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iznsfw · 9 months ago

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Lucid Dream

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 7 - Kim Minju

IZ*ONE's Kim Minju x Male Reader Smut

8,525 words

Categories | married man!You, wife!Wonyoung, daddy kink, degradation, rough sex, OC is not a good person

Content warning | cheating, humiliation, Wonyoung slander (it hurt to write but I read "Gone Girl" by Gillian Flynn recently so I guess that went into the whole wife-hating thing)

Skipping again a bit (still will do Chaeyeon and Chaewon and everyone because IZ*ONE best girls). Expect a commission and an IZ Days of Xmas fics this month again <3 I love you all, you make me happy. And as always, sorry for the inconsistency!

Wonyoung is beautiful.

You stare at her as she undresses in front of the full-length mirror. She’s the kind of woman whose vanity seldom rolls eyes because her adoration for herself—smoothing down her dark hair, strictly adhering herself to that keto diet, doing her skincare with the dedication of one who prays nightly to god (pick any)—is wholly justifiable. Look at her. Anyone would understand.

The dress she wore for her hosting show slips off her body. Her abs reflect in the mirror, the result of hard work in the gym. Wonyoung’s waist is impeccable. Magazines have written over and over tips to attain it but it seems that the signature Bratz doll feature can only belong to Wonyoung. The makeup was cleaned up by her stylist but her eyes still shine, her lashes are still long, and her lips are still plump.

Wonyoung is standing there in nothing but her underwear, an attractive set of lace.

Wonyoung is the perfect female form, a goddess from above choosing a man from below.

Wonyoung is beautiful, a feat that no matter how amazing besides true, she remains the same old fucking bore.

“Did you like my MCing, babe?” she asks.

“Uh-huh.”

Her legs, long and thin, move in planned strides down the room. To the bed. You know where this is going.

Your feet are killing you. Recline, welcoming yourself into the softness of the expensive mattress and pillows your wife paid for all in all. “Wonyoung, I’m tired.”

She’s a celebrity. Of course, endless days filled to the edge with schedules chase after her. She ought to understand. The nights are her only rest hours, yet with this energy, it’s like Jang Wonyoung never gets exhausted. Always bubbly, always sweet, always so seductive.

All these are positive traits that any other man would adore and own had you not married her.

Wonyoung makes an adorable sigh. “But you say that everytime,” she replies sullenly.

She’s pushing her lips out into this cute pout while her brown puppy eyes beg you to give in like you used to. Once upon a time, you were putty around Wonyoung. Never could give an answer without your voice shaking. Never could come near her without blushing.

She’s the prettiest woman in the world.

You’re the most awful, undeserving man in the world, for all you could think, as you look at her, is: Fucking bitch.

“Well, maybe it’s because I’m always tired.”

“How about,” she puts a finger on her chin, “I do the job for you?”

Her knees are bruised. You notice this when she drops to them so she could pull your pants to the ground. So she’s been doing this for so long? Lowering herself for you? Sucking you off? You thought that she’d get the hint by now: you don’t want to have sex with her.

So instead, she uses her mouth. Better than her pussy anyway. What are you saying? She’s a tight woman. But it’s the same thing everyday: she gets on your cock and you hear her annoying voice straining as she rides you. Her cunt, soaked and useless, makes you want to call her its name. She’s always needy. It isn’t flattering when you don’t reciprocate it.

It’s a goddamned chore. Wonyoung’s throat welcomes you. The other way around, actually: your cock welcomes a claustrophobically closed passageway and has to deal with it until you cum. It’s an unwanted visitor. She rang the bell, said hi, and you let her in. Doesn’t mean you like her there.

“Doing so good, baby,” you say. Oh, yeah, doesn’t mean you mean it either—although you do feel Wonyoung smile happily. She’s happy when she makes you happy. When she makes you give her the illusion that you have any happiness in this worn-out marriage.

Her lips seal around you. You can feel them suckling. Your knees are tense. The moans are forced, though. Hearing them come out from your own mouth makes you want to place a pillow over your face and press it down as hard as you can.

She slides you down her throat. Admittedly, you love the way she chokes. Her eyes get all watery, like she’s crying from pain. That sounds appealing.

You’re a critically messed up man, you know. But they’re what make the world go ‘round. Why do you think they write romance books about them—the bad boy, the mafia boss, the killer? Plus, one of those “terrible” people inspires the biggest Korean celebrity to continue hosting, dancing, and singing. So who’s so terrible now?

To conclude, if anything, you’re the one responsible for Wonyoung’s success.

To conclude, you groan as desperately as you can then release in her mouth. Wonyoung gags. Another pretty sound. Her eyes look up while she attempts to swallow. Saliva sticks to her chin. Semen floods up to the roof of her mouth. It reminds you of how it ends up there more often than in her womb.

You would’ve made beautiful children with Wonyoung in another world where she wasn’t famous and you actually loved her. You would have been a softer, kinder man. She would have been a person who’s easier to love and make love with.

“Wonyoung, Wonyoung, that… was incredible.”

If you weren’t a director, you’d be the one on camera. You’re a great actor when it comes to your wife. Your incompetence in the house is masked by husbandly exhaustion; an artificial gaze of attentiveness hides your indifference to conversation.

She smiles coquettishly. “I try.”

The wide closet parts. She chooses a pair of silk pajamas that hang around her thin frame. She climbs onto the bed and wraps an arm around you. Her skin is always cold to the touch. Like she’s dead or something. How interesting.

You stroke her hair. “I’d return the favor but… I’m actually gonna pass out. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She kisses your forehead. Wonyoung’s a sweet girl. “Good night.”

You smile. Say it back. Her eyelids flutter closed. Her palms are flat against each other and are placed under her cheek. Cute, you guess. She sleeps.

You don’t.

You should have—nothing good ever happens after midnight.

2:05 a.m., more specifically.

Amazing how time slips through your grasp like air. You reach and reach, desperate for a return, desperate for a flash to the past. As always, your efforts aren’t fruitful. The seconds pour through the pinched waist of the hourglass and you can’t stand it on its other head. You’re unable to revert back to the moment you took your arm from underneath your wife’s skull. The moment you opened your phone. If you hadn’t, maybe things would have been different.

But it’s past two, and you’re resting your back on the pillowy headboard with your phone in your hands. The circumstances just play right into danger: Wonyoung’s asleep, the night is eerily quiet, and the screen is there, awaiting the secret routine. Which girls would you cum for today? Why aren’t your thumbs clicking over censored sites?

Your feed shows a naked woman, her eyes staring up and her mouth wide. Scroll past that—you prefer the amateur videos, where the expressions balance between exaggerated and naturally provoked. A ton of videos could help in the bathroom where you take your nightly “shower,” and it’s not one of those.

Maybe you need the real thing.

Look at Wonyoung. Perhaps you should have let her ride you just so you could cum in a warm pussy again. After all, it’s the least you could do when you were once a fan of her. That’s how everyone starts: puppy-like adoration. But she doesn’t have the star quality she once did onstage; the coy thoughtful princess you envisioned her as. That’s why you haven’t fucked her in weeks.

You’re about to wrap your hand around your cock and ready yourself for another night of conflicted pleasure. This video is perfect for that already. You could jerk yourself off then get a good night’s sleep. Simple. This is the safest option for a dangerous want. By just watching, you’re not cheating on your wife. It’s just porn. Jerk off, cum, cum again probably, then sleep. Nobody gets hurt.

“Fuck me… please,” whimpers the woman in the video. Her legs are spread open. Her partner’s swiping his cock at her lips while she looks at him with equal hunger, equal desire. “I can’t take it anymore.”

Then, a text message notifies you, peeking from the top of your screen. It dares you to click it.

And it says the exact same thing.

fuck me please, i cant take it anymore.

i miss you

You look around, like you’re afraid someone might see it. There’s only the dimness of your bedroom that greets you. It’s safe, but this message isn’t.

The number is familiar. Has one of your friends gone crazy? Or did they send a text to the wrong person? Take it for spam, a perfectly coincidental one, or a scam, a typical, preying-on-the-married, pwning message.

But why would a contact spam you at a time so strangely perfect?

Don’t bother. Your fist works on your dick as you watch the video. The woman’s so wet that although she isn’t squirting, her juices start to stick to the man’s thighs. Her mouth is wide open as he finally pounds her.

What you’d give to have good sex like that again.

XXX-XXX-XXX sent a video message.

Fine. Click it, you’re curious.

Oh, so apparently, the answer is your marriage.

The video shows a face that’s more intimate than familiar. The ebony-black hair already tells you who she is, as does her body. Her form is encased in a floral tank top and nothing else. Although her chest is covered, she’s still a little daring with how her nipples stamp the fabric. She turns herself around to let you admire the curve of her wide hips and her round butt.

There’s only one woman with a body so perfect. And she’s the one and only Kim Minju.

There are reasons for everything. This is yours for why you didn’t give this number a name:

No one needs to know just from a text that you cheated on Jang Wonyoung.

That was so long ago, back when you were still boyfriend and girlfriend. You were drunk and missed Wonyoung’s old self. Why did she have to be such a bitch? Why did she dedicate herself to work and leave you dry? It’s not like the industry would go bankrupt without her. Minju came over, listened to your complaints—every little whine about Wonyoung being busy, every little jab at her workaholic character—then said something along the lines of, why don’t you have a little fun while she’s away.

And you thought… yeah, that was a really great idea.

That was the beginning of the end. After multiple secret meet-ups and raunchy sex in alleyways, you didn’t contact Minju again. You forgot her. You thought she did, too. She should have understood that your infidelity, albeit alluring, would be a thing of the past.

But here she is, in your messages, with a pornographic clip of herself in a round-cornered bubble. She’s waiting for a reply.

Although you’ve long lost your aspirations to be a better husband, you type what a good man should. This man is proper, faithful, and loving. He loves his wife only and the only other people he loves with this deep of a bond is his family.

Stop texting me or I’ll block you.

It’s not enough. You’re not a good man. You aren’t proper or faithful or loving or any of that shit. You were about to masturbate to an internet celebrity after turning down sex with your wife. What about that makes you a good person?

:( you miss me sooooo bad it’s pathetic, Minju replies.

You look at her again. You may not be able to turn back time with your metaphorical hourglass, but you can turn this hourglass body into any position you want. You could push her against a window for all to see, perhaps fuck her to the floor, or slam her on a desk like a teacher would to a test paper. Minju would let you do anything to her.

Stop it.

She really has to. As much as you dislike Wonyoung, she’s your wife, and you vowed on your wedding day to only have eyes for her.

But you’re only one man against a body like Minju’s that curves in every right place.

Three circles float up and down in a contained bubble before she texts you back:

alright…what a pity :( i’m already outside!! i guess ill have to go back…

You’ve never bolted out of bed so fast.

You look back at Wonyoung as you stand in the doorway. She’s still in deep slumber. Now, are the curtains closed? The entrances locked? Scan the house thoroughly, until you inch your way to the front door.

Hesitate. You didn’t know you had a conscience but here it is. It tells you to wonder if Minju really is behind it, like she said. She knows how to use the privilege of being Wonyoung’s close friend. That’s how she came to your house like she used to with no worry for paparazzi or suspicion. Best friends don’t fuck their best friends’ husbands, right?

Open the door. This one did.

Minju grew more beautiful in her absence. Her hair is silkier this time and her shy smile is brighter. The long coat is smoothed by her fingers, and you wish you could be the brown piece of fabric her pale hands run down. What makes you guilty for thinking it, even when you’ve done it, is the fact that she looks so innocent. It’s like it would be a crime to even buy her a drink.

How could she be innocent with that photo she sent? The time you spent together: you folding her over a table and promising to fill her up? Fucking her while Wonyoung is busy and counting on you to welcome her home? Sending nudes like there’s no tomorrow? Nothing about Minju is pure, yet she acts like she could do no wrong.

“Minju,” you say. Your voice sounds fragile. She has a way of breaking you befote you’re breaking her into breaking another bed.

She blinks theatrically. Everything she does is angelic. “Glad you opened the door.”

The knob is cold in your fist. It chills your animalistic brain and urges you to consider the consequences. Right, it says, here’s what a human—a good one—would think. If Wonyoung wakes and sees you with Minju, she’d have a lot of questions. If paparazzi are somehow hiding in the forest that extends to acres before your house, everyone would know you’re cheating on her. Most of all, you’re married, monogamy and everything.

So what will it be? This is your last and only chance to send her away.

You know what you have to do. Take a few breaths. “You have to leave. I’m not joking, it isn’t right.”

In response, Minju unravels the ribbon of the layers sealed around her waist. It falls apart. You do, too.

She’s a real danger. As it turns out, the girl isn’t wearing anything underneath that trench coat. She’s an artist’s naked muse—bare long legs, wide hips, and a sizable bust that has sculptors carving something else.

The cold hardens her pink nipples. You notice how her breasts are much bigger than your wife’s. How her hips are more tempting to grab, so you do. How her body is meatier, a lot more enticing that you wouldn’t refuse a day without touching it.

Minju fuels your infidelity, and you won’t stop for it if it kills you.

She simpers, fingers curling into your work shirt. “Still wanna make me leave,” she asks, “when you can breed me all night long?”

You laugh, huffing it out as you pull her inside and close the door behind her. Minju looks gorgeous pressed to it. She looks gorgeous in whatever situation, actually. Her thighs squish against the carved design and look thicker as a result. More reasons to dive into that shaven cunt and abuse it.

“You’re not leaving until we make a fucking mess, Minju.” You take your shirt off. Throw it on the ground. “And we better make it quick.”

“Of course.” She nods. She’s slyer than a fox, but she submits to you without a second thought.

You lean in to kiss her. The heat is unbearable. You can feel it from Minju’s body transferring to yours. It’s the effect of her natural skills as your personal slut: trying to fit her tongue deeper in your mouth while you pull her close like she’d dare to run away.

You haven’t gotten this hard for anyone else. It’s always been Minju you fall for. You miss the way she kisses, the way she roams her hands all over your torso, the way she’s goddamned insatiable. Feeling it all now in one, heated moment makes you dizzy. You’re taking in too much of her, but without her, you’d go thirsty again.

Your fingers are in her hair; hers are on your waist. Your teeth are clamped down on Minju’s bottom lip; hers are apart and allow soft moans to pass through—one, two, three. You fit each other in so many wicked ways. They did say misery loves company.

Open your eyes. The dream doesn’t stop. Minju’s still pushing her mouth in your face and you’re letting her. You don’t know if you ought to be relieved or downright horrified. You’re cheating on Wonyoung again with a woman whose body is just a bit nicer. You should be furious at yourself. You aren’t.

You’ve made out with each other on the way to the dining room. You and your wife worked hard for its designed walls and sturdy, well-furnished ornaments. A lot of money was raked out to make this house the best place to call home. So, why do you want to ruin it?

Well, because of her.

Minju leans on the dining table with a funny smile on her face. “She really doesn’t do it for you, huh?” she asks.

It makes you wince how you know who she’s talking about. Who else is she referring to other than poor Wonyoung? Poor, skinny, ugly Wonyoung?

Nibble at her earlobe. Hear little gasps come out of her. “Don’t talk about her,” you say.

You don’t want to have any afterthoughts about fucking Minju. Besides, being reminded that you’re disloyal to a woman who loves you very much is painful, even to a man like you.

Wonyoung is an angel. Minju isn’t—but you run after her to darkness.

“Ohh, come on, I know I’m better than her.” Minju squirms with erotic moans. Your kisses are going south, and she loves their little detour. “You don’t fuck her like you fuck me.”

When was the last time you worshiped Wonyoung? Like what you’re doing to Minju now? Your lips haven’t passed over it in ages that you probably wouldn’t know where the bigs and smalls of her body are. Like there’s anything to know.

“Actually,” you snort, “I don’t fuck her at all.”

You stop chuckling. That was the wrong thing to say. That was the wrongest thing to say out of the millions of other cocky phrases you could’ve thrown to Minju. The look on her face, the one that’s of pride and submission and dangerous knowledge united, tells you to watch your mouth.

You’re five seconds minimum too late to listen.

Minju grins. There’s the answer she wanted. “That’s how it is? Just looking at a girl and thinking you wanna stamp a divorce approval on her forehead? Jesus. This is why I never got married.”

“First off, nobody put a ring on you because you’re a slut, Minju.”

“That’s only the third reason.” Her fingers drape the sides of your face and tugs you in. You’re invited to the sight of her infallible tits. “These are the first two.”

The girl isn’t as busty as that woman Wonyoung likes to call her industry mom, but you bet they’re better. No, it’s a matter of truth. Minju’s boobs aren’t too big or too small; just the perfect, filling size to hold onto when you’re railing her from behind.

You choose to suck on them for now. It’s like a trip down memory lane when you kiss down her neck and collarbone. You remember how good her smooth, soft skin feels beneath you, how her moans are a favorite tune. Minju bites her lip while you do so to her shoulder.

It’s crazy to think that she just so happened to be born with this. She was born to be a pretty face with a sex-defined body that you pull and push and pry apart. Best thing is, she’ll lay back down and beg for more. It’s like she knows her purpose, which would’ve shot down her dignity and humanity.

Her nipple pops in your mouth. Your sucking guarantees its hardness, and Minju starts whining. She arcs her body, wanting something rougher. Thus, you seize the span of her hip to rub her pearl with fierce speed.

“Oh, fuck, god—” What others might take for blasphemy, you take for praise. Minju’s already soaking wet. She would have had embarrassing laundry to do if she wore panties. Maybe it’s a good thing she arrived wearing nothing.

She’s still so sensitive. You caress her clit after a few kisses down her midriff. She fidgets needily like you aren’t already touching her. You’re nearly right—this touch is nothing when she needs something harsher. That something involves you treating her less than a human being, putting her down and tearing at her hair.

“Please just fuck me,” she whispers. “Breed me, breed me, breed me—”

Yeah, that’s what she wants.

You don’t need further motivation, not when you’re presented with the prettiest pussy you’ve ever seen. Her fat lips are soaked. They frame the clitoris you’ve been stimulating that shines with slick. Then there’s the tiniest hole below it that begs to be used.

Your digits shove past all tightness. Her wetness allows a deeper exploration, so you curl your digits like you’re beckoning the orgasm forward. You know how easily you can get it out of her. All it needs to get Minju cumming around you is a slap, roughness, and giving her what she wants anyway. You know your methods, she knows hers. It’s a recognizable cycle that despite this, you can’t break.

Part your fingers widely to spread her. She’s so wet that she soaks your knuckles. There’s an ocean inside her waiting to be waved to shore. A storm, too, brews from the base of her throat as Minju whimpers. Her body lifts off the table but you force her down on it. She isn’t going anywhere, not without a fight.

Oh, and fight she does. She was an idol before an actress, so her muscles still memorize the circling motions that repeat on your fingers rather than move onstage. She sang once. That was a long time ago yet her voice sounds perfect as it strains her moans. Every little thing she does is a reflection of her past.

That’s why when she leans back, pupils dilating north, and says “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” you get deja vu.

Your palm hits her clit, adding impact to your strokes. “There you go, little slut,” you snarl. “Are you happy now? Maybe even a little grateful?”

If Minju’s ass isn’t pressed down on the glass mantling your dining table, it hovers so her pink little hole receives you better. It’s not without the help of her weak hands clinging to the table for dear life, but she seems to be losing her balance. Her hips are shuddering. Her beautiful face is squeezed up into a blissful wince. Her breaths are becoming blunt little gasps that say none of the gratitude you want to hear.

You slap her boob. Red blooms from her pale skin that deepens when another impacts her bosom. The recoil dizzies you. If anyone’s getting the impression that you’ll slap her bouncy tits until you hear a proper word of thanks, they’d be right. First impressions are right just for once.

“T-thank you—” Her voice cracks, breaking like her. “Fuck, shit, thank you, thank you.”

Squeeze her cruelly and pull on the perky nipple. Your thrusts become mindlessly paced. Your hand returns to your cock while the other ruins her pussy. The pleasure is telepathic. It’s connecting you; her screams and squirms make you do the same. The electricity firing up in your veins is a shared network. When you point your fingers to her spot, she arcs her back in the same direction. How beautifully fucked up is that?

“That’s not enough. You didn’t come here for nothing. What do you want, Minju?”

Minju babbles. You got your gratitude but not a proper answer. To be fair, she can’t speak when you’re fucking her like it’s your dick inside her, and when your lips are all over her collarbone.

“And you better keep quiet,” you add, curling your thrusts, “or Wonyoung‘s gonna hear. Do you really want her to know her precious friend is a big slut?”

However, despite the rumors she starts, Minju could be a very good girl when needed.

“Need you to make me cum,” she whispers. Her midriff is fluid as water with the way it rolls, showing off the hourglass shape of her waist and a soft tummy. “Do everything to me you can’t with Wonyoung. P-please, I can’t take it.”

Even if she can’t (wrong by the way), you’ll make her. She asked for it. She walked up to your house with a purpose: to be used, to be treated like less of a human being. So it’s understandable that you slam her down the table and seal a hand around her neck.

She’s so light that the forceful push doesn’t break the fragile glass. But there’s something of hers instead that’s going to be broken.

“Oh fuck! It’s so–” Minju’s eyes roll back. “Ohh… oh!”

Little sparks of wetness shoot in the air. Your pace turns merciless. With just three fingers, you puppet her body. Strings are pulled—her arms raise and her long legs strain to pull you in. You push and she keens, you pull and she yells. You’re making her desecrate the place with her water.

“C-can’t breathe.” A squeeze of her beautiful features—eyelids wrinkling, mouth parting, cheeks filling with scarlet—occurs before she squirts again. She whimpers pathetically, sounding so pitiful you want to laugh. “Ah, fuck, daddy—”

Something stirs inside you. When men hear that name, it ought to feel purely platonic and familial. They’d hear it from their daughter and feel compelled to protect them from men who’d do to them what you do to Minju. But you much prefer hearing that two-syllable word when it comes from a naked woman squirting all over the floor, from whom once you register it, you’re urged to pin her down, tie her down, hold her down.

Ironically, you release her. That isn’t because it’s over though. “On your knees. Follow me.”

Minju releases a gasp, grateful for the oxygen. The color returns to her face yet she barely has the energy to get off the table. You’re a generous man, and hey, it still counts as helping. So you yank her hair and force her on the ground. She fucking moans, a feat deserving of a healthy spank to her ass.

You walk to the living room. She follows you withher hands and knees bearing the cold tiles. You lead her to the place where you spend your time watching movies, rehearsing, and hanging out with Wonyoung if she’s ever home.

Speaking of, glance at the door of your bedroom. It’s still closed. It’ll stay that way.

Look down after wondering why Minju’s noisier. She’s playing with herself on the floor with no care for the cold chill of the tiles or the little dirt wedged between them. She lightly rubs her abused clit, quivering at the contact. You expect that from her—she’s corrupted, an irredeemable cause. She’ll get herself off anytime anywhere.

But what’s unexpected is what those watery eyes are focused on: you, in a framed picture on the wall. You look younger, happier. You’re in formal garments standing next to Wonyoung in a church.

It was you on your wedding day.

You spit on Minju. “Filthy cumslut.”

The drool slides down her cheek like a tear. She darts her tongue out and licks it. One could’ve thought it was candy considering the lift of a smile.

“I’m sorry, daddy,” she says resolutely. Her fingers still toy with her entrance. They won’t serve her well when there’s a bigger, better thing behind your pants to do it for her.

Your pants are already off. “Get up. Get the fuck up,” you command, but you do it for her.

You grab her neck and force her up. The look on her face is addicting, the way the shock turns into carnal need, the way she bites her lip. You press her to the wall, right under the framed wedding pictures, and finally plunge yourself inside her.

“Oh, oh, oh!”

What did Minju do to get this tight? Her walls are squeezed closer around you than you remember. They’re still wet from her squirting, easing your burden of fighting against the tautness of her core.

Her groans are pitched just like how you pitch yourself in her and make her fight for it. She tries everything: gathering the strength she has to push her ass into your crotch, rolling her body, looking back to watch your cock disappear between her lips.

“So big, daddy!” she cries. With a lick of her lips, she turns to face you. “Mmm, d-do you ever get this massive when you’re fucking Wonyoung?”

That seals it. There’s no restraint in using her body. Her plump ass leading to her toned back is a temptation by itself. You’d burst all over it (maybe in it) if you weren’t already firm in breeding her. But dear god—it rises and descends into your angled pumps so effortlessly that you aren’t afraid to spank it like you’re angry at her.

“Keep your whore mouth shut.”

Spank after spank you bestow and you realize, oh, you and Minju are really made for each other. The more her ass reddens, the more hot pain sparks on your palm. She throws herself back hard, you piston her harder.

Your puzzle pieces stick together so perfectly that it’s a shame you didn’t meet under different circumstances. She could’ve been an adorable girl next door and you could have been a guy looking to slip her a love letter. She would’ve been your loving girlfriend, a beautiful wife, someone you’d actually enjoy touching, so different from the woman asleep in the bed upstairs.

But that’s never happening. Minju’s a slut through and through, and she’ll forever be a sin you won’t go to confessions for. She was made to be fucked then discarded of when she’s no longer of use. You see it in the way she’s in a mantra of craziness, the way she yells, the way she looks back at you like she’s daring you to hurt her.

You choose the dare rather than to tell her the truth. You curl her hair into a fist and pull her into you.

“God, I’m so close.” Minju’s trembling body grows warmer in your touch. “I’m gonna cum all over your big gorgeous cock. I can’t hold out longer, daddy.”

Your teeth dig into her earlobe. You could make her bleed and she’d still find a way to make the pain heavenly. “I thought I told you to be quiet. Is Wonyoung waking up and ending your life worth it for this?”

“What if I say yes?”

“Fuck.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice, making her see you’d give her away to get a night with me? You’ll give up all this stupid shit t-to be my daddy. Because Wonyoung’s just sooo worthless, isn’t she?”

Savage her cunt and shove your fingers down her mouth just so she could shut up. You love this. Minju’s always so ready for you.

No, actually—now that you think about it, you hate it. You hate how she’s curvier than your wife, how she’s more alluring than she could ever be, how she moans despite the blockage in her throat. Everything about her is so sexy that the sound of her choking up spit makes you throb.

This is the wrong time to have a conscience. You’ve already split her apart. You’ve already got your fingers in her hair that pull hard to the point that damage is highly likely. You’ve already—

—got Minju screaming, biting down on your skin as her legs spread. What a strange thing to have as a natural reflex. That’s all she knows to do: spread her legs, hope her innocent face attracts a guy into her home and his dick into her pussy. Her skin, white as snow, has become impure with red blemishes. You see her purple-bruised neck flex when she yells into your hand.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Minju yells. Her fingernails leave fine scratches on the wall. “Fuck, I’m squirting so much I don’t know what to do—oh fuck!”

You bump the manic girl up on your knee before spreading her legs. A godless squirt of her juices hits Wonyoung’s face, the savior being the glass protecting the picture. Others bless their homes with water blessed by esteemed priests; you like to stand out. Choose to have Minju’s unholy juice flood the photo you once held dear.

Did something possess you? An evil spirit, a god of fertility? All are clichés but you can’t help but think so when you notice how fast you’re pumping Minju. It’s like greed’s finally reigned you. It’s difficult to resist. Minju just wrings your cock perfectly dry with her tight cunt, keeps you speedy with her desperate moans. You’re vandalizing her with your climax and she doesn’t want to be clean ever again.

“You think you’re special, Minju?” You press her to the ruined picture. Her side profile mashes on the glass. “You’re nothing, only a useless hole, just like that bitch. Now clean it up.”

Her eyes light up in shock. Excitement? “What?”

You pull her head back in order to have her full lips pressed against Wonyoung’s face. The clear squirt is still dripping from it. Minju’s face is red, and although your cock left her moments ago, she insists on tensing like it’s there. Is that how she lives? Her way of bonding is riding on the high she got the night before and the night before that. She always has sex in her mind that thoughts of it occur to her as they would to an animal.

That’s right; she’s an animal. Perhaps even a dog would have more self-control than her, ironically.

“Lick your mess,” you command. “Now.”

Minju whimpers. You bury your fingernails in her scalp until she loses her fake hesitance. Her tongue glides on Wonyoung’s face and relieves her of the mess. Her lips part and close, taking in her own taste.

She looks like she’s making out with your wife. Her pretty face smudges the other pretty face in the picture and it’s so much hotter than it’s got the permit to be. Wonder how it’ll look if she’s actually kissing the real Wonyoung—picture them with their legs locked together and tongues coming out to play—and you’re hard enough for another round.

“That’s right. You want to be Wonyoung so bad? You want to be the one I drive into the bed everyday? So fucking make out with her.”

“Y-yes, daddy. Oh.” Minju’s moans fog the glass. “I taste delicious.”

It’s probably a hygienically reprehensible thing to do. But her mouth is dirtier than the picture anyway. You force her lips deeper into it until you pull her away, satisfied.

Not quite.

Rub her clit a few more times. Hose her squirt all over the floor. You’ll have a mess to clean up. Oh, there’s all the evidence: her squirt on the floor, her lipstick in the shape of a languid kiss on the picture frame, the mess she made in the dining table where you ate her rather than your food.

But it’s all worth it. An evil idea plants and sprouts in your mind. “Bedroom.”

Minju pants. Her hands are flat on the wall. She turns to you, saliva and lipstick smeared on her chin, and asks, “W-which one?”

“You know exactly where.”

Her wide eyes tell you wordlessly that she got the point. She’s well aware of what room you want to use her body next. It’s not even supposed to be a question given the ways and moments you fucked her there.

“But daddy—if, if she hears us?”

You grin. “Then you’ll have to be pretty fucking quiet.”

The best thing about Minju besides her body is her passiveness. She may act up sometimes but she still needs your cock, and she’ll do anything to get it. So when she hangs her head to hide her smile, you spank her. It speeds her steps to the staircase. Continue doing so all the way.

It’s funny how she struggles to even lift a foot. Streams of your cum and hers slide down her legs, staining the carpet. You’ll have to wash that out, too. If you have the maid do it, she’s likely to put two and two together.

Even from the back, Minju’s body is beautiful. Her reddened ass twists from side to side and brings attention to her wide hips. The deep line on her spine is a path you trace your fingertips on. She quivers.

“Daddy,” she whines.

Hit her butt. Let it fill your palm. “Keep on walking.”

It’s borderline dehumanizing. You’re treating her with a ferociousness a woman like her should never have to go through. The eyes of the painted men and women on your walls lock on her. It’s like their hard stares are real. Minju bears the blows to her cheeks during her walk of humiliation up the stairs. Tiny yelps are caused by each one. It’s in her to be quiet now that Wonyoung is quite near, although not as close as she is to another heavy orgasm.

You slap her pussy, making her shake, then lead the juices mingling in it up to her asshole. She chews on the inside of her cheek to hide her moan. She reaches the last step with a huge sigh of relief.

The finality of the torture doesn’t last long. Fuck, it doesn’t even exist. You collect the semen and wetness from her legs, then drag it right back to her pussy.

You shove your fingers deep in her cave. There. Now your cum stays inside her. After that, it’ll drip all the way to her womb. She screams through pursed lips.

Push her hard against your bedroom door. Her stomach’s flatness goes up to the point that it’s the only thing engendered into the wood. Minju’s tiny gasp is already loud for you. Her beautiful side profile is mashed deep into the solid barrier between the two women.

Minju whimpers. Is she scared or heavily turned on? The thing with her is she likes both. So, yeah—she’s wet at the thought of being caught with you, being fucked within a distance of your wife wherein she could finally pin down your infidelity.

The little angel closes her eyes when your words hover near her prone ear. “Shut up,” you warn, “unless you want to lose your career. Or this dick.”

You slip your shaft between Minju’s shapely thighs. A friction is nurtured and grown into rough, pant-accompanied humping that leaves both of you breathless. Her pussy lips splay warmly on you and you’re allowed to rub yourself on her clit.

Minju tenses up. Her breaths are kept to a hummed volume yet their huskiness gets you to fuck her legs faster. The core between them is so warm and you haven’t even welcomed yourself in it again.

You carefully open the door. You don’t know what you’re expecting: Wonyoung crying with her face in her knees? An anger you never knew she could have? But what shows calms you. There’s your wife who remains asleep on the bed. From the soft snores, it’s easy to tell she’s deep in a dream.

“Wonyoung’s so pretty, daddy,” whispers Minju. You push her to the footboard where she holds on tight. “Do you think she’ll want to join if she wakes up? Or she’ll leave you for me?”

“Are you sure you want to act like that?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Depends on what you’re gonna do to me.”

Everything. You’re planning on doing everything to her.

Push her to the small pole of the wood. You’re forced to shove your fingers in her mouth again to keep her from yelling. The contact it makes to her clit is already overwhelming. But she’s all for overwhelming—she wants the kind of sex that leaves her beaten and bruised, the kind that leaves her sore and not knowing if she should tell you to keep going or halt.

You know what she’d choose.

Minju grinds on the pole. She’s dancing her hips again. Somehow, things of the past don’t leave her. Her idol days still leave an impact on her. The guy she made cheat on his wife a long time ago returned to her life to cheat again.

No, you’ve never been one for sentimentality, but things have somehow stayed the same. The slut that is Minju today was a slut all those years ago, too.

Grab her hips and force her to hump the ball of the pole. She soaks it instantly. Minju is corrupted to no hope of return. There’s your cum, leaking from her pussy and to the bedsheets. Her juices wet the pole and increase the creaking noises that would wake Wonyoung up if not for whatever dream she’s having.

“Oh, daddy! Oh, daaaddy—” she stammers, words bitten and broken in the major need to be quiet. “Just… fuck me. Please?”

“As long as you—”

“Be a good quiet girl, yes. I’ll do anything, daddy. Anything for this cock.”

She kneels down. Her tender mouth seals around your left testicle. You nearly shout right there and then. Minju’s running her lips on the underside of your swelling dick. She feels so good, and she is so good. She has all the tips and tricks to keep you hard memorized, if her brain wasn’t too full of other dirty thoughts.

The rasp in your throat materializes and makes her squirm her legs together. She puckers her lips then slips your cock through their joined entrance. Her almond eyes look wider tonight. Your tip pokes the back of her throat. She lets it rub there for now. You find pleasure in the texture that makes you leak. No, you can’t cum. Not yet.

Take a last look at Wonyoung before diving your rod to the depths of Minju’s throat.

It’s funny that the girl still has a gag reflex. Sucking dick is second nature to her. So is getting throatfucked. The walls of her oral hole flex to keep you in. She makes sharp inhalations only to take in the musky scent you thrust on her. In her?

Choking comes after. The orifice grows tighter which makes you fuck it harder. Saliva’s slick liquid state sheens your erection. Minju’s lost her breath a long time ago but she’s lost more than that now. The regular beat of her heart is gone. You can’t search her face for any color other than the palest white.

“You have to stop gagging, Minju,” you say. Don’t help her though; keep ruining that throat. “Maybe you really do wanna get caught. Makes you really wet, doesn’t it?”

She nods. Your hard tip bobs in her mouth as she does. Her pretty eyes, with their long lashes and big pupils that always seem to gleam with innocence, fill with watery tears.

“How cute.” You’re surprised that her hair is intact to her scalp after you pull it back. “But I make the rules around here. And I need you to seal that mouth shut and use it for good.”

There’s a possibility that, like Minju, you’re a dancer as well. But the upward grind of your body has no grace in it. It’s a rough, punked up beat that renders the girl humming and screaming. This roughness is nowhere close to natural.

You dip your cock in her just to see how far you could go, how far is needed to keep her quiet. Feed her more than she could suck. Every sensitive spot of yours is on fire thanks to Minju’s dutiful tongue and hard sucking. Your sack slaps her chin so hard it’s surprising it doesn’t hurt.

But, like you iterated, Minju isn’t normal. She takes the pain for pleasure and doesn’t give a damn if she gets wounded because of it.

The tears finally fall from her eyes.

The lines blur. Who is she—the woman asleep on your bed or the woman you fucked to be disloyal to her? Minju’s beautiful; so is Wonyoung. Jang Wonyoung is beautiful but there’s a category of beauty wherein the girl you’re destroying right now falls in. That’s the section for women who look pretty when they cry, who’ve accepted they’re as fucked up as whoever finds them and takes them in for who they are.

Your wife is pretty. You guess. But Minju is a beauty who lets you do everything to her, and that makes her a little bit more important.

Defile, defile, defile. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you get cum in her hair—(”I have a photoshoot, babe, you can’t!”). Semen sticks to Minju’s locks right now. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you be this rough with her—(“And what if they see? I shouldn’t look dirty to the fans.”) Minju is sitting there taking it like she’s just a cum dump. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you tear off her clothes because “they’re couture so it’s not really mine.” The coat Minju wore coming here lies discarded on the first floor.

Wonyoung doesn’t let anyone defile her. It’s her most fatal flaw. It’s the flaw that makes her husband see all the tiny imperfections she doesn’t allow the camera to see and chase highs in another woman’s throat.

So when Minju cries, gags, chokes—you realize it’s all so simple.

Slip out of her. The delusions clouding your head make you steal a look at the bed. Oh, now it’s unbelievable. Wonyoung is still asleep.

Not that it’s any inconvenience to you.

You prop Minju up to the vanity table. The counter carries the heave of her small chest. She can barely lift her head up. It makes her carry a look of humiliation that’s not at all true. She’s the most shameless woman you’ve ever met.

“Daddy… daddy…”

Twist her chin so she can look at herself in the mirror. Her body is amazing despite the handprints and bruises peppered on her stomach, butt, and neck. She flusters but your finger presses on her lips before she can look away.

“Not a single sound,” you remind her.

She nods. Good girl.

Minju’s a capable girl. Well, mostly. She offers those amazing dicksucking lips, shapely curves, and sometimes, her ass for ruining its own tightness. But nothing beats the feeling of her cunt. It’s all the right things: wet, tight, and perfectly quivering as they wrap around your shaft.

Minju closes her eyes. Bites down on her lip. She fights to be true to her promise of silence. Being a good girl and bad girl simultaneously is one of her versatile traits. The table creaks louder than expected. You would’ve shot another look at your spouse again, but Minju’s pretty face is in the way. Her cheeks are scarlet and her brows bead with sweat. She really is a beauty.

Your strokes are ceaseless. The thing that shocks you the least is the fact that her legs look as if they spread wider and wider. She splits while you split her apart. Place a hand on her tummy to muffle the sounds of skin colliding and wood creaking, and reach a better end: your cock is hitting her guts, making a bobbing print on her flat stomach.

“Look how deep I am, Minju.” You grin wickedly at her reflection. “You call me daddy anywhere, don’t you? How about I become a real one?”

Minju bounces herself on you. That’s a yes. A definite, enthusiastic yes.

Your penetration is rougher, gliding on places she can’t even imagine. If you cum right now, and this far in, you’ll live up to your name of “daddy.” Minju isn’t the only one who has to keep promises.

Corner a pulse point on her neck. Her core squeezes and although its resistance is tough, your pumps are more so.

“You’ll be my secret good girl. Daddy’s gonna put a fucking baby in your stomach, and no one has to know it’s mine. No one has to know you’re mine.”

Minju pouts, not out of sadness but of the orgasm that’s creeping from her feet to her center. It’s so close she could reach for it, taste it like a strong wind. You allow the tiny breaths and pants that leave her to be exemptions from your bedroom law.

“Wonyoung would be so happy for you.” You lick the sensitive spot behind her ear. “‘That’s so great, unnie! Come on, tell us who’s the lucky guy.’ And you’ll have to stop yourself from telling her that I did it. Can you do that?”

Minju emphasizes each repetition with a responding throb and push of her cunt. “Yes, yes, yes—”

Allow that, too. Burst inside Minju. Flood her insides with cum that shall infiltrate her fertile womb. Soon, that tummy would be round rather than flat. It’ll be your baby.

Minju got what she wanted in the end.

The next day, Wonyoung will wake up crying.

It’ll happen early in the morning, when the moon is still up and sheets still wrap your exhausted form. But she’s sobbing so loud that it’ll rouse you.

“What’s wrong?” you’ll say.

She’ll tell you about a dream she had. Wonyoung’s going to narrate a complex dream of Minju, her beloved former member and best friend, seducing you. It happened right in the house and in front of her. You dared to do it to her while she was sleeping and thought she didn’t know.

And you?

You’ll take her in your arms, kiss the inside of her trembling wrist, and say, “Oh, honey—it’s okay. I’m here, baby. I’m here. I’m here.”

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eclectic-sassycoweyes · 1 month ago

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WIP Wednesday!!! I can’t believe I both have something to share today AND am kicking us off☺️ (from my 5x05 coda) (I made this header really quickly and will not be taking any constructive criticism at this time including compliments bc I will not believe them🤭)

“I remember my mom’s eyes when she looked at him.. she looked so in love.. I mean I was fifteen so I thought it was disgusting at the time but..” he mumbles sleepily.

TK can’t help but let out another short laugh. “That sounds like a really good memory.” he says softly, his hand moving from the back of Carlos’ head to gently brush a thumb over his temple. It catches on the edge of his eye, TK’s own eyes catching on Carlos’ even though they’re closed; on the relaxed softness around them, the lashes fanning out over his cheeks.

“Yeah.” Carlos sighs. The single breath holds both happiness from the memory and sadness. The same feelings rush through TK, like they’re being transferred between them by the breaths they share, just as their pleasure had been earlier, by their hands and lips and tongues.

OPEN TAG AS ALWAYS!!! Plus no pressure tags under the cut:

@meditating-honey-badger @the-126-family @goodways @whatsintheboxmh

@corsage @ironheartwriter @nisbanisba @thoughtsickles

@emsprovisions @nancys-braids @your-catfish-friend @rmd-writes

@goldenskykaysani @captain-gillian @strandnreyes @ladytessa74

@alrightbuckaroo @carlos-in-glasses @carlos-tk @herefortarlos

@heartstringsduet @paperstorm @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @pimento-playing-hopscotch

@literateowl @lemonlyman-dotcom @welcometololaland @sapphic--kiwi

@reyesstrand @theghostofashton @lonestardust

#my writing #wip wednesday #5x5 coda #Tarlos fanfiction #mar writes something #911ls fanfiction #911 lone star #my wip’s #mar tags

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emsprovisions · 1 month ago

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Switching gears for a Halloween fic I’ll hopefully have out this week 🥰 happy Sunday y’all!

Most importantly, TK and Carlos have their Día de Muertos ofrenda set up on the table behind the couch, with framed pictures of Gwyn and Gabriel, a white veladora between them. There’s vibrant papel picado hanging around the edge of the table and a sugar skull vase with bright, orange Mexican marigolds erupting from the top. As their own personal touch, Carlos has his dad’s Ranger badge in front of Gabriel’s picture, and TK has set out one of his mom’s handwritten cookbooks and a vintage jewelry dish with her ear cuff stack, her other favorite earrings, and her grandmother’s engagement ring. A wooden rosary hangs off of Gabriel’s frame while a Star of David hangs from Gwyn’s. In front of the candle, there is a plate of pan de Muerto and challah.

Carlos surprised TK the first time he’d set the altar, their first Día de Muertos after Gabriel had died. He came home to his husband hanging papel picado around the table behind the couch and saw the framed pictures of their dead parents. TK didn’t expect his husband to include his mom in his culture, but he did. Carlos asked TK if it was okay and TK didn’t fully grasp what this symbolized then, but he does now.

“It’s more than okay,” he told Carlos. “As long as it’s okay my mom wasn’t Catholic.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Carlos shook his head, wrapping an arm around TK’s waist. “The ofrenda is to remember our loved ones. Show them we’re always thinking about them.”

Carlos asked TK to pick out things that belonged to his mom he might want on the altar, and neither of them had a dry eye as they set it up.

They set it up again the same way this year, together, mixing their culture and their religion into one beautiful altar to honor their loved ones. It’s TK’s favorite area of all the decorations in the loft. He thinks it’s Carlos’s favorite too.

Thank you for the tags @ironheartwriter @heartstringsduet @nisbanisba and @eclectic-sassycoweyes !!! 💕

No pressure tags @strandnreyes @tellmegoodbye @lemonlyman-dotcom @carlos-in-glasses @carlossreaders @captain-gillian @alrightbuckaroo @butchreyes @bonheur-cafe @nancys-braids @reyesstrand @paperstorm @lightningboltreader @chicgeekgirl89 @welcometololaland @decafdino @corsage

#seven sentence sunday #tarlos #911 lone star #em writes

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bestworstcase · 1 month ago

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actually. on reflection, i’m questioning my presupposition that tyrian and mercury will be hiding their affiliation with salem from the crown. i don’t think that holds up necessarily.

firstly, the main narrative motivation for tyrian and mercury to be undercover (from the writers standpoint, i’m not talking character motivation) is to give mercury a way out in the form of betraying tyrian to jax and gill – but this can still happen if tyrian and mercury are upfront about acting on salem’s behalf if 1. they represent salem as an ally to the crown’s cause (her war is against the huntsman academies, as is the crown’s, enemy of my enemy is my friend – that this doesn’t contradict ruby’s characterization of salem in the broadcast helps) and 2. mercury comes to believe that tyrian is right that salem seeks only annihilation.

so that all checks out still.

and. ok

if gillian is indeed the summer maiden:

when did she become so?

does the inner circle know?

well. sidelong glance. i may or may not be right about jaune/gillian but even in the event that i’m not, it does feel worth noting here that gillian is in many ways anti-pyrrha.

pyrrha is a world-renowned athlete and prodigy who “always felt it was her destiny to become a huntress, to protect the world” – who believed in that so strongly she chose to die for it. her teachers and headmaster implicitly believe that she carries her team (& qrow voices this perception). she’s chosen by ozpin to become the fall maiden’s new vessel by means of transferring amber’s aura, her soul, into pyrrha. she had a powerful semblance that gave her such an edge that she seemed untouchable – the invincible girl.

gillian, too, was “top of her class,” “ambitious,” “would have been a fantastic huntress” according to her former teacher and headmaster at shade, if only her brother hadn’t “held her back.” gill, too, is guided by belief in destiny and, mirroring pyrrha’s unflagging and wholehearted support of jaune, gillian is devoted to her brother, happily splitting her aura with him and following his lead without a trace of resentment. and her semblance makes her quite literally untouchable both in the sense that bullets just bounce off her and in the sense that if she gets her hands on you she can steal your aura; her semblance isn’t permanent and seems to not do lasting harm but in every other respect gill is a walking aura transfer machine.

even aesthetically: pyrrha’s red-and-bronze vs gillian’s blue-and-silver. complimentary colors. pyrrha’s circlet, gill’s diadem. pyrrha’s bronze armband, the silver armband worn by members of the crown. there’s a noticeable repetition of design elements here, and while it’s touch to compare a visual design to prose descriptions, taken in combination with the character parallelism…

the point being. if gillian is the summer maiden, then i think – irrespective of whatever degree of involvement jaune has narratively – this pattern will likely hold.

now. with that in mind, four things:

#1. jax was expelled from shade academy for unknown reasons, and gillian dropped out to leave with him because he asked her to. the circumstances of his expulsion are never stated; rumpole remembers him as “arrogant” but not particularly motivated, and theodore as a “weak, scared little boy” who “never stepped up,” so – importantly – it doesn’t seem like he was kicked out for misconduct. there’s no mention of cheating or bullying, only this perception that he was sort of worthless and holding gillian back.

#2. carmine escalados and bertilak celadon were academic partners at shade academy during the same time jax and gillian attended the school, and while they weren’t on the same team, carmine and gillian were evidently close friends (bertilak remarks that carmine affectionately called gill ‘queenie’ during their school days).

#3. in ‘after the fall,’ bertilak says… this.

Fox and Bertilak circled each other. “You’re a disgraceful excuse for a Huntsman,” Fox said. “It’s easy for you to say, with all those lofty ideas Ozpin and Theodore drilled into your heads. ‘Being a Huntsman is a calling and a privilege, not to be taken lightly.’ ” Fox had heard his professors at Beacon and Shade give exactly that speech. Bertilak spat. It was so hot, Fox heard the liquid sizzle and evaporate as it hit the sand. “They’re just words. You think your headmasters and professors are model Huntsmen? They’re worse than all the rest of us. You want to know why I barely graduated? I was tired of being used as a tool.”

which is, as i’ve said before, a bit… um. hm. why does this guy – this random huntsman who attended shade and barely made it to graduation – have a chip on his shoulder about ozpin? why – like, bertilak does not have anything like raven’s rhetorical flair, but adjusting for stylistic differences this is verbatim what raven says of oz in v5.

“they’re worse than all the rest of us.” vs “old man oz has a great and terrible secret, one that could spread fear across the world…”

”the truth is that truth is hard to come by.… by now, i’m sure your uncle has told ruby and her friends plenty of stories.” vs “they’re just words,” spat on the ground.

why does bertilak celadon sound like he actually has a clue what’s going on?

#4. jax began to plan and prepare for his coup as soon as he and gillian left shade academy, and while he tries to convince himself that the group responsible for the attacks on beacon and haven might disregard vacuo as unimportant, he does clearly anticipate that this adversary will come for vacuo, and he’s thinking ahead to withstanding that assault.

now, that’s not necessarily unreasonable even if jax knows nothing – the aborted attack on haven was publicly linked to cinder and her associates. but his specific phrasing is: “whomever had been targeting the other kingdoms.”

cinder and her associates aren’t anonymous. the mistrali newscaster in 6.2 reports their full names, with photographs of each of them. jax doesn’t own a scroll and almost certainly didn’t watch the vytal tournament, but he’s clearly quite well-informed of the international news and the crown’s inner circle do use scrolls. he has every reason to know cinder by name, know that she orchestrated both the attacks on beacon and haven, and yet he apparently takes it as a given that there is someone else acting behind the scenes, someone unknown.

why?

well.

i’ve speculated before that ozpin had pyrrha in mind as a maiden candidate from the start and deliberately placed her in an otherwise forgettable team led by a nakedly unqualified loser with the intention of separating her from that team for special instruction later – clearly they’re just holding her back from achieving her full potential, right? – as a pretext for secretly training her as a maiden.

if gillian is narratively a sort of inverse-pyrrha, then – well, firstly, gill’s ideological commitments are all wrong for a maiden as far as ozpin’s circle is concerned. she and jax were open about their interest in the “family legacy” at shade, there is no way gillian would have been chosen to receive the summer maiden’s power. but of course it’s quite easy for a maiden to slip the leash; all it would take is for the maiden to be distracted or killed too swiftly to fix her thoughts on the ‘correct’ candidate or pass away in her sleep or any number of other possibilities, and whoops!

whether gillian became the summer maiden before or during her time at shade, she wouldn’t have been the intended candidate – but the inner circle can’t, like, murder a child to anoint their intended maiden, they have to work with what they’ve got. at least she was a student, you know?

her brother is more fanatical than she is. her brother’s holding her back. her brother is a bad influence on her. he’s got to go.

she’s the summer maiden. she has to be brought into the fold, to keep the power out of salem’s hands. it is imperative to get her to cooperate. right? so she gets the same kind of introduction to the conspiracy that pyrrha did – the slow drop of partial information, the “we can tell you more once we know you’re with us,” the vague but deeply ominous talk of the world being in grave danger, of a terrible, secret threat – a shadowy adversary – appeals to her earnest desire to do right by the people of vacuo.

but theodore – and ozpin – misjudge her. they ask her to keep all this secret from her twin. her brother, with whom she quite literally voluntarily shares her soul because he’s sick and she loves him. of course she’s not going to keep secrets from her brother. and if theodore uses the boy’s failure to “step up” as a pretext to expel him, counting on gillian’s ambition and academic excellence to keep her in school, well.

jax went to her and told her he was being expelled, and he remembers her looking as horrified then as she does when he tells her he means to see it through or die trying. and then he asked her to come with him and she did. but when he asks her to die with him for their destiny, she refuses, and betrays him to save them both. because gillian – unlike pyrrha – is not somebody who can set aside her heart for the sake of her supposed destiny.

you see where i’m going with this? if gillian got treated to the same coercive pressure and mysterious secrets routine pyrrha did because theodore clocked her as the summer maiden, and jax was expelled in a ploy to remove him as an influence on gillian which backfired because she refused to abandon her brother, then… why the hell wouldn’t they tell their friends what happened? and that’s why bertilak celadon, Random Nobody, seems to know more than he should. his school partner was gillian’s best friend.

which brings me back around to tyrian and mercury and what they’re going to tell the twins. because.

the thing is.

if jax and gillian have had pyrrha-level knowledge of ozpin’s conspiracy this whole time, they know there’s a mysterious adversary whom the huntsman academies were established to defend against. the headmaster of shade tried to recruit gillian for that cause, and she refused. just a few years later this adversary kicked beacon and beacon crumpled like a house of cards. haven didn’t go down quite so hard, but its faculty is dead and the school is closed now.

mistral is fine, though.

their coup fails. ruby’s broadcast fills in some details: the mysterious adversary is named salem, and everything she is doing, ruby says, is to “tear down the huntsman academies.”

funny, that’s exactly what jax and gillian want to do!! anyway less than twenty-four hours after that, the entire kingdom of atlas is wiped off the map and thousands of refugees flood into vacuo.

consider this from the twins point of view. they hate the huntsman academies. salem also, apparently, hates the huntsman academies. they had been under the impression that this mysterious adversary sought to bring down the kingdoms, but now this huntress who clearly knows what she’s talking about is informing the whole world that salem… just wants to get rid of the academies. and hey, after haven academy shut down, salem very much did not go on a rampage razing mistral to the ground.

so. like.

compared to theodore – who’s bending over backward to accommodate thousands of refugees at the expense of vacuo’s own people, all for the sake of fighting an adversary that the huntsmen academies are obviously, laughably unprepared to actually withstand considering that it’s been maybe a year since beacon fell and 3/4 of those schools are no longer operational with two having been completely destroyed – from the twins point of view salem really does not sound so bad.

she wants to tear down shade academy. well, so do they, and so do a lot of very, very angry vacuans who support them.

say tyrian and mercury break the twins out of jail and the twins ask, are you looking to join up with the crown, and tyrian and mercury go, actually no, we’re here as salem’s emissaries. that relic locked up under shade academy is rightfully hers, that’s all she wants… and you hold the key to the vault. if salem helps you take shade academy, and you hand over the relic, she’ll not only leave vacuo in peace but also support your claim to rule.

which really is not a bad deal for them and they have no reason to doubt the truth of salem’s stated motivations because salem’s enemies said she’s doing all this to tear the academies down!! academies jax and gillian also want to tear down!!

the point being that there isn’t actually much incentive for tyrian to misrepresent himself as not an agent of salem’s, as long as he keeps his mouth shut about what (he believes) her true motivations are. and while jax and gillian are xenophobic reactionaries, they’re also demonstrably willing to work with “outsiders” who agree with their cause.

carmine is from atlas, for example.

and if the crown is knowingly allying itself with salem, a) the stakes of the civil war are higher and it will be that much harder to resolve, and b) the narrative can break new ground after multiple arcs of antagonistic factions being unwittingly manipulated. so there’s some compelling reasons from a writing perspective go that route. and it adds up from a character standpoint as far as the key players are all concerned.

#tyrian wouldn’t have to pretend he isn’t slavishly devoted to salem #that alone is probably a good enough reason for him to present himself as her emissary. lmao

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carlos-in-glasses · 5 months ago

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Thank you for the tag @ironheartwriter 🩷

Taking a little break from Poet Fic snippets to share some 1X05 CODA! I wrote this in early 2023(!) but then put it down to focus on other things. Finally, I am dusting off its steel-toed dancing shoes with intention to drop it in Juiy. I love it! I'm excited!

"He really likes you."

"Did he say that?" TK kicks himself for asking this so automatically.

Paul laughs harder. "Seriously. You two."

TK looks over at the club's doorway just as Carlos exits through it, as though he could already sense he'd be there. He could swear he gets these tingling senses about Carlos - although maybe it's not a spiritual thing so much as Carlos being reliable. It's not unusual for Carlos to show up right when TK is thinking about him because TK thinks about him all the time.

Carlos walks over to TK and Paul slowly, as though approaching something that scares him. There’s an already-broken piece of TK's heart that cracks a little more at the edges to see the look on his face.

“Sorry about–”

👀👀👀 What happened in the club?! 👀👀👀

Open tag and tags below!

@lemonlyman-dotcom @heartstringsduet @paperstorm @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut

@three-drink-amy @tellmegoodbye @liminalmemories21 @theghostofashton

@chicgeekgirl89 @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad @goodways

@bonheur-cafe @ladytessa74 @thisbuildinghasfeelings

@herefortarlos @eclectic-sassycoweyes @emsprovisions

@kiwichaeng @rmd-writes @welcometololaland @strandnreyes

@reyesstrand @lightningboltreader @sapphic--kiwi

@fifthrideroftheapocalypse @nancys-braids @captain-gillian

@literateowl @safeaswrites @carlos-tk @orchidscript

@sugdenlovesdingle @honeybee-taskforce @freneticfloetry @whatsintheboxmh

@alrightbuckaroo @never-blooms - if you want to share/haven't already! No pressure ever! ❤️🩷🧡💛💚💙🩵💜

#Tarlos fic #Tarlos fanfic #seven sentence sunday #cig tagged #Cig's 1x05 Coda #Aw it's been the best to revisit this recently #Took me back in time to my earlier days of writing fic and getting involved in the fandom #I love it now too ofc but I really treasure that time - it's so special

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cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut · 5 months ago

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Happy Wednesday, y’all! This was written as a little warmup today before working on my Actual WIP. My actual WIP is handwritten so I’m sharing this instead. It belongs to a breakup era story that’s been in my head for a long time and is apparently creeping onto the page 😅

TK returned to his father’s house that night, let himself in with his key, and stepped into a lulling cacophony of music and laughter, of Judd’s voice from the living room, drawling loud through some story, amused in its determination to be heard above the stilted laughter of his companions. Grace’s laughter, Tommy’s laughter, his father’s.

TK was made of scraped edges that night, every path leading back to his self-broken heart. It sat in his chest, throbbing and pulpy. He dug his nails into his palms. Their joy burned acrid at the back of his throat, stuck there like something he couldn’t expel, something that wouldn’t pry loose from the soft flesh of his palette no matter how hard he tongued at its shape. These sounds used to be comforting, familiar. These sounds were once concordant with home. But Carlos didn’t live there anymore. TK had flung them into some alternate dimension in which Carlos would collect his belongings in the morning, and nobody in the next room knew this yet. He let the door fall shut on its own, always too loud when it did. He didn’t have the energy to ease it closed.

“TK?” Came his fathers’ voice. “Is that you?”

Not really, TK wanted to say, because it wasn’t. He didn’t feel like himself anymore, already didn’t know who he was. But the words felt dramatic and cruel in his chest, so instead he scrubbed a hand down his face and then into up into the mess of his hair. He gathered a fist of it for something to hold onto, and willed himself to find adequate words.

“Hi sweetheart,” Grace called.

“Come join us, son,” his father added.

From Judd he received a simple and jovial, “Hey, kiddo.”

These people loved him. He felt it even through the walls of this house. In the end that love struck him badly in his chest and he knew that he didn’t deserve it. He hadn’t just broken his own heart tonight. He’d broken Carlos’s too. Carlos had cried, voice splintering as he’d begged TK to stay. He’d followed him down from the top floor apartment and pled all the way down the stairs. He asked what he’d done wrong, begged TK to help him understand. Five tall floors and then out into the rain, chests heaving, TK’s blood whirring dangerously through his ears. He’d thrown his arms up, yelled something, couldn’t remember what it was anymore. But he saw it when he glanced over his shoulder in the midst of his storming away. One last glance at the man he adored, who lost energy for the chase and stood, devastated, in the parking lot. He’d simply let out a sob.

TK had broken Carlos Reyes’s heart. He couldn’t stand to be looked at with fondness.

No pressure tags below the cut 💛

@ambiguouspenny @alrightbuckaroo @birdclowns @bonheur-cafe @catanisspicy

@chicgeekgirl89 @cafeshopau @carlos-in-glasses @carlos-tk @detective-giggles

@emsprovisions @eclectic-sassycoweyes @fitzherbertssmolder @freneticfloetry @goodways

@heartstringsduet @herefortarlos @honeybee-taskforce @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad @inkweedandlizards

@jesuisici33 @liminalmemories21 @literateowl @lightningboltreader @louis-ii-reyes-strand

@lemonlyman-dotcom @mooshkat @noxsoulmate @nancys-braids @orchidscript

@paperstorm @reasonandfaithinharmony @reyesstrand @rmd-writes @sugdenlovesdingle

@strandnreyes @safeaswrites @sanjuwrites @three-drink-amy @thisbuildinghasfeelings

@theghostofashton @thebumblecee @welcometololaland @tellmegoodbye @decafdino

@firstprince-history-huh @captain-gillian @ironheartwriter @whatsintheboxmh

And YOU if you’re not tagged and wanna play 💛

#tarlos #tk strand #carlos reyes #911 lone star #tarlos fic #wip wednesday

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unremarkablehouse · 14 days ago

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Scully’s Hot Date

CH1 | Mature | S6 | WC 1639 | AO3

Summary: Mulder happens to run into Scully on her way to a blind date. Inspired by this photo of Gillian.

Tagging: @today-in-fic The FBI parking garage was desolate as Mulder slowly made his way to his car. Friday night before a public holiday, it seemed like everyone one had places they’d rather be. The squeak of tires and flash of light as a car pulled into a space was truly startling, more so the fact that he recognized that car within a fraction of a second from his periphery. It was her, Dana Scully, returning to work after 7pm on a Friday night. A large part of him hoped it was to see him, but as she parked her car near his, he knew logically it didn’t quite add up. Lounging on the trunk of his car, Mulder watched Scully get out of her car, her body stiffening momentarily before making her way towards his direction with a renewed confidence as she clocked the awe struck look on his face. Mulder didn’t mean to ogle but he had never seen her dressed quite like this before. Her hair pinned up displaying her neck, a dress that was soft and showed her curves, and her breasts. Good lord, her tits were out and Mulder’s brain had ceased to function. He wasn’t sure how long he had been staring at her, but Scully’s laugh and the click of her fingers brought him back to earth. She was now standing in front of him, an amused smirk on her face at his reaction.

“Hi, I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here tonight,” Scully said with an edge of awkwardness in her voice unconsciously licking her lips in that way that drove Mulder insane.

“You look very… non-FBI tonight,” Mulder replied, unsure of the exact right words to use to describe how incredible his Partner looked.

“Thanks, I think. I have a date,” Scully bristled as she started to make her way to the parking lot stair case.

Mulder caught up with her in a few easy strides.

“Hold up, who is the guy? He doesn’t work here right?”

There was nothing remotely casual about the tone of Mulder’s voice, the jealous quality was begrudgingly sweet so Scully took pity on him and stopped to talk as they entered the stairwell.

“It’s a blind date a friend set me up on, I haven’t met him before so I organized to meet in front of the Hoover building so we can get a drink nearby.”

“Do you need a chaperone,” Mulder asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, standing close to Scully, her back almost pressing against the concrete wall.

“I think I’ll be ok,” Scully said with a laugh, placing her hand on his chest to push him back, but instead slowly rubbing large circles across his pecks. Her heart raced when her palm made contact with one of his erect nipples, but she didn’t remove her hand.

“You look really beautiful tonight Dana,” Mulder said his eyes staring so intensely into hers it was like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

With an anguished sigh, Mulder dropped his head down, awkwardly resting it on Scully’s shoulder like a child needing comfort. Instinctively, her hand found its way into his hair, rubbing over the nape of his neck and back again.

“What times your date,” he whispered, doing nothing to hide the melancholy from his voice.

“Not for another half hour, I’m early.”

“Hmm,” Mulder said with a sad acknowledgement, nuzzling his nose into her neck in a way that made Scully catch her breath. Instinctively, she found herself kissing his temple and inhaling his smell. The warmth of their bodies and their proximity to one another was intoxicating. Mulder pressed both hands onto her hips to anchor her in place as he gently kissed a spot under her ear and whispered “I wish it was me.”

Mulder pushed away from her, ready to go back to his empty apartment, while Scully went on a date with a man who wasn’t him. Feeling a tug on his arm, Mulder turned as Scully grabbed onto his hand.

“If you want it to be you, then ask me out Mulder,” her voice was breathy but challenging as she stared him down.

Mulder’s puppy dog eyes seemed to penetrate her soul, filled with angst and a vulnerability which Scully was helpless to resist.

“Dana Katherine Scully, will you go on a date with me?”

Scully made a show at umming and ahhing, while Mulder dramatically contorted his face in agony.

“Okay,” Scully finally replied with a large grin, eliciting a delighted laugh from them both as Mulder excitedly bent down to kiss her.

It was meant to be a quick celebratory peck in the heat of the moment, but Scully’s arms wrapped around Mulder’s neck and before they knew it he had lifted her up and pressed their bodies against the wall. Scully hungrily kissed Mulder, pulling his head closer to hers, unable to get enough. Mulder’s hands wondered ever so slightly up her thigh and back down to her perfect ass, unable to explore more territory as he held her up to his hip height.

Her legs wrapped around him, pulling Mulder closer and grinding her hips against him hard. And with that, the flood gates were open. All the years of restraint and denial crumbled as they finally admitted the physical need between them. Decency and self awareness had long left the building as Scully’s hand reached for Mulder’s rock hard cock. Stroking it over his pants she moaned and ached to feel him inside her. Mulder enthusiastically nuzzled and kissed at her breasts while Scully attempted to undo his fly. In a surreal out of body experience Scully realized she was about to fuck Mulder for the first time in an FBI stairwell, minutes before she was meant to be going on a date with another man. However, she could not bring herself to care about the impropriety of the situation, conversely it actually made her ridiculously aroused at how primal and insane the whole situation was. Any concern or hesitation she might have had on the subject vanished completely when Mulder found her left nipple and bit down on it in a way that lead to a gasp and a flood of arousal. Moving their heads back up to kiss once more, Mulder’s hand managed to free his cock and slide it against Scully’s wet cunt as he deftly moved her panties to the side.

Mulder stroked himself against Scully’s slit, bumping the head of his cock over her clit as she moaned in approval. Scully squeezed her thighs hard against Mulder’s waist, impatient for more of him. “Mulder, now,” she panted in desperation.

The relative size of his cock and the angle of their bodies, forced him to enter her at an excruciatingly slow rate. Scully felt the stretch as it struggled to accommodate his girth, and her mouth watered at the thought of riding him until she was spent and sore. With a grunt and a thrust Mulder was completely sheathed inside her and Scully felt her pussy flutter and tingle at just the feel of him inside her.

Without much leverage, Mulder rolled his hips in circles, adding a pulsating motion to fuck her without ever leaving Scully’s body. The movement felt delicious, and the feel of Mulder’s stubble against her neck as he moaned “Oh, God Scully” was enough to tip her over the edge. Scully’s back awkwardly arched against the wall, her moan and cries of ecstasy leaving no doubt as to what she was experiencing.

Mulder was in awe as he felt her convulse around his cock, moisture gathering between them, and the unmistakable quivers driving him wild.

Mulder wasn’t anywhere near ready to cum himself, but he felt a sense of satiation by proxy as he continued to rock into her body, gently bringing her back from the edge.

The loud trill of a cell phone brought them both back to reality and Mulder quickly removed himself from Scully and straightened up, their hearts pounding at prospect of getting caught. The ring continued and Scully realized it was coming from her purse, the neurons once again firing in her brain, battling adrenaline and her post orgasmic haze.

Answering the phone with a professional, “Dana Scully,” her voice did not betray any of the lewd activities that had just taken place, and Mulder marveled at her ability to compartmentalize so quickly.

“Hi Derek, I can’t really hear you I’m in the parking structure. I’ll see you outside in 10.”

As Scully hung up the phone and was greeted by Mulder’s heart sick face.

“You’re still going to go out with him?”

“Well I can’t cancel this late, it would be rude.”

Mulder gave a snort of derision as he straightened his pants and licking his lips to remove some of Scully’s lipstick that had made its way onto his lips. He was pouting, and while Scully would normally find it infuriating, he looked adorable all ruffled with feint traces of lipstick still on him.

“Mulder, would you like to join with us? We’re just getting drinks around the corner.”

“Really?” Mulder asked, excited as a kid on Christmas.

“Of course, let me just straighten up in the bathroom first and we can go.”

They quickly walked down the stairwell to the lobby exit, but Mulder pulled Scully back before she could open the door.

Looking up at him with a questioning stare, Mulder bashfully smiled at her.

“I need a hug before we face the outside world,” Mulder admitted with a vulnerability that melted Scully.

Without hesitation Scully tightly wrapped her arms around Mulder, her body melding perfectly into his.

With a quick kiss to her head Mulder broke the hug, “come on, let’s make ourselves look presentable, we have a date.”

#Inspired by the Poang pals general filth #Poang pals #msr #msr fic #fox mulder #the x files #dana scully #txf fic #xf fanfic #x files #txf

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alrightbuckaroo · 5 months ago

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Happy Sunday, everyone!! Here's something spicy from the latest update of something to give each other. I really need to stop calling them chapters since it's a non-narrative work hahaha

“Does that feel good?” TK prompts, rubbing his finger against the tender spot again.

“Yes, yes,” Carlos forcefully pushes out, his words propelled by carnality. His hips pick up speed, hellbent on chasing his euphoria. “Thank you,” he breathlessly releases before eliciting another delicious moan.

“You don’t need to thank me, baby,” TK clarifies, pleasure eclipsing fondness as he watches Carlos become undone in front of him. “You deserve to feel good.”

He continues to massage the gland through the declaration, taking note of the way Carlos falls silent. He expected as much, Carlos has never been good at accepting kind truths.

Carlos’ hands curl into fists against his back, wishing they could grab onto anything that could take him over the edge. He becomes lost in his own lust, his vision swimming as the pleasure begins to overtake him in a way he can’t describe.

His mouth drops open, but any and all words cease to exist. His eyes roll back and he closes his lids, searching for a climax as he traverses through the dark. He’s feeling reformed and shattered all at once, pieces of him fracturing and flying but still coming back together to make him whole.

Thanks for the tags:

@ironheartwriter, @heartstringsduet, @strandnreyes, @paperstorm, @reyesstrand

@carlos-in-glasses, @lemonlyman-dotcom, @bonheur-cafe, and @honeybee-taskforce!! <3

No pressure tagging:

@basilsunrise, @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut, @carlos-tk, @captain-gillian, @freneticfloetry

@fifthrideroftheapocalypse, @herefortarlos, @literateowl, @lightningboltreader, @orchidscript

@your-catfish-friend, @rmd-writes, @welcometololaland, @never-blooms, and @nancys-braids

@theghostofashton, @three-drink-amy and @safeaswrites :)

#this has been the one fic my irl best friend is reading and she sent me the last sentence and just captioned it ART 😭#blessed in the bestie department fr #fic: something to give each other #seven sentence sunday

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hayatheauthor · 1 year ago

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The Dos and Don'ts of Writing Flashbacks in Fiction

In the realm of storytelling, flashbacks serve as powerful tools that allow authors to delve into their characters' pasts and enrich their narratives. However, crafting effective flashbacks requires finesse and precision. In this blog post, I will explore the dos and don'ts of writing flashbacks in fiction.

Understanding the Purpose of Flashbacks

Flashbacks play a crucial role in fiction writing, offering various benefits that can elevate your storytelling to new heights. Let's examine the primary purposes of incorporating flashbacks into your narrative:

A. Emphasizing Character Development

By utilizing flashbacks to unveil a character's past experiences, traumas, or significant events, you can offer readers deeper insights into their motivations and actions in the present. This creates multidimensional characters, making them more relatable and compelling to your audience.

Example:

In J.K. Rowling's "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix," the flashbacks showcasing Severus Snape's troubled childhood and his complex relationship with James Potter help readers understand his motivations and the complexities of his character.

B. Building Emotional Depth

Well-crafted flashbacks have the power to evoke strong emotions in readers. When you transport them to a pivotal moment in a character's past, you intensify their connection to the character's journey and the overall storyline.

C. Advancing the Plot

Flashbacks can serve as valuable tools to reveal crucial information that propels the main plot forward. They can provide context, clarify mysteries, and offer insights that impact the present-day events in your story.

Example:

In Gillian Flynn's "Gone Girl," the well-timed flashbacks provide readers with essential information about the characters' pasts, which ultimately shapes the unfolding events and twists in the narrative.

Understanding the underlying purposes of flashbacks allows you to harness their potential effectively. Before incorporating a flashback into your writing, consider how it contributes to character development, emotional depth, or plot advancement.

Dos for Writing Flashbacks

Now that I’ve covered the significance of flashbacks in fiction, let's explore the essential dos to ensure your flashbacks are compelling, seamless, and effective:

Seamlessness and Clarity

One of the key factors to keep in mind when writing flashbacks is to ensure they are seamlessly integrated into your narrative. Avoid abrupt transitions that can confuse readers. Instead, provide clear cues or signals to indicate that a flashback is beginning.

Utilize phrases like "In the past," "Years ago," or "I remember when" to smoothly introduce the flashback. Another tip is to employ italics or a change in font style for the flashback section to set it apart from the present-day narrative.

Relevance and Significance

Every flashback should have a purpose that contributes to the overall story. Avoid incorporating flashbacks solely for the sake of backstory or exposition. Each flashback should offer valuable insights into the characters, their relationships, or the plot.

If your protagonist is struggling with trust issues, a flashback depicting a past betrayal or a moment of broken trust can add depth to their present-day challenges.

Engaging Descriptions

To immerse readers in the flashback scene, use descriptive language that brings the past to life. Engage the senses to paint a vivid picture of the setting, characters, and emotions.

Instead of stating, "She was scared during the incident," show the fear through actions and sensations: "Her heart pounded against her chest, and her hands trembled as she clutched the edge of the table."

Limitation and Balance

While flashbacks can enhance your story, overusing them can disrupt the narrative flow. Limit the number of flashbacks and their length, ensuring they complement the main storyline without overshadowing it.

If your novel spans several years, consider using only a few carefully chosen flashbacks to highlight the most impactful moments in your character's past.

By adhering to these dos, you can create seamless and impactful flashbacks that add depth to your characters and enrich your narrative.

Don'ts for Writing Flashbacks

As with any writing technique, there are pitfalls to avoid when incorporating flashbacks into your fiction. Steering clear of these common mistakes will help ensure that your flashbacks enhance your story rather than hinder it:

Avoid Info Dumps:

While flashbacks are an excellent tool to provide backstory, be cautious not to overwhelm your readers with lengthy info dumps. Instead, sprinkle relevant information throughout the narrative to maintain a steady flow.

For example, rather than presenting all the details of a character's childhood in one extended flashback, reveal crucial information gradually through dialogue, memories, or short flashback snippets.

Steer Clear of Randomness

Ensure that each flashback is purposeful and directly contributes to the understanding of your characters or the plot. Avoid including flashbacks that feel disconnected or irrelevant to the central storyline.

For example, if your story revolves around a murder mystery, avoid incorporating flashbacks that focus on unrelated events unless they have a direct impact on the mystery's resolution. A flashback scene about a suspect’s childhood friendship with the victim might seem relevant, however, unless this flashback reveals a new dynamic outside of what is already established it might not be important.

Mind the Chronological Order

It is essential to maintain a clear and coherent timeline when using flashbacks. Confusing readers with inconsistent chronology can disrupt the flow of your story and lead to misunderstandings.

For example If a character's flashback reveals a traumatic event, ensure that it aligns with the character's age and the sequence of events in the present-day narrative.

Minimize Flashback Within Flashback

While flashbacks can be a valuable tool, nesting multiple layers of flashbacks within each other can become confusing and disorienting for readers. Limit the use of "flashback within flashback" techniques.

Instead of presenting a character's memory within a flashback itself, narrate the original flashback and then transition back to the present.

By avoiding these pitfalls, you can ensure that your flashbacks remain engaging and seamless, enhancing your storytelling rather than detracting from it.

Techniques to Enhance Flashback Writing

To master the art of writing flashbacks, consider employing these techniques that will make your flashback scenes more engaging and impactful:

Show, Don't Tell

As with any narrative element, "showing" rather than "telling" is a fundamental principle of good storytelling. Use descriptive language and vivid imagery to immerse readers in the flashback scene, allowing them to experience events alongside the characters.

For example, instead of stating, "He was heartbroken when she left," show the heartbreak through the character's actions and emotions: "He clutched the crumpled letter in his trembling hands, his eyes welling up with tears as he read her farewell words."

Blend with Character Voice

Maintaining consistency in narrative voice during flashbacks is essential for preserving the authenticity of the characters. Ensure that the language and tone used in the flashback reflect the character's voice at that particular moment in their life.

This is especially important for childhood memories. If your protagonist is recalling a childhood memory, the language and narration style should match their age and level of maturity at that time.

Foreshadowing and Subtlety

Use flashbacks strategically to foreshadow future events or provide subtle hints about upcoming plot developments. This technique can create a sense of anticipation and intrigue in readers, keeping them engrossed in your story.

For example, in a mystery novel, a flashback showing a brief encounter with the antagonist before they become the primary threat can add suspense and anticipation for the eventual confrontation.

Break the Rules Intentionally

While it is essential to follow the dos and don'ts of writing flashbacks, there may be instances where intentionally breaking the rules can create unique storytelling effects. For example, if your protagonist suffers from memory loss, using fragmented and disjointed flashbacks can mirror their confusion and contribute to the overall atmosphere of the story.

By incorporating these techniques, you can craft vivid, emotionally resonant flashbacks that deepen your readers' connection to the characters and enrich your narrative.

I hope this blog on The Dos and Don'ts of Writing Flashbacks will help you in your writing journey. Be sure to comment any tips of your own to help your fellow authors prosper, and follow my blog for new blog updates every Monday and Thursday.

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks?

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Haya’s book blog where I post writing and publishing tips for authors every Monday and Thursday! And don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey!

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reyesstrand · 25 days ago

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wip wednesday

thank you for the tags @ironheartwriter @carlossreaders @whatsintheboxmh @lemonlyman-dotcom @paperstorm @strandnreyes @bonheur-cafe @nisbanisba @carlos-in-glasses <3 sending love and warmth from canada. all i have to offer today is some nancymarjan i’ve been fiddling around with.

“Let me take a look?”

Marjan jumps, the familiar husk of Nancy’s voice echoing from the doorway.

“When did you guys get back?”

Nancy’s still in uniform—in her tight black AFD long sleeved shirt, her turnout pants that somehow make her seem taller—and there’s a worried downturn to the corner of her mouth. Marjan’s suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to smooth it with her thumb.

“Five minutes ago, or so?” Nancy replies, stepping further into the bathroom. Her boots click against the tiled floor. “We had to do this whole debriefing. Cap’s still finishing paperwork.”

Her tailbone pressed against the edge of the sink, Marjan watches as Nancy comes closer. She wants to prod—it sounds serious, and from the little radio chatter and murmured conversations she’s heard since their rigs separated at the derailment, she knows Nancy and TK and Captain Vega ended up having a close call—but her breath catches over the concern in the other woman’s eyes.

“Is it okay if I look?” Nancy’s voice is quieter, this time, and Marjan nods.

She holds her breath as Nancy cups her right hand in both of hers; her thumb skating over her thrumming pulse in her wrist. Marjan lifts her other hand without hesitation and lets Nancy slowly unwrap it, until she’s standing there with both burned palms on display.

absolutely no pressure tagging @butchreyes @theghostofashton @pelorsdyke @nancys-braids @captain-gillian @liminalmemories21 @alrightbuckaroo @morganaspendragonss @rmd-writes @welcometololaland @freneticfloetry & open tag <3

#tag games #my fic

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storiesbyrhi · 1 year ago

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Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire The Timeline

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence/some infrequent gore, swearing, animal death, no beta, warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: We are our memories. 3294 words.

1836

Everything felt surreal and agonisingly heavy. It wasn’t just you. Eddie was all sharp edges, his lips parted enough that his teeth were distinct. Fern held your hand in a grip so tight you were both losing sensation. And for their part, Penelope and Gillian felt sick too.

It was Sally that most resembled a loose canon though. While the rest of you stood in place, she paced the same track around the hut that Eddie had earlier.

In the moments before the witches’ verdict was delivered, you still had hope. Then-

“This comes with warning, Amabel. What you have done is beyond comprehension and reason. You are escaping due punishment. This is mercy at best. Nepotism at worst,” Penelope said, shooting a look at your mother. “The creature will be taken now and you will not see it again,”

“Wait. No. Slow down. What do you mean taken? Where are you taking him?” The panic in your voice put everyone on edge, closer and closer to falling into chaos.

“Please,” your mother begged, walking to you and taking your hands in hers. “Let him go,”

“No. Where is he going?! What are- What will- You can’t. You can’t hurt him. You can’t practice witchfire and spells on him. He’s not like the others!” You stepped away from your coven and backed into Eddie.

Eddie had already tried to leave but the binding spell was still in effect. He’d moved with his invisible speed and none of you were the wiser. So, the look on his face was one of resignation.

“Please,” Sally repeated.

“No. No. Please. Please don’t do this.” You had started to sob, small at first but it was rapidly tumbling towards hysterics. You wrapped your arms around Eddie’s waist and held onto him like it was the only position that would allow your lungs to draw breath. “We can- We can go. I’ll go. I’ll renounce all magic. I’ll give up immortality. I’ll go. We’ll go. Please. He won’t- He won’t hurt anyone-”

As stoic as Gillian had always been, even she was shocked to silence by the depth of your love and terror. Sally had taken Fern in her arms and held her as they both cried.

Penelope tried to calm you. “Sister-”

“I am not your sister,” you hissed.

Eddie had never had someone fight for him. Not in his human life, a memory so old he could hardly bring it to mind, and certainly not in his undead life. He kept his grip on you while he whispered your name.

“No,” you yelled, looking up at him. “I know what you are going to say and I will not listen to it,”

“My little witch-”

“I said no!”

Eddie let you go only briefly; his hands cupped your face in milliseconds. “I would suffer this end in payment of our time together again and again,”

“Stop,” you whimpered, face a mess of tears and snot.

“And if it means you find a way to end us all and free yourself from an eternity of war, then that is as noble thing I could do.”

You frowned so hard it looked like you were going to turn on him too, then you took a deep breath in and faced the witches. “I have lived each of my lives in service of this violent cause.” Although it shook, there was a resolute fierceness in your voice. “I have given everything. If you do this- If you take him, I will come undone. I will leave and I will find the dark witches. I will read their grimoires. I will practice the darkness. And I will return and I will take him from you, as you dare to take him from me now.”

If secret rendezvous with a vampire warranted excommunication or even death, threatening the coven with black magic could bring a curse that imprisoned your soul in eternal hellfire until the end of time itself. It was not just heresy against the coven, but rebellion against the natural laws of magic and earth.

It meant something that you would even think it, let alone speak it into existence. It meant you were indeed young, despite your many lifetimes, and so full of righteousness that you were a dangerous thing. It also meant that you believed with every molecule and shimmer of magic in you that Eddie was redeemable, that he did not belong in a demon’s cage.

“This is your choice, Penelope,” you aimed squarely at the one calling the shots.

“I will not let that happen. You know that,”

“Yes. So, by your hand he is taken and I die on this night, or you let us go and free yourself of this burden.” Taking Eddie’s hand, you stood tall and sure of yourself, indignation coursing through your veins.

While Gillian was still in her state of shock, Penelope’s choice to talk to you was not lost on your mother. Sally knew the conversation was hesitation. It meant there was some small sliver of the witch that felt they had not made the right decision. Sally pounced on the opportunity.

“There’s another way!”

All eyes were on her. She squeezed Fern tighter in her arms, needing the warmth of another to keep her grounded. Her sister used to be that, but Gillian had lost her soft edges somewhere along the way. Sally didn’t want that for you too.

“Transformation,” Sally said, nodding to herself. “A transformation curse.”

The coven rarely completed transformations. Whenever one seemed appropriate, there were almost always better options. If they went wrong, they could be cruel. More cruel, even, than a witch’s punishment. They also wasted resources. In 1836, the things needed to practice the craft were hard to come by.

Yet, Gillian nor Penelope could think of a justification for not cursing Eddie to another form. He would become harmless, and if it got you to calm down, then the next stage of their plan would be made all the more easy.

You did not want Eddie to be hexed into beast. However, you were impressed at yourself for seeing a way forward the others had not. Let them curse him. Let things return to normal. After biding your time, you would quite simply go to him and unhex him. Although you didn’t know a lot about undoing magic, you would learn.

Before anyone had a chance to argue Sally’s suggestion, you looked at Eddie and nodded. He frowned, concerned that your desperation was blinding you to a bigger picture forming. Regardless, he nodded back.

“I accept the transformation curse,” Eddie announced to the room, eyes still on you.

“As do I. I will not fight it,” you added.

And so the magic began.

“I’ll wait for you,” Fern murmured as she hugged you tightly. She was sent back to the village, feeling both the relief of lack of punishment and an uneasiness at the same thing.

You did not want to play a role in the transformation but knew the more you learned of the curse, the easier it would be to undo it later in time. After sitting Eddie by the fire and pressing a kiss to his temple, you shadowed Penelope and Gillian as they gathered tools.

Sally was as useful as a ghost. She floated from place to place, never offering more than whispered words and sad looks. You watched as she approached the fireplace, studying Eddie’s face. Her brows came together as if she was reading a complex piece of text. She was trying to see what you saw, you figured.

“We will make for the stream,” Penelope declared, letting down the binding so you and Eddie could follow the line of witches out into the very late hour of the night.

“Will this hurt?” Eddie asked you as you stomped through grass and forest.

“We cannot know. It will not compared to the alternative,” you answered solemnly. Anger at him for not leaving the flatlands still lingered in you.

“I never meant for this, little witch. I should have left you alone after that first night,”

“Why didn’t you? Why did you seek me out?”

“You know why. The same reason you went out into the darkness over and over again until I was there,” he replied, not unkindly.

“You were watching me?”

“You knew that too.”

From the very start, the intensity you had for each other was matched in absolute. Eddie never would have left you alone after that first night and you never would have stopped wandering the flatlands by moonlight in search of him. Everything happened as it was always going to.

You couldn’t say out loud your plan, but Eddie wasn’t worried about it. In fact, it almost seemed like a good thing. It would be easier to be some sort of animal with no emotions and no sentience, than to be tortured to death or to live a life without you. He absolutely knew your coven wasn’t going to let you out of this entirely unscathed, but he saw in your mother’s eyes that she would protect you even after this transgression of the most magnificent proportions.

It was a cool night, winter certainly more than a promise but a certainty, but Eddie wasn’t going to let a little thing like a transformation curse ruin it. He had you by his side, and after all, that was his singular care and focus.

A potion of black-eyed Susan, tansy, elecampane, yellow carnation, cyclamen, and Penelope’s blood was burned up using witchfire. When all that remained was ash, you were told it was time.

“Blood of my blood,” you recited to Eddie, pressed together in an embrace you refused to think of as the last. In that moment, you needed to taste blood more than Eddie ever had in his vampire life. He kissed you and bit down, mixing saliva and gore in a scene that should have made the other witches sick.

It should have. But it didn’t.

Eddie took his shirt off and stood in front of Penelope. She held so much power over him but didn’t feel powerful. He was the only thing that could kill her but she didn’t feel afraid.

The list of dissonances was growing but none of them listened to it.

Penelope wiped her fingers through the potion, then reached a hand out to Eddie. In ash, she drew the coven’s sigil for transformation. Gillian repeated the motion, drawing the sigil on his back, then your mother drew on his left palm. Finally, it was your turn. In gentle movements, you marked his forehead.

After a beat of silence, Eddie grinned. “Is the choice of beast up for discussion?”

Despite herself, Gillian laughed.

“The spell decides,” Penelope told him.

“Of course,” he replied, a respectful nod to her. Blood. It flashed behind his eyes for only a second. An image of the witches torn down, torn apart. Their blood seeping into the stream’s muddy embankment. Would you scream? Would you fall out of love in a moment too quick for even him to see? Or would it free you from the moral prison witchcraft placed you in, leaving you to run away with him and create a new type of life?

“It’s time.”

Eddie turned from the world and waded out into the nearly still stream. He lowered himself in and floated on his back. He closed his eyes and listened.

Like the marking of the sigil, you each took your turn. Penelope began,

“A creature of blood bound by the night,

Has uncloaked itself to witch’s sight.”

Gillian next.

“Now we call upon an Ancient power,

To take this body,

And form it new.”

Your mother.

“To bind him in time,

No memory, nor day to rue.”

When it was your turn, Eddie smiled at your voice. It was the last thing he heard.

“By the grace of Proteus and the craft of witch,

Through creation and change, we ask for a body switch.”

Eddie was pulled beneath the surface of the water. It still almost immediately, supernaturally. You let out a squeak of fear, pulling in a shallow breath and holding.

Holding.

The bat screeched his way out of the water and straight up into the sky. He flew so high you lost sight of him for a moment before he swooped down and disappeared into the forest. Then he was gone.

Sally turned to you but before she could utter a word, you bolted.

“Let her go,” Gillian said, reaching out to stop her sister from following. “She’ll go to Fern. She’ll be safe.”

Penelope took the first steps. “We will see to their memories tomorrow,” she promised, leaving the sisters by the stream to hold each other in hope that the justice they dealt was truly that.

Fern was waiting for you. The room had been dark when she returned home, but by the time you arrived, sobbing so hard your nose was bleeding, the first light of morning cast everything in a romantic pink. She held you for hours until you both fell asleep.

…

It was Sisyphean work. Eddie’s body was laid out on a bed of flowers and you cut a deep and long Y-shape into his chest, cracking open his ribs, and pulling out the gore. Frantically, you hunted for the evil. Squeezing organs into pulp. Shoving fingers through heart valves and thick veins. Get it out. Get it out of him. If you could just find that jewel-like thing, that shiny piece of evil that once removed, would make Eddie Good again… you could save him. But as quickly as you could unspool his large intestines, his bones snapped back together. His skin stitches itself up. Your hands were clean.

Again. You cut a deep and long Y-shape into Eddie’s chest, cracking his ribs open. Find it, find it.

And again. And again, until you woke up wet from tears and sweat. You choked out Fern’s name, but she wasn’t in the bed with you. She wasn’t at the stove brewing morning tea, nor reading the Divine Comedy, her favourite book.

Stumbling out into the day, you first found Hannah hanging washed clothing to dry. “Hannah, have you seen Fern this morning?”

“Aye. She took fresh milk to Penelope out the ways,”

“Is that not Nora’s duty?”

Hannah nodded. “Aye, but Nora is needed elsewhere,”

“Elsewhere? Says who?”

“Your aunt.”

It didn’t feel right. You tried to keep calm, weaving through the village at the most normal pace you could keep. As you rounded a corner, you slammed into a body.

“Mother,”

“Amabel, I’ve been-”

“Where’s Fern?”

For her part, she feigned confusion well. You grabbed her by the wrist and studied her expression with intensity. The smallest of cracks, as thin as a cat’s whisker. You bolted from Sally, through the village, and out to Penelope’s hut.

As you burst through the door, the women inside all flinched. They were silent, all sitting by the fireplace drinking from porcelain cups. Gillian and Penelope didn’t seem surprised to see you. Fern, however, did. Her face lit up in delight, a smile like a Christmas miracle.

“Ammy! Where have you been? Join us for tea!”

You frowned at the levity in her tone. “Where have I been?”

Fern nodded.

“I… I woke and you weren’t there.”

Her confusion, unlike Sally’s, was real.

It dawned on you and before you could back out the hut, your mother appeared behind you, closing the door, and binding you back to that dreadful place.

“Fern, you may head back to the village now. Thank you for the milk,” Penelope said, her stern eyes on you in a warning. “See that Nora is attending to her new duties.”

You stepped out of the way and watched Fern leave. Rubbing your eyes and blinking away tears, you turned to the witches. “You took her memory.” It wasn’t a question, nor statement. An accusation.

“It is better this way. She’ll find it easier to fight them, less she thinks they’re redeemable,” Gillian told you.

“By this new benediction we live? That everything we do is to make us better soldiers? More capable of violence?” you spat.

“We are at war-”

“And if we weren’t? You’d have me believe that in another time this could be different?”

“In another time, you were different,” Gillian said. “You have changed, child. I do not recognise my niece, my coven sister,”

“Yes. Yes, I am different. I have loved and been loved. My assumptions and my philosophy have been challenged. And is that not good? Is that not what witches want? To learn and grow with the world around us? To admit when we are mistaken? To set right those wrongs? Or would you have me as I was?”

“Were you not happy before?” asked your mother.

You turned to her and softened your expression. “I was, like a fish in a bowl. All I have done, I have done in love and in honesty and in honour of the craft. But how am I expected to remain the same when I know him?”

“You are not,” Penelope said, her words short. “There is little use in this discourse, like there is little doubt that you believe you have found a part of your soul in him. It would be cruel to expect you to grow in reverse, to be who you used to be,”

“Taking my memories is not an act of mercy,” you growled.

“Mercy is whatever our will is, or need you be reminded that death is the alternative?”

There was no way out of the fate the witches had assigned you. Still, you would not go easy. “We are our memories. To shape them with magic is to ruin me. And that will be with you every time you look at me. As a sister. A niece… A daughter.” The last word was a weapon you wielded at your mother with precision. Sally’s eyes dropped, and she couldn’t look at you any longer.

They didn’t need to say it – you were a price they were willing to pay for the coven. Their own conscience was a price they were willing to pay.

“Let this be on your own terms,” Penelope said too softly; you didn’t want her kindness.

A potion was poured from a teapot into a porcelain cup. Penelope held it out to you. Tears began to roll down your face, ushering in sad cries.

“I don’t want to forget him.” You hadn’t meant to say it, and if you had, you would not have wanted it to come out sounding so childish. The misery was overwhelming. “Please… Mother… Mommy… I don’t want to forget him. I can- I can be transformed too. Make me a bat. Let me go. Let me be…” But the sentence died on your tongue.

Penelope took your hands and made you hold the cup. You looked down into the liquid as it shimmered unnaturally.

“I’d chose death… over this…” you whispered to them all and to no one. “I’d chose death,”

“I cannot let you choose,” Sally told you, placing her hands over yours. She moved for you, lifting the cup to your lips. “Let us take this pain from you.”

Your mother tipped the potion between your lips. As you swallowed, your eyes closed, losing consciousness. The spell was done quickly and efficiently and when you woke, you were simply sitting by the fire in Penelope’s hut, helping her to go through borrowed Grimoires. There was nothing left of Eddie in your mind, only a vague sense of déjà vu to shake free from and a burning need to kill a colony of vampires.

End Note: WELL NOW YOU KNOW! I hope you have SO many feelings and thoughts. PLEASE share them with me. I have been waiting to give you this chapter for so fucking long.

Shoutout to my girl @courtingchaos for helping with this chapter.

We haven't had new entries in The Grimoire for a few chapters, so it feels nice to add to it! Please check it out!

While I have you, please go read Sea Foam // Sharp Teeth by my IRL BFF @kookygranger.

Lots of love, Rhi.

Fic Taglist: @paranoidmunson @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch @spicysix @briasnow-blog @goth-cowgirl-03

All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel

#Mine #Burning Yarrow #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson/Reader #Eddie Munson/You #Eddie Munson x You #Eddie Munson x Reader #Vampire!Eddie Munson

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