside of me, sir.” 

Tom released a guttural grunt, gripping your hips in place as he filled you to the brim. Nothing in the world compared to the sensation of Tom filling you with his warm, wet cum. You glanced behind you and found him staring intently as he slipped out of you, stuffing his cum back into your pussy as it dripped down your folds. You bit your lip, utterly aroused by how fucking sexy this man was. 

His gaze met yours, a proud smile curving against his lips as he swept you off your feet and into his arms. “I think I’ll keep you, little dove.” 

[littlefireball]

can you do a fic with Ateez Seonghwa x virgin reader? Where she never even touched herself, never orgasmed or squirted so Seognwha does all that and they go the full way but she bleeds when he goes in but mother seognwha knows what to say to push her through and get her to the pleasure. From their she squirts on him while he goes rough?

🐈‍⬛

I add some settings on it (⁠ʘ⁠ᴗ⁠ʘ⁠✿⁠) hope you like it

ꜱʜ|ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ꜱᴡᴇᴀᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴇᴀʀꜱ (ᴀ/ᴍ)

ꜰᴀᴋᴇ ɢᴏᴅ ꜱᴇᴏɴɢʜᴡᴀ x ꜱᴀᴄʀɪꜰɪᴄɪᴀʟ ᴏꜰꜰᴇʀɪɴɢ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ʟᴏɴɢ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ|ᴍᴏᴍᴍʏ ꜱᴇᴏɴɢʜᴡᴀ|ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ ᴏꜰ ʀᴇʟɪɢɪᴏᴜꜱ, ʙʟᴇᴇᴅɪɴɢ|ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx|ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀɪɴɢ|ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3.2ᴋ

In a secluded and desolate village, an inexplicable prosperity has taken root, defying all logic and expectations. The villagers attribute this miraculous transformation to the blessing of a mysterious deity, whose influence has brought life back to the barren land.

However, this prosperity comes at a grim cost - the sacrifice of an 18-year-old virgin every hundred years. The purity and sincerity of the sacrifice are believed to prolong the village's prosperity, as decreed by the deity worshipped by the villagers.

For unmarried women like you, reaching the age of eighteen brings a looming nightmare rather than the promise of adulthood. From a young age, you've witnessed your younger brother bask in the favor and attention of your family, while you remained in the shadows, neglected and unappreciated.

To your parents, you are merely a pawn in their pursuit of wealth. If you marry into a prosperous family before turning eighteen, it's deemed a success; but if you remain unmarried, you are destined to be the sacrificial offering.

Growing up devoid of love, surrounded by loneliness and ignorance, you've struggled against the unfair expectations placed upon you. Despite your efforts to resist, you were met with scolding and mistreatment, leaving you isolated and unheard.

One day, as your entitled brother demanded your servitude, you felt a surge of resentment at his audacity. Reluctantly complying with his demands, you couldn't shake the bitterness that had taken root within you.

Confronting him about his reckless behavior with the family's money, you were met with denial and deflection. Your parents, quick to defend your brother, silenced your attempts to speak up, leaving you feeling betrayed and abandoned.

As you were confined to the cabin, awaiting the inevitable sacrifice on your eighteenth birthday, the weight of injustice and abandonment pressed heavily upon you. The darkness surrounding you mirrored the bitterness that had seeped into your soul, a stark contrast to the prosperity that had come at such a high price.

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, laughter still echoed through the halls of your home. They looked forward to the moment you die as it meant they could live a new, prosperous life.

Their words only served to fuel the fire of resentment burning within you but you could do nothing.

You often wondered what your fate would be, knowing that the day of sacrifice loomed closer with each passing sunrise. The thought of being offered up to appease the deity, to maintain the facade of prosperity, filled you with a mix of fear and defiance.

—--

Night fell, casting a cloak of shadows over the altar as the ritual neared its zenith.

"Let us offer our gratitude to the Y/L/N family for their generous contribution!" The priest's voice boomed, the family members standing by, basking in the adulation of others, oblivious to their true nature.

Their affections lay with money and their son, not with you.

"Their daughter shall shape our destiny!" The air was heavy with incense and the eerie chants of the priests, their ominous words sending shivers down your spine.

You knelt at the heart of the altar, adorned in lavish garments but devoid of any semblance of joy. Seeing them pretending vaguely, a surge of resentment welled up in your heart. The unvented anger transformed into tears, cascading down your cheeks and saturating the eye mask, yet no one took notice. Memories of the past raced through your mind as the priest drew near; jealousy, anger, sadness, all negative emotions flooding your thoughts.

You felt yourself unraveling, the echoing laughter pushing you towards the brink of collapse. Desperate to block out the sound, you reached for your ears, only to find yourself restrained; yearning to break free, yet bound by invisible chains.

The priest's approach felt ominous, a foreboding presence signaling impending doom. You shook your head in denial, attempting to resist his advance, but the relentless footsteps shattered your resolve. You didn't want to die, there were still so many unfinished tasks; you didn't want them to prosper, to lead a life of luxury… What you craved was vengeance.

“Offer yourself to our God!”

“No! I refuse to meet my end like this!”

“There is no escape, child! Your destiny is to be a sacrifice! It is your duty!”

“NO! Even in death, I will not let you win! I will not make it easy for you!”

“What nonsense is this?!” “Just end her life!!”

With a swift motion, he thrust a sword towards your heart, invoking the deity's power.

But instead of searing pain and spilled blood, darkness enveloped you, wrapping you in an eerie silence.

Panting heavily, you realized you were not hurt. Unable to see anything as you were blindfolded, you could only follow the sound.

"Let me see this year's sacrifice," a voice echoed through the church, accompanied by the slow approach of footsteps, causing your heartbeat to speed up because of nervousness.

As the figure drew closer, Seonghwa knelt before you, lifting your chin to gaze upon your graceful form draped in black sheer fabric.

"It seems good, huh? But your resentment is the strongest among all the sacrifices I've seen," he murmured, his thumb tracing your lower lip and cheek, sending a shiver down your spine. Nervously, you swallowed saliva and made a barely audible sound.

“Don’t want to be mine? That’s nice, you know?” His gaze shifted from your trembling throat to your chest, where the metal bra accentuated your ample bosom. The sheer fabric did little to quell his burning desire. He leaned in and planted a kiss on your chest. This sudden act made you recoil slightly, unable to find a word.

“You hate me, huh?” Again, you swallowed nervously but did not dare to answer. Hate him? Maybe? Were it not for his presence, you would not have been chosen as a sacrifice. But, it was your so-called family members who did evil things. This was a simple question but you didn’t know how to answer it.

"Speak, girl. I hate it when others don’t answer my questions," he demanded in displeasure. Although you couldn’t see his face, you could still feel his anger.

"I… I apologize," you stuttered, fear gripping you and preventing you from relaxing. Seonghwa smirked, relishing in the feeling of others obeying his commands.

“So, what’s your answer?”

“I…hate…I hate them all.” He raised his eyebrows and said provocatively, “So, it's because of me that you hate them. Am I right, girl?”

“I…” You found yourself momentarily struck silent by fear. But upon reflection, you realized there was nothing left to fear - you were already deceased, after all.

“Yes.” After a deep breath, you found the courage to speak. “If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have been chosen as a sacrifice, and I wouldn't be… disliked.” Your unexpected response caught him off guard, as he had never encountered someone who didn't desire his attention.

Determined to sway your opinion, he sought to engage you further.

“What is your name, my dear?” His tone softened, coaxing you to reveal yourself. Surprisingly, he did not react with anger.

“Y…Y/N…”

"Y/N, a beautiful name," His voice, deep and alluring, stirred something within you.

"Relax, Y/N. Why the tension? Tonight, we shall indulge in my desires. But fret not, for it promises to be an enjoyable experience.”

His touch traced a path from your face, down your neck, shoulders, and arms. The cool sensation sent shivers down your spine, igniting a tingling warmth that spread through your body, eliciting a soft, hesitant sigh from you.

“And I’ll change your mind."

His gaze fell upon the handcuffs on your wrists, your delicate wrists trembling slightly, arousing his perverse desire for dominance. He whispered in your ear, his voice extremely seductive, licking and gently biting your earlobe, teasingly grazing your ear.

"Umm��" A shiver ran down your spine as an electric current coursed through your ear, and your body temperature raised, causing your cheeks to redden.

"You're really sensitive, aren't you?" He licked the back of your ear, the sound of his tongue against your skin stimulating your nerves, making you tremble; his lips gradually moved downwards, pecking at your collarbone, sucking on your fine skin, leaving faint red marks.

“Did you touch yourself before?”

“What is touch…?” Smiling, he held your hand while trailing down to your lower core, and slowly got closer to your clit.

“It feels good.” He guided your hand, his slender fingers stroking your clit with a gentle touch, slowly sunk down to your lower core. As both of your fingers entered your cunt, a tingling sensation spread through your body, eliciting soft moans of pleasure. Seonghwa's satisfied smile encouraged you to explore further.

"Come, fuck with me," he whispered. You felt a mix of excitement and curiosity as you pleasured yourself under his guidance. The sensation of his touch, combined with your own exploration, sent waves of pleasure through you.

His hands enveloped your back, the warmth of his touch seeping through the fabric, soothing your nerves. Your breath quickened, heart racing as he increased the intensity of his movements, his lips trailing kisses along your neck, drawing out soft whimpers of delight.

His velvety lips teased and tantalized your skin, his breath hot against your ear, igniting a fire within you. Your body instinctively responded, allowing him closer as his hands held you close, pulling you into his embrace.

A soft moan escaped your lips, spurring him on, his desire growing with each sound you made. Your body responded eagerly, the climax building within you, your walls tightening around your fingers, urging them deeper. It was so weird but exciting. You could tell there was something inside your body, as you touched it, a numb feeling surged throughout your body.

"You're doing so well, my dear," he praised, a blush rising to your cheeks at his words. “I’m gonna…oh gosh!” You shut your eyes tightly as the climax was about to take over you. “Cum, girl.”With a final, shy moan, you reached your peak, the pleasure overwhelming you.

"Such a good girl," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your cheek before withdrawing. A pang of emptiness lingered, but his question brought a spark of anticipation to your eyes.

"More?" he asked, lifting your chin and drawing you closer. With a nod and a shy smile, you whispered, "Yes, I want more."

"Good. All I can think about is how good you're going to taste." Before the words even finished, he pounced on you, the cold touch of the ground sending shivers down your spine. He reached for the buttons on the back of your neck, undressing you from the waist up, leaving your chest fully exposed.

He buried his head between your breasts, continuously sucking and licking. You keenly felt his tongue swirling around your nipple, causing a tingling sensation. The wet and warm feeling enveloped your left breast, while his hand gently squeezed and massaged your right breast, occasionally flicking the nipple with his thumb.

"Ah…" The stimulation on your body made you shyly moan, igniting his desire even more. He lifted his head and kissed your collarbone, sucking hard enough to leave marks on the skin that were no longer pale red but slightly darkened purple.

He admired his love bites while appreciating your beauty. "You're so fucking gorgeous." He growled like a wild animal against your chest, now it's time to unleash the beast inside him.

"Put your hands on your head. You can't put them down without my permission, understand?" You obeyed his command and raised your hands.

He removed all his clothing, kneeling completely naked in front of you, and pressed against your outer lips, occasionally grazing your hole. His erect member has been uncomfortably constrained by his tight pants for far too long.

“It may hurt a little bit. But it's gonna be fun, don’t worry.” He entered your cunt in one go, making you throw your head against the ground. His huge cock was much different from his fingers and tongue─that’s harder, longer, and thicker.

The intense pain was almost unbearable, as if your lower core was being torn apart. Blood flowed, wetting his thick cock and even dripping onto the floor. Your body burned like a flame, sweating all over your body.

"You're bleeding, babe. Does it hurt?" His voice was soft as silk, gently tugging at your heartstrings in a way no one ever had before.

"Yes… it hurts," you managed to reply through the discomfort. "Don't cry, just try to relax." He leaned in to place a tender kiss on your forehead, his simple gesture of concern bringing tears to your eyes. Despite the pain in your lower body, it felt like nothing compared to the past beatings you had endured.

He kissed you gently, offering comfort without any aggression. There were no bites, no invasion of tongues, just sweet and tender kisses. Your lips met softly, filled with warmth and affection. The pain slowly faded, replaced by a growing desire. You wanted him to move, to pleasure you with his gentleness.

"Please, my god," you whispered between kisses, causing him to pause. "I think I'm okay now."

"Tell me what you want, darling. Just say it," he encouraged.

"I want you to move, please," you requested, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks.

"Don't hate me now?" He chuckled at your reaction, finding you utterly adorable.

"Kidding," Before his lips met yours again and he began to thrust rhythmically. The pace was perfect, neither too rough nor too gentle.

"Ah, my god!" Every thrust hit the right spot inside you, eliciting a cascade of sensations. Your body responded by producing more moisture, adjusting to the feeling of his cock sliding in and out.

The warmth and wetness enveloped his cock, driving him to the edge of sanity. Combined with the sucking sensation, it was impossible for him to hold back.

"You're so tight, I can't handle fucking it." He wanted to fuck you as hard as possible, but not now. He needed you adjust first. He could see your past─what you have endured, how your so-called family treated you. Horrible memories invaded his mind, and although he wasn't frightened by them, he felt pity for you.

“oh my pretty.” He moved faster but not rough at all. His wet chest pressed against yours, letting you feel his strong muscles and physique. Oh shit, you loved this feeling so much, you felt so tiny under his frame. The pain you felt before has already disappeared far away and replaced by endless pleasure and lust.

Settling your legs around his waist, he entered deeper and you bent even more. He first pulled out a bit, and then pushed in fully, repeated over and over again. Every time he thrust deep, he couldn’t help but whimper as he saw how your chest shook from his movement.

“Moan for me, my doll.” You obeyed his words and moaned loudly, accompanied by the sound of skin slapping, forming a beautiful melody in Seonghwa 's ears. He pulled you up, making you sit on his thighs. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he thrust upward that made you throw your head.

Following his movement, you bounced in a slow pace. He trailed down to cup your ass cheeks to pull you closer. Your lips met again as he leaned down to kiss you. This kiss was like the breeze blowing through the petals, full of tenderness, giving you a numbness.

Seonghwa placed you back to the ground gently before turning you over. "Want me to be rough?" "Be rough with me, my god." In the momentary withdrawal, he turned you over directly, and once again entered from behind. His hands pressed against your waist, controlling the movement of your body back and forth, causing your breasts to violently shake.

“Ahh, please, keep going.” “Of course, my little whore.” He cupped your breast while squeezing your nipples and showered your nape with kisses. The scent of you fills his nostrils, very tempting.

He gradually lost control and snapped into your ass with only raw emotion. Sat up straight again to push himself even closer to your limit. He could feel his cock twitch every time he went deep and you moaned loudly. He was going to cum but he wanted you cum first. He needed it, needed to feel your warmth once again wrapped up his cock.

“Baby, I want you cum, cum for my cock. I need you.” His words and thrusting made you dizzy. Everything was overwhelming. You totally lost in the pleasure as he kept sinking down to hit your g spot.

“Hmmmm…Ahhh…please.” There was one more step to reach your climax. Seonghwa knew it as he slid down his hand to your clit. He continued to thrust while stroking, pushing you to climax.

The stimulation all over your body was like an electric current, which not only sent shivers down your spine, but also made the flame of desire in your body bursted out.

You found that the more you press down on your waist, the deeper his cock could go. Desire had already replaced your thinking. You lowered your body as much as possible and spread your legs so that you could reach climax as his arching member deep inside you.

“Your pussy feels amazing, you do that so well. Cum for me, babe.” ”Ah~my god~” You squirted with a high-pitched groan and Seonghwa came after a few thrusts. Your legs were shaking like a leaf and knees went weak. You fell to the ground, out of breath, your body having been drained of all your strength by lust.

“Are you okay, babe?” Seonghwa gently turned you over and took off your blindfold. The sudden light hitting your eyes made you very uncomfortable, but you quickly adapted. A handsome face came into view, and you could finally see Seonghwa 's appearance.

“I’m fine, my god.” He brushed your hair, gave you a loving smile and slowly picked you up before withdrawing from you. His hand trailed down to caress your lower core, full of his seeds. “Not hurt at all, hm?” You shook your head and replied to him with a smile. He chuckled at your smile, pulling you closer to rest on his shoulder.

“You’re mine now. No one will hurt you.” Seonghwa patted your head and pecked on it, making your tears welled up your eyes. Oh, maybe he was truly a god that loved his people…no, or I should say, his sacrifice. Who tells him love having sex so much?

But there was one thing he couldn't lie about. He was a little heartbroken when he found out about your past. At the very beginning, he thought that was only an illusion but his feelings toward you gradually changed. You seemed to be different from those girls he met.

-----

“Darling?" He called you darling every time because he found you liked this name.

“Yes, hwa?" You turned around to give him a peck.

“I killed all the people you hated. Did I do well?” He wrapped his arms around your waist while inhaling your scent. Your eyes widened a bit as you never expected that he would slaughter the whole village.

"You killed them...?"

"Yes, darling. I can do anything you want because I am your God."

[acapelladitty]

The Ghoul x Knife Kink

Hotter Than A Match Head

Pairing: The Ghoul (Cooper Howard) x Female Reader

Summary: A late night fuck turns into something more when Cooper decides to bring his knife into the fray. (1.1k words)

(tw for: knife play, rough sex, nipple play, dirty talk, threats of violence, mild blood, dom/sub dynamics)

Link to AO3

Fic Masterlist

Fucking Cooper was like being trapped in a hurricane; a constant flurry of movement, of your body being manipulated, shaped, and generally thrown around with minimal care. The ferality which he so closely monitored and kept at bay only ever appeared to slip through as he ravaged your body without mercy - by hand, by teeth and by cock.

He was relentless in what he wanted and reckless in his pursuits.

But not tonight.

Tonight he was much more careful in his considerations as he pinned you to the dirty floorboards of the abandoned house you had agreed to spend the night hiding out in. The floor was cold and gritty against your back but you hardly notice it, so engrossed by both the cock which was spearing your cunt and the wicked ghoul attached to it. A man who had pinned you to the floor many minutes before and was currently rolling the edge of his hunting knife across your chest like he were mapping out an assault.

You had watched that same knife sink into countless bodies, living and dead, and the graze of the serrated edge against your collarbone was electric. It was a blade which had seen more violence than most, but the dexterity with which he wielded it was stunning to see. A skill which had led to more than one heated fantasy that Cooper had finally seen fit to make a reality.

"Don't move." Cooper threatened, his eyes ablaze with unfettered arousal as they loomed free of his sunken face. "Don't wanna accidentally slice off something that I might miss."

At the warning, he rolls the flat of the knife across your right nipple - the nub peaked and already reddened by his teeth as he had 'perked' them up earlier in your little game. Shuddering at the sensation of the cool metal, your hand grips even tighter at his forearm and the leathery skin there has very little give beneath your clawing fingers.

His knife glints in the meagre lighting, a single, shitty lamp providing illumination against the dark room, and you tighten around him; your cunt as wet and willing as ever as the thrill of his knife adds an extra layer of danger that makes you dumb as all fuck and desperate to see it used.

Writhing and groaning as he trails the edge of the blade across your skin, not deep enough to cut but with enough harshness to threaten, a cruel smile splits his ragged lips as his bright eyes refuse to leave your expression.

"It really makes you this willing, eh? Haven't seen a bitch in this kinda heat for a long time, sweetie. Maybe I'll even throw ya a bone."

Swiping the knife free of your chest, he continues to lazily thrust within your cunt - his thick cock making every rut of his hips feel like your walls were being hollowed out and punished - as he taps the knife against your stomach in a slowly descending pattern.

Your knees spreading even further, heels determined to gouge out a section of his lower back as they push into him roughly, a keening moan slips free of you as he teasingly grinds the butt of the knife against your engorged and somewhat neglected clit.

It's a fresh hell; sparking pleasure mixing with overstimulating discomfort as your most sensitive nerves are subjected to the cool leather and cruel pressure of the knife. It's a rough texture, every ridge making you flinch and whine, as the sudden onslaught has you stuttering out a slew of utterly incomprehensible pleas which simultaneously beg him for more while demanding he stop.

"It would be so easy." Cooper muses, pulling the knife away and letting it hang between his fingers as he presses his hand to the ground. "You're far too soft for this kinda life. Cut me and it don't make a difference. Hell, I'm not sure I'll even bleed. But you-" He trails off, his groin never ceasing in its movements as he continues to deliver shallow, punishing thrusts to your cunt.

"You should do it." You pant, meeting his aggression by rolling your hips against his groin to stimulate every pulsing nerve in your sex. "Cut me. Mark me as yours."

"Can't be doing that, darling." His breathing very quickly grows ragged, his cock noticeably jerking within your cunt at the lustful demand. "Cause I might never stop. By the time I was finished, you'd be painted even redder than I am."

"Cooper." A keening whimper as his hand abandoned the knife to wrap around your throat, squeezing and testing the skin there as he enjoyed the sensation of you swallowing around his fingers. "Please. Just one. Just a-an intital. You can choose where."

Punctuating each sentence with a thrust of your hips as you remained pinned beneath him, the ridges which sat along the hollow of his nose appeared to flare for a moment as he considered his options - interest alighting behind his darkened eyes.

"You're a tricky one, sweetheart. I've known seasoned whores that're less convincing than you."

It's almost a purr, his accented syllables glossing over the backhanded compliment like an old blanket, but he complies anyway as he releases your neck and snatches his knife back up, the point coming to rest on your hip.

Stilling your movements for just a moment, the feeling of his cock as it stretches you out with its unrelenting heat growing more and more intoxicating. Every passing second is a constant discomfort which makes the pleasure all the sweeter as you warm his cock for him as he works.

"Be ready." Is all the warning you get before he digs the tip of his knife forward into your unprotected hip, the sharpness of the blade splitting the skin like it were little more than butter.

As aroused as you were, it still hurt like fuck, and a stuttered cry is buried into his shoulder as you push your head up - the pain flaring with a wicked intensity before dissolving just as quickly into a dull ache. In the same instance, a tickle of dripping liquid rolls down your skin and you lie back on the floor as he discards the knife to the side with a noisy clatter.

Instantly his hand is pressing over the wound and the pain of the pressure adds to the adrenaline which is making your fingers tremble and your cunt clench, the latter making him grunt as he presses his groin as tightly against your sex as he can to fill you with every inch.

"S'only a superficial cut." Cooper groans, enjoying the determined way in your cunt was milking him with every inviting spasm. "For a scar we'll need to keep poking at you 'til the tissue is so damaged, you'll need to skin it off to get rid of me."

Pulling his blood-tinged fingers to your face, you nip at the pads of his fingers - the leathery skin rough against your lips - as you wrap your free arm around his back. Using him as leverage, you begin to roll your hips once more as you chase the release your body is now desperate for, every inch of your skin feeling sensitive and raw.

"That's the best- ah, the best fucking news I've heard all day."

Unleashing a low chuckle at the enthusiam, Cooper meets your determination with some of his own as he resumes his merciless fucking - all the while, his hand refusing to let up its pressure on the crimson 'C' which lay, freshly carved into your willing skin.

[egcdeath]

out in the open

pairing: patrick zweig x f!reader

summary: your wedding night doesn’t go as smoothly as you expect it to. succession au - tomshiv adjacent (previous parts: part 1, part 2, part 3)

word count: 8.8k

warnings: failmarriage, fluff in the beginning, cheating, angst, jealousy, hurt/comfort, mentions of alcohol and smoking, suggestive content, insecurity, patrick is kinda the worst in this. he does get better though.

author’s note: full disclaimer things are pretty angsty and they only get angstier from here. cheating is a major plot point from this point forward. there will be a few happier moments but it’s mostly bad vibes and tension from this point on.

i say this with every fic i post in this universe but i truly could not have written this without the help of my succession anon!! weddingnightgate (WNG) is such a big moment in this au and they really helped me get my thoughts in order and helped me world build. i hope you all enjoy the upcoming pain!

When you were young, you always dreamed about your wedding. You fantasized about a huge venue somewhere halfway around the world that would easily fit all of your closest friends and family members and of celebrity guests who would give you well wishes for the marriage and smiled at you in spite of their envy at your beautiful event. You imagined a gorgeous, intricate dress with a train so long that you’d need assistance going down the aisle, a cake the size of your tallest guest, and a groom who was as handsome as he was loving, pressing the promise of True Love’s Kiss onto your lips after he read you his vows.

Maybe your enthusiasm for weddings was fueled by a few too many movies where the princess found her prince charming and lived happily ever after with him, but you still fell in love with the idea of love, and the thought that a wedding should be as beautiful as the love itself was.

You would never forget the first wedding you attended, despite being so young that you shouldn’t have really recalled it. You somehow managed to worm your way into being the flower girl at your aunt’s wedding, skipping excitedly down the aisle of the beachside venue, tossing flowers with reckless abandon. As you watched the rest of the ceremony from the safety of your mother’s hip, you couldn’t help but to imagine yourself being the one to walk down the aisle someday. 

Much like your first wedding memory, you also couldn’t forget the first time you learned about divorce. Though you were young, the memory of your best friend crying next to you during recess as she sobbed out the news that her parents were splitting forever stuck out in your mind. You’d been fed the idea that love was strong and everlasting for so long, that the very notion that there were some things that love couldn’t withstand rocked you to your core. 

From that point on, you became more grounded in your approach to love. Love was rarely a fairytale, and it was naive for you to assume that your future wedding would be one either. 

As the years went by, you grew more realistic about your expectations for the future. You found a boyfriend who you dated throughout the latter half of your undergraduate years and through your time in business school, and fully expected to settle down with him—though you knew you’d be settling in the most literal sense. While he was a stable figure in your life, he was boring, and his aspirations in life for both you and himself didn’t align at all with what you saw yourself doing. He wanted a wife, and you wanted to make a name for yourself doing the work that was meaningful to you.

When he got down on one knee in front of you, you realized that you had two options in front of you: follow your own dreams or follow his. 

Naivety be damned, you chose yourself and never looked back. 

In your pursuit of making your non-love related aspirations come true, you abandoned all hope that your pipe-dream of a fantasy wedding would ever come to fruition. It occasionally felt like your hopes were incompatible—to be a successful businesswoman meant giving up all prospects of a romantic life. It seemed like everyone you encountered was put off by your lack of work-life balance, or wanted to hunt you for sport and turn you into a trophy wife. 

You’d practically given up all hope by the time you met Patrick, fully expecting to be able to use him for a brief fling and a connection to get into his family’s company. What you weren’t expecting was to find someone whose company you genuinely enjoyed, who understood you on a level you hadn’t experienced with anyone else, and a love that occasionally left you wondering if you were a protagonist in the movies you loved watching as a girl. 

If someone told you that years after meeting Patrick, that one day you would be gazing into his eyes with tears in yours as you listened to his vows, or telling him that you do take him to be your husband, to have and to hold, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, ‘till death did you two part.

Your wedding ceremony felt straight out of your girlish dreams, with Patrick’s beautiful family castle serving as the venue, paparazzi-worthy guests, a dress that felt like a direct product of your wildest imagination, and a groom that seemed to be as close to a prince charming as reality could get. 

You were on cloud nine throughout the ceremony, basking in every single moment. You felt like you were floating by the time you got to the reception, your brain in the clouds as you and your now-husband cut your massive cake and gave toasts. 

It was all a blur in the best way possible, your elation making what you thought might be an embarrassing moment of a first dance exciting, and the subsequent socializing with guests substantially more bearable. 

What was slightly less bearable was the speed at which you were separated from your husband, the two of you occasionally catching the others eye from across the room, but otherwise being separated from surprisingly demanding guests who wanted to wish you luck on your marriage or excitedly share how amazing they found the ceremony to be. 

Occasionally, you were able to squeeze in a brief moment with your spouse, bringing him a flute of champagne and momentarily pulling him away from an exceptionally chatty shareholder, but you seemed to be frequently whisked away from each other. 

After what felt like a lifetime apart from each other, you felt the familiar, comforting warmth of Patrick’s hand on your lower back as he approached you from behind. When he announced to the extended family members standing across from you that he needed a moment alone with you, you almost leapt with joy. Nothing seemed more appealing than a private conversation with him after a long night of socializing with friends and colleagues. 

It almost felt ironic that during an event that should’ve been focused on the two of you as a pair, you were separated and kept apart by people with business pitches and opposing interests, excited to hop onto whatever opportunity your union might bring them. 

Patrick took you by surprise as he led you up the stairs and to your bedroom. It seemed a little early to begin your wedding night festivities, but if he was really that enthusiastic about it, you were certain that you could share some of his excitement. 

“Thanks for getting us out of there,” you commented as you shut the door behind you. “So much for not talking about work at the wedding. I guess it’s too much to ask for one day to celebrate you being my husband before talking about the business again.”

You walked over to the vanity, preparing to touch up your makeup. You shot a glance over at your partner, who cautiously sat himself down on your bed, fidgeting with his hands as he did so. Not paying him any mind, you began to reapply your lipstick in the mirror and looked at his reflection, catching that he seemed to be in deep thought, but not thinking too much of it. It was probably something a shareholder told him. Maybe his sister was planning yet another attempt at a hostile takeover of the business. 

“Husband. Wow, you’re my husband now. That feels so crazy to say. Husband, husband, husband,” you mused, a ball of excited energy.  “Well, husband, what did you pull me in to talk about? Is it Sherry’s dress? It’s really hideous. I can’t believe she would wear something like that to our wedding,” you continued to ramble. “Or do you want a sneak peak of what I’ve got going on under this dress?”

You were shocked to find Patrick mostly unresponsive to your rapid words. He was never one to turn down the opportunity to gossip about his social circle or flirt with you. You pulled your attention away from yourself in the mirror and turned your head back to look at your husband, only to be met with a mostly unreadable expression, apart from the hint of a sad smile on his face. 

Suddenly, things didn’t feel so fun. For some unexplained reason, you felt a small pit appear in the depths of your stomach. While you didn’t know exactly what was wrong, something obviously didn’t feel right. There was no reason for your partner to be looking as unsettled as he did on his own wedding night. 

“You’re not having second thoughts already, are you?” you stood up and began to approach him from where he was sitting on the bed, making it more apparent to you that his brows were drawn together in what could only be the beginning of a frown. 

“Of course not,” he assured you, though guilt was written all over his face. You weren’t sure how you should interpret your husband looking like a child who just broke an expensive vase on your wedding night, but whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. “But I need to tell you something.”

“What?” you laughed nervously, the small pit that appeared in your stomach growing into a slightly larger pit. As much as you wanted to dismiss it as nothing, the heavy tension hanging in the air warned you that the odds of his confession being nothing were growing slimmer and slimmer with each passing moment.  

“Uh,” he paused as if he was considering his next words very carefully—almost as if he didn’t want to say them at all. You desperately wanted him to speak, rather than keep you hanging. With your nerves exponentially growing with every passing second, you began to feel like if he didn’t say anything soon, you might throw up all over your reception dress.  

“Patrick, please spit it out. You’re kinda scaring me,” you could already feel yourself growing upset, despite the fact that he hadn’t said a single word to indicate what was going on with him. Your heart quickened in your chest as you anticipated his next words, despite not having a clue about what might come out of his mouth.  

“We always said that if something happened, we could handle it like adults,” the statement was vague and simple, yet Patrick seemed to be choking it out. His cryptic message rattled around in your brain as you desperately searched for meaning in them. Before you could even begin to ask him what he meant, you registered the dismissive, callous language. 

Though he didn’t say it often, he had confused you with those very words before—the verbiage alarmingly reminiscent of what he told you before your bachelorette party, or when you brought up the lack of an infidelity clause in his prenup. 

If anything ever happened with anyone else, we could both handle it. We’re adults and we can handle things like adults.

Though his words were curious, you dismissed them at the time, never expecting that to be an issue. Of all of your problems with Patrick—his difficulty expressing his emotions, his complicated relationship with his family, his lack of experience in love—you never expected infidelity to be one of those problems. 

You swallowed, your saliva feeling thick and poisonous as it slowly crept down your throat. “Honey, what do you mean?”

Patrick didn’t speak, looking down at the pristinely folded sheets in front of him rather than at you. “I’m sorry,” was all that he managed to get out. 

You looked at Patrick blankly, waiting for him to tell you that whatever you were assuming wasn’t true or that he was pulling some sort of cruel prank on you. Instead, all you were met with was the sound of blood urgently rushing through your ears and the faint bassline of whatever song the DJ was playing at your reception. 

“You know that love is complicated for me,” he looked in your direction, but couldn’t sustain eye contact with you. “Can we be adults about this?”

Once it became clear to you what exactly Patrick was trying to tell you, your knees gave out on you, the rest of your body overwhelmed with the unfathomable information that your brain was trying to process. Patrick cheated on you—and he was telling you just hours after you got married. 

The truth of the situation sucked the air right out of your lungs and the strength right out of your body. Your knees buckled under you, and you desperately seeked out anything you could sit on. You settled on the foot of the bed, across from where your husband nervously sat. 

“Fuck,” you dug the palms of your hands into your eyes, surely smudging the makeup on your eyelids as you attempted to collect your thoughts. “Who was it?”

“It didn’t mean anything to me,” he pathetically attempted to explain away. It all sounded like gibberish to you. For all you knew, your husband was speaking a totally different language to you. 

Despite your question and Patrick’s non-answer, you somehow felt like you knew exactly who he’d been with. The answer was all over his discomfort when he saw you talking to the woman without him by your side, and the way she sized you up and attempted to psych you out of marrying Patrick not even 24 hours ago. 

“Was it Tashi?” you asked, not even listening to his empty words and keeping your face frighteningly neutral. You spoke the words like you were playing a round of Guess Who, calm and even despite the budding feeling of dread in your stomach. 

He didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to. His deafening silence was answer enough

“Can I kick her out?” you asked with an alarmingly stable tone, still mostly unable to process this information, but knowing that it wasn’t good. 

“Yeah,” he replied quietly, head still hung and unable to make eye contact with you. 

As you took in the truly depressing sight in front of you—your husband’s hunched over posture, a shame so strong that he couldn’t even look at you, and his clipped, short answers—you couldn’t deny that you were tempted to comfort him. In any other situation, if Patrick was feeling a fraction of the negative emotion he seemed to be feeling in that moment, you would instantly be at his side, holding his hand reassuringly or holding him close in a way that told him that if no one else was there for him, you would be, but you weren’t sure you could legitimize his bad behavior with such a response. 

Instinctually, you reached out to touch him like you’d done a thousand times before, giving him a hug before a big event or spooning him after a family member said something that got under his skin, but you instantly reprimanded yourself. Despite how sad he looked, Patrick was the one who hurt you. You were the one who deserved comfort. 

You opted to pat Patrick’s back instead, a strange and impersonal action. For a moment, you felt less like his wife and more like a practically estranged family member, not sure how to greet you after meeting you for the first time three Thanksgivings ago. 

Your husband barely reacted to the stiff action, only looking at you wordlessly with glossed-over eyes. You got up from the foot of the bed and left wordlessly and neutrally, a robot whose only orders were to get out of the bedroom and shut the door behind you. 

The moment the door closed, the next goal settled into your mind—you couldn’t let Tashi spend another second in the venue, socializing with your family and drinking the wine that your parents so kindly provided to the wedding, as if she hadn’t been partaking in an affair with your husband. 

You felt half a bride and half a zombie as you left the confines of the bedroom and wandered the hallways. You were stone faced as you made your way back to the reception, trying to wrap your head and heart around devastating information that was shared with you at the most inopportune time possible. 

You made a slow march down the stairs, movement hindered by your dress, and imagined what you might say to Tashi once you saw her. You should’ve known something was off from the start. You should’ve trusted the bad feeling you had when she sized you up at the bar, smirking at you like the cat who got the cream before feeding you anecdotes about how sleazy your husband used to be for no apparent reason. You should’ve trusted that feeling when Patrick rushed over to pull you away.

You wished you paid attention when Patrick faintly smelled of feminine perfume when you surprised him by coming back from a business trip earlier than anticipated, or when you noticed a bracelet that didn’t belong to you sitting on your coffee table, one that disappeared the very next day. It was so easy to write the signs off at the time–the fragrance of your personal chef and the jewelry of one of his sisters–but it no longer felt that simple. Patrick was a lot of things, but you never expected that a cheater was one of those things.

The thought of Patrick with someone else made you nauseous, especially in your own home. You faintly wondered if they’d fucked in your bed or on the couch. If the answer was yes to either, you desperately wanted to burn the pieces of furniture. In fact, that would be the first thing you set out to do when you returned home after your honeymoon. Maybe you would even beg Patrick to move to a new place, one not haunted by the memories of him and another woman. 

That was, if your relationship even survived through the honeymoon. Let alone the night. You didn’t have a clue what your next steps would be. Would you be the fool who stays with a man who proved himself to be disloyal? Or would you be the fool who offered herself to the wrath of one of the most powerful families in the world? You would lose your husband, your job, and your livelihood in one fell swoop, surely being banished back to your family home in Minnesota, destined to be a receptionist at your father’s law firm for the rest of your life. 

The entire situation felt surreal in the worst possible way. You couldn’t believe that while you were dealing with the aftermath of this information, Tashi was waltzing around at your reception. More than that, you couldn’t believe the information itself: Patrick cheated. Your fiancé cheated. Your husband cheated on you. 

The same Patrick who became a groomzilla, laser-focused on giving you your dream wedding, cheated. The same man who confessed that he didn’t know what love felt like before he met you cheated on you. Your husband, who went out of his way to do anything to make you happy, even at the expense of his very powerful family, hadn’t been loyal to you. 

None of it made sense. Maybe you would walk back into the room and your guests would jump out from behind tables and reveal that this was all a cruel joke—a little hazing as you officially became a Zweig—their laughter filling up the room at the thought that you would ever believe something as ridiculous as Patrick cheating on you. 

You bit back bile as you walked into the room, the party continuing on the same way it had before you left and before you reentered—no prank to be found. The cacophony of loud music and the chatter of your guests filling your ears once more—what felt fun and exciting just moments before, now being far too overstimulating for someone trying to process information that could fundamentally alter the course of their relationship. You did your best to block out all of the extra noise and focus on your goal at hand. 

Find Tashi. Send her home.

You weren’t sure what you would actually do when you saw her. Would you yell at her? Slap her for being a homewrecker? Cry at the sight of her? Laugh at the absurdity of your husband telling you that he’d been having an affair with her on your wedding night?

Peripherally, you heard someone call your name excitedly, only slightly pulling you out of your trance. Still, you couldn’t find it in you to acknowledge whatever excited friend or family member as your eyes set on your target. Tashi Duncan, Patrick’s coworker and ex-girlfriend.

Where you admired her beauty and confidence just a day before, you found you now resented every positive aspect about her. As she stood by a table and talked to one of Patrick’s sisters, surely bored out of her mind by the delusional ramblings about his sister someday being the president, she nodded and smiled diplomatically. 

As you really began to think about it, you realized that she was the perfect candidate to be Patrick’s wife. She came from a background similar to his, his sisters liked her far more than they liked you—though that didn’t mean much—and physically, she seemed to be exactly your husband’s type. 

Part of you wondered if she was feeling as miserable as you were; if she’d spent the day imagining your wedding to be her own, if her own jealousy was blinding her the way that yours currently was blinding you, or if she’d begged Patrick not to marry you during their work meeting the previous night. The other part of you wondered if she thought of you as pathetic as you currently felt—a stupid woman so blinded by her own love that she overlooked every beaming, bright red flag.

Your pace quickened as you walked towards Tashi, heels clicking annoyingly as they marked your pace. As you made your way to the table, you found yourself growing more anxious, the first real feeling you’d felt since Patrick shared with you the truth about his infidelity.

“Hey,” you greeted Tashi and Patrick’s sister, voice surprisingly even for how agitated you were. “Mind if I chat with Tashi?” 

“Go ahead,” Cornelia shrugged. “Let’s stay in touch?” she asked Tashi, who politely agreed and watched the other woman walk off. 

Tashi opened her mouth to speak to you, presumably to comment on something asinine about the wedding, or to make an observation about your wedding that you’d already heard a thousand times that night. If you weren’t so upset, you would make a bet with yourself on whether she’d tell you how beautiful the wedding was, or how beautiful you and your husband looked at the altar.

“Your housing for the night fell through,” you explained in a very level tone. It wasn’t the best excuse, but it was what came out of your mouth.

“Oh?” she asked, sounding more than a little skeptical, before lifting her drink to her lips. “Do you know where else I might be able to find lodging at this hour?”

“No,” you replied quickly and with ease. “Actually, it’d probably be best if you just went home now.”

“Home like…?” she trailed off and eyed you curiously. 

“Like back to New York. I’m sure you can find a flight.”

She laughed in slight disbelief. “You realize this is a work function for me, right? I have work to do.”

“I’m sure you can do that work back home,” you dismissed, not backing down. By now, it was clear that Tashi was putting together the pieces of what you knew. In fact, you could pinpoint the exact moment when it occurred to her why the two of you were having this conversation in the first place.

Maybe it was the lack of your now-husband beside you, or the barely concealed emotion on your face. Regardless of what was your biggest tell on the situation, you continued to stare her down, resenting the way her lips shifted into a small smile, as if she still had the upper hand and knew something that you didn’t. It was almost as if she found the whole ordeal to be a little amusing, which only bothered you more. 

“No need to make a scene at your wedding. I’ll be on my way.” She lifted her glass up once again to finish the drink off, but you stopped her. 

You returned intense eye contact with her as you took the stemware right out of her hands and put it to your own lips, finishing the drink in a few large gulps. Though your action was impulsive, it felt like somewhat of a necessity. You desperately needed the liquid distraction from your less-than-ideal situation, and you didn’t want to give her an excuse to linger at your party a single moment longer than she needed to. 

She continued to stare at you, her expression somewhere in the middle of being impressed and weirded out. “Alright then. Well, congratulations on the wedding.”

“Fuck off,” you spat out, turning on your heel and walking away without bothering to see if she stayed or left. 

You made your rounds around the reception, smiling and talking to your guests with a fake smile plastered on your face. The shock of Patrick’s initial confession wore off shortly after you told Tashi off, but you still couldn’t help but feel completely numb to the situation. How else were you supposed to react when you found out the love of your life was sleeping with someone else? 

You continued to man the reception on your own, occasionally scanning the room but not catching a glimpse of your husband. You wondered if he was still in your bedroom, head in his hands as he wondered if he just opened a Pandora’s box on your relationship, or if Tashi went to go find him to discuss how poorly you reacted to the information. For all you knew, the two of them could be laughing at you or having sex in your wedding bed at the same time that you attempted to pretend that everything was perfectly fine. You grew faint at the mere thought. 

Eventually, you felt a familiar hand on the small of your back, something that typically was a welcome, comforting gesture. Instead, you wanted to flinch away from his hand like it was hot. You couldn’t believe that Patrick had the nerve to touch you like everything was fine after dropping such devastating information on you. Then again, at least he wasn’t hooking up with Tashi one last time. 

Still, even under the spell of a sadness that hadn’t quite settled in yet, you leaned into his touch instinctively. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t feel as comfortable as it did a few hours ago. 

“Such a beautiful ceremony,” a family friend of Patrick’s gushed to you. “You two have something really special.”

You felt Patrick’s eyes sear into you, desperately pleading for you to look back into them and show him that everything was going to be okay. That what you had was special enough that you’d be able to move past this. Like adults, as he said to you earlier.

You weren’t so sure that you could. 

The rest of the night moved painfully slowly. Where the two of you socialized separately before his private conversation with you, he seemed to be attached to your hip now, bringing you apology offers of champagne flutes and hor d'oeuvres.

Though he pleaded with you to handle your situation like adults, you wanted to act more like a petulant child. If you had it your way, you would reject his offerings of food by tossing them onto the floor, or throw a glass of sticky alcohol in his face as if you were a Real Housewife. 

If you had it your way, Patrick wouldn’t have cheated on you in the first place, and you’d be celebrating your wedding without the baggage of uncertainty for the future of your relationship. 

As you walked through the reception, you weren’t particularly angry or sad, you just felt numb. There was a strange concession in knowing that what happened in the past already happened, and that there was no way for you to change your husband’s behavior. For a moment, you wondered if the numbness was a symptom of the shock that was Patrick’s confession, or you would feel the dull thud of nothingness for the rest of your life. 

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding as you watched the last of your guests filtered out of the venue, relieved to finally drop the façade of being a happy newlywed and to embrace the true feeling of shock that had been biting at you all night.  

Somehow managing to break away from your suddenly very clingy spouse, you wasted no time gathering an unopened bottle of wine for yourself, along with a cigarette and a lighter, which you unceremoniously exchanged with a caterer for a Venmo payment. You then headed outside to a balcony that overlooked a beautiful sprawling garden. 

You looked out on the neatly trimmed hedges and the bench where you sat with Patrick not even twenty-four hours ago and distantly thought about how perfectly the night should’ve gone. You got married at a beautiful venue, had every detail down to the positioning of napkins meticulously planned, and most importantly, were marrying someone you genuinely loved and couldn’t see yourself living without. 

It was all rather devastating now, to see how just a few words managed to ruin what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life. 

You took a swig from the bottle, lamenting the fact that his affair partner had been drinking this very wine earlier that night. At the thought of Tashi, you took yet another hefty swig. 

Just as you reached for the lighter to light the cigarette you so desperately needed, Patrick burst through the doors of the balcony, slightly out of breath and sweat beading on his forehead. In between his heavy breaths, you swore you caught a sigh of relief. 

You couldn’t say that you were pleased to see him—after all, you’d escaped to the balcony to get a little time alone and to think through the night—but as you took in his dramatic entrance and disheveled appearance, it became abundantly clear to you that he’d been urgently looking for you. 

“Want some?” you asked, gesturing to the bottle. Your question was more than just an offer for a drink, but a peace treaty, offering Patrick to stay outside with you despite your more complicated feelings towards him. 

“Sure,” he agreed, still slightly out of breath. He collected himself as you passed him the bottle, locking eyes with you as he took a swig from the expensive drink. It felt like time moved a little slower as you watched his lips wrap around the opening of the bottle and the way his Adam's apple bobbed while the drink went down. 

You suddenly realized that complicated didn’t even begin to cover how you felt towards Patrick. You loved him more than anything, and you were sure that you needed him in your life—but beneath the thick layers of numbness was a reservoir of hurt, far deeper than you ever imagined you could harbor for the man. 

He passed the bottle back to you, his hands gently brushing over yours. Momentarily, you felt scandalized by the action, unsure if you should feel your cheeks heating up from the small touch or if you should flinch away from it. By the time the brief moment was over, you hadn’t done either, electing to set your gaze back over the rail instead of at your partner. 

Patrick stood silently beside you, not requesting anything more to drink or even attempting to make small talk. It seemed that he was just as aware as you were that he’d changed your entire dynamic with just a few words. You wondered if he realized just how much he’d fucked both of you by fucking someone else. 

You shivered in the cold night, your dress not providing you much coverage in the elements. If your wedding night had gone any differently, Patrick would’ve offered you his suit jacket, draping the item over your shoulders and kissing you sweetly. Then again, if the night had gone differently, you likely wouldn’t be shivering on the balcony in the first place. 

You squatted to set down the bottle on the ground and rediscovered the cigarette and lighter. Though you weren’t usually one to smoke, you desperately needed it after the shitshow that was your wedding night.  

Though you put the stick to your lips, you struggled to light the cigarette, the frigid breeze making everything slightly more difficult. It didn’t help that you hadn’t smoked since you were a teenager, giggling with your friends as you clumsily attempted and failed to light up the stick, the match pinched between your fingertips quickly burning down. The contrast between the silly memory and your far less silly reality felt jarring, to say the least.  

“Here, let me,” Patrick said softly, taking the lighter from you and cupping his hand around the tip of the cigarette. You tried not to look at him too closely as you listened to the soft clicking sound of the lighter. Though he should’ve focused on the action so he didn’t burn his finger tips or the palm of his hand blocking the wind, he didn’t seem to be able to look at anything but you. The light of the flame briefly illuminated both of your faces, momentarily giving you a better look at his sad eyes. 

You inhaled as the flame touched the tip, and turned your head to exhale the smoke, not wanting to blow it in the face of your partner or have to spend another second under the scrutiny of his intense eye contact.

Even as you looked away and into the garden below, you could feel Patrick’s eyes burning into you. You were sure that if you looked back over at him, you would see him looking particularly downtrodden, lips parted for words that were on the tip of his tongue that he couldn’t quite say yet, and eyebrows drawn together in a way that only seemed to highlight the sadness in his eyes. 

Unspoken questions lingered in the air like the smoke from the cigarette dangling from your lips. Though you didn’t care for the smell, you were pretty sure you preferred the smoke to the questions. 

Finally, a quiet question was spoken into the air,  “Can I?” Patrick asked, his eyes flitting from your eyes to your lips. 

“Sure,” you replied noncommittally as you pulled the cigarette away from you and passed it to your husband. Electing to watch him instead of the unchanging garden, you observed as Patrick’s lips closed over the space where yours had just been, covering the hint of a lipstick stain that you’d left on it. After a long drag, he passed the cigarette back to you, his hand brushing softly over yours once more as you did so. 

This pattern continued, a heavy silence falling between the two of you as you shared the cigarette, your hands caressing the other’s softly.

“Here,” you murmured as you approached the filter. Instead of passing it back to Patrick, you brought it up to his lips, watching him intently as he breathed in the smoke. 

For a moment, all you could see was his face, illuminated by the burning end of the cigarette, pupils blown with something you couldn’t quite place. You weren’t sure if you wanted to ravish him right there on the balcony or push him off of it.

He blew the smoke right back into your face, electing to still share the last of the cigarette with you. You wondered if that meant anything. It probably didn’t. 

The two of you stood looking at each other, staring wordlessly as you waited for the other person to move a muscle or say something—anything. For a moment, you considered telling Patrick that you wanted an annulment. But then again, that wasn’t exactly the truth. 

“I’m going to bed,” you broke the silence with your announcement. “I need to change out of this dress.”

You wished it were that simple. You desperately wanted to scrub the day off of you and to pinch yourself until you woke up. Surely, this couldn’t be your actual wedding night. Maybe you could wake up in the morning and find that this was all a bad dream—the manifestation of anxiety before your big day.

But, as Patrick trailed behind you in the hallway as if you would disappear if you left his sight, you were pretty sure that this was the reality. You wouldn’t wake up and find that your husband had been loyal to you. 

Your return to the room was a silent one. The moment you stepped foot through the door, it felt like you were back in that horrible moment; like Patrick was moments from revealing to you that Tashi was the tip of the iceberg. 

Bile rose in your throat once more. You made a beeline to the bathroom, hoping that the change of scenery might halt your thoughts altogether. 

You stepped out of the bathroom with an entirely different mindset than what you had as you entered. Sure, your wedding night wasn’t at all what you expected it to be, but it didn’t mean that you couldn’t put it back on the right track. In the bathroom, you slipped on a silky nightie, what you hoped would be a reminder to both of you that this wasn’t any old regular night, but your wedding night. Though, with the day you just had, you weren’t so sure that either of you would be up for a particularly romantic night. You guessed it couldn’t hurt. 

You left the bathroom as a woman on a mission, your eyes set on Patrick as you crossed the bedroom floor to get to him. Though he’d been laying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling like it had the secrets to the universe written on it, the sound of your entrance drew his attention over to you. You gently bit your lower lip and hoped that your face said ‘sexy’ rather than ‘so nervous you might be sick.’

His eyes stayed locked on you as you crawled into bed, and you hoped once more that the action of you moving towards him on your hands and knees didn’t appear as desperate as you felt on the inside. 

It felt like your evening consisted of one desperate plea after another: Please don’t do this to me. Please just pretend that everything’s fine. Please don’t leave me. 

He followed your lead as you trailed your hand up his arm and looked at him as seductively as you could manage before pushing him down onto the bed and straddling his lap. Distantly, you wondered how Tashi imitated things with him—if she did anything that Patrick liked more about her than you. You did your best to push that thought away, but failed miserably. 

Mechanically, you ran your hands through his hair and kissed him passionately. You tried to ignore the lump in your throat and reminded yourself that it was just Patrick. Things weren’t all that different, except for the fact that he was your husband now—and that he cheated on you.

You tried once more to push that thought out of your mind as you moved your hips against his lap, but your attempts were in vain. It certainly didn’t help that as you kissed him, you tasted the cigarette you shared earlier in his breath—an unwelcome reminder of the awkward tension that lingered between the two of you after he shared the truth about his infidelity. And surely, it was just your mind, but his lips almost tasted like the chapstick of another woman. 

Suddenly, all you could think about was Tashi with your husband. Him and Tashi in your bedroom, or in a hotel room, or on your couch. Did she do anything special that drove him crazy? What did she have that you didn’t? 

Your body said one thing, but your brain said something completely different. You did your best to power through the thoughts of your husband being with another woman, but you were beginning to realize that when it came to cheating, you weren’t all that tough. You bit down on Patrick’s lip in what you hoped would be a light nibble, but the taste of iron quickly filled your mouth. 

You slowed down your movements as your thoughts sped up before you gave up entirely. You supposed it was a classic case of mind over matter, and your mind was not nearly as strong as any of your physical urges. 

You shifted off of Patrick far later than you should’ve, feeling like a complete and utter failure. You couldn’t even do the one thing you should’ve been able to do during your wedding night. No wonder he found solace in someone else’s body. 

“I’m sorry,” you said weakly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

It took you rolling off of Patrick to realize that his face was damp, eyes glossy with a thin layer of tears threatening to fall. The pit in your stomach that had been steadily growing since Patrick pulled you aside to tell you something finally came to a head when you realized that your husband was crying.

“Why are you sorry?” he asked, his voice cracking on the last syllable of his question. 

A fresh tear rolled down his cheek, which was then followed by a few other droplets. He turned his head away from you and wiped them away quickly so you wouldn’t notice them, but the damage was already done. 

You’d never seen Patrick cry before—not when you watched sad movies that left you bawling, not when the two of you watched advertisements for puppies in shelters, not even when he thought his dad might be dying. To see him shed tears over you felt particularly unsettling. 

“Patrick?” you said his name softly, like he was delicate and going to break. 

“I should be the one who’s sorry,” he looked towards you once more, eyes now rimmed with red. “I ruined everything already. I'm so sorry.”

This was a complete wild card on top of a stack of wild cards. If someone told you that your wedding night would end with your husband telling you he cheated on you, a pathetic failed attempt at sex, then watching your partner cry for the first time in front of you, you would’ve laughed in their face. 

His crying continued, becoming slightly more intense as sorrow racked through his body. You’d never been in a situation like this before, so you were completely unsure of what to do. 

With all prior restraint to show him physical affection gone, you awkwardly slotted your arms around your husband. He automatically leaned into you, burying his face in your shoulder as he continued to shed quiet tears. Your shoulder quickly grew damp as you threaded your fingers through his curls, the repetitive petting being just as soothing for you as it was for him. 

Despite it all, you still felt a general sense of nothing at all. You were beginning to grow concerned, knowing that deep down there were certainly emotions that weren’t ready to approach the surface. You worried about what it might look like once those feelings finally came out, but that was the least of your worries when it came to your weeping husband. 

Patrick continued to cry quietly, the only sound in the room being his soft, occasional sniffles. You couldn’t even place how you felt or how long you sat there stone faced as you cradled your husband. 

Eventually, the tears on your shoulder dried and the intervals between sniffles grew further and further. Soon, the soft sounds of weeping turned into the long and deep breaths of rest. Between you playing with his hair and holding him, he must’ve fallen asleep. You couldn’t really blame him—given your eventful day, your all-nighter the previous day, and the energy it took for him to cry. 

You gently laid Patrick back down on his side of the bed, pulling a blanket over his chest and pushing back the hair on his forehead to press a kiss to him. He stirred slightly against the forehead kiss, but didn’t seem to wake up all the way. Even when your feelings were complicated towards the man, you couldn’t help being affectionate towards him. In some ways, you felt like you needed that affection just as much as he did. 

You let out a long sigh as the reality of everything truly began to set in, and you no longer had to be strong for your weeping partner. You couldn’t wrap your head around the sight of Patrick crying for the first time, or the fact that he cheated on you. You flicked off the bedside lamp, the only source of light in your otherwise darkened bedroom. 

You rolled over in bed and laid on your back, setting your hands on your stomach and staring up at the ceiling. You traced your eyes over the pattern of the ceiling, though it was dark and not all that clear. You wondered if you looked at it long enough, if you’d be able to make some sense out of it. You glanced over at Patrick and wondered the same thing. 

You just couldn’t understand why he’d cheat on you. You’d always been under the impression that he was just as happy in your relationship as you were. Despite his promiscuous past, he never seemed like the type of person to not be loyal to you.

You noticed a teardrop trail down his cheek in his sleep, and you gently thumbed it away. The small movement turned into you tracing a line down his nose and over his lips, then over his eyebrows and back down through the few freckles that dotted his face. Maybe if you watched him long enough, if you learned every detail of his face, someone would reveal to you why he’d done something so illogical and cruel. 

You worried about how the two of you could move forward from something like this. Though Patrick always approached the topic of infidelity with a dismissive attitude, cheating had always been a deal breaker for you in your past relationships. It shattered your trust in a way that was so foundational, you couldn’t fathom a world where your relationship with Patrick stayed exactly the same after this. 

Part of you knew already that moving forward, you’d constantly wonder if he was genuinely working late or if he was having an affair, or if his eye was wandering at events despite you standing by his side. And that was just trust when it came to relationships—obviously his lie was far deeper than just that. Now, you knew that Patrick had the capacity to hold a secret that massive from you, then share it at the worst possible time. 

In fact, his timing felt so terrible that you momentarily wondered if it was some sort of power play. Was Patrick trying to remind you that you weren’t equals in this partnership? Was he trying to manipulate you by only sharing this information to you after you were married to him and couldn’t easily call everything off? 

Your stomach turned at the possibility that Patrick wasn’t really who he said he was, and that you’d been baited and switched. You recalled the first time you met Patrick’s family, how he switched on a dime and became far more calculated and cruel to them than you’d ever seen him be with you. Was that the realest version of your husband, and the person he was with you just a façade? Was this some sort of long game he was playing with his family to piss a few people off? Did Patrick even love you?  

For the first time in your relationship, you felt like you didn’t know who you were sleeping next to. Surely, this couldn’t be the same Patrick who you set out to have a quick hook up with, and ended up talking to him for hours. It couldn’t be the same Patrick who held you tight at night and gave you kisses every morning in your kitchen. The same Patrick from your vows a few hours ago, whose hands shook as he read from notecards and declared his love for you.

You frowned as you looked over Patrick once more. You resented how he was able to sleep so peacefully after inflicting such hurt on you. Did he even understand how destroyed you were? You couldn’t see yourself sleeping through the night in the foreseeable future, your head too filled with questions about your relationship and questions about his relationship with her. Would they continue the affair? Would they still work together after this, leaving you to wonder for the rest of your life if they were still going behind your back?

You desperately wished the thoughts would stop, but they kept coming, punctuated by the sounds of Patrick’s soft snores behind you. 

By the time the sun began to peek through the blinds, your hand was on Patrick’s face once again. You wondered how it was possible for him to hurt someone he loved as much as he loved you, if his definition of love was so skewed by a lifetime of abuse labeled as love from his parents, and siblings who used cruelty as a form of affection. 

Maybe you should’ve listened to the warnings everyone gave you, from your parents who warned that your husband and his family may be more than you bargained for, from his sisters who never seemed to be able to fully wrap their head around Patrick committing to someone, let alone you. Maybe you should’ve even listened to Tashi’s coded warning about his inability to commit and stay loyal. It seemed like everyone saw the fate of your relationship coming except you. 

With the early morning light illuminating the room, things felt a little clearer for you. Beneath the numbness that protected you the previous night was a more painful undercurrent of hurt that was already beginning to eat away at you. 

For the past several years of your life, you hadn’t had to deal with any painful feelings on your own. Patrick was always there beside you to hold you tight and reassure you that everything would be okay. As you laid next to him, you realized that despite all the pain he’d inflicted on you, all you really wanted was to be held by him. 

Knowing that he was sleeping peacefully beside you, you opted to hold him, draping your body over his and pulling yourself as close as you could manage to him. You leaned your ear against his back, taking in the warmth he gave you and listening to his heart beat. As the two of your breaths and heartbeats began to match the other’s pace, you lamented that even now, your hearts beat as one. 

For the first time that evening, your eye prickled with the threat of tears. 

You lost track of how long you held your husband, but it was long enough to notice the pattern of his breath changing. You’d woken up beside him enough times to recognize that he was clearly awake, yet he made no other indication to you that he was awake. He wanted you to hold him. You wondered if he thought this might be the last time you ever do that for him. You wondered if it was the last time you’d ever do that for him. 

The two of you pretended to be asleep despite the fact that you were both obviously awake, but no one commented on anything. After your arms began to grow numb, you turned your back to Patrick, hoping that he would return the favor and give you what you really wanted. You were pleased to find that he just as eagerly wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight and breathing quietly in your ear. 

The two of you sat in complete silence, pretending you didn’t know what the other person was doing. Somehow, it felt like that was about to become a recurring theme in your relationship.

[therealcocoshady]

Kinktober - Day 10 - Stockings

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

A/N : Hey ! Here is the fic for the "Stocking" prompt for Kinktober. I actually made it as a sequel to the Fuck Or Die one. My mind was all over the place and I got a little carried away. I hope you like it nonetheless.

CW : ANGST - Unresolved issues - Relationship trauma - Flirting - Stocking - Infidelity - Marshall Mathers being an asshole - Reader not being any better, really

You should have known better. You should have known that, when Marshall had something in mind, there was no point in trying to reason him. And, seeing as you’d been his girlfriend for two years, you knew just obsessive and relentless he could get. Most of the time, he put these personality traits to good use in his pursuit of musical excellence. Sometimes, though, it was an omen of chaos. You were at fault, though, and you knew it. It wasn’t quite clear what had gone through your head when you allowed him to touch himself in front of you. You usually prided yourself in being a sensible human being. Pretty smart, even. But this ? It had been reckless and stupid. And it didn’t help that you had let the feeling of seduction get to your head, going as far as teasing him. There was nothing you could say in your defense. You had enjoyed the attention and had leaned into it. You had let your ego take over. As if your two year relationship with Marshall had not been one of the most damaging things that had ever happened to it. As if feeling your ex’s lustful gaze was worth betraying the trust of your fiancé. The one who had made you believe in love again. That you were worthy of attention and commitment. 

You hated yourself. You hated how stupid you were. You hated the way you were still craving for Marshall’s attention. And most of all, you hated the fact that you had let it show. Because you knew that, once he decided to have his fun with it, it would make your life a living hell. As soon as you’d heard him tell Greg « I want what you have », you knew you were fucked. You knew his asshole voice all too well. Of course he just had to torture you with it. The way he had phrased it made it seem like he wanted a relationship just as beautiful as the one you shared with your fiancé. Only you knew that what he actually wanted was the fiancée in question. You. But, sadly, you couldn’t tell Greg that. You couldn’t tell him what had happened either. Not when you were a couple of months away from your wedding, the happily ever after that you had been longing for. If he knew, he’d leave. Rightfully so. But you didn’t want to compromise your happiness for what had been a lapse in judgement. 

Afterwards, you had tried to tell yourself that, maybe it was a joke. Maybe it was just Marshall messing with your brain. You had already been vain and stupid, so why not add a side of delusion as well ? It was short-lived, though. Because the way he looked at you in the days that followed made it quite clear. He had read into the situation and seen something there. A possibility that, maybe, you weren’t as definitely done with him as you’d said you were when you left him. A possibility for him to have fun. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, though. Once a player, always a player. It’s what you had liked about him at first. His seductive aura. But sadly, it had ended up being what you disliked the most about him : he liked the fun and the chase too much. Sure, he had never cheated. As far as you knew, at least. It was more that what most of his exes could say. But just because he was faithful didn’t mean he only had eyes for you and you had come to understand that, in spite of his many qualities, he would never be the partner you needed. You had tried to convince yourself that the way he’d sometimes glance as gorgeous woman when he thought you didn’t notice was not a big deal. You had really trued to let it go be the bigger person and convince yourself that you were better than these girls who got insecure over nothing. That all men do it and, as a grown woman, you shouldn’t be so uptight. But the insecurities had kept on gnawing at you, as well as the realization that he’d probably never commit to you. 

Breaking up with him had been freeing. Heartbreaking, of course, but it was in your best interest. His reaction proved it, too. Acceptance and understanding. As soon as you had said the words, that it was over, he had come to terms with it. No fighting or arguing. He has nodded, said it was fine. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he had asked something work-related. You’d been flabbergasted, at first. Maybe he hadn’t actually understood that you had just broken up with him ? But when you asked, he had casually replied that you breaking up with him didn’t have to mean giving up on what had been a good professional partnership for seven years. Something about you being an incredible assistant, the best he could have ever hoped for. He valued you as a friend and collaborator. As weird as it was, it had been rather soothing for your ego and a good enough reason for you not to resign. You liked the job, after all. The following months had been a little weird, sure, but, in time, you had gotten used to it. Going back to being friends and working together. And then, a year and a half later, as fate would have it, you had met Greg. The opposite of Marshall. As if the universe was actually apologizing and rewarding you for being so brave, keeping on working with your ex. 

Your fiancé had healed you in so many ways. Making you feel appreciated, loved, valued. Actively pursuing you and stating his serious intentions. Not only had he told you he was marriage-minded, but he had put his words into action. After three weeks of dating, he had introduced you to his family and, on your six months anniversary, he had asked for your hand. You were finally going to live happily ever after and everyone was happy for you. Even Marshall, who seemed pretty friendly with Greg. Or at least, as friendly as he could get with someone so different from him. You should have known better than to believe your ex had any respect for your relationship. Or that he cared about your happiness more than he enjoyed seduction. Also, you should have known that a man on the chase doesn’t let any details unnoticed. Especially not when said details materialize in the form of lacy details on your thigh. 

When it came to work attire, you were usually pretty low key. You stuck to simple pieces that you were comfortable in, like your  skirt and cashmere sweater combo. Cozy enough for your day at the studio, yet sufficiently cute for the times you went out after work.  That day, you had plans with Greg, so you had swapped your usual sneakers for some cute and comfy pair of pumps. Unfortunately, the heel had accidentally ripped your last pair of tights before you left, forcing you to wear stockings instead. Breezier, for sure, but at least you didn’t have to deal with an outfit change that would make you late. You usually didn’t care about a little tardiness, neither did Marshall, but it was meeting day with Dre, who was in town, and you knew you had to be on your A-game. Lots to do. So much, in fact, that you soon forgot about your wardrobe incident. So much that you didn’t notice Marshall staring at you as you shifted in your chair, skirt sliding up a little as you moved. You should’ve known he’d notice that teasing band of lace just visible against your thigh. That his brain would read it as a signal, an invitation. 

After Dre left the building and you went back to Marshall’s office, he shut the door behind you. Your mind still on the meeting, you didn’t seem to notice right away, but you finally picked up on it, the way the tension felt charged, electric. “Marshall?” You asked, raising an eyebrow as you turned to face him. “What’s up?”.  He took a breath, seemingly considering his words carefully before he moved a little closer. “I couldn’t help but notice your, uh, new wardrobe choice today,” he said, gesturing slightly toward you skirt. “Not really a ‘you’ thing… wasn’t sure if it meant anything.” You looked down, confused for a moment, and then rolled your eyes with a short laugh. “Oh, my tights ripped this morning. These were my last-minute backup, not some message for you.” You raised an eyebrow as you tried to keep it light, yet clear. “Besides, you do remember I’m engaged, right?”. He leaned against his desk, his expression softening. “Greg’s a good guy. I know. But… he’s not me.” You shook your head, a mix of frustration and humor softening your gaze. “That’s actually why I chose him. Because he’s not you. Because you were unable to commit to me.” He looked at you and hummed.  “I was,” he agreed, his voice low. “I’m just saying… we had good times”. You sighed, nervously looking down at your hands, a hint of conflict flickering across your face. “We had our time,” you said, voice softening as your gaze met his. “And it was good. But you know I wanted stability, and you… are Marshall Mathers”.  He smirked at that, self-aware and, for once, not quick to argue. “Doesn’t mean I don’t get things wrong. Doesn’t mean I can’t try to make things right if they matter enough.”

You paused, watching him closely, searching his face for something. “You’re really doing this?” you asked, a small, nervous laugh escaping your lips. “Maybe,” he admitted, shrugging. “Greg’s nice. But… I don’t think he’s what you need. I know he’s not. And you know it too”. You exhaled sharply, closing your eyes for a beat before fixing him with a glare. “I’m with Greg now. And it’s not fair for you to… to play with me like this, knowing I’m getting married in two months”. He leaned in a little closer, his voice low. “Play with you? Come on, you know me better than that. I’m just saying… if you ever had second thoughts, if you wanted something real… I’d be there. Give it a real shot this time. Not just a couple of years”. 

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head as you tried to hide your nerves and frustration. “That’s so you, Marshall. You’re saying all this now, trying to tell me you’d be different, but it just sounds like another game. Like you’re trying to say what you think I want to hear.” You folded your arms, a flash of sadness in your eyes. “If you had wanted me back, you should’ve done something about it when I left you. Not now that I’m actually with someone who’s stable, who can commit”. He watched you, undeterred, the corner of his mouth lifting as he shrugged. “Maybe it just took me a while to realize what I was missing,” he murmured, his gaze lingering on you in a way that made your cheeks flush against your will. You hated yourself for reacting this way. But it seemed like the bastard knew you too well. “Besides, you’re here, looking like that, and I can’t help but remember… things”, he added with a smirk that showed you he knew exactly what he was doing. As always with him, it was deliberate. No accident. You shifted uncomfortably, a reluctant heat crawling up your neck as his words sank in. You felt his gaze like a touch, and it irritated you that he could still do this to you, make your pulse race despite every reason to resist. “Marshall, just stop,” you said, your voice tense. “I’m with Greg. And this—this flirting… it’s not fair to him or to me”. 

“Is it really just flirting, though?” he asked, his voice soft, eyes never leaving yours. “Feels like maybe, just maybe, you’re into this, too. And that’s okay. We had something good, after all. We could have it again if you’d let yourself see it.” You bit your lip, the irritation flaring up again, even as your own reaction to him betrayed you. You could feel your pulse quicken, the way his gaze made you feel like you were the only woman in the world, the only one who mattered. And that frustrated you even more. He had no right of making you feel this way. Not when it was all you had wanted from him for so long and he knew it. It was bad enough that he was trying to get to you, but this didn’t feel like seduction. It felt like torture. Some sort of emotional warfare. 

You crossed your arms tightly, glancing at him with a mixture of irritation and something dangerously close to vulnerability. “You’re being cruel, Marshall,” you accused, your voice low but firm. “You know exactly what you’re doing. And you know how much it hurts”. He looked at you ad shook his head. “Cruel?” he echoed, voice soft, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. He leaned back against the nearest wall, gaze roving over your face. “I’m just being honest.” You shook your head, feeling the flush creep up your neck despite yourself and your conscience scolding you. “You had your chance with me, Marshall. And now you’re—”

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he cut in, his voice a shade more vulnerable than you’d expected. His gaze was intense, all traces of teasing wiped away, and it held you still, making you forget your next words. “The other day, seeing that look in your eyes again… It was like I got this tiny piece of you back, and then you’re gone again, right out of my reach.” You felt your heart skip, your fingers curling slightly as his words sank in, but you hardened yourself, forcing your expression to stay steady. “You make it sound so easy, like you’re just entitled to pull me back in because you suddenly decided you miss me,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even. “But I have a life now, Marshall. A real relationship. With someone who… who actually wants me.”

“I know I fucked up,” he said, his voice dropping lower, holding your gaze. “But believe me, it was hard, trying to get over you, then. And now? Now it’s impossible. You think I haven’t tried? Think I haven’t wondered how it’d be to just let you go and move on?”. His voice wavered slightly, but it was his eyes, that quiet intensity, that made your pulse race. And as much as you hated it, your body reacted, remembering exactly how that gaze used to unravel you. “Marshall…” you whispered, barely able to get his name out. “Please. Don’t do this. Don’t make me second-guess everything like this.” But he wasn’t backing down. Instead, he took a slow step closer, and you could feel the heat radiating from him, so close you could almost feel his breath. “You think I’m just playing, but you know me better than that. You know I don’t say things I don’t mean.”. 

Your heart pounded, breath hitching as he reached up, his hand brushing against your cheek with a familiar, devastating tenderness. You felt your walls begin to crumble, your body leaning slightly toward him before you could think better of it. He smirked, his gaze flicking down to your lips. “See? You still feel it too. I know you do,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. Your resolve wavered, but you shook her head, even as your body betrayed you. “This isn’t fair,” you managed, your voice softer now, more breathless. “It’s a game to you. You’re just trying to play. You think you can just sweet-talk your way into winning.”

“If that’s all you think this is,” he whispered, leaning even closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours, “then tell me to stop.” But you couldn’t. The tension between the two of you snapped, and before you knew it, his mouth was on yours, all that frustration, all that longing you had tried to bury, spilling out between you. His hands found your waist, pulling you against him, and you felt all resolve melt, every protest fading under the heat of his kiss. He deepened it, one hand sliding up your back, his other grazing your cheek as if memorizing your touch. And against every logical thought, you found yourself returning the kiss, your own hands tangled in his shirt, clutching him like he was both the problem and the solution. Your breathing was ragged as Marshall’s hand slid up your thigh, fingers tracing just above the lace edge of your stocking. His touch was firm yet careful, stroking your bare skin in a way that made you lose every coherent thought, every ounce of resolve you had tried so hard to keep. You were pressed against him, your mouths hungry, his lips rough and familiar, setting off sparks you had nearly forgotten. 

He paused, pulling back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with a familiar, smug gleam. “The ‘nice guy’ you settled for,” he murmured, voice dripping with confidence, “could never make you feel like this. And deep down, you know it. Even if you don’t want to admit it… even if it’s subconscious… you wore these because you wanted my attention.” A surge of anger flared up, cutting through the haze of your desire. Your cheeks flushed, not only from the heat of his touch but from the bite of his words, that infuriating arrogance that he still had, like he already knew he’d won. “You think you know me so well,” you shot back, voice unsteady but fiery. “Think you’ve got me wrapped around your finger.”. Of course he had to do this. Place himself at the forefront of your thoughts. Make it all about him. But he didn’t seem to care about your ager. He simply chuckled, his hand still caressing your thigh, his thumb brushing over your skin with deliberate, maddening slowness. “I don’t think. I know. I can feel it. You’re here right now, aren’t you?”

Your jaw clenched, your body betraying your resolve with every hitch of her breath, every slight movement closer to him. His hand slid a little higher, stoking the heat between you, his touch gentle yet possessive. He was too close, his mouth at your ear now, his voice a low, teasing whisper. “You can marry Mr. Nice Guy,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “But I’ll be right there, front row, watching, and we’ll both know the truth. We both know he’ll never be me.” That struck a nerve, hard, snapping you out of the haze he’d wrapped you in. You pushed him back, just enough to look him square in the eyes, your own gaze blazing with anger. “Then be there. Front row. And watch me marry him. Watch me prove that I’m done with this,” you shot back, voice trembling with fury and something else you couldn’t quite deny. “You’ll get all the attention you want, Marshall, watching me build a life without you in it.” The challenge in your voice hung thick in the air, both of you locked in that moment, eyes clashing. You could see the flicker of something vulnerable in his expression, a brief crack in his cocky facade before he recovered, his hand moving up to cup your face, his thumb grazing your cheek, his expression softer but no less intense. “If that’s what you really want,” he murmured, eyes searching yours. “But you can’t pretend you don’t feel it, too.”

You didn’t answer, and for a moment, you were lost again, his mouth crashing against yours, his hand stroking up your thigh as your own hands found his shoulders, pulling him closer with a force that felt more like surrender than defiance. You kissed, your anger mixing with desire, the fire between them relentless and uncontainable, even as your mind screamed for you to stop. You knew you should push him away. Hell, you should resign and leave. But you were under his spell. Addicted to his eyes on you, the way he touched you. But most of all, it was the way he was finally giving you something you’d been craving all these years ago, that made it impossible for you to pull back. You were the object of his desire. Not the girlfriend he had been faithful to out of mere obligation and kindness. Not the accommodating assistant promoted to GF because her blowjob skills rivaled her schedule management and coffee-making abilities. Maybe it was ok for you to enjoy it for a second. Maybe you could bask in it, heal the wounds he had inflicted each time he had looked at these other women. Each one of them a humiliation you had not allowed yourself to feel, back then. Screw the fake « cool girl » attitude you had forced upon yourself. Remaining silent each time you’d see him stare at these girls. Pretending you didn’t care, that it wasn’t a blow to your confidence when it shattered you inside. And slowly, at these thoughts, you found yourself coming out of his spell.

Your breathing was still uneven, your cheeks flushed as you took a deliberate step back, creating a space between you and him that felt almost painful to establish. You straightened yourself, forcing the resolve back into your voice even as his eyes lingered on you, dark with frustration and a longing he wasn’t bothering to hide. “It doesn’t matter what I feel, Marshall. Because none of this changes the fact that I want you to watch me get married.” You straightened your shoulders, the words spilling out with an edge that cut through the silence. “And when you do, I want you to take a good look at my husband. Because no matter what you think, Greg will be the one fucking me every night. Not you.” He clenched his jaw, a hint of wounded pride flashing in his gaze, but he didn’t interrupt, his eyes locked on you as if trying to read between every word you said. “You can obsess over whether I wore these stockings for you or not,” you continued, gesturing with a coldness that felt like armor, “but you’re not going to be the one taking them off. You can tell yourself all you want that you’re better than him, but at least the ‘nice guy’ is the one who gets to finish. With me. No need for pills, too. You think you're so good but while you're touching yourself to me because your sex life sucks, he actually gets to touch.”   You saw the way the words hit, a flash of hurt in his expression before he quickly masked it, the usual confidence in his eyes now edged with something vulnerable. He took a step back, shoving his hands into his pockets as if to keep himself from reaching for you. His voice was low, raw. “All that ?” he asked, the words carrying a weight you hadn’t expected. “What is it that makes Mr. Nice Guy so great, then? That he’s the one who gets to finish ?”. 

“Commitment,” you replied immediately, voice unwavering. “His undivided attention. I know he’ll be there, and he won’t treat me like some challenge. He makes me feel safe, Marshall. He’s everything you couldn’t be.” He let out a bitter laugh, the pain evident in his face as he shook his head. “Then go ahead. Be happy. Play it safe.” He paused, searching your face, a flicker of resentment mixed with the hurt in his gaze. “But it’s funny, because not once did you mention being in love with him.” The words stung, tearing down your defenses with brutal precision, but before you could respond, his hand lifted to your face, his touch achingly gentle as his fingers traced your cheek. You stood still, heart pounding, resolve weakening under the weight of his gaze, the warmth of his hand on your skin. “Enjoy your perfect, safe life,” he whispered, his tone laced with irony, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I hope the white dress and everything else is worth the masquerade.” The tension in his voice was like a taut wire as he leaned in, just close enough that you felt his breath against your skin. “And who knows, maybe I’ll even be the judge of it all, from my front-row seat at the wedding.” He pulled back, giving you one last look, his face hard yet unreadable. Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing alone, hands trembling, his words echoing in the quiet space he left behind. 

[justwinginglife]

Double The Trouble

25 Days of Simpmas: Day Thirteen December 13th: Manjiro Sano(Mikey), Rank 13 Anime: Tokyo Revengers Event Masterlist

Ironically, this is a Mikey fic and Draken stole lots of screentime lmaooo, whoops, my bad.

Warning: very slight mature scene??

“Let’s trade.”

Two simple words, and yet, they were anything but.

In truth, Mikey had been eying you for a while now, but out of respect for his closest friend, he hadn’t been very active in his pursuit of you. Then, when Draken suddenly expressed his interest in Mikey’s sister, well, Mikey just smirked and said it was only fair that they trade off; Draken was allowed to date Mikey’s sister if Mikey was allowed to date his sister.

Draken almost beat him to a pulp. 

He felt he’d been pretty respectful in asking for Mikey’s permission to date his sister, but he did not like the way Mikey was turning this whole situation into a damn transaction. If that’s what it took, he would just give up on Emma. 

But then you walked in. His baby sister. His whole world. The only thing more precious to him than the entirety of Toman, than the entirety of his life.

And your eyes lit up like the goddamn stars when you saw Mikey. “Hey, silly, watcha doin here? Isn’t it a little early to be up for you?” You walked over to him and ruffled his hair before giving him a hug that was much too long for Draken’s taste. “It’s good to see you.”

Draken sighed. This was terrible. You liked Mikey back, didn’t you? How could he have missed it before? Had the signs always been there, sitting right in front of him? He thought he’d done a good job at keeping you away from the gang life, but Mikey must’ve visited just a little too much, gotten just a little too close, because now you were just a little too fond of him to ever let him go. Now you looked at Mikey like he was the one who put the sun and the stars in the sky, and you looked at him like he’d done it just for you. 

And Draken wasn’t sure how to feel about it. 

On the one hand, Mikey was his best friend and he knew Mikey. On the other hand, Mikey was his best friend… and he knew Mikey. He couldn’t be sure that Mikey’s recklessness wouldn’t get you killed one day. He couldn’t be sure that Mikey’s childish behavior wouldn’t break your heart one day. Sure, Mikey was loyal to his friends, to his gang, but he’d never been in a romantic relationship before. Would he know the difference between love and a passing fancy? Would he even know love if it hit him over the head with a spiked baseball bat?

Now that he thought about it, Mikey hadn’t even expressed any notions as grand as love and romance. He’d only expressed interest in you. Interest as in what? As in you were as interesting as a kid's meal? As in you were as interesting as a buy one get one free coupon he’d found on the street? As in you were as interesting as the newest episode of a TV show that just aired? Was he merely intrigued or was he intoxicated? Was he merely amused or was he affectionate? What were the depths of his feelings for you? Was there no depth at all? Was it simply as shallow as physical attraction? 

He grit his teeth at the thought. 

Draken always knew the time would come when he’d have to fight off waves of suitors, of men who thought they were good enough for you, but he never imagined that Mikey would be first in line. He never imagined that maybe the reason Mikey came over so much in the first place was you. 

He wondered if he denied Mikey your hand, would Mikey respect his decision? Or would he go berserk, and steal you away with him? Would he simply sigh, pout a little, and then forget about you the next day? Draken wasn’t sure what pissed him off more, the thought of you being so valuable to Mikey that he’d kidnap you, or the thought of you being so invaluable to him that he’d forget you. But he had to remind himself that he held all the cards here. Mikey was still waiting for his decision. Maybe Draken would just pretend to think on it, buy himself some time. Maybe by then you’d get tired of waiting and just fall out of love with Mikey. Yeah, that’s what he would do. He’d just wait it out. This was just one big waiting game and Draken held all the cards.

But if he held all the cards, you held all the chips. And you were going all in. You knew your brother better than anyone else in the world, so you already knew that he’d never let you date Mikey. You also knew that his eternal pining over Emma would drive you crazy if left alone any longer, so you thought you might do some of the heavy lifting and kill two birds with one stone.

“Kenny! I want to go to the fireworks festival tonight. I bought a kimono and there’s NO WAY I’m letting the summer end without using it once.” You declared suddenly. 

Draken rolled his eyes. “So just wear it here. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is, I wanna wear it to the fireworks festival and I wanna wear it tonight. And you’re coming with.”

He raised a brow. Him? You’d just been hanging onto Mikey’s every word like he’d been hand feeding you oxygen breathed by the gods, and you were asking him to go to the festival with you? Not Mikey? He didn’t know what you were playing at, but he knew it wasn’t good. “Okay… what’s the catch?”

“Why’s there always gotta be a catch with you?” You whined. “Can’t I just want to hang out with my big brother?” 

He crossed his arms, waiting.

“Fiiiiiine. Catch is, I wanna see Emma too. You’ll bring her along, won’t you, Mikey?” You turned your big brown eyes on poor Mikey. Now, he hadn’t been intending to resist in the first place -in fact, he’d been too busy imagining how good you would look in a kimono to properly contribute to this conversation at all- but when you gazed at him like that, like he held the world in his hands, there was no way in hell he would ever deny you anything. 

“Of course. I’ll drop her off by-”

“Drop her off? But what if Emma wants you there with us? What if she gets lonely?”

He chuckled. Somehow he didn’t think you were talking about Emma. “I see. Well, I wouldn’t want my dear Emma to be lonely. So I suppose I’ll have to come with. Make sure she’s alright.”

If Draken had caught on - and he most definitely had- you were not going to give him the chance to counterattack. “Great! So it’s settled. You, me, Ken, and Emma will all go out tonight! We’ll have so much fun, can’t wait!”

—---------------------------------------------------------

Emma got here quicker than you thought she would, and thank god for that.

You’d made the excuse that you needed her to help you get ready so you had Mikey fetch her immediately, but you’d really just wanted to get Draken away from Mikey long enough for him to stop his glaring. He was going to scare your future boyfriend away if he kept this up. Stupid brothers. 

When Emma finally arrived, it was even better than you could’ve expected. She was already dressed up, wearing a floral patterned kimono, with flowers weaved into her curled hair, a slight blush applied to her cheeks, and a light gloss applied to her lips, looking like an absolute goddess. It was almost like she’d read your mind and was doing her part to charm the pants off of your brother like you’d intended her to. And boy did it WORK. 

Draken had been stunned into simple sentences.  

“You… you look, uh, good. You look good. So…so good.”

You snickered and Draken shot you a warning glance. Then, mockingly, you gave him a thumbs up to which he responded by flipping you off. “So smooth,” You mouthed to him. 

“Don’t you have to go get ready or something?” He glared. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m going, I’m going.”

Emma called after you, “Hey, didn’t you need my help?”

“Nah, not anymore. Seems my brother’s enjoying the show. You may as well give him a twirl.” 

Draken chucked a decorative pillow at your head. “You’re lucky a pillow was the closest thing I could find!”

You laughed as you made your way up the stairs. “Love you, Kenny!”

“Brat.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Wow. You look-”

“Gorgeous? Stunning? Dazzling?” 

Draken rolled his eyes. “You can’t feed him the compliments you want, dipshit, it won’t count anymore.”

Mikey laughed. “Incredible. I was going to say you look incredible.”

You nudged your brother with an elbow (more like jabbed him). “Seeeee- Mikey knows how to treat a woman. He can think of better compliments than just ‘you uh you look good, so good.’” You teased, mimicking Draken’s earlier speech. 

He nearly strangled you with your own hair. 

“Not in front of Emma, cmon, are you trying to scare all your love prospects away?”

Draken sighed, exasperated, before turning to apologize to Emma about your meddlesome behavior. She only smiled and offered her arm. “Shall we go on ahead of them? No reason we can’t have our fun too.”

You almost snorted as you watched them take off down the street. Seems Emma is as impatient as I am to get the ball rolling. Fine by me.

“My turn.” You wrapped your arm around Mikey, just like Emma had done to Draken. 

He laughed but obliged you. “Not trying to be sneaky anymore?”

“I never sneak.”

“Mmm, sure you don’t.” He grinned, pulling you closer to him. “I meant it, by the way. You do look incredible. I can’t believe I get to see you all dressed up like this.”

“Dressed up aaaaand wearing your favorite color.” You chimed in with a wink.

His eyes gleamed at your words. “Don’t tell me you picked this one specifically for me?”

“What gave me away?” You gasped in mock shock.

He shook his head, laughing. “You’re really something, know that?”

The two of you continued to talk and joke as you walked through the festival booths together. A couple boisterous laughs later, and you earned yourselves some wary glances from Draken looking over his shoulder. You’d emphatically point to Emma, reminding him who his attention was supposed to be fixed on, and he’d narrow his eyes at you and Mikey before finally turning back to smile at her like you’d never set him off in the first place. It was lucky for you that her presence seemed to be enough to dilute his protective big brother act -at least for the time being- because even the few, minor minutes she spent distracting him was enough for you to take advantage of. 

You pointed out a soba booth to Mikey and after you’d found a secluded corner of the festival to share your spoils, you went in for the kill. “I have an idea,” You said slyly.

He raised an eyebrow. “Go on, tell me.”

“I’m gonna eat from this end, you from that end, and we’ll see who can eat the fastest and take all the noodles.”

Mikey smirked. “You’re on.”

Everything was going according to plan. Your mouths were slowly working their way towards each other, as you both devoured your share of the food. Soon enough, there was one noodle left and you were both inching your way towards a cinematic kiss. 

And then he bit down on the noodle and severed it before your lips touched.

You let out a slight audible whine.

Even with kids running around squealing and food sizzling on grills, he still made out the sound of your displeasure. And he grinned.

“Now, don’t tell me you were planning to kiss me right then? What, did you see that move in a movie or something?” He teased, pinching your cheek. 

You swatted him away, grumbling, “So maybe I did. What of it?”

“Such a mastermind, and yet, she really is just a simple girl sometimes.” He tucked a hair behind your ear, brushing his finger along its curve, and you held your breath.

“Well? All my plans are foiled. How do you intend to make it up to me?” You crossed your arms in a slight pout. 

He laughed. “Ah, my apologies. I’ll get right on that.”

His fingers tangled in your hair as his hand began to cup the back of your head and pull you towards him. His eyes darted down to your lips, then back up to your eyes. You were impatient and the evidence was made clear in your smoldering irises. He laughed to himself softly before running a thumb over your lower lip.

“My little mischief maker.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to yours.

At first, he was gentle. At first, it was your childhood friend who had kissed you. It was the boy who bought you popsicles on sunny days and blew on your hands on wintery days. It was sincere and sweet and soft. And then, all at once, you were kissing the ferocious leader of Toman, and he was commanding your mouth to open in an instant, invading and laying claim to you with his tongue. His hand hooked around your waist, yanking you closer. He groaned into the kiss, biting down on your lower lip. A whimper escaped your throat and he swallowed it down with a fierce hunger. Any longer and you might-

“And what do you kids think you’re doing??”

You froze.

Mikey sighed and released his grip on you. “Found us, huh?”

You sheepishly turned to face the wrath of your now-seething sibling. “Hiya…Ken.” 

He yanked Mikey off of you and Mikey held his hands up in surrender as he allowed himself to be removed. “And here I thought you said we were here to enjoy this thing together.” He turned to glare at you.

“But you and Emma were having so much fun, I thought-”

“You thought what? That you could distract me and run off with Mikey?”

You bit your lip. “Um. Yeah. Pretty much that.”

“Idiot.” He flicked your forehead. Then he turned on Mikey. “And you, dumbass. I didn’t give you permission to go around kissing my kid sister. In fact, I seem to remember telling you that I didn’t give you permission to ask her out at all!”

Mikey shrugged. “But I didn’t ask her out though. And you didn’t say anything about kissing her.”

You looked from Draken to Mikey then back to Draken. The realization finally dawned on you that after all this time you’d spent with Mikey, dancing on the line between friends and something more, Draken was the reason you never knew where you’d stood with him. “Hold up- you told him he couldn’t do what now??!”

Now it was Draken’s turn to flinch.

You stood up to stare him down, placing a hand on your hip in annoyance. 

Draken sighed. “No, cmon, don’t be like that. You look like mom, god. It was for your own good.”

“Let me get this straight. You told the guy I’m in love with not to ask me out. Did I get that right??”

Mikey coughed. “Love? I’m sorry, love?”

Draken shifted awkwardly, but he still stood his ground. “Yeah, and so what if I did? It was only to protect you.”

You jabbed his shoulder with your finger. “Yeah, well, I can handle myself.”

Draken scoffed. “Handle yourself? You suck at cooking, you don’t know how to change a tire, you never wake up on time, you barely know how to fight, and you say you can handle yourself?? You can’t walk down the street without some bozo trying to scam you or skin you alive!”

Mikey raised his hand slightly. “Sorry, bad timing, but could we go back just a bit- did you say love?”

“Well I can handle this, dummy! And the rest of that stuff is what you’re here for!”

“Oh, so now you get to pick which things you need me for? That’s not how family works, dumbass.”

“UGH, why are you being so stubborn? For crying out loud, he’s your best friend. If he’s not enough for me, than no one else is.”

Draken crossed his arms. “Now you’re starting to get it- no one is good enough for you.”

“And what if I said no one is good enough for you, huh? What if I said you couldn’t date Emma?”

His eyes narrowed. “I’d say mind your own damn business.”

You punched his arm. “Oh great, so I can say it too then- mind your own damn business.”

He scowled as he rubbed his aching arm. 

You stared each other down, stewing in heated silence.

Mikey waved on the sidelines. “Still on the love thing, guys.”

Finally, you sighed. “I know you’re always going to be there for me when I need you. I’ll always be there for you too. But this is something I have to do for myself, just like your relationship with Emma is something you need to do yourself. I appreciate you taking care of me all this time, and I’ll always love you, but you gotta let me live a little. And besides, you can always just kick Mikey’s butt if he hurts me, right?”

Mikey coughed. “I’m sorry, what? We went from loving me to kicking my ass?” 

A smile tugged at the edge of Draken’s lips. “Fine. Have it your way. But if he cheats on you, I’m breaking his limbs. If he makes you cry, I’m breaking his limbs. Hell, even if he just doesn’t make you smile enough times for my satisfaction, I’m breaking his limbs. That's the deal, you got it?”

Mikey stuck a finger into the air. “Can I ask, why does everything have to end with my broken limbs?”

“Shhh, it’s fine, baby.” You waved him off. 

Then you turned back to Draken. “Yeah, I got it, it's a deal. Now, we’re going to go finish our date. Don’t interrupt again or I’ll kick your ass. Kay, bye, have fun with Emma!” And with that, you looped your arm around Mikey and took off with him, humming happily the whole way. He was finally within reach, the fireworks were finally lighting up the night sky, and you were finally alone together. Everything was perfect. You peeked over at him, and saw his brows were still furrowed, deep in thought.

What could he be thinking about? Was he wondering how he should go about asking you out? Was he waiting for you to ask him out? Was he still worried about Draken? You knew you said that Draken could beat him up, but that was knowing full well that Mikey could handle himself so you hoped it wasn’t that. Or perhaps.. Maybe he was thinking… Your cheeks warmed as you thought about your earlier kiss. Maybe he was planning to try again. Maybe you should encourage it.

You inched towards him, closer and closer. 

Finally, as your breaths were on the verge of intermingling, he opened his mouth to speak. Here it comes, you thought to yourself excitedly.

“So… is this the part where we talk about the love thing now, or?”

Taglist: @pixelcafe-network @minasfwoopyponytail @ouiouimochi @inkytypewriter

[tomriddleslove]

Foolish, foolish thing.

✩Tom Riddle x Reader

Summary: The one where Tom reflects on how much he hates everything, yet he can’t seem to stop. Alternatively: Tom has a dramatic internal monologue.

A/N: I’m going to cry this is actually so foul but REPOST since I accidentally deleted my fucking account. I now have to try remember whatever I wrote 😭. This was my first ever fic so be nice ( or don’t it’s ok)

Song: Sour Switchblade - Elita

Warning: Brief mention of unaliving

There were many things in life that angered Tom.

Whilst it is safe to presume that worrying about mindlessness niceties was beyond the realm of Tom Riddle’s concerns, one could ground some form of justification for his pessimistic outlook on life.

See, anger is a scale. One one end, you have the mild anger. A brief moment of frustration - a hot flash, an unthought remark. It comes just as quickly as it goes. We all felt it. Wether it was reasoned or not, we all did. United in our emotions.

Then , there’s the midpoint of the spectrum, a noticeable presence in the day. Anger wraps her hands around your throat, she does not squeeze. The presence is noticeable, but not burdening. It affects you for a day, perhaps two . This one lingers slightly. It pushes at the surface of the heart, scratches lightly. No visible mark. Tom perhaps most resonated with this. Anger, like all emotions, was a part of being human, being mortal. In the absence of anger, we would not have happiness. Anger was not inherently bad.

Aristotle believed that the most virtuous of people; Those who hoped to achieve eudamonia - enlightenment- would find a golden mean inbetween the emotions. Everything was paired. For recklessness, you had cowardice. For the indulgent, you had the unfeeling.

The traits we associate with virtue, such as bravery, or compassion, lay inbetween the vices of excess and deficiency.

So let anger be the vice of deficiency, bitter and resentful. Happiness is the vice of excess, obsequious and suppliant. Most of us would fall somewhere in the middle, fluctuating between excess and deficiency.

Tom lived in deficiency. He let the anger accumulate. She held her hand against his throat, not enough to suffocate but enough for him to forget what it was like to breathe, uninterrupted. He seldom grew used to her presence, a welcome sight. That seemingly harmless scratch, the anger that wasn’t enough to send him lashing out, or breaking down, every single day. It erodes at him.

The only testament to Tom Riddle having a heart was the damage inflicted on it.

Perhaps what sent Tom to the very end of the spectrum was laughable. He could tolerate the relentless tirades from the children at the home he stayed at. He never cared much for their words anyways, it wasn’t enough to tip the scale.

It wasn’t the way his peers had largely changed their attitude to him after he had discovered he was the heir of Slytherin. The same mouths that tormented him, now singing his praises. No, he didnt care for that. Wether people liked him or not, he knew power came from fear. Yes, perhaps to establish that standing he needed to employ charisma, be at least undetected. But trust, and respect, would not get him anyway here. Anything that is earned, can be revoked. Fear was instilled. It was engrained - it controlled what you did, and how you did it.

So what did push Tom to that forsakes far end of the spectrum? The place where anger constricts your airways? She digs her teeth into the side of your neck and tugs at your heart?

Foolishness.

Tom hated foolishness.

He loathed it. The mere sight of it gnawed at his very being (or what was left of it) . He could not stand the the foolish. Those who deluded themselves into thinking it was ok to wallow in self pity. Those who believed they were untouched.

Any form of foolishness? He hated it.

One cannot live in constant anger for long. The toll it takes on the being is too high, it is simply not sustainable. There was a beautiful irony in Tom’s pursuit for immortality, for if he didn’t seek to do so he would surely be dead in a year. Two, if he was lucky.

Why? Because more often than not, Tom had now been living with an excess of anger for the better part of a year. He learnt how to breathe whilst being suffocated, learnt how to compose himself despite the pressure it exerted on him. Tom was witnessing the very thing that angered him so much daily now.

And he was the perpetrator.

His anger for foolishness came from his utter disbelieve that anyone could, or would, willingly allow themselves to be fooled. To be vulnerable, to have something that they blindly followed. He thought it was simply the most unthinkable, daft action anyone could do. Yet, when it came to you, Tom was an absolute fool.

There is no polite way to put it, really. Tom thought nothing of you when he first met you. No sort of spark, a burn, an indescribable longing. No- to him you were the nameless person he spent every Thursday afternoon with during your double potions lesson.

But maybe that was better. It wasn’t on some kind of hedonistic basis that he fell for you.

Rather, it was his very being that fell for you before he could even comprehend what happened.

It was alien to him, the way his heart beat ever so slightly quicker when you would brush past him to reach for some ingredients, the faint scent of your perfume sending him into a haze. It was him searching for you subconsciously every thursday, it was him somehow being attuned to every laugh you exchanged with your friends at the far end of the slytherin table. It was obsessive, it crept up on him and grabbed him, holding him hostage to his own dismay.

Tom's realization gnawed at the very fabric of his identity, as if the foundation of his carefully constructed persona was slowly eroding. The anger he harbored towards foolishness now manifested within himself, and the more he tried to resist, the deeper he found himself sinking into the quicksand of emotions he disdained.

Every moment with you chipped away at the fortress he built around his heart. It was a cruel irony, for the very emotion he deemed foolish had become an adversary within. The disdain he felt for the vulnerability of others now echoed in his own internal struggle, and the knowledge that he, the formidable Tom Riddle, was succumbing to such weakness tormented him.

Love was an unwelcome guest, an intruder in the sanctuary of his calculated existence. He despised the way his thoughts involuntarily veered towards you, the way his heart betrayed the logic he clung to so desperately.

He hated the way you made him feel. The way he found himself wanting to be near you. He found that he didn’t mind stopping what he was doing if he could be with you. You didn’t willingly veer him off his path to greatness, but heaven knows that for you? Tom would careen himself off that track. And he hated that fact.

He hated it so much he contemplated snuffling the life out of you when you sat together in your room, subdued by a comfortable silence. He contemplated ending it all (whether it be you, or him) . A simple flick of his wand, it’s all he needed to do, and you’d be gone.

But no.

See, Anger lingered, it built up. But love?

Love clung. It burrowed into the desolate hallways of his heart, embedding its tendrils into him, refusing to ever leave.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, and the taste lingered like an enduring reminder of his own fallibility-

His own humanity.

The universe, it seemed, reveled in weaving the threads of his downfall from the very fabric he detested – the foolishness of love.

A small sigh, whether it be of defeat or acceptance (were they really ever different things?) escapes his lips, as he turns over, the feeble blanket that enveloped the both of you providing little to no warmth in the mid November night.

His eyes trace over your sleeping form; the gentle rise and fall of your chest. His hand hesitates for a second, gently reaching out. He places his hand ever so lightly atop of your chest, the warmth of your body seeping into him the same way your very being sept into his. He feels the rhythmic beating of your heart, and is once again reminded of how easy it would be. To just pierce the damned thing, and not feel this way anymore. To not feel like you were drowning him , yet he also needed you to breathe.

He hesitates for a second but ultimately, as he has always done, moves his hand up to brush away a strand of misplaced hair from your face, as he lets his eyes flutter shut. He pulls the blanket slightly tighter over himself, resting his head near your shoulder, forehead pressed against your skin.

He’ll do it another day, he convinces himself.

Such a foolish, foolish thing.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Nothing ever go according to plan | JJ Maybank x Reader

Summary: The plan to get the cross back turn sour and JJ end up putting his life on the line

Word count: 1k

Request: can I request a JJ Maybank fic with numbers 4 and 6 from the obx print list please! thank you sm <3 ‘’Can you stop being so fucking reckless? I’m tired of being scared of losing you.’’ + ‘’Don’t push me away.’’

Can you write the pursuit/accident from episode 5 but instead of Kie on the bike with JJ, it’s reader and they are a couple 

Note: That scene had me on the edge of my seat!!

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Getting caught stealing the cross into Topper’s truck was not part of the plan, but you had to roll with it. When does anything go according to plan anyway?

You saw a flash of red and blue lights, then heard the siren. Shit.

You quickly got behind JJ on his motorcycle, holding onto him tightly as he revved the engine and took off. A mix of siren wailing and tires screeching filled your ears, making the blood pump faster in your veins and your anxiety increase. Being part of the pursuit was less fun than watching it happen on TV.

‘’J…’’ you warned worriedly, looking over your shoulder and seeing the police car getting closer and closer.

‘’I know, I know,’’ he said, his own nerves translating in his voice.

He slid into the other lane and sped again, trying to catch up with Topper. Once he did, he told him to keep going straight and that he had a plan.

‘’Get ready to jump.’’

‘’What?!’’ you exclaimed, not on board with that plan. You’ve seen Footloose, it looked dangerous. ‘’Have you lost your mind? I’m not leaving you.’’ You clung to him, fingers gripping his shirt.

‘’Get in Top’s truck,’’ JJ repeated with more bite in his words.

Your safety was important to him and he couldn’t have you on his motorcycle if he wanted to continue with his plan.

Reluctantly, you did as told and jumped onto the box holding the cross, Pope’s hand holding yours tight so you wouldn’t fall during the process. He helped you get inside the truck, finally safe.

‘’Are you okay?’’ Sarah asked from the front seat.

You nodded, but everyone’s attention shifted when you heard a screech of tires right behind and saw that JJ had stopped and turned his bike around to distract the cops. Was that his plan? Getting the cops to go after him instead of the truck with the cross?

‘’Holy shit!’’ Cleo said, watching from the back window. ‘’I think he threw something at the cops.’’

The police car turned around and fell right into JJ’s plan. While distracting the cops was a good idea, he just committed a criminal offense.

Sarah turned to Topper. ‘’Topper, turn around!’’

He shook his head stubbornly. He agreed to help her, but he wasn’t going to go to prison for her friends — Pogues. ‘’Absolutely not.’’

‘’We’re not leaving him. He’s gonna get arrested,’’ you said, protecting your boyfriend at your turn.

With some more insisting from Sarah, she finally got Topper to turn around. You and Pope shared a relieved glance. The caution to get JJ out would be very salty and none of you could afford it.

The next minutes were intense. Pope was yelling directions at Topper while you were silently panicking in the backseat. The amount of stress this boy always put you through was crazy.

‘’No way, he's up on the overpass. What is he do—’’

Sarah didn’t get to finish her sentence. Up on the overpass, you saw JJ losing control of the motorcycle and crashing through the barrier and railing and falling down the overpass. The car echoed with gasps, watching the accident unfold.

Topper hit the brakes and you all stumbled out of the truck to check on JJ.

The motorcycle broke into pieces at the impact. There were parts here and there on the road, but no sign of JJ.

‘’JJ…’’ Your eyes were frantically searching for the blond as your hands were beginning to shake. ‘’JJ! Where is he?’’ You searched the surroundings, but he wasn’t there. ‘’JJ!’’ Your voice was desperate and panicked, mixing with the other’s.

‘’Maybe he’s up on the bridge,’’ Pope suggested, staying optimistic.

You crumbled to the ground as tears blurred your vision and a sob escaped your lips, thinking the worst. Cleo watched you with sadness and kept looking for JJ for you. She didn’t want that traumatic scene to be your last memory of him. He had to be alive.

‘’I wish I could say I did this on purpose, but that was the gnarliest powerslide I've ever done,’’ a familiar voice said from behind you.

Everyone whipped their heads around, seeing JJ standing and dusting off his hat.

‘’You’re alive!’’ Pope yelled, tackling his friend into a hug.

JJ groaned in pain, his whole body aching from the fall. ‘’Yeah, I’m surprised too.’’

Everyone went and hugged him, sharing a few words. Everyone except you. You were still on the ground among the debris, tears running down your face. He was there before your eyes, alive and well, but your state of shock held you frozen.

Noticing you were still on the ground, Sarah helped you up and called JJ, tearing his attention away from his conversation with Pope and Cleo.

Guilt filled his guts when he saw you and he freed himself from his friends to come over. ‘’I’m gonna go check on my girl.’’ 

If this would’ve been a movie, it would’ve been a perfect moment to put in slow-motion, but your life, although chaotic and implausible sometimes, was not a Hollywood production. 

Another tear fell when you felt JJ’s embrace enveloping you. This time, it was a tear of relief. ‘’You’re okay,’’ you stated, your voice muffled by his chest.

‘’A little sore, but—’’

You pulled back and hit his chest sharply. ‘’Can you stop being so fucking reckless? I’m tired of being scared of losing you.’’

He hissed, but accepted the hit. He deserved it. From your perspective, the accident must not have been easy to watch. If he had been more careful, he would not have lost control of the motorcycle and fallen off the overpass.

JJ gently wiped your tears from your face, looking at you with soft guilty eyes. ‘’I’m sorry. I just wanted to help, I didn’t think my plan would turn to shit.’’ He tried to hug you again, but you didn’t let him. JJ sighed. ‘’Don’t do that. Don’t push me away.’’ He went again, but this time you wrapped your arms around his neck, pushing away the part of you that was mad at him.

—

OBX taglist: @moralina @eudximoniakr @toylewestinnyc @rottenstyx  @sweeterheartxamerica  @jordierama @viridwityy @izzy-laufeyson @kenzi-woycehoski @lilaconner @Katsukis1Wife  @hawkegfs @mommyruuetrue  @acornacreacure @snownjune @nmedina8611 @slvtherinseeker

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs  @gillybear17  @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron

[nellielsss]

⭑ ★ ⭑ 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐄 ⭑⭑

Summary: Everyone's heard of the yakuza boss and his sweet little girlfriend, but what about the female yakuza and her two beloved pets: the Rabid Panther and the Silent Wolf? Inspired by Scarface by LDR. HCs + blurbs on Toji and Grimmjow as your bodyguards. Note: I have suddenly been revived from my writer's block all thanks to Grimmjow! Reader is also ENTJ/ENFJ coded (I can't decide LMFAO just pick whichever one fits you the best). It's also kind of a love triangle except they don't have feelings for each other so IDK what to call this. I also just wanted to show my newest husband some love for his bday! Pairing: Yakuza!f!reader x Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez & Toji Fushiguro/Zen'in Warnings: Mentions of death, weapons, firearms, basically anything that comes with crime boss related fics 💀 also Kenjaku's death is mentioned cus I hate his ass and needed a victim.

╰┈➤ The Rabid Panther and the Silent Wolf, that was what Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez and Toji Fushiguro were known as, respectively. The two pets to the feared yet beloved beauty, the infamous yakuza boss (L/N), (Y/N). She was one of the Four Great Kings of the Tokyo underworld and the only female of the bunch. Out of all the aforementioned kings, she was perhaps the most benevolent one of the bunch, but that wasn't saying much considering the most vicious and hated king, Ryōmen Sukuna, was all but a tyrant with a kill count that went well into the tens of thousands (at his own hands as well). The only reason she was even considered benevolent was because she didn't kill with her own hands (not unless she was terribly angry with her foe), and because she also smiled the most.

Why would she need to soak her pretty nails in ugly blood when her two pets would do anything for their owner?

As for what gave them their monikers, though...

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez earned the title of the Rabid Panther because of his violent and garish methods of disposing his opponents.

Grimmjow had a tendency to stain his white clothing and sharp claws in a pretty shade of blood red. There was nothing the blue-haired man loved doing more than sinking his claws into the unlucky foes that happened to incur his wrath or his boss's wrath

He had a pair of special rings made for him (commissioned by you, of course) just so he could get a better grip on his opponents.

The whole reason you hired him as a henchman was just because of how devoted to the fight he was. Though he was reckless in his pursuit of destroying the strongest opponent in his vicinity, you couldn't help but feel drawn to the man.

It was on one snowy January day when you happened upon him. You stood there, clad in a snow-white and red kimono when you witnessed him tear apart 3 of your henchmen, right before your very eyes. Despite the fact that he just killed your own men in a very vicious manner, you didn't cower in fear or order them to kill him; you simply reached out and wiped the blood off of his face.

"B-Boss, don't get too close to him!" The pleads of the other men fell upon deaf ears as you gazed at the wild-eyed man. He was snarling, practically foaming at the mouth, and yet you didn't waver.

"You're a rabid one," was what you first said to him.

"I'll tear your fucking throat out, lady!" he snarled at you, trying to back away from your handsy hands.

You didn't say anything, simply smiling and touching the man's face. "Handsome, too... your shade of blue pairs quite well with red."

Despite his numerous growls and threats of killing you, your hand moved to cup his cheek, move underneath his chin, and tilt it up so he was looking right at you.

"How would you like to be my rabid animal?"

Maybe you could use a man like him--a man not willing to get his paws dirty and lick them clean when he finished the job.

He didn't use guns often; he stuck to weapons that could make a man's blood paint the walls. Hell, with the kill count and voracious appetite this man had, he could make the streets of Kabukicho flow red.

Speaking of Kabukicho--he was one of the only henchmen (you preferred to call him a lieutenant, since the title befit him) to have a small group of his own. He was in charge of handling the areas with the most amount of people in them, since he could be as loud as he wanted without anyone paying him any mind.

Half the time, though, the "army" under him (what he called his Fracción) would just sit back and watch as he pummeled some poor bastard who tried to rip off one of your many businesses.

"I told you, don't fuck with me, and don't fuck with my boss!" Was what he liked to shout before tearing the throat out of his most unlucky victim.

He was made one of your only lieutenants the fastest, since he could so easily dispose of people, and also since he was just the strongest one of the bunch.

To those he was against, he was a vicious panther who didn't know how to stop shedding blood; but to you, he was no more than a cute little cat who purred and meowed in excitement when you pet him.

"Good Grimmjow," was what you cooed whenever he did something right. He came to relish the feeling of your long, perfectly manicured nails carding through his spiky blue hair. He used to detest being babied and doted on in such a manner, but it felt amazing to hear his beloved owner boss praise him for having wiped out an opposing faction's squad that tried to destroy one of your own squads.

The other henchmen of yours tended to look at this display of affection in an odd manner. They had just witnessed him poke the eyes out of someone an hour ago, and now you were petting him like a housecat?

And he was enjoying it?

Don't let this display of affection fool you, though; he would stab the shit out of anyone who talked back to you.

It certainly didn't help anyone who hated you that he was practically obsessed with you, head-over-heels for the woman he affectionately referred to as his master.

You took him off the streets, clothed him, fed him, and brought him to a position higher than he thought was possible for a man like him.

Sure, he was self-assured in his strength, but he was alone, and what good would it do to him if someone were to ambush him?

The longer he stayed by your side, the more devoted he became to you.

He would roll over on his back and purr for you if that's what you so desired.

He owed you his very existence, so god help your foes if he ever heard someone bad-mouthing you.

For instance, do you know that scene in Kill Bill where O-Ren Ishī hopped atop a table and sliced someone's head off in a meeting?

Well, you wouldn't have to do any of that, because with a simple nod of the head, Grimmjow would go over there and viciously slice their throat and make the blood splatter all over everyone else's food.

But the other man, dressed in a dark, form-fitting outfit and standing beside you was just as, if not more, deadly than Grimmjow. Isn't it amazing to have two brutalizers at your beck and call?

Toji Fushiguro earned the title of the Silent Wolf because of his, well, silent methods of execution and warfare. With just a step of the foot and the trigger of a finger, he could put a bullet in anyone's head within a matter of seconds.

His favorite weapon was his M1911A1 modified with an effective silencer that could mask his position anytime, anywhere. He would also do it with a smirk on his face.

Toji Fushiguro joined the ranks of your yakuza faction after he tried to assassinate you on one rainy November night.

He was hired by the ex-leader of one of the 4 great factions, Kenjaku, to assassinate you after a deal gone wrong.

He would've been paid a cool 1.5 billion yen if he managed to kill you and your pet panther successfully--and have a hefty bonus if he could manage it in only 2 shots.

He had his trusty pistol at the ready, and his overinflated ego had him fooled that he was going to become a very rich man.

On his end, he actually was quite close to killing you and claiming that bounty, he'd just underestimated your fighting prowess.

"That's quite the gun you're holding there, Mister," you said when he was about to pull the trigger on your head. His eyes widened a little when he was found out, and in the moment he was caught off guard, Grimmjow quickly whipped around and pinned him up against the wall.

"Shall I tear his throat out for you, boss?" the blue-eyed man asked, his eyes never leaving Toji's pinned self.

Your heels clicked on the floor as you approached him, studying Toji's face for a few seconds, and you spoke to him directly. "I take it you came here to assassinate me?"

The man nodded without saying anything.

"I take it you were also paid to do so," you said, this time not asking him a question.

He, again, nodded.

"I figured as much." You took a second to scan his appearance, noting the worn-out grey pants he wore and the fitted black t-shirt that obviously needed a washing. "Someone like you would need the money... still, I'm surprised you had the balls to come here and try to kill me on your own with one measly gun."

"I have more weapons at my disposal, miss," he snarked, still being strangled by Grimmjow.

"You will speak when prompted to!" the man growled, still keeping his eyes on Toji.

"Please, Grimmy, cut him some slack," you said light-heartedly, putting your hand on his white jacket. "He obviously just needs a warm meal."

"But he tried to take your life-"

"Grimmjow." He took that as a sign to relax his grip around the man's throat a little. "Hand me his gun," you ordered suddenly, to which he happily obliged.

"Here, boss," he gruffed, handing you the pistol with the silencer on it.

You tossed it around in your hands, feeling the weight of the metal. "This is certainly a nice pistol you've got here, Mister, although it is in need of some repairs... maybe it's time you replace it and get a new one."

"I was hoping to do that with the money I'd earn from this mission," he chuckled softly. "I'm not one to save up for nice things."

You emptied the bullets from the magazine and dumped them to the ground, then tossed the gun into a nearby dumpster. "How much did Kenjaku pay you to assassinate me?"

Everyone in the alley looked at you suddenly, a little shocked by how weird your actions were. "How did you know?-"

You cut Grimmjow off and said: "he's the only one who would possibly want me dead, and he's also the only one who'd have others do it for him."

"1.5 billion yen, ma'am," Toji spoke up, unperturbed by the glares everyone was giving him and the vitriol he was facing for trying to assassinate you.

"I see," you hummed, tapping your foot in thought. "Given the fact that you and I have never crossed paths before, I'm willing to bet you were here simply for the money and not because you had some sort of vendetta against me."

"You'd be correct, ma'am-"

"Stop calling me ma'am, I don't wanna feel old."

"Apologies."

You smiled a bit and crossed your arms over your chest. "Anyway, what if I paid you 2 billion yen to kill Kenjaku? You can even bring Grimmy here to help you."

It was his turn, again, to be shocked. "But, Boss, he just tried to kill you!-"

"I'll do it, no questions asked. As long as I can get a new gun, of course."

"Good," you smiled wider, showing off your pearly canines. "Release him and take him with us." Grimmjow did as he was told, releasing his neck but still holding him by the shirt collar. "Now, we're going to treat him for a nice, warm bowl of ramen. Understood, boys and girls?"

Everyone was in agreement, albeit shakily, and they went with you to the nearest ramen shop with your new toy in tow.

"By the way, what was your name? I don't think I caught it back there."

"The name's Toji," he said gruffly. "Toji Fushiguro."

Grimmjow, ever the vigilant henchman, turned to you and asked: "are you really sure you want to go through with this?"

"Has my judgment ever betrayed me?" you retorted, making him go silent again. "He was stealthy enough to sneak behind me and almost kill me, which I should punish you for, by the way. Anyway, I know potential when I see it, and I saw a great deal in him. Almost as much as I saw in you."

As for what role Toji served, he was the wordless yet deadly assassin who could get a headshot just as fast as Grimmjow could tear someone's jugular out (he has a thing for throats, if you couldn't tell).

He and his trusty silencer pistol can do just about anything, and his custom-made sniper rifle made up for what his pistol lacked.

Toji was the silent enforcer, the voice of "reason" if you can consider his methods of killing before talking reasonable.

Truth be told, Toji would've been content in any role, so long as he didn't have to interact with idiots too much and got paid handsomely in return for his work.

Toji ran the stealthy missions, the ones that required the utmost quiet and precision, as well as the ones that had to be done ASAP.

He started calling his little army the "wolf-pack" after hearing the title he was given behind his back.

He actually never saw himself falling in love with his boss, either. He didn't obsess over you like Grimmjow did, nor did he idolize you like the other henchmen; he found himself drawn to your charismatic nature & the eloquence with which you spoke.

For a crime-boss who had such a high body count, you certainly didn't have the air of one. You almost seemed like a friendly woman, but that was because you didn't have to worry yourself with killing those who wronged you.

It was only when someone really pissed you off that he saw you take matters into your own hands.

Honestly? It was kinda hot seeing you execute someone yourself.

"The boss wants her money, so why hasn't your bald ass coughed it up already?" Grimmjow asked angrily, doing the talking for all of you.

"I-I swear, it was here a few days ago, but I was robbed!"

"Did you forget about the security cameras she had installed? What do you take her for--a dumbass who can't run a business correctly?!" the blue-haired man kicked the man in question with the toe of his leather boot, sending him flying & cracking a rib in the process.

"Just... just another week, and I'll have your money-"

"Toji, hand me your gun." The cold chill in your voice made everyone look your way, including Toji, himself.

"As you wish, boss." The silent man simply unbuckled his holster and gave you the pistol with that nonchalant smirk on his face. He'd never seen you hold a gun yourself; it was always him holding the cold metal weight in his hands.

The silence in the room was disturbed by the sound of your stiletto boots clicking on the floor, accompanied by the sound of you handing your fur coat to the closest girl. "Do you know why I'm such a successful boss, Mr. Tanaka?"

Mr. Tanaka merely whimpered where he laid, feeling the cold barrel of the handgun press against his forehead. "N-No, I-"

"It's because I'm such an incredible businesswoman," you replied coolly, pressing the barrel against his forehead harder. "All of my businesses have flourished under the watchful eyes of the people I've so deliberately put in charge. They oversee everything and make sure I turn a profit out of practically the air we breathe in. Do you want to know what happens when they fail to live up to my expectations? Do you want to know what happens to people who fuck with me?"

Before he could even answer, you easily ripped the silencer of the gun off, tossed it aside, and put a bullet in the poor man's cranium.

"This."

Once he was dead for sure, you stood up and tossed the gun back to Toji. "Don't fuck with my money ever again," was what you said, taking your coat back from the girl who stood there in fear & shock. "And that goes for all of you bastards. I could have all of you killed right now in the blink of an eye, and nobody would ever notice that you're gone. All of you are replaceable."

Nobody in this room had ever seen you lose your cool like that and fire the gun yourself, not when you had an expert marksman like Toji and a ferocious wildcat like Grimmjow.

Toji honestly couldn't lie; it was hot as fuck seeing you put a bullet in a man's skull yourself.

"That was an expensive silencer, boss," he said as you all left the room.

"I'll get you a new one."

Yeah, he was in love with a Yakuza... however it happened, he didn't know; but he embraced it. He wasn't one to shy away from his true nature, after all.

It helped that you bestowed the equal amount of care to both of your pets. Neither the wolf nor the panther got more than the other, and they were both treated to the same luxuries as the other.

New coats and wardrobes made of the finest and most durable fabrics, the best weapons money could buy, and the nicest rooms overlooking the garden in your little compound located just outside of the city.

Toji and Grimmjow both had their own apartments in case they needed to stay in the center of town for a mission, but they much preferred to stay by your side; Grimmjow wanted to be as close to you as possible, and Toji just liked the feel of the compound. It was serene, calm, relaxing for a Yakuza's mansion.

They even had their own embroidered kimonos that they wore when they were with you! (how cute).

Honestly, the only issues they had... were with each other.

Always competing for your affections, rivaling to see who could earn the most smiles and praises from their beloved boss.

It was like a love triangle straight out of some romance manga, only instead of a school it was a crime boss's compound that had blood on its walls, and instead of bento boxes there were sharp objects.

"Don't be stupid, she obviously likes the way I stab my opponents!"

"Your methods are too damn messy--you stained one of her fur coats with blood, for fuck's sake It took two weeks to clean the damn thing; she obviously likes my silent-but-deadly approach."

"Where the hell's the fun in that?!"

"Boys, boys, if you don't calm yourselves, I'm going to have to put you in your kennels," your calming voice interjected when you walked in on the two men squabbling. It was honestly so endearing to see a couple of grown criminals fighting over something as silly as whatever they were fighting over, but if they went too far they'd probably break a valuable, so you chose to quell their argument.

"We're so sorry, boss! Right, Fushiguro?!" Grimmjow asked, jabbing the man with his elbow.

"Of course we are. Would you stop elbowing me, Jaegerjaquez?!"

Instead of reprimanding them further, you put your hands on their heads and ruffled their hair. "Grimmjow, your methods provide me with entertainment; and Toji, your methods bring me peace of mind. Now, would you both please bring me some peace of mind and stop squabbling? You're going to break one of my vases."

"Anything you say, boss!" Grimmjow exclaimed, all but swishing his tail about.

They continued to fight after you left, but thankfully they didn't break any valuables.

As demonstrated above, you tried your very best to quell their rivalry, but you also found it entertaining at the same time. To think that people who crushed skulls and tore men open could rival each other for your affections made you laugh, and you welcomed the rivalry (so long as they didn't break anything).

The two men also tended to butt heads over their decision-making processes.

Honestly, you didn't even know why you ever trusted them with your duties when you were out, especially when every "proxy" meeting turned into squabbles every single time.

"What I'm saying is that we need to go in, guns blazing and all!" Grimmjow shouted at Toji. "We need to instill fear in their hearts, make them cower where they stand!"

Your faction was trying to deal with a rogue group of bandits that kept attacking your warehouses that were stationed throughout the Tokyo Metropolitan Area, but how to deal with them was a matter that nobody could solve except for you, not even Grimmjow & Toji with their greatest attempts.

"That'll get us busted, you knucklehead!" Toji retorted. "We need to go the stealthy approach and make sure they're caught off guard."

The two men were now literally butting their foreheads together. "You're always so boring, Fushiguro, will you ever learn to relax and have fun?!"

"I can have fun without blowing the damn mission!"

It was like one of those moments in anime where there was electricity crackling between them, and none of the other top henchmen were willing to butt in on this argument.

"If only the boss was here..." they all groaned in unison.

At the end of the day, though, these two men would do anything to make sure your life and your faction ran smoothly.

They'd do stuff as menial as your dry cleaning if you so asked them to.

Though you tried not to choose favorites among your rankings, it was quite clear that the two were tied for first place. They were the only ones allowed to enter your living quarters, that was how close they were to you.

They were also the only ones allowed to see you naked...

And be naked around you, and touch you, and make love to you until the sun rose over the walls of your estate.

Of course, they always turned it into a competition of who could make you cum the fastest and the most, but it was all in good fun!

God help anyone who dared to speak poorly of their boss around the two of them, for they'd be ripped to shreds twice as fast.

Enjoy your two loving bodyguards!

"But I obviously love her more-"

"Would you shut up, Jaegerjaquez?!"

FINALLY CURED THIS FUCKING WRITER'S BLOCK 😭 also how come every time I get a new fav they shoot up in the ranks?! I liked Yami for two weeks and now he's #1 & Grimmjow's #3 after only a week?!?! | © ʙʀᴜɴᴇᴛᴛᴇ-ʙɪᴛᴄʜ77 on tumblr - get your own shit bitches | ca. 8/1/2024

[anincompletelist]

happy wip wednesday! :D

ahhh I have been all over the place today, forgive me if I've missed anyone here! THANK YOU TO @nocoastposts @iboatedhere @kiwiana-writes @cricketnationrise @zwiazdziarka @inexplicablymine @ninzied @matherines @getmehighonmagic @heybuddy-drabbles FOR THE TAGS! and also to @magicandarchery @bigassbowlingballhead @getmehighonmagic @firenati0n for the tags for the last line of 2023/first line of 2024 tags! by the time I saw them I had no CLUE what they actually were because I wrote straight through the new year with RWRB playing in the background ksjhkjhd.

ALSO I made a patreon? (COMPLETELY FREE OF COURSE—do NOT select the paid tier!! i just can’t figure out how to delete it jsksjkd) to have a space to share snippets and other things that I write that don't get posted here or on ao3. I'm not sure how much I'll use it as of right now but I think it could be fun! slowly uploading some things I've written lately. we'll see! <3

trying to share some things I haven't had a chance to before, so here's a snippet from what is lovingly titled 'the train au' in my docs, though the train is actually a shockingly small plot point of the full fic sjhdksjhd.

+

Aaron’s eyes slide over to Henry and narrow. Henry shifts underneath the scrutiny, swallowing around the lump in his throat. Don’t do it, he thinks. He’s only here to help his mother and his sister. There’s no reason Aaron needs to go dredging up the past, ripping open old wounds that’d taken ages for Henry to poorly suture. 

And yet, that’s exactly what he does. 

“I also know a few rather unsavory things about the prince that I’m sure the family wouldn’t want coming into the light.” 

“Objection.” Alex is out of his seat so quickly that he goes blurry, jaw set and eyes blazing. It’s the most livid Henry’s ever heard him. 

The court room falls silent for a moment, and Henry scans everyone’s faces while he wipes his sweaty palms on his trousers. Aaron looks sickly pleased with himself, leaning back in his chair with a lazy smirk. He won’t be allowed to elaborate further, but the damage had already been done. Henry’s mother seems tense, and Bea looks like she might start crying, her knuckles white where she’s clutching the arm of her chair. 

Henry’s fairly certain that everyone in the room has an idea of what Aaron is referring to, but Bea more so than anyone else. She’d been there for all of it, when Henry began to figure things out and piece it all together, how difficult it was for him to be forced to hide it and what he’d done in reckless retaliation. She’d been the first person he told when things went wrong, always the first. 

The rest of the court room seems a bit restless, murmuring theories amongst themselves, glancing between Alex and Aaron to see which one will speak first. And Alex— Alex looks like he could kill someone. 

Henry can only blink, all too used to the concept of being damned to silence.

+

tags: @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @affectionatelyrs @daisymae-12 @read-and-write- @happiness-of-the-pursuit @rockyroadkylers @firstsprinces @xthelastknownsurvivorx @whimsymanaged @priincebutt @songliili @duchessdepolignaca03 @leojfitz @user-anakin @anchoredarchangel @tinyarmedtrex @myheartalivewrites ALWAYS LOVE HEARING FROM YOU GUYS <3 (but no pressure of course)

SEE Y'ALL TOMORROW FOR ANOTHER BRIDESMAIDS CHAP! :D

xx

[paperbackribs]

I AM HERE FOR THE WIP THINGY FOR “Timetravel Steddie”!!!! ♥️

he he he so timetravel steddie in my wip folder is Copper Boy, but I like not having a proper name for it as I work on it, I suppose? if it’s less official then I’m more likely to write because I’m less intimidated. But I’m having such a blast with this fic that I have to thank you, Finn, for asking, because I. am. desperate. to share more. 😂

Warning: not exactly spoilers of Copper Boy since we know the endgame is steddie, but the snippet is from a chapter still weeks away from posting.

“This is nice,” he admits.

It's peaceful amongst the maple and birch trees with the dappled light rippling playfully across the forest floor. Steve points to a puddle at the base of a bare blackberry bush; a small blue jay dips its head in and out of the water, vigorously shaking with spray erupting from around its body. It’s adorable and Eddie smiles.

Steve squeezes his hand and leads him onwards, “I always wanted to share it with you.” He pauses, “That sounds weird, doesn’t it? Like this is my woods, even though it’s your backyard.”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head gently, “My closest connection to nature is the bench I deal at. I like the idea of it all in theory, but I usually end up with my pants full of ants and bitten to all hell by mosquitoes. I’ve also been known to trip on air, so a woodland ground littered with sticks and rocks is bound to take me down eventually.”

Steve laughs, pulling a vibrant green leaf off a birch tree to fiddle with it in his free hand. “Like the time you rammed nose first into the gym wall?”

Eddie gapes. “You saw that? No one saw that.”

“It was a bit hard to miss, Eddie,” Steve says wryly. “You had bright red blood streaming down your face. To be honest, I was going to offer to take you to the nurse’s office, but you ran out so fast that I left you to it.

A blush of embarrassment spreads across his face, “So everyone saw that.”

Steve draws Eddie to a stop, brushing a knuckle down his hot cheeks, “No, I’m pretty sure that I was the only one looking.”

Eddie searches Steve’s eyes, finding affection and a touch of heat that causes the back of his neck to prickle. “Yeah, like something you see?”

Steve steps forward, which makes Eddie inexplicably feel the need to move back. He retreats a fraction and Steve’s eyes narrow. “Eddie,” he says prowling closer and Eddie backs away with a larger movement.

“Yeah, Steve?” Eddie asks breathlessly, feeling his body tense, muscles almost quivering with the tension filling them.

“You have ten seconds,” Steve says deeply, his words a rumble Eddie can almost feel in his chest. Electric tension crackles in the air, sparking the pounding of Eddie’s heartbeat, each thud growing louder, faster, and more insistent. He stands frozen in the mounting pressure until Steve starts to count.

“Nine, eight…”

The dam breaks and Eddie darts away, the tall trees that surround them blurring as a surge of adrenalin propels his legs across the ground with reckless speed. He can’t hear anything over the pulse pounding in his head, but he imagines the heavy tread of Steve’s steps behind him, a powerful thumping that matches the heat in his blood.

Steve’s breath pants into Eddie’s hair making Eddies fingers and toes curl, “Got you.”

The thrill of pursuit fizzes through him, filling Eddie with a radiant exultation, laughter breathlessly spilling from his open mouth. His flight is dizzying anticipation and playful freedom.

Just as Eddie giddily thinks that perhaps he is too fast, even for Steve, he is tackled from behind; Steve wrapping a quick arm around his middle, the strong band redirecting his flight forward to spin him around in mid-air and back down onto the ground again.

Eddie wiggles like he’s trying to get away, causing Steve to laugh breathlessly. “None of that,” he commands, spinning Eddie to back him up against a broad tree trunk. Strands of Steve’s bronze hair has fallen over his face, his cheeks ruddy with exertion, and excitement high in his expression. Eddie wants to lick him all over.

“You still trying to get away from me, huh?” Steve says, voice dropping to gravel as he runs his eyes over Eddie’s panting mouth and heaving chest.

“Why? Worried you can’t catch me?” Eddie lightly taunts.

Steve’s eyes turn dark, the hint of heat in his gaze flickering higher, reaching the heights of wildfire. Eddie shivers in the thrill of prey tempting predator that crackles through his body. The tension only twists tighter as Steve leans in with slow deliberation, he draws the tip of his strong nose firmly across Eddie’s cheek, his breath hot in Eddie’s ear, “I think I’d always be able to find you, Eddie. No matter where you are.”

[sleeplesslionheart]

Arianrhod's One-Year Anniversary; Burning Update

Today marks the one-year anniversary since I published Arianrhod, my first Three Houses fanfic - and the first piece of fanfiction that I'd written and published in over a decade (and my first fic on AO3, and...well, there are some other firsts with this too, but I won't keep belaboring the point, lol. Suffice it to say that it was kind of a big step for me).

Arianrhod is a oneshot, fill-in-the-gaps, but mildly canon-divergent scenario that contends with what I still regard as the greatest failing in Crimson Flower's writing. In it, rather than quietly going along with Edelgard's coverup like she does in the game, Byleth instead makes a reckless (if well-intentioned) attempt to goad Edelgard into addressing the horrific devastation in the wake of Arianrhod's destruction.

On the one hand, I do see the game's treatment of Arianrhod as a terrible problem in Crimson Flower's incredible but also very sloppy writing. But on the other hand, I also perceive it as evidence of some fascinating flaws in Edelgard's character (which are consistent with her characterization throughout the game otherwise). I think that Edelgard's handling of Arianrhod is emblematic (lol) of her tendency to try to skip over processes of grieving, even in the face of catastrophic circumstances and personal tragedy. She's so fixated on achieving her goals and seeing the war through to its end that she's often completely single-minded in her pursuit, even in the face of actual human suffering...which is understandable, given all that she's endured and experienced, but which is also a mistake. She's a complex, flawed woman (which I love about her); but, critically, she's also someone who actively wants for the people around her to call her out when she makes bad decisions. It's for this reason that I decided to "correct" the game's mishandling of Arianrhod not by dismissing its canonicity, but by holding Edelgard accountable (via Byleth) and making her do some important self-reflective work. As such, the fic is largely focused on themes of guilt and culpability - and not just Edelgard's, but Byleth's as well (as she is not off the hook here, and does not let herself off the hook either).

My mental health was at an all-time low when I wrote and posted Arianrhod, which is reflected in the story's subject matter and preoccupations. Periodically, when I look back at it now, there are regrets that I have with it...things that I would do differently, other decisions that I would make if I were writing it in the present. But I have no intention of ever revising or changing it. The story is very much an artifact of that moment in my life, and I want it to stay that way.

Arianrhod then served as the foundation for Burning, my ongoing post-Crimson Flower, multi-chapter fic.

Poor Burning got put on the back-burner (lol again - sorry y'all, I have covid right now and my judgment where puns are concerned is not great) while I got completely derailed with that long-ass Haunting of Bly Manor essay that I posted last week. But now that that's off my plate, Chapter 5 of Burning is my priority again. I currently have 2,800 words on it, so I swear that part of it does, indeed, exist and that I have not forgotten or abandoned it. (I'll confess, however, that I have not ruled out the possibility of writing some Bly fic at some point. But idk if that will happen or not, don't hold me to it).

So...more Edeleth to come (eventually).

[animation-is-my-jam]

How do you think College would Go for becky's friend circle (plus the others in her age range)? I know you most explore about them in either High School and in adulthood ( like in your Fic and Fan children ). But I'm curious.

Hey thanks for the ask! This is a good one.

Yeah, you're very observant in how I don't really focus on that part of when I do Wordgirl time-skip stories, for example in my current fic I always allude to specific things in college but I haven't straight up wrote about them in college. To me, that's a nebulous 4 to 6 years of vagueness where anything could happen lmao, either for lazy plot reasons or to make some crazy headcanons/jokes out of it. But you know what, sure, I'll give some ideas about what i would do if I had to headcanon the Woodview kids in college:

Becky: I feel like her being an English major is a given with also some creative writing and linguistics pursuits thrown in there. Becky would probably let herself become way more loose in college because girl has been on the school grind for so long she kinda needs it. I could see her trying to be a more reckless party gal during those years (and she cringes at that as an adult). But she also strikes me as the person who would stay up all night to do every assignment as soon as she gets them because she fears procrastination. (Becky starts to see the appeal of coffee). Whether she's still Wordgirl or not, it depends, but I think she would either retire or take a break as Wordgirl when she starts college. For her sanitys sake. She would stay in dorms and probably have maybe Rose or Scoops as a roommate or heck, maybe someone random like Emma or Emily. But... of course, it's a Jam post, so tobecky has to be brought up (i will be put to death after this dw ^v^) After having a dorm roomie for some time, I can see her and Tobey moving into an apartment together during their later years so they don't have to be apart for too much (they go to different schools). But I also like to imagine a mutual tobecky break-up during college, so that's funny to think about. Bob isn't with her during college, "pets" aren't allowed in the dorms, and the college staff isn't buying that he could be a short 40 year-old hairy student, and he's left behind, unfortunately.

Scoops: Easy enough, I can see him attending the same college/university as Becky since they both focus on writing and more liberal arts pursuits. Scoops would be very excited in college due to a lot of things. However, that means also procrastinates and forgets the most out of the group. I can see him absolutely trying to take over the school's news network and campus life updates, but he would have to get through some of the older students. Also, Rose still being his rival if she also attends the same UN. His major is 100 percent journalism, but I can see him being such a photographer fanatic since he wants to capture this era of their lives. He is also probably in some internship program with a news company during college.

Violet: I like to think Violet would get hella art scholarship opportunities, and of course, she's majoring in Art. She's definitely not going to more liberal arts or public universities, so she's going to be away from her friends :( I can see her being the first one to travel abroad for her studies, she's the one who would do all sorts of adventures and write about them to Becky and the others. She will visit when she can, but she'll be busy somewhere in like Italy painting and making more friends than ever before. She's the free spirit of them and definitely has formed some eco-friendly clubs or yoga classes with some students.

Rex: Despite how I headcanon him to be TJ and Johnson's age. I have it that they skip grades to join the friend group in their college years. Rex would absolutely major in mathematics, but I feel like they would stay in university the longest to achieve almost everything that field has to offer so he can have a lot of titles like a doctor or professor. Heck, I can see them teaching some classes while still being a student, lol. I don't know if they would go to the same university as Becky, Scoops, and Rose--probably not. They seemed like they would go out of the city for an Ivy league type school in like a nearby state. He'll be alone a bit since he's still adjusting to making earth their permanent earth, but they'll get the hang of it with some new people to meet. (Would still be a superhero during college).

Tobey: Even though he had a chance to attend college much earlier than the others, he rejected it in order to just live life a bit more in high school before getting swallowed up by studies. Tobey would absolutely get taken by any technical university or institute that could take him. At first, he considered a out of state university, but he didn't want to move far away from his new life he's built up, so he would settle for an institute that Steven and other professors would have gone to. I'm not saying most of that decision would be a (doesn't want to be too away from his friends) decision but...yeah it would. Haha. Okay, so obviously, Tobey's major and field is in robotics (Wow, who would have thought), but other than that, i have this particular headcanon that I know nobody understands, and I haven't shared yet, but I love it okay! So you know how some people discover their own beliefs and philosophies in college that were so different that you might think for them? Well... I have this idea for Tobey, aside from all the robotics... he starts caring a lot about women studies and starts minoring in it...yup! My boy becomes a whole feminist and gets really passionate about it. He's all about women in STEM and actually meets most of his newer friends through it. He goes to college protests and has written essays. Yeah... I can't believe Tobey McCallister turns woke...(but this is what would happen when the most important people in his life have always been strong women. It'll be crazy if he didn't have a strong respect for that).

Rose: I said in the other descriptions how she would be in the same school as Becky and Scoops. Rose's major is, of course, investigative journalism, but that would require her to also be in the social sciences. In addition to that, I can also imagine her being interested in criminal sciences too. She would compete with Scoops in the school news but technically join forces to beat out the upper-class men. Her nosey behaviors don't get better at college/university. If anything, they get worse by how much content of secrets she can learn from the drama of student life on campus.

And yeah, those are my ideas. Again thx for the ask. This was fun to think about, and I'm sorry if it took a while to answer, I keep forgetting when people talk about the Woodview gang. To me, that's like 7 characters (T△T)

Victoria: Finally, my girl is going to thrive. College would be very good for her, and I think it's the part of her life where she does mellow a lot from the terrible tendencies her parents instilled, more than she did in high school. Victoria being exceptional at everything really did have her (and me) struggle at what specific thing she would major in or what kind of school she would attend. I think a popular idea for her is to just attend some fancy university, but she's mostly doing something like the Olympics. I think that's fair, but I like having different interpretations. One of my fav Victoria headcanons is that music is the talent out of all of them that she's actually passionate about, but of course, her parents turned it into something manipulative. So, in college age, she gets accepted into a music institute or college like Berkeley/Juilliard, and there she really has the freedom to do whatever with music. That does mean she'll also be apart from the others, too, but girlie kinda needs a break from them, lol. (Except Rose because I have an agenda to keep). Victoria would also be more lively and reckless in college life, she already was like that in high school, but when it comes to performing she does take it seriously, probably too much from the trauma of needing to impress people :(

Bonus: Eileen goes to the same school as Becky, but nobody knows what she's majoring in. All they know is that she becomes head of a sorority and they have a "mine" philosophy.

[leverage-ot3]

What are your k drama recommendations??!? I need new ones

omg my time has come thank you anon for giving me the opportunity to ramble about shows

I ended up talking WAY too long so I'm putting everything after the first one under the cut

all of us are dead- show about high schoolers as a zombie apocalypse starts. very funny and relatable, literally they call the police and are like 'have you seen train to busan?' bffrrn. has a lot of social commentary and there are references to the sinking of mc sewol (a cruise that sunk where the captain deserted it and left a large amount of high schoolers to drown). commentary about how adults save themselves first/leave youth to fend for themselves. one of my comfort shows and although they didn't intend for more seasons, it was received so well that they have been renewed! I am also an ot4 truther and sometimes talk about them on my international shows sideblog: @nam-on-jo

sweet home- (disclaimer: I am not caught up and have not yet seen s2 which came out a little while ago) honestly I have no idea how to explain this so I'm gonna copy-paste the blurb: as humans turn into savage monsters, one troubled teenager and his neighbours fight to survive and to hold onto their humanity. basically people turn into monsters for [redacted] reasons and everyone in his large apartment building is stuck inside trying to fend for their lives.

my name- I'm just going to paste the blurbs going forward because it's easier: Following her father's murder, a revenge-driven woman puts her trust in a powerful crime boss -- and enters the force under his direction. bro some of these twists I expected but others caught me off guard. I love the main character and am a little gay for her but I think that's valid because she's a bamf. there was a plot point at the end of the second to last episode that I really didn't like and made me very upset. narratively I get why they did it but it made me sad so I'm still pissy. might get around to writing a fix-it fic one day when motivation strikes because my girl deserves better things.

the guest- a detective, a catholic priest, and a psychic join forces to fight crime caused by supernatural forces. not to say they are my ot3 but they kinda are. (other ppl interpret it is a lesbian and her two bi/gay bffs which I also accept but. ot3 tho). LOVED every twist and turn and how the three of them go from not trusting one another to being family. genuinely one of my favorites from all the kdramas I've watched over the years and I want to rewatch it again soon

happiness (tvn)- The residents of a high-rise apartment fight for their lives against a deadly infectious disease while Sae-bom and Yi-hyun try to find the person because of whom the virus spread. bro I adored this. some characters annoyed me (which means they were written effectively) but it has so much. fake dating/marriage (they wanted a better apartment lmao). annoyances to lovers. mean/rude woman soft for sunshine man. what you will do for the people you love. morals and humanity during a catastrophy. *smacks show* you can fit so much into this. no but seriously, I thought this was a really interesting take on the zombie virus! so some of the time you come off completely asymptomatic and 'normal', so people can get away with acting normal and hiding the disease around other people, so the paranoia and mystery is REALLY amped up. had me guessing a LOT. sae-bom and yi-hyun are both cops/detectives and you find out really early (ep 1/2?) that sae-bom is immune which gives a really interesting dynamic that leaves her (to yi-hyun's exasperation and heightened blood pressure levels) to be kinda reckless in the pursuit of truth and salvation. I'm rambling now because this is making me watch to rewatch but yeah as a zombie/dystopia/apocalypse lover this was a good watch. it's more story-focused than violence-heavy which was a cool and refreshing twist

alice in borderland- okay y'all I am aware people had mixed feelings about s2 but overall I did enjoy the series. 'Obsessed gamer Arisu suddenly finds himself in a strange, emptied-out version of Tokyo in which he and his friends must compete in dangerous games in order to survive.' what can I say, I love a dystopian-esque setting.

the silent sea- imma be real, I only watched it for loml bae doona from sense8. 'During a perilous 24-hour mission on the moon, space explorers try to retrieve samples from an abandoned research facility steeped in classified secrets.' basically earth is in severe crisis mode as they run out of water to drink. water has recently been found on the moon, and although there was a mysterious tragedy that happened previously to researchers looking for water in a base on the moon, they have reached a level of desperation where they have another mission to look for moon water. mystery, paranoia, a couple of good twists ensue. I thought it was pretty good even though I have some mixed feelings about the open ending.

semantic error- yes I am sliding a bl into this list. bitch you thought. of course my bl-loving self would mention this (I forgot about it until I looked up good kdramas to remind myself of stuff I have watched). 'A strict, rule-abiding computer science major must work together with an artist with a polar-opposite personality to his.' confident cool boy meets bitch boy. it's great.

and of course...

leverage con artists- I would be fired from running this blog if I didn't mention the beloved korean spinoff of leverage. 'The series follows the story of Lee Tae-joon, a former insurance investigator who forms a team of thieves and con artists to target the rich and wealthy. The team was also formed to avenge Tae-joon's son's death.' I've posted about it before so I won't go super into it but it's VERY camp, a good time, and the ot3 is alive and well. debatable more overt than their predecessor!

other mentionables:

I tried watching kingdom (again for bae doona) but couldn't really get into it. might try again later because it's critically acclaimed (I think) and has even gotten a spinoff series

my roommate really liked mr queen. I didn't really pay attention when we were in the same room and they were watching it but it's fruity

the island on amazon prime was good! interesting plot but not in my top 10 or anything. worth a watch if you're looking for a kdrama to watch in your spare time. features girlboss businesswoman being thrown into a world of the supernatural because [redacted]. supernatural black horse man keeps her safe while keeping a life-changing secret.

let's fight ghost was a thai show that I saw and loved that was adapted into a kdrama called bring it on ghost, but honestly I couldn't get through it because I liked the thai one better.

train to busan is technically a movie but it's iconic and well-known and I highly suggest watching it if you like zombie/apocalypse movies. disclaimer: kdramas do not have the slow 'walker' zombies. they are fucking fast and the stuff of my nightmares. would probably just jump off a bridge if this actually happened ngl

I did think that extraordinary attorney woo was cute. I never finished it and know that there are VERY valid criticisms about the perpetuation of media portraying people with autism in the stereotypical savant ways. however, I liked how the love interest accepted her for who she was, loved her because of who she was and made efforts to accommodate and learn how to comfort her in ways that would work for her

business proposal was pretty decent if you like lighthearted romance- I didn't finish it but would like to at some point

tale of the nine tailed was another one that my roommate and I started watching but never finished. it was alright! just lost interest

shows on my watchlist:

black knight (netflix)- 'In a dystopian future devastated by air pollution, the survival of humanity depends on a group of deliverymen known as the Black Knights who navigate the wastelands using unconventional means.'

copycat killer-

hellbound (netflix)-

shop for killers (hulu)- 'A nephew who lost his parents and grew up in the hands of an uncle who runs a shopping mall faces a new truth after his uncle's sudden death.'

the legend of the blue sea (viki + hulu)- 'A magistrate's plan to release mermaids into the ocean backfires when they're caught by fishermen.' (legit I just miss mermaid media)

gyeongseong creature (netflix)- 'In the city of Gyeongseong in 1945, a group of young people thinking only of their own survival encounter a monster born of human greed and ask themselves what humanity is.'

dark hole (viki)- 'A mysterious black fog from a petrochemical factory's sinkhole turns people into bizarre figures; people who are not infected try to survive in this middle of pandemonium.'

the cursed (multiple)- 'An enthusiastic social issues reporter, fighting against the evil hidden behind an IT conglomerate, meets a teen-age girl who is possessed by a spirit and has special abilities.'

blood (multiple)- 'Dr Park Ji Sang believes in the sanctity of human life, and struggles to treat terminally ill cancer patients and save lives while at the same time being a vampire.'

the ghost detective (viki)- 'In this horror thriller drama, a detective who catches ghosts tries to solve the case of his younger sibling's death with the help of his assistant.'

possessed (netflix)- 'A smart-mouthed detective and a reclusive psychic medium join together to get rid of the ghost of a murder who was executed 20 years ago.'

connect (hulu)- 'A man is kidnapped and one of his eyes removed by a gang of organ hunters; his eyes was transplanted into body of a serial killer; the unwilling donor now has terrible visions as he witnesses terrifying attacks on the residents of Seoul.'

and now just because so many of these only have het romances, I looked up k-dramas with lgbtq representation... (some of these recommendations were from articles from screenrant, movieweb, this subreddit, herzindagi (bl-focused), allkpop)

schoolgirl detectives (viki)- 'Five teenage girls join together to investigate mysterious incidents that occur at their school, as well as help classmate deal with bullying, depression and other crises.'

be melodramatic (netflix, viki)- 'Three 30-year-old best friends, Jinju, Eun-jung and Hanju each pursue different paths in both career and love. Despite life's difficulties, the three friends can always return home at the end of the day and support each other.'

lily fever (available w/subtitles on youtube)- 'The story revolves around the budding relationship between Kim Kyung Ju and Jang Se Rang who meet when Kyung Ju can't find her passport and has to go to her friend's house to try and find it.'

love alarm (netflix)- 'In a world in which an app alerts people if someone in the vicinity likes them, Kim Jojo experiences young love while coping with personal adversities.'

nevertheless (netflix)- 'The story of a romance between a man who is annoyed with relationships but likes to flirt and a woman who wants to date but does not believe in love.' (wlw side couple romance)