#he gained so much but at the cost of everything

[uisceb]

Endlessly baffled every time I see people water down Glinda’s actions in Defying Gravity to “oh she was too cowardly or too selfish to stand by Elphaba,” as if she didn’t spend that entire sequence from Chistery’s transformation onward doing everything in her very limited power to keep Elphaba safe.

Like the second things start going wrong, Glinda’s entire focus switches to “keep Elphaba safe at all costs.” This girl does not have any magic. She does not have any physical survival skills. She probably has no idea how to throw a punch. She can barely run in those heels. Her one power is her charm and her ability to work a crowd. She is desperately trying to get Elphaba to come back with her not because she agrees with what the Wizard and Morrible are doing, but because she thinks maybe if she can just smooth things over, Elphaba will be forgiven, and she’ll be safe. 

In that regard, there’s a very obvious selfishness to Glinda’s actions - she lacks perspective; she lacks scope; she prioritizes Elphaba over what we as the audience would understand as the “Greater Good” and over her own morals about what’s going on with the Wizard’s agenda; she’s visibly horrified by what happens to Chistery but her first instinct is to comfort Elphaba above all else, despite having no understanding of what's happening.

I am the last person who’s ever going to argue that Glinda isn’t selfish, because she very clearly is, it’s one of her defining characteristics, and it’s one of the main things she has to learn to overcome in order to actually become “Glinda the Good.” This is in no way me trying absolve my very selfish girl who very much made the wrong decision.

But it does kinda boggle my mind when I see the argument that Glinda betrayed Elphaba or is a “fake friend.” Especially because ultimately she comes to the conclusion that the best thing she can do for Elphaba in this moment is to let her go. She knows she would only hinder Elphaba if she were to go with her, she knows there’s no happy ending for them if she tries to run away with her (I think in that moment she might even suspect there’s no happy ending at all). Elphaba is going through her own personal revelation which is beautiful in its own right, but it’s also impulsive, and there’s a certain level of unsustainable grandiose fantasy to it. Glinda almost lets herself be swept up in it for a moment, but her rational side kicks in, because, of the main trio, Glinda really is the most grounded in reality.

I’ve seen a lot of weirdly smug people out there proudly saying if Fiyero was there he definitely would’ve gotten on the broom with Elphaba - and honestly, I think they’re probably right. But it’s not because he’s somehow morally superior to Glinda, or that his love for Elphaba is more pure. Our boy is depressed, he’s nihilistic, he’s lost, and truly doesn’t have any attachments to anyone.

He was genuinely moved by Elphaba’s fearless convictions and he fell hard and fast for her, so I agree he’d be on that broom in a heartbeat, he quite literally has nothing to lose, and everything to gain. He’s found himself wanting to believe in something for the first time because Elphaba brought that out in him, his whole world revolves around her. And that’s very romantic, but because of that, the stakes are much lower. For him, leaving everything behind wouldn’t be a sacrifice, it would be freedom.

Glinda’s gone through the world much differently, much more carefully. She doesn’t have Fiyero’s sense of nihilism or detachment, she’s lashed herself tight to the reality of the world around her. Where Fiyero has been regularly kicked out of schools and freely wandered from place to place experiencing new things and getting into trouble on purpose, Glinda has never stepped outside the predictable comfort and safety of her bubble until meeting Elphaba. She lives in constant fear of failure and being looked down on. She is forever clinging to this persona she’s created because she’s terrified of what will happen if she’s anything less than perfect.

She has constructed her entire existence around being an icon rather than a person - in the beginning, she literally doesn’t know how to be her own self, she’s just barely learning, because of Elphaba. And it scares the shit out of her. 

Fiyero would likely play action hero if he was there for Defying Gravity, and that’s great, but Glinda is weighing a million things in her head, not least of which is “holy shit the person I love most in the world is in imminent danger and I have no magic and no strength to keep her safe, so I will beg and plead and insult and fight her tooth and nail to keep her with me inside my privileged bubble because maybe I can smooth this over, maybe everything will be okay if I just do what I always do and use my privilege to get my way.” She understands the rules of her world, so she’s going to play by those rules because that’s how you win the game.

Elphaba, of course, refuses to play a corrupt game at all, and Glinda gets angry - she lashes out at Elphaba because Elphaba has just put herself in such a dangerous situation, and Glinda is completely powerless to change it. Every little bit of control Glinda is used to having is obliterated.

Her “Maybe you’re not as powerful as you think you are” when Elphaba doesn’t grow wings is so desperate - the words border on cruel, but her tone is both painfully apologetic and above all filled with RELIEF because while her heart hurts for Elphaba, she’s terrified that Elphaba would hurt herself the way Chistery was hurt, and she’s cleaving to the hope that maybe if Elphaba isn’t as powerful as she thinks she is, Glinda stands a chance at undoing the damage, and protecting her. 

Glinda’s selfishness is just so fascinating to me because it’s so rich and so contradictory - she loves Elphaba so deeply and destructively that she fully paralyzes herself when the chips are down and it breaks them both. She fails to be what Elphaba wants her to be, and she fails to be a good person, but there’s no “fake friend” about her actions - she is acting on pure desperation to keep this person she loves safe in literally the only way she knows how, at the cost of everything else, including what’s right, which is something Elphaba could never abide by. Elphaba would never compromise her own morals, but at this point in the story Glinda is willing to compromise everything as long as Elphaba is tucked away in her bubble with her, and that difference in values is irreconcilable to both of them. 

So, realizing this, Glinda does the one last thing she can think of to protect her at this point, and wraps a cloak around her shoulders to keep her warm. That’s all that’s left.

She’s selfish and she’s cowardly and she’s brave and she’s loving and she fails Elphaba and she fails herself and she regrets her decision for the rest of her life and yes I am writing all this with glass under my tongue and between my teeth, she makes me insane.

[sugardollcurse]

𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑦 | paul mccartney x reader

𐙚 contains ; nsfw!! minors dni! female anatomy, semi-public sex, power imbalance, degradation, condescending dirty talk, objectification

𐙚 summary ; paul uses you like an accessory all night, until he decides to take you outside and ruin you for it.

𐙚 note ; i hate using y/n... i'm switching to (name)

It started when he slid you onto his lap like a coat he didn’t want to carry. That casual. That careless. Like he didn’t even register the weight of you. His hands didn’t grip so much as drift, one flat on your thigh, the other hanging lazy from the back of your hipbone, thumb tapping rhythmically against your side as if you were nothing more than the armrest of the plush gold chair he’d claimed. Not a date. Not a partner. Just something his hand happened to be touching.

Big party. Too big. Some film producer’s place in Chelsea, townhouse that looked like it had been renovated by someone who’d only ever seen wealth in Bond movies. Marble floors, smoked glass everywhere, lacquered walls catching glints from the chandeliers overhead. Low jazz from a hidden speaker system, the kind of tunes that made conversation feel more like performance. Everyone talking too loud to outshine the hum, too drunk on proximity to fame. The air reeked of money and something faintly chemical, like too much hairspray or a cleaner you’d need gloves to handle.

You sat there in his lap, legs crossed just so, warm and a little clammy where the fabric of your outfit clung to the backs of your thighs. The lights made everything gleam. You looked soft, polished. Delicious. But not really to Paul. Not tonight.

He was too busy. Head angled toward a cluster of men in crinkled suits that probably cost more than your rent, talking animatedly about a tax loophole Brian had slipped them through like some shadow-dwelling magician. Paul's voice curled around words like “exemption” and “capital gains,” that lovely Scouse lilt making them sound almost flirtatious. Not at you, of course. You were seated right there, perched across his lap like a show dog on a judge's table, but he hadn’t so much as glanced your way in ten minutes.

Every so often, he took a drag off his cigarette. And every so often, you took it from him, replaced it with another, kept him fed like a spoiled prizefighter in the corner of a ring. No thanks. No nod. Not even a look. You were just there. Filling a gap. Making sure he didn’t have to lower his hand or lift a finger.

When you offered him a date from the silver tray some tiny-waisted waiter handed you, he opened his mouth for it automatically, chewed while still talking. Something about foreign distribution rights, some prick at the studio being useless. He chuckled at a comment. You shifted slightly, adjusting yourself on his lap, not quite deliberate, but definitely not innocent either.

He was hard. Just a little. Not enough to be embarrassing, but enough that when you leaned back just right and rolled your hips forward a fraction of an inch, you could feel him through the expensive fabric of his trousers. A thrum of heat went through you, buzzing low in your belly, making your skin prickle like a flush without the color. Your heel planted firmer into the polished floor, arm stretching behind his neck as if the move was just to lean, just to look casual and disengaged.

Someone asked how the sessions were going, and Paul leaned forward a bit to answer, shifting you along with him like a lapful of designer shopping he was too bored to put down. You froze. Pliant. You became weightless, boneless, doll-like. Just there to be held, a lovely thing that didn’t interrupt.

He said something clever. You didn’t catch it, too busy trying not to whimper from the dull friction of his thigh between yours. But the room laughed, and he laughed with it, head thrown back slightly, his hand tightening sharply around your waist.

Not in affection. Not in possession. Not even in arousal. You didn't know what.

But he still didn’t move you. Didn’t tell you to get up. Just held you there, a little tighter now. You could feel his nails a bit through the fabric, just a suggestion of bite. You were trembling, it was cold. And he could definitely feel that, but still, no acknowledgment. He kept talking, kept drinking, kept using your body like furniture.

And you stayed.

Of course you did.

There was a silence in the conversation. Some lull. One of the suits wandered off to refresh his drink. Another got distracted by someone in a backless halter with legs like telephone poles. Paul glanced around briefly, expression unreadable. Then, almost absentmindedly, he leaned back in his chair and looked at you for the first time all night.

He didn’t say anything. Just stared at you, expression unreadable, a single brow tilting upward like he couldn’t quite believe you were still there. Still pretending to be some fluttering little thing who didn’t know exactly what they were doing.

Then, mockingly, cruelly, beautifully, he let the hand at your waist drop down to the top of your thigh and tapped twice. Lightly. Like you'd just been summoned.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. You uncrossed your legs and stood up, legs a little unsteady, and followed him through the clotted crowd of movers and shakers and nobodies pretending to be somebodies. No one stopped you. No one looked twice. Not even when Paul opened the side door out into the garden and didn’t bother holding it for you.

But he didn’t leave.

He just found another cluster of people and sat again.

This time it was someone from the BBC, some agent whose glasses were a little too round and whose voice grated against the inside of your skull like aluminum foil. Paul nodded. He smiled. He patted their shoulder. You trailed behind him like a second shadow and when he dropped into a low-backed lounge chair outside under a gas heater, he opened his legs slightly without saying anything, just one knee tipped toward you like a beckon disguised as laziness. You hesitated for half a second. Then settled across his thighs again, obedient.

He let out a quiet exhale. Not quite a sigh. His hand found your waist again, familiar now, looping loose and mindless like a string tied around a balloon. You were weightless again. Groundless. A lap pet. A warm body to sink against while he listened to someone drone on about television rights and union strikes.

━━

It took another hour before he even spoke to you directly again.

People started to peel off, fading like shadows from the edges of the garden and sliding into sleek cars parked on the curb. The jazz cut out mid-measure. Someone said something about a cab. Paul ignored it. He smoked his last cigarette in silence, just the soft crackle of paper and ember and the occasional low hum of acknowledgment to the few remaining guests.

Then he stood.

No warning. Just up. His lap vanished and you slipped, knees catching wrong, hands flying out for balance like a ventriloquist’s dummy being dropped mid-act.

He didn’t wait. Didn’t offer a hand, didn’t even glance to see if you were behind him. Just walked, slow and unhurried, through the thinning garden and into the hallway. You followed, because what else could you do?

He waited until the door shut behind you, sealed the noise and the light back inside the townhouse. The street outside was quieter. Not silent, but damp and cool and private in the way London gets around midnight, when the money’s all gone back to sleep.

He didn’t turn right away.

Then he spoke, voice low and dry, that deceptively sweet tone he used when he was about to say something particularly awful.

“Y’like sittin’ on me that much?”

You froze.

“Wasn’t five minutes you weren’t fidgetin’,” he went on, tone lazy and cruel like he was just remarking on the weather. "Thought you were gonna start humpin’ my thigh like a dog.”

Your face burned. Not just your cheeks, your ears, your chest, even the back of your neck prickled with shame.

You swallowed, hard.

Didn’t answer.

“Mm?” he goaded, glancing at you with that look like he knew every inch of your skin already and still didn’t think much of it. “Was that the idea? Get me hard under a bunch of blokes in suits so you could play the poor lil’ thing who just needs attention?”

You didn’t think.

“I need you.”

He turned. Fully. Slowly.

“That right?” he said, mock-thoughtful, like you’d offered him a joke to dissect. “Didn’t look like it when you were clingin’ to me like a leech in there, beggin’ me to notice you with your brain off. That’s what you want, innit? Want to be my pet, hand-fed and ignored. Just be looked at.”

You whimpered before you meant to. A pathetic little sound. Cracked open like a soft-boiled egg.

His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile.

“Oh, (Name), c'mon.”

His hand reached out and caught your jaw in a firm, almost idle grip. His thumb smudged the corner of your mouth, not gentle, not rough, just clinical. Appraising. Then he leaned in, and kissed you.

If you could call it that.

All teeth and spit and pressure, heat that didn’t care if it hurt. You barely had time to breathe before he was starting to d ragyour clothes out of the way, shoving your outfit up to your hips with one hand, yanking your underwear down with the other like it offended him-

But then he stopped.

Not because he changed his mind.

Because he looked over your shoulder, eyes darting toward the glow of the back patio where the remaining voices still murmured, low, posh, boozy, and he scoffed.

“Mm. You’d let me do it right here, wouldn’t you?” he murmured near your ear, voice dripping with mockery, like it was the funniest idea he'd had all night. “Bent over like some common slag, beggin’ for it with your pants down and your eyes all glossy.”

He clicked his tongue.

“God. No shame at all.”

Then he grabbed your wrist and started walking.

Didn’t tell you where. Didn’t look back to see if you could keep up. Just strode off down the edge of the garden, through a half-open wrought-iron gate near the bins, past the stone wall lined with ivy and the smell of rain-soaked roses and gasoline, into a tight little side alcove beside the garage where the host’s cars were parked tight and gleaming. Concrete underfoot. One motion sensor light flickering overhead. Still within earshot of the party. Still danger of being caught.

Perfect.

“Up,” he said, jerking his chin toward the bonnet of the nearest car, some expensive Jaguar, black and waxed to a mirror shine. He leaned against the edge with arms crossed, waiting. Daring you to make him say it twice.

You did as you were told.

Hopped up. Hands behind you to brace yourself on the curved hood. Legs spread slightly without thinking. Heat blooming everywhere now, a deep ache that had nothing to do with cold.

“Christ,” he said softly, stepping between your legs. “You’ve been like this all bloody night, haven’t you?”

His hand came down heavy between your thighs, warm even through your clothes, and he laughed under his breath when he felt how ready you were.

“Could’ve wrung me out sittin’ there like that, squirming all over me. Lookin’ so bloody pleased with yourself every time I ignored you.”

He leaned in, eyes sharp and lazy at once, and pressed his mouth to your throat, not kissing. Not really. More like tasting. Finding the pulse.

“Know what you looked like? Like a pet. All perched on me like a prize. Bet you thought if you sat still long enough I’d give you a treat.”

He was smiling when he said it. A terrible, devastating smile.

His hands were quick. Practiced. No fumbling. One dragged your bottoms down just enough to bare you, the other already working his own open with a quiet zipper’s hiss. You tried not to gasp too loud. Someone could come out here. You could still hear voices back by the doors, laughter, heels clicking on tile, the faint clink of glass.

You didn’t care.

He stepped forward again and you spread your legs wider.

“See that?” he murmured, eyes flicking down. “Didn’t even have to ask. Fuckin’ keen for it. God.”

He stroked himself once, then lined up, rubbing his cock through your slick, teasing cruelly slow, like it was your fault he was even doing this.

“You’ll take it just like that, won’t you?” he murmured, and the way he said it made your stomach flutter, like he already knew the answer and thought less of you for it. “Didn’t even get a kiss all night. Not a word. And now you’re sittin’ here ready to be stuffed like it’s your job.”

You were perched on the edge of the bonnet, legs spread a little too easy, the thin fabric of your trousers still caught awkward around your thighs. His cock was out, hard in his hand, but he didn’t move. Not yet. Just stood there with his head tilted like he was inspecting a shop window, mouth curled into that awful half-smile that never meant anything kind.

Then he clicked his tongue and shook his head, exasperated.

He stepped forward fast and sudden, and before you could brace, he grabbed your hips, hard, and twisted you sideways, then down, one palm flat between your shoulder blades as he bent you over the curve of the car. Your cheek hit cold metal. You gasped, breath fogging the sleek surface. His knee nudged your ankles apart wider.

“There,” he muttered, adjusting you like a suitcase. “That’s a bit more honest.”

His hand came down on your arse, not a slap, just a mean, weighty grip, and he groaned low under his breath as he pressed his cock between your thighs, dragging it through your slick.

“Jesus, you’re fuckin’ soaked,” he said, voice half-disgusted, half-delighted. “That from me ignorin’ you, or just from bein’ manhandled like a bit o’ luggage?”

You tried to answer, tried to say anything, but he cut you off with a dry little laugh.

“Don’t bother,” he muttered, lining himself up. “I already know.”

And then he pushed in.

Just rude, abrupt, a single brutal stroke that bottomed out inside you with no ceremony at all. You choked on your breath, body spasming tight around him, your fingers scrambling for grip on the curved bonnet.

“Oh, fuckin’ ‘ell,” he hissed, hips still for a second, voice tight. Then he laughed again, sharp, cruel. “You were really waitin’ for it, weren’t you?”

He pulled out halfway and thrust back in harder. And again. And again.

“Clingin’ to me like you were gettin’ paid by the hour,” he grunted between thrusts, rhythm picking up.

The car rocked gently under you, suspension giving a little whine with each push forward. You tried not to make a sound, tried to bite it back, to stay quiet, but when he hit deep, perfectly, your mouth opened without permission, breath catching on a whimper.

“Ohhh, y’loved that,” he purred. “You like gettin’ bent over a bonnet, yeah? Like bein’ used where anyone might see? Hmph.”

His hand came around your throat, not choking, just anchoring, forcing your head up as he leaned in, breath warm and smug against your ear.

You whined. Couldn’t help it. Could barely stand it.

He muttered something, the word dragging out of him like a sigh. “Bet you’re gonna come just from this. From me bein’ rough and mean and not sayin your name once.”

His pace got cruel. Tight. Controlled. Every thrust precise and vicious, forcing breath from your lungs in little stuttered gasps.

He fucked you like it was a task he didn’t want to finish too quickly, not because he cared how you felt, but because he wanted it to last. Wanted to feel every twitch of you, every tremble, every pathetic shift of your hips as you tried to grind back on him like that’d earn you anything. And it wouldn’t. Not with him.

“Ngh, slow down, sweetheart,” he muttered, fingers digging into your hips. “Don’t rush me. S’not a race.”

Each thrust was sharp and deliberate, dragging a noise out of you whether you wanted it or not. You didn’t even realize you were rocking back against him until he tightened his grip and slammed into you with a single brutal snap of his hips that made the whole car lurch.

“There it is,” he huffed, amused. “Look at you. Can’t help yourself now, eh?”

He wasn’t even out of breath. Smug as ever. His breath hit your ear, warm and lazy, and you could hear the smile in his voice as he kept going, fucking into you with that perfect rhythm, steady, almost casual, like he had all the time in the world to drag this out.

“You know what your problem is?” he said, thrusting deep enough to make your knees buckle. “You act like you’ve got standards. And the second we’re alone?”

He punctuated that with a particularly vicious roll of his hips, cock hitting deep, dragging a broken little cry out of you.

“You spread like a fuckin’ fan letter.”

You whimpered again, your whole body trembling under him, gripping the car so tight your fingers ached. And still, he didn’t let up.

“Wasn’t even a proper kiss,” he repeated mockingly, voice low and sing-song now, “not even a touch. And now look at you. Face down on someone’s bonnet with my cock inside you.”

You made another choked noise, and his hand came down between your shoulder blades to press you flat.

“Don’t move,” he said, sharper now. “This is how I want you.”

And god, you obeyed.

Every sound that left your throat was soft and urgent and useless, he didn’t acknowledge them, didn’t slow or soothe or sweeten, just kept going with that punishing, rolling pace, hips slapping hard against you with every thrust.

Somewhere behind you, a door opened. Voices. Laughter.

His thrusts didn’t falter. Not for a second.

“Y’hearin’ that?” he murmured, breath ghosting across your cheek. “They’re twenty feet away and I’m deep in you. That do somethin’ for you, pet?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

He chuckled, quiet and mean. “Course it does.”

He fucked you harder, angle rougher now, one hand moving down to your stomach, holding you in place while he slammed in deep and stayed there.

“Mmh-fuckin’ perfect,” he muttered. “You feel that? Bet you’ll be leakin’ me the whole cab ride home.”

Your mouth fell open, eyes squeezed shut, body tightening around him in a spasm you couldn’t control. He groaned deep in his throat, and it sounded angry. Not at you, just at how fucking good it felt.

“Shit, you’re squeezin’ me,” he hissed, hips jerking sharp and wild now, fucking like he meant to leave bruises inside. “You wanna come, is that it? Think you’ve earned it?”

You nodded helplessly, whining, legs shaking.

And then he came. So did you, at the same time.

Deep. Hot. Sudden. A low noise tearing out of his chest as he slammed into you one last time and stayed there, thick and twitching inside you, filling you full.

You couldn’t even move. Couldn’t think. You were barely standing, sagging forward over the curve of the car, breath shuddering, eyes burning, heart thudding so hard it felt like your ribs might crack from it.

He stayed there for a second. Breathing. Letting you feel every second of it.

Then, finally, he pulled out, slow, deliberate, dragging every inch like he was reluctant to let you have it all. His cum slicked out with the motion, hot and thick, seeping down your thighs already. You twitched, gasped, every nerve too raw for grace.

He stepped back just a pace. Did up his trousers in silence.

You stayed bent forward, forehead still pressed to the cold curve of the bonnet, skin sticky, pulse loud in your ears. It took everything just to lift your head.

When you did, he was already watching you.

Smirking, smug, spent, and maddeningly pleased with himself.

But his gaze lingered. Traced you. Took in your wrecked shirt and twisted waistband, the slow drip between your legs, the flushed vulnerability that clung to you like perfume.

And then his eyes darkened. Not cruelly. Just full of something quieter. He stepped forward again. Reached out.

Ran a hand down your side, slow, dragging the pads of his fingers along your waist, brushing your hip.

Then, palm flat on your arse, gave a gentle squeeze and said:

“Don’t clean that up.”

You blinked. Dazed.

He tilted his head, eyes warm now, but still sharp. “I mean it. Fix yourself up if you’ve got to, but you’re not wipin’ anything off. Not yet.”

You whined, half-protest, but he just cocked his head at you. And then, as you tried to fumble your clothes into place, shaky, sluggish, thighs still trembling, he stepped in close and reached out again. Not to adjust you. Not to mock.

Just to cup the back of your head.

His palm was warm.

And he leaned in, pressed a soft kiss to your hairline, lips lingering longer than they should’ve. A quiet, affectionate weight that made your stomach drop and your chest squeeze all at once.

When he pulled back, you barely had time to react before he shrugged off his jacket and swung it around your shoulders. Heavy. Smelling like cigarettes and cologne and the leather seats of his car.

“Put that on,” he said. No teasing this time. Just low and certain. “Keep warm.”

You stared at him, stunned, and he raised his eyebrows like you were being ridiculous.

“What?” he said, flicking his lighter open again, the flame flaring between his fingers. “Don’t want you catchin’ a chill after gettin’ filled like a fuckin’ eclair.”

He lit his cigarette. Took a drag. Blew smoke out of the corner of his mouth, then leaned in to fix the collar of the coat where it sat askew.

He looked at you for a second longer.

“Still my best one, y’know.”

Not performative. Not in that winking, bratty tone he used around others. Just a quiet truth.

He started walking ahead then, like nothing had happened, like he didn’t just bend you over some stranger’s Jag and leave you leaking and trembling and wrapped in his coat like the world’s filthiest valentine.

And you followed.

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee, @alanangels, @wisepainterprince, @emz2092

[starlightshadowsworld]

I don’t vibe with a lot of “Dazai goes back to the Port Mafia” concepts because many of them just involve regressing his character back to who he was back then.

And I’m not a fan of that.

I understand people who have a preference for PM Dazai over ADA Dazai and wanting more of that. I get people wanting to see Soukoku work together more like they used too.

But I don’t like the idea of that coming with the cost of his character. That oh surprise Dazai as we know him was all a lie and the darkness is where he truly belongs.

It erases that Dazai genuinely has changed and grown from who he used to be. Are there many things that stayed the same? Yes because it’s still him but it’s not the same.

Dazai in the Port Mafia would never have taken Atsushi in on the basis that he deserved a home. Dazai in the Port Mafia would never have tried to convince Kyouka that she was worth saving.

That people can change.

If Dazai had remained as he was in the Port Mafia he would never have been able to join the Agency. He never would have been able to gain their love and trust.

You can disagree with that but that’s what I believe wholeheartedly.

And so I will never accept a scenario that erases ADA Dazai. That tries to tell me that the Agency never cared for him and vice versa.

They didn’t know his past that’s true but they never cared about who he was.

All that matters is who he is.

And he’s one of them.

Dazai who declines and even laughs at the very idea of re-joining the Port Mafia. His blood is as black as there’s and yet he walks in the light because that’s where he chooses to be.

There’s a line in a watching the show style fic that I can’t recall the name of where Atsushi sees who Dazai was in the past that really puts it all together for me.

Atsushi says something along the lines of, if this is Dazai’s nature then every day he wakes up and goes against his nature to help people. To treat him solely on the basis of who he was erases all that he’s become.

If Dazai was to return to the Port Mafia I can see it because he’s heard of the transfer and he won’t allow anyone else to go through that.

This is the same Dazai who got himself arrested just to spy on Fyodor for Ranpo. This is the same Dazai who got captured by the Port Mafia with enough black mail to destroy the organisation.

Just to find out who was hunting Atsushi.

If Dazai goes back then it’s for the Agency because everything Dazai does is for the Agency. Every connection Dazai has to the Port Mafia he’s used to aid the Agency. Mori might have his own plans for him but Dazai has his own agenda.

Also do you really think Dazai would ever consider re-joining the same organisation that set up his closest friend to die?

The same man he mourns to this day and does everything to try to make him proud and live by his example.

And who’s the only person Dazai’s ever told about how much Odasuku meant to him? Atsushi.

Atsushi who reminds him so much of Odasaku and makes him want to be better. If Dazai went back to the Port Mafia and erased all his ties to the Agency he would lose Atsushi for good.

And that’s the last thing Dazai wants.

So yeah if Dazai does return back to the Port Mafia for whatever reason, he’s not going back the same and that’s not just because he left at 18 and he’s 22 now.

He burned Mori’s coat.

He wiped his tears.

He will never be the same again and that was for the better.

[cyjrix]

The Kiss of Venus

pairing: radio host!haechan x astrology columnist!reader

synopsis: Mercury is in retrograde, Venus is wrecking havoc, and everyone’s blaming their ex! Suddenly, you’re stuck doing weekly segments with a guy who thinks horoscopes are fake but somehow knows your Venus sign.

word count: ~ 1.2k

genre / tropes: fluff, forced prox (radio segments), weak attempt at slow burn

warnings: shifts between 2nd & 3rd pov; other than that, none

divider made by @uzmacchiato

“Hey everyone! Welcome back to Neo Radio with your host, yours truly. Today, we’ll be talking about something I’m very vocal about. Very vocal on how much I hate it! So apparently Venus is ‘kissing’ my love life! Where’s the smooch, huh?”

Astrology is generally something heavily debated on but one thing is for certain. To haechan, it was all a load of bullshit because who in their right mind would look at the sun, moon, and stars, and think “oh golly gee! they can actually influence people.” He could have ignored the topic altogether but there was this one person who made him tick—this rising star, y/n aka the host of another radio show, stelaxz. She made him go crazy and not in a good way. Whenever he heard her voice on the radio, he wanted to rip his hair out, burn his ears, and leave the planet all at once. It’s like she made it her entire personality, an astrology columnist who was way in over her head!

Haechan thought that this was the absolute worst thing ever—so every single time he was on air, he’d make comments to poke at you, to get on your nerves. He hoped this would make you quit or at least shift to a different mode of expression. Yet you were indifferent, making a simple remark to stand your ground because who even was he? Just some radio show host who had zero knowledge in astrology. Just some radio show host with a whole lot of audacity.

“The day I start to believe in or actually even slightly show interest in astrology is the day that I lose it! Like lose my marbles. You know… Go bonkers, go insane!”

Viewers were quite used to him and his childish antics. Sure, he’s made a handful of comments like that. However, that specific clip goes viral, and it reached you! You’re far from the type to engage with trolls or in this case, people who talk shit for no reason but he’s been at this for weeks and it started to piss you off. Barely anyone expected you to clap back with a post on twitter:

“Where’s the smooch?” Oh I know! Maybe up my ass!

“Tell me you’re emotionally repressed without telling me you’re emotionally repressed.”

This blew up. And this blew up big time.

You weren’t even that well known yet and somehow, you got half a million likes. Your heart raced when you saw that you blew up online, your mind couldn’t fathom what would happen next. Would you get cancelled? Would you need to lay low? Maybe go off the radar because you had assassins on your tail? All the simple to the most complex and unlikely scenarios flashed in your mind. You wanted to expect the unexpected but that didn’t really work out for you.



You were prepared for everything! Well, almost… What you didn’t expect though (or even thought of) was multiple radio show hosts asking you to be on their shows with him or start your own collab show with him to ‘face your double sided rivalry’ for the country, probably even the world, to see. “What a load of bullshit,” you hoped that by standing up for yourself, you’d gain more attention for your content yet this is what you got in return? You got the exposure but at what cost.

Your feud turns into a forced-collab series where you “debate” on love and fate. So now you’re here! In a cold-ass studio with fluorescent lighting and a host who’s already talking as if he owns the show (he does) and like he owns the narrative (he does not). He doesn’t even look at you when you walk in. He just says, “Well, if it isn’t the moon whisperer.”

You blink. There was a pause. A beat. Someone, probably a producer, coughs in the background. Haechan grins. “Okay,” he says, dragging out the word. “This might actually be fun.”

It was most definitely not.

The first episode was a disaster. You were awkward. He was obnoxious. The tension was weird, not even the good type of weird, just weird-weird. At one point, you knock over your mic and called Mercury a bitch. That clip made it into the final cut. Said clip goes viral.

In the next week’s episode, you came prepared. You came with receipts, his birth chart to be exact.

“Since you’re so loud about how fake astrology is,” you say on-air, flipping the pages for that dramatic flair, “I thought I’d read your birth chart. You know… as a little treat.”

Haechan blinks. “You what?”

You smile, all sugar and menace. “Don’t worry. I only needed your birth time. I asked around.” The look on his face was priceless!

You clear your throat. “Let’s start with your Venus sign.” You say it like it’s no big deal, like you didn’t stay up an extra hour just to cross-check sources and double-confirm his birth time because accuracy matters, even when the subject is this insufferable.

He waves it off. “I don’t care what planet’s allegedly in my fake space heart.” You chuckled. Haechan leans back in his chair, mic dangerously close to his mouth. “Oh joy. Can’t wait to hear how Mercury made me an attention-seeking liar.”

“No, actually,” you say, smiling innocently. “Leo Venus made you that.”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh no. I’m attractive and love attention. How ever will I survive?”

Listeners eat it up. The clip goes viral. Again.

You continue, smooth and casual. “Leo Venus. Big romantic energy. Absolutely loves grand gestures, praise, loyalty. Needs to feel adored to feel secure in love.”

He snorts at what you say, but something about the way his leg bounces says he’s listening a little too hard.

You glance at your notes. “But also? Gets overly defensive when feelings are hurt. You know, masks that insecurity with ego.” You eye him, “Craves closeness, but refuses to be the one who wants it more.”

There’s a pause. “…Okay, Dr. Phil.”

You laugh, “Touché, but I didn’t make the chart. The universe did.”

He tries to joke it off, but that night at 2 in the morning, he finds himself rewatching the clip. Over and over and over again. Just the part where you say “needs to feel adored.” There’s something in your voice when you say it—just soft enough to not sound like an insult, the usual drag. Just sincere enough to make it feel like you saw him, even if you didn’t mean to. And then, at 2:08 AM, a couple minutes after, he types on his browser:

“leo venus compatibility signs + worst traits reddit”

“stelaxz venus sign + compatibility horoscope”

He clears his browser history immediately after. No one but him needs to know!

It’s been over a month since the first episode aired and this whole joint radio show extravaganza was exhausting. Though there were times you had fun. You’re tired. He’s tired. The jokes feel heavier than usual. You don’t know if it’s the way the comments are slowing down (maybe a slow day) or the fact that you’ve started to catch yourself looking at him for a little too long when he’s not being annoying.

Midway through the recording, you say something about how love isn’t logical, how sometimes it just feels right, and he doesn’t interrupt you for once. It was weird. He just listens.

That alone made your stomach twist.

@ cyjrix 2025

[domnorian]

Wow. I wasn't expecting an answer that long! I'm impressed!

Most of my view on Lex and Lionel is depicted in Superboy Hope Reborn so I'm not gonna go into too many details in case people would prefer not to be spoiled.

In short then, I get what you’re saying: there’s a lot I really like in your take. The way he's pulling strings in the background, funding dangerous projects then bailing when they blow up, feels exactly like his brand of ruthlessness. Same with the whole shadow-government vibe.

But I've personally always preferred to write my villains as people first, villains second. I don’t like the inherited evil trope. Imo Lionel isn’t a mastermind because he was born ruthless: he became that way after years of clawing for control, getting hurt, and learning to weaponize the system. His neglect of Lex aren’t just cruelty but fear, pressure, and a total inability to show vulnerability.

Also, I know it’s tempting to make Lillian a former merc or high-level fighter, but for me that actually dulls the impact. Being ordinary is what makes everything hit harder. She doesn’t need super-skills to matter. And for me it’s crucial that Julian’s death isn’t some tactical "choice" to protect Lex: it’s the direct result of severe postpartum depression and psychosis. Normal humans get sick, their minds break, and sometimes awful things happen that aren’t the product of cold logic or some kind of sad fate. That raw fragility says more about the cost of Lionel’s neglect than any epic backstory imo.

As for Lex and Superman, the contrast is definitely still the spine, but I still focus on the human angle. Lex can’t imagine a worldview outside his own ego. He assumes everyone’s chasing the same validation he is. So he has to read Clark as a fraud, an alien hypocrite using the boy-scout act for applause, because the idea that someone with that much power might genuinely be selfless is literally beyond him. In his mind, Superman is just playing a longer con while Lex is honest about wanting the credit he’s earned.

But the thing, I truly think Lex doesn’t only act for his ego. That’s what makes him interesting for me. He genuinely believes he’s doing what’s right for humanity. That the ends justify the means. That removing Superman or gaining total control is ultimately a good thing for the world. His worst actions come from this toxic mix of hubris and genuine belief in a greater good. That’s what makes him dangerous not just that he wants power, but that he’s convinced he should have it for everyone else’s sake. And that kind of moral self-delusion is way scarier to me than straight-up villainy.

Again, it doesn't mean I don't like your take: on the contrary I think it would make 100% sense and I love your worldbuilding and how everything fits together. Just trying to explain my view on the Luthor fam. And I always love reading other people's views on the DC Universe! It's so refreshing so thank you!

Just discovered your page, and love your work. As far as Lex Luthor's family goes, I've always imagined a legacy (that ironically they are mostly unaware of), with 'Golden Age' Luthor (Blofeld before there was a Blofeld) as the grandfather (with Lilian as his daughter) trying to start a world war to profit, followed by Lionel (sleazy businessman Luthor), and Lex getting to be the modern version (who encompasses scientist, arms-dealer and businessman - and even politician).

Thank you!

I love your take on the Luthor fam, honestly!

I gotta admit I take a lot of inspiration from the Smallville TV show for most of Luthor’s backstory. In my AU, Lionel’s dad was a drunk crook who beat the crap out of his wife and kid. Lillian came from a rich family and Lionel basically married her for the money.

I wanted to keep that 'poor guy who clawed his way up' kind of Lionel because I’ve known people like that, born poor ended up rich, and honestly, they were some of the most toxic and manipulative people I’ve ever met. Weirdly enough, the ones born rich were usually more chill. Not saying it's a universal thing (my own grandpa was a born poor ended up rich guy... before he lost everything because he was too nice) but I like slipping little bits of my own experience into what I write.

[sleepy-crypt1d]

I love thinking about Sl33py's relationships with the canon characters. Because he's there for all the games, he was one of the original Vault hunters in BL1, then got hired by Jack in TPS, then after that he's the one who we view the story through in BL2.

He's met a lot of people, and thinking of the what these people mean to him is one of my favorite things when it comes to writing my AU.

Like, sure, him being a self-insert adds to the whole 'he's friends with everyone :3' mindset, because I love these characters, but thinking of the pain they go through is also really fun.

How Moxxi's betrayal in TPS leads to tainting the family relationship they'd grown in BL1, how seeing Scooter and Ellie afterward hurts because they're family, those are his siblings as far as he's concerned, and yet. Moxxi hates him. Moxxi has tried to kill him. But he still wants to call her mom. He wishes he still could.

How his friendship with Brick is strained because of Bloodwing's death, how Mordecai will never look at him the same even after getting so close in BL1. How these three have saved each other's lives and now struggle to stay in the same room with one another.

How M4x becomes Tina's surrogate dad but she hates Sl33py, how when she sees him, all she sees is Roland's killer and all he can see is a niece he'll never get to meet.

How Hammerlock is one of his closest friends. How Sl33py and Aurelia keep in touch after TPS. How Sl33py still visits Springs, even if Athena never wants to see him again. How he's desperate to keep all these people around and yet he fails, time and time again.

Zed and Marcus bringing him in but unable to ignore the blood on his hands. Tannis wanting to trust him but knowing he's lied before, that he can again.

Angel- god, Angel- wanting to believe that he's a good person. That he could change her dad, that he could fix things, could save her. And then he can't, then he doesn't, and he finds out about her too late to do anything.

His friendship with Nisha and Wilhelm, two people who actually understand him, where he's from, what he's been through. Two people that don't look at him like the Fyrestone residents do, that call him a friend before anything else, how much the team has been through together and yet, they aren't the first. There was a team before them, and he's terrified of there being one after them.

Sl33py goes through so much in my AU, both good and bad, his open acceptance in the first game becoming his inevitable suffering in each installment afterward. My desire to be friends with all the characters very quickly becoming his curse; he can't make them all happy. Not with the way his story goes. Not with the story I have written for him.

Do not even get me started on his relationship with Jack-

[no1cutiepatootie]

there was a buffalo that was about to die soon but we were not allowed to tell it to the owner

[moonlight-records]

Rich Boys Don't Have Hearts | LN4

pairing: Jock!Lando Norris x Nerd!Reader

summary: Formula Ivy Academy, or FIA for short, is the most renowned private in the world who takes such a select few. Usually those from wealth with status and secrets and so much to lose. Yet, you are selected to join the FIA on a full scholarship. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain scares a lot students, especially their star athlete who will do anything to protect those he cares about. Though, he didn't expect you to have as much of a...bite to you for a little nobody.

warning: cursing, bribery, jealously, angst (ig???), possessive!lando maybe??? def ooc Lando at points i know it, leclerc & reeader are besties, open ending??? maybe???

fc: none!

wc: 4.4K

current | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

Formula Ivy Academy was the most renowned private school tucked away in Monaco for the brightest people. Whether that was inventors, politicians, artists, thinkers, or athletes was anybody’s guess since FIA was very hush hush about what happens behind their walls. Which, in theory, should be the first sign not to get involved with a school like that. With the amount of money, fame, and reputation of how secretive this academy was, why the hell would anybody want to go there?

Well, anybody who wanted to be anybody, obviously.

Everybody and anybody tried to get in. Thousands of applications went in every semester. Most applications that were submitted were from those that came from wealth that expanded to celebrities and even royalty applied and were rejected.

The rest of the world only dreamed of going there and some had the balls to apply though they knew that they would be rejected. They didn’t have the funds to cover even a quarter of the tuition cost. The only way most people would be able to get in was on a full ride scholarship and according to rumors, full ride scholarships to FIA was like winning the lottery. A one in a million chance for most people. It seemed that FIA was painfully selective about who they let in.

Yet, you were that one in a million person who got accepted into FIA with a full ride.

“Who is she?”

“I think that’s the new girl.”

“Really? She’s really pretty, how come she’s never been here before?”

“Rumor is she’s not from wealth.”

A few gasps erupted, “What?! How did she get in?”

“Full. Ride.” There were some murmurs, “apparently she was valedictorian at her high school and she applied and the school was impressed. She has to keep her GPA at least a 3.5 to keep her scholarship and,” there was a pause and throat cleaning, “she needs it if she’s going to stay.”

You roll your eyes hearing these girls before shaking your head. Casting your gaze at them the group quickly realized that they were talking much louder than attended and quickly scattered. You sigh softly while shaking your head because it was tiring.

You’ve been listening to the whispers and murmurs about yourself for almost a month straight since moving into the dorms back in August. The only places you found peace was in your dorm, since FIA had been so nice to accommodate you with a single room dorm so you can avoid that whole roommate thing, and the vast walls of the library but alas, instead you found yourself walking through campus as more people look and whisper.

You’re cutting through the green to get to your dorm building when a larger pair of Jordan clad feet fell into step besides yours. The pace was deliberate and rhythmic to match yours. You didn’t have to look over to know who it was. You stayed silent and forced your neck to look the other way though it’s no use. Everyone is looking at you and the new found walking partner though when you met their gaze they looked away. You let out a silent huff before craning your neck like a flower turning to the sun but the sun was actually the most annoying boy to ever roam campus who was 1 of FIA’s 20 star athletes and apparently, you’re upstairs neighbor that you try to avoid the best you can. He’s smiling, curly hair unruly, green and white jersey with his lucky ‘4’ on the front and his iconic gray sweatpants.

“Well, if it isn’t ‘Miss Popular’. You know I was getting a bit worried that you had already left before I got the chance to really know you.”

“First off, don’t call me ‘Miss Popular’ because I’m not,” you roll your eyes, “second you can’t get me to leave that fast. I’m sure the whispers and rumors about me are going to die down rather fast considering I think people are realizing that there really isn’t a lot going for me.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t have wealth like that nor do I care. I’m here to get my degree, make connections, and get a head start on my career and I plan to make sure that happens,” you glance at Lando then forward again, “There’s not much to me.” You shrug as you enter the building and you head down your hall towards your room.

“Bullshit.”

You scoff and look over at Lando, “excuse me?”

“I said bullshit. I don’t think that’s the real reason you’re here.” Lando stares down at you, “I doubt you’re just some random insanely smart person who got in with an amazing application. Celebrities and even royalties themselves get rejected but they let you in? Full ride? Just because they like you?” He scoffs. “But fine. Let’s go with that story but I highly fucking doubt that you’re going to keep your head down and just mind your business for the next four years. There’s a lot that happens here at FIA, a lot that would be rather dangerous if it got out. A lot of reputations on the line.” Holding out a stack of cash, “Maybe it would be for the best if you left, don’t you think?”

You stare at Lando in disbelief. Lando’s known as one of the friendliest athletes on campus. He’s always smiling and laughing and making everyone feel welcomed. Even you, the rare times you spoke before this moment but it became crystal clear in this moment that it was nothing more than a ruse to bribe you out of this school and this life. For what? Protecting the students' reputations? You could care less about your classmates and what they do in their spare time. It was none of your business and honestly you probably would forget about most of them and any scandalizing thing they do now.

But Lando wouldn’t believe that and it upset you more because it made sense. You were a nobody who got accepted into the most renowned school that was super selective. Everyone here had three things: money, power, and secrets. You have none of those. You are just a simple person with a simple life that really just wanted to further your education and make a better life for yourself so you didn’t have to worry when you grew older. Pay your parents back for all the sacrifices they made for you. Give back to your friends who saved you when you were drowning…or jumped in so you weren’t drowning alone. Unlike everyone else who had everything to lose and nothing really to gain, you had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

You stare at the stack of cash in Lando’s hand trying to mentally count how much was there, “How much—”

“100,000 in USD,” Lando finishes, “more than enough for you I’m sure. Unless you want me to just pay for whatever school you transfer to, I can do that as well.”

“No, no, the cash is fine—”

Lando smiles wider, “I th—”

You reach out for the money before slamming your hand down. The bills go everywhere as they fall from Lando’s hand and the Brit is stunned. His eyes widen as he stares at you in pure shock before his face darkens.

“IF I was shallow and had no self respect,” you snap back, “how dare you try to bribe me? You probably wouldn’t believe this but I actually do not give a single care about you or any other student on this campus. All you guys care about is your fame, your wealth, and the carefree lifestyles that you all get to have. Unlike you all, I actually have to work for my shit and I will continue doing that. I don’t have time to collect evidence of all these scandals and sell them to news outlets. Besides, I need connections so the last thing I want to do is ruin that chance by breaking the number one unofficial rule of FIA which is what happens within FIA walls stays within FIA walls. What do you take me for? A shallow tool?” Looking Lando up and down, you sneer slightly, “You know what you can do for me, Lando?”

“What?” The Brit snaps.

“You can take your cash and shove it up your fucking ass right along with the lacrosse stick that’s been wedge up there,” you give him a mocking smile, “have the day you deserve.” You turn, flipping Lando off as you continue down the hall before going into your dorm, slamming it behind you. Finally, tears spill past and you clamp a hand around your mouth to silence your cries. You stumble to your bed, vision blurry before crumbling against it, hiding your face into your comfort, sobbing as the weight of Lando’s words settles.

Nobody wants you here. Nobody trusts you nor likes you. To them, you’re nothing more than an outsider who was going to ruin all their reputations. Obviously, someone like you just could not be here to further your education and take this chance to connect and get a huge head start down your career path. That was all just some ruse to really make a quick buck off the rich and their bullshit drama. That you will never be accepted by them and you should quit while you’re ahead. Another sob rips out of your throat as you bury your face further, body shaking, trying so hard to will yourself to stop crying but it was so hard as a month worth of worry and pains had manifested as the cold hard truth and the reality was heartbreaking.

Then it dawned on you. It wasn’t bullshit. What was bullshit was the fact Lando thought you were so shallow. Actually, it was bullshit the entire campus thought you were that shallow. Are they so self absorbed that they really assumed you had applied just to expose what goes on behind the walls of FIA? God, you needed money but you weren’t that desperate for money. Unlike them, you actually gave a fuck about what you wanted to do in life. Especially because you were happily picking something that wouldn’t be destroyed so easily by mere rumors or a single photo to destroy your entire reputation. You didn’t care how much you got to gain to expose all of them, especially Lando after that lovely chat, because that’s what they expected of you. Instead, you were going to completely ignore them. Prove them wrong. Prove Lando wrong.

Settling, you sit there for a bit before slowly lifting your head. You ignore the oncoming headache or the fact your face is wet and puffy. You sniffle softly before patting yourself down and pull your phone out with slightly shaky hands. Arthur Leclerc was a rare friend you had. Well, you assume anyway but now you weren’t sure as you text him.

Do you hate me?-YN

Y/N, how many times do I have to tell you that I don’t hate you. Nor does Mick, Ollie, Kimi, or Charlie.-AL

Well, Lando just tried to give me 100K in USD to get me to leave the school since everyone hates me and nobody trusts me and that I’m here to expose everyone for money and not for my education and to get a head start of my career.-YN

…He fucking did what?-AL

Yeah.-YN

Oh my god. I’m going to punch him at practice. Actually, I have piano so I won’t be at practice—I’ll have Charlie do it. No, he won’t—Kimi will-AL

No-YN

Don’t ‘no’ me! Y/N! You just told me that Lando bribed you because the rest of the school doesn’t trust you for some stupid fucking reason! Also, I know that you were actually warming up to Lando for this to be the reason? Oh god I should tell the couch! I’m going to tell coach—AL

No. No, I don’t need any more issues than already. I just…I just need reassure that you actually like for who I am-YN

Of course I do Y/N. Me, Charlie, Mick, Ollie. We adore you. You’re a breath of fresh air to us, really. You remind us that not everyone is stuck up and snooty and loves to be careless and wild because money and fame will save them. You remind us to slow down and enjoy the moments. You remind us to do things that we love even if nobody else cares because we enjoy the things we love. I promise, we wouldn’t trade you for anything in the world.AL

Arthur…that’s so sweet I might cry again but I won’t.-YN

It’s okay to cry!! I can come over with ice cream and blankets for cuddles-AL

No no, it’s fine. I don’t think I have any tears left. I kind of let out a month’s worth of sadness just out, so, I’m good but I might take you up on the offer for ice cream and blankets after your piano practice-YN

Okay, yeah. God Y/N. I’m so sorry this happened to you.-AL

It’s fine. I’m kind of upset Lando did this privately because the look of shock on his face when I smacked the money out of his hand was priceless.-YN

You WHAT?! Oh my god! You didn’t tell me that!!!-AL

Yeah well, I’m done being sad. I’m angry now.-YN

Anyway, yeah he basically found me. Walked me to the dorms asking if I was avoiding him and stuff. I had said that I just wanna focus on my education and get a jump start at my career and he literally was like ‘bullshit’. I was like ummm what?? Yeah so he goes on about how im a threat and all this—me, the nobody but whatever—and he was giving me cash or offering to pay the tuition of the school I would transfer to in full if it meant leaving since I’m just a wee peasant who’s only here to gossip and get paid by the news and get the school shut down. So I was like, “oh no the cash is fine”…-YN

Oh my god. What did he say?-AL

Oh he was gonna go on that I was making the right choice before I smack the money out of his hand. Man he was pissed-YN

I could imagine.-AL

Arthur, when I tell you watching his face darken out of anger was—kinda scary. Though mama ain’t raised a bitch so. I went off about how I can’t believe he thinks I’m shallow and that I truly could care less about my classmates and that I need these connections so why would I risk losing those connections by outing everyone, ya know???-YN

Oh I know.-AL

Thank you! So then I was like “you know what you can do for me” and he was like “what?!” all snappy and shit. I told him he can pick his money up and shove it right up his ass along with his lacrosse stick and have the day he deserves and the I flipped him off as I left…then I broke down and cried and now we’re here-YN

I AM SO PROUD OF YOU FOR THAT!!! AS YOU SHOULD! Oh my god, I am buying you dinner for that because that is amazing. Also, Lando can go fuck himself and I will personally make sure it happens at practice.-AL

Arthur!-YN

It’s fine! I already laid out that Charles is just to make Lando go a bit insane. No physical harm, all mental.-AL

…Fine. Only because there’s no way I can convince either of you to not do anything-YN

You’re learning! Okay, I have to run but I will see you later tonight. You don’t have to, considering how news gets out around here but, Charlie would like to see you at some point just to make sure you’re okay so, just show a sign of life to him? Please? I’ll cover the ice-cream if you do-AL

I will, promise.-YN

Alright, see you see y/n!-AL

You too, Arthur.-YN

It’s only been 20 minutes since your conversation with Arthur and you really didn’t want to leave your dorm let alone the field after everything that happened. You had finally found the energy to climb into bed curled up under the comfort while staring at the wall before frowning. You know that if you didn’t Charles would go insane with worry and blow up both your phone and Arthur’s and you really didn’t want to upset the only rare few people in your corner. Sighing, you force yourself out of your bed and go through your closet.

The school had uniforms that students must wear to classes. Outside of classes, students were free to wear whatever they wanted and you chose a baggy hoodie with a t-shirt underneath and fuzzy pajama pants that had snoopy all over them. Sliding your crocs on, you grabbed your keys, phone, headphones, and lanyard with your ID before heading out of your dorm and to the field. Putting your headphones on, you gently bobbed your head to the beat of the music as you crossed the green towards the field. Seeing the empty bleachers, you make your way up the ramp as you look out at the field.

There were the two lacrosse nets at the opposite ends of the field. The boys were lingering around the benches as they all chatted among themselves with five minutes to spare in this break. You scan among them, thankful that none of them spotted you. Expect the one that was sitting on the bench away, staring at a small group down. You saw the ‘16’ on the jersey and knew exactly who it was. You straightened up slightly when the player turned and saw you before lighting up like a child on Christmas and scrambling over to you, almost tripping over his own two feet.

“Mon chérie, there you are. I was worried you weren’t going to show that I was about to start calling for a sign of life,” Charles grins as he stands below the bleachers laughing softly. You can’t help the small smile that appears on your face as you lean over the edge of the bleachers looking down at Charles.

“Sorry, I was just—gathering myself.”

“I could imagine,” Charles frowns. “I truly am sorry that happened to you,” Charles whispers. “Just say the words and I will tell the coach or I can punch him. Really, I am angry enough to go through with it.”

“No you don’t have to punch him or tell coach,” you reassure Charles, “I think me slapping the money out of his hand, telling him off, telling him to shove the money up his ass, and flipping him off while telling him to have the day he deserves is probably enough.” You smile, “besides, I have no plans on transferring at all. Especially not after this. Him having to see my face should be enough of a hell for him.”

Charles laughs breathlessly while smiling up at you, “You truly are something else Y/N.” He grins while shaking his head, “Arthur mentioned something about ice-cream and blankets?” He questions.

You go to answer but feel someone just staring at you. Casting your gaze up you lock eyes with the sea green eyes staring at you. It seems that you and Lando are in a stare off that neither of you intend to lose but you only forfeit when you hear Charles scoff below you. “Charles,” you murmur softly and Charles looks up at you, a slight pout on his face, “please be nice so you can join Arthur and I and probably the others for ice-cream and cuddles. That’s what we mean by blankets.”

Charles gasps softly, “and I can join?!”

“If,” you start, “you leave Lando alone.”

Charles narrows his eyes at you and weighs his options, “okay, deal.”

“Leclerc!” Lando shouts, voice clipped, “lets go! No more talking!”

“Duty calls,” Charles murmurs and you shake your head, murmuring to Charles that it’ll be fine. You sit in the stands and switch between watching the practice and looking at your phone. You stand up when the coach blows the whistle to have the team come in to wrap practice up. You make your way off the bleachers and linger at the entrance of track as the team all heads to the bench to gather their things. You watch Charles swiftly grab his water bottle and bag before making his way over to you.

“You did it!” You applaud happily, “you survived practice and didn’t kill him.”

“I know, I know. Took a lot of self control,” Charles murmurs as he steps closer, “I’m pretty sure he was targeting me after seeing me talk to you. The audacity of him, can you believe that?”

“I could, sadly,” you roll your eyes, “he’s an ass. Just ignore him. Why don’t you get change and I’ll wait here and we can then head back to my dorm together?” You offer, “Arthur said he’d bring the ice-cream and Mick would bring the blankets.”

“Okay, I’ll be right out!” Charles says and is off.

You watch him leave and smile slightly before looking away and nearly jumping at Lando who just spawns in front of you. You look up at the Brit and all the emotions from early claw at your throat for an escape. You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to curse him out. You want to ask him why. There are so many questions in your head and you know that no matter what, you won’t get any answers so you settle for this stare off with Lando, even if your neck gets a cramp.

The silence is finally broken by Lando, “What were you talking to Charles about?” His voice is cold and icy. It almost seems uncharacteristic of the Brit but then again, he was full of surprises!

“None of your business.”

“I think it is my business since he’s a teammate of mine and I am also co-captain, so,” he lets his voice trail off as if indicating his importance, “kind of my responsibility to make sure our players are accounted for and safe.”

“Oh? Is it because he’s with me? Cause if you were really concerned, I doubt you nor Max would really be okay with the heavy partying that happens. Then again you two would be hypocritical.” You retort.

That strikes a nerve. He clenches his jaw and stares down at you in anger though he stays silent because he can’t really argue with you. Instead, Lando takes a deep breath while glaring, “well, is coming back to your dorm?”

“Why do you care?”

'“Cause I really don’t need you being so fucking loud and distracting me.”

“Seriously? You’re rarely in your room. When you are, you’re doing anything but homework. The only thing I might give a damn about is your streams for the poor people that watch you.” Crossing your arms over your chest, “but if you need to know since apparently hell has frozen over with you doing homework, I am having a few guests over and Charles is one.”

“Who else?”

“You don’t get names,” you snap. “First off, it’s not your business. Second, you don’t care because I’m just a nobody who’s here to gather intel and sell the secrets and make so money and get the school shut down instead of learning more and making connections and wanting a better future for myself since I’m not privileged like that,” you mock before scowling at him, “you think I’m dumb? No way am I giving out the names of the few genuine friends I have here.”

Lando goes to argue before Charles cuts in, loud and clear, “Oh mon chérie!” Charles stops next to you and glares at Lando who glares back at you, “Oh. Am I interrupting something?”

“Yes. You are.”

“No, you’re fine.”

You and Lando stare at each other before you turn to Charles who slings an arm over your shoulder, “Ready to go then?” Charles asks you, smiling and you nod. “I am.”

“Well. Have a good evening, Lando,” Charles tells him as you just turn and start walking off, leading Charles with you.

Your gut twists and you can’t help yourself even with Charles talking your ear off since you stopped so Charles could tie his shoe. You’re about to look back at Lando until Charles tells some stupid story which gets you to laugh loudly and you nudge Charles when he stands saying that it was a good story.

You hear a thud or something which gets you to turn.

Lando is standing there holding with his head of the lacrosse stick now snapped off. He’s got Max and Oscar on either side of him both concerned and worried while trying to talk to him but Lando is staring at Charles as if he’s trying to strike Charles down mentally before finally looking at you before. He stares at you for a moment before looking at Charles and scowling before turning sharply and heading to the locker room with Max and Oscar trying to figure out what the hell just happened before following Lando.

You stand there watching the trio head off. Your eyes fall on the broken lacrosse stick head. You can’t wrap your head around why Lando was so determined to figure out who was hanging out with you. Was it to turn the little friends against you? Was he just upset that you weren’t bending to his will and made a fool of him earlier today? Why was he like this

“Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?” Charles asks softly.

“Yeah, yeah,” you shake your head and smile, “I’m okay. Just…distracted, that’s all. Come on! I’ll race you,” you start and take off, giving yourself a head start as Charles is cursing and scrambling after you.

Even if Lando wanted you to leave and threw the world’s biggest tantrum as it seemed, you were quite comfortable staying here since you added a new life goal to your plans. It was a very simple life goal.

Make Lando’s regret trying to bribe you.

[sailoryuns]

COMPANIONSHIP ─── JJH [ TEASER ]

summary: after being released from prison for a crime he never committed, jaehyun sets out to conjure up the perfect plan in order to keep up the façade that he’s happily married and is out living his best life— by kidnapping a complete stranger and forcing them to pose as his wife to gain his inheritance.

genre. ex convict!jaehyun x tap dancer!f!reader | 90’s au, strangers to lovers

warnings. angst, (some) fluff, smut, age gap (jaehyun is late 30’s/reader’s in her early 20’s), smoking (cigs), kidnapping, manipulation, gaslighting, stockholm syndrome, physical violence, knifeplay, dubcon, fingering, unprotected s*x, loss of virginity, breeding, more warnings to be added once the full fic is up! teaser wc -> 1.7k

inspired by the film ‘buffalo 66’

disclaimer: everything i write is purely fictional, none of it is meant to portray real interpretations of these people nor am i claiming it to be!

for three years, he was certain he knew how to play this. three whole years, he’d made phone calls from prison and pretended he lived a life he could scarcely imagine. it started with shame and grew from there. he didn’t care about disappointing his parents, but his grandmother wouldn’t have recovered if she’d known where he was— behind bars fabricating these outlandish tales all for her sake.

his grandmother wanted nothing more than for him to meet a nice girl to settle down with. someone who’d love him right; a girl who’d look beyond all the baggage he carried and devote herself to him; a girl who’d keep him out of trouble and one he could put down roots with.

and jaehyun did, but in his other life.

in that life, he’d transitioned from a blue-collar existence working as a mechanic to the lavish lifestyle of a wealthy executive. he’d mastered the art of schmoozing with the owner of the auto repair shop to secure his slot with the big corporate elites. from there, he climbed the ladder that steered him out of trouble and jet-setted around the world.

in that life, he had his own office and a secretary. he had a pretty little wife who loved him and thought the sun rose and fell with him. in that life, he was too busy to spend time with his grandmother and when she passed away, he internalized the guilt of not only lying to her but breaking her heart too.

now only one thing mattered.

his fictitious life that’d cost him so much could now earn his inheritance of cash. that was the stipulation written in the will— that he live on the straight and narrow and marry a nice girl.

but as he’s forced to come face to face with all the endless lies he never wanted to tell, after three years, he’d have to keep lying because jaehyun had to materialize a pretty, sweet wife who loved him, the nice girl he’d chose to settle down with. but truth be told, he didn’t know any nice girls.

he knew stone-cold bitches who ripped his heart out for sport. he knew many aloof upper east side princesses that made damn sure he knew his place— in their thousand thread count sheets for a good time only. it turned out those trust fund nepo babies in three-piece suits were just good for making money, not fucking.

those men put their girls up in lavish digs and jaehyun did his part. he left them crying and coming and begging for him to stay as he shucked back into his clothes before their wall street fiancé returned home. those were mutually parasitic set-ups. he often never saw them again and never really cared that he didn’t.

and so it was; no nice girls who’d come up behind him and kiss his cheek while he sat in a recliner and watched the football game on sundays; no nice girls who’d make him his favorite dinner after a long day of work; no nice girls who’d offer themselves up as dessert with their legs spread and heart open and whisper words of love before falling asleep in his arms.

he’d once wanted that but didn’t have time for that shit anymore. it was all fairy tale garbage. even with nice girls, things often went south. marriages turned loveless and people got their kicks elsewhere. his grandmother lived in a different time. she meant well for his sake, but whatever her dream was for him with love, it just wasn’t going to pan out.

jaehyun stared at the quarter and shook his head with a sigh. he’d have to wing it. he slotted the coin again and punched in his parents’ number before doubt sunk it’s claws into him.

after a few rings, a disgruntled greeting rips through the other end of the line along with a cacophony of background noise— the TV blaring at full volume and the erratic shuffling of papers. he honestly wasn’t sure if it was his two-pack-a-day mother or father who answered. at some point, they both started sounding alike, one unit of congruent misery and loathing for the life they shared.

“hey it’s me,” jaehyun spoke, awaiting a response on the other end.

“who?” the demand was his mother’s. his father rarely answered the phone for this precise reason—it could be his son calling. jaehyun wasn’t moved enough to care. in fact, being disenfranchised from the family was a badge of honor. he’d wear it proudly, but first he wanted his money.

“jaehyun,” he snipped, cutting off the unraveling ends of his patience.

“sorry, who?” her gravel tone became more agitated and with more schlepping of shit in the background, as if fabricating an excuse to hang up; too goddamn busy clipping coupons to talk.

“jaehyun, your son!” he shouted in irritation, “turn the damn TV down, ma!”

“you two made it in town okay? your flight was good?” she asked to check the box of common decency, only to say that she did and not because she cared.

jaehyun cleared his throat and tried to sound jet lagged. he hadn’t been on a plane in more than a decade. what the fuck did he know about it? not shit.

“yeah, it was fine. we’re at the hotel now. i’m calling from the lobby. it’s packed here.” he lied through his teeth so effortlessly, it was second nature for him. every hiccup had an explanation, every background noise an excuse.

“we’re at the fancy hotel, with room service, champagne, the whole nine yards.” jaehyun rested his elbow on top of the pay phone case and cradled his forehead in his palm. “yes the one downtown on madison ave. it’s a big room, it’s beautiful here you’ll love it. it’s the most expensive hotel in the area.”

“no, don’t come here ma,” he quickly interjects, “i said we’ll go to you, okay?”

“come for dinner. we wanna finally get to meet our daughter-in-law. you’ve been talking about her for so long!”

jaehyun stiffened, fiddling with the phone cord. “she’s not coming. she’s sick.”

the excuse was too defensive. his mother didn’t suffer fools or bullshitters, to which jaehyun found himself guilty of both.

“what do you mean she’s not coming?” she demanded. the intermittent drags of her cigarette came quicker; so too did the forceful exhales. “she’s coming.”

“no, she’s sick. she’s not coming, alright? i’m her husband, the man of the house. i vowed to protect her, in sickness and in health, all that shit. i’m not making her go.”

“why is she sick?”

jaehyun gritted his teeth. the question infuriated him on behalf of his imaginary wife. what gave his mother the right to pry?

“i don’t fucking know! woman problems. she’s in bed sleeping. i’m not waking her up. she needs to rest.”

“well she can lie on the couch here with a heating pad,” his mother insisted with more artificial sugar, as if she cared. she didn’t; not for him or his wife. “just bring her over. we want to meet her.”

jaehyun was fuming at this point. if it weren’t for the metal cord tethering him to the spot, he’d pace. instead, he punctuated each word with a sharp jab of his finger, though there was no one here to see. his voice crowded the hall and echoed around him.

“so you want me to ride my ass all the way up the elevator, drag my sick wife out of bed, and bring her over? is that really what you want?”

the honey vacated his mother’s voice and left behind all that was rotten beneath.

“i know why you’re coming, and you know the agreement,” she hissed. “show up with your ‘nice girl’ or you’ll leave here empty-handed.”

“fine!” he raged with no recourse to refuse, cornered now unless he wanted to come clean but he doubled down instead. “she’s fucking sick, but i’ll pull my beautiful wife out of our fancy hotel bed, drag her into the cold, and bring her over for your shitty cooking. wait ’til you see how sweet she is. how are you gonna feel when she’s at your place feeling like shit? huh? you gonna feel good about that?”

with a cutting laugh, his mother revealed the vivid hues of her true colors. try as she might to paint over them, they always ended up mottled and drab.

“i can assure you i’ll lose no sleep over it. not a wink. so, you’re coming?”

“i said we’re fucking coming!” jaehyun slammed the receiver back to it’s cradle hard enough that the pay phone bell responded with a crying ring. he ran his fingers through the loose length of his hair and released a heavy sigh but felt no better for it.

he had well and truly dug his own grave with this one. the worst part? he’d already gone and made plans for his inheritance. he’d get his job back at the auto shop and get a few years under his belt, enough to get his “working hands” back.

he’d leave new york city for good and head out west where money would last, and he could relish simple dreams. he’d leave behind a muted existence and live in the desert painted in coral and gold and drink in the purple dusk. he’d buy a little house and live out his days in simple peace. it was a lot of money he was coming into, but not much he was asking for.

he sunk further into defeat now. he’d wallow there, but as you emerged from the bathroom delicately enough and with enough misplaced compassion written on your face, it was obvious you had overheard.

and what did you overhear? a man trying to get his poor, sick wife out of dinner plans. not just that, but apparently, a gallant albeit foul-mouthed knight in shining armor defending his beloved from forced family bonding.

you hovered at the end of the hall and stared at him inquisitively. big, doe-like eyes peering at him as if you had gotten him all wrong, the corners of your mouth lifted with a youthful smile. jaehyun stared back at you. neither of you making any sudden movement, but for far different reasons.

maybe you thought he was a good man after all, a tender man beneath the rough and uncouth exterior. but soon enough you would learn to your detriment just how wrong you’ve been…

there will be a taglist for this if anyone’s interested, so lmk if you wish to be tagged once it’s posted! <3 (i plan to get this finished by next month or so but we’ll see)

[kikidoul]

── SPORTS CAR.

ヾ(´︶`♡)ﾉ 양정원 x fem! reader content enemies to lovers (implied) ᥫ᭡ warning explicit sexual content car sex jungwon's kinda mean here (whoops) unprotected sex (wrap it up pls) slight degrading pussy eating reader's a virgin here jungwon's reader's first fingering and etc . . .!? 1875 — mlist. req

note. the moment i saw the words 'sports car', i knew i had to use tate mcrae's song... please listen and stream so close to what, thanks! also, its been a while since i wrote smut so hopefully this is readable... taglist. @tfwbluu, @hoonstqr, @riqomi

You’ve disliked Jungwon the moment you laid your eyes on him. He has everything you hate—his dashing good looks, his signature infuriating smirk that never fails to stir flames of anger and the list goes on. In conclusion, you despised him, right to the core. You tried your best to avoid him, at all costs, treating him like he was the plague that could infect you the moment you’re near him. However, you didn’t expect to find yourself in your current situation. 

The back of the car was cramped and definitely not spacious enough to fit two people. But none of you cared, both hooked onto the addictive tastes of your lips—like sweet poison. You gasped into the kiss when Jungwon pushed your dress up and up, until the fabric rested around your waist, revealing your embarrassingly soaked panties. Instead of removing it, he simply tugged it aside and glided his finger against your folds, grinning into the kiss at how you flinched at the sudden contact. 

“For someone who hates me, you’re soaking wet,” he murmured, lips grazing against yours. 

“Shut—fuck!” You snarled, only to bite down on your tongue when he parted your puffy folds, index finger sliding in until he was knuckles deep. It was by instinct that your hips bucked forward, craving more but Jungwon held you down, clicking his tongue in disapproval. 

“Nuh uh, I don’t think so,” he hums, adding another finger in, gaining a high-pitched whine that bounces off the car. 

“J-Jungwon, please,” you begged, looking at him with half-lidded, teary eyes and Jungwon felt the breath getting punched out of his lungs with how breathtaking you looked. 

“Please what?” 

“Please touch me,” you whined, your hands now holding his broad shoulders as you tried to pull him closer. 

As much as Jungwon wished to keep teasing you, pushing you to the edge, he too, was reaching his limit. His cock twitched in the constraints of his pants at how stunning you looked underneath him. Compared to your usual quiet, calm appearance he saw during school hours, the current you was a huge contrast. Your hair was spread out like a halo, the eyeliner you wore was faintly smudged, proving to be a deadly combination especially with your swollen, parted lips. 

“You’re beautiful,” he muttered in his state of daze and if it was any other moment, you would have thrown him a weird look. 

You said nothing, choosing to tug him down to crash your lips together in a fiery, messy kiss. Your hands traveled down his body, struggling to remove the belt while you were being devoured by him. Jungwon lent a helping hand, easily unhooking his belt and pulled both his pants and boxers down. You broke the kiss, nervously gulping at how his cock stood upright and proud. The tip had turned an angry shade of red and purple—a sign he had been neglecting himself. 

“What’s wrong? Did I meet your expectations?” He teases, tipping your chin up with his finger. 

“No, I didn’t expect you to be this big,” you retorted, catching the way his eyes darkened at your response. 

In a blink of an eye, Jungwon manhandled you until you were shoved down to your knees, the back of your feet pressed against the back of the driver’s seat. The space was so small and narrow that you were sure you’ll be having difficulty getting up later but the thought flew out of the window when he cupped your face, forcing you to look at him. The way he looks down at you, like you were his prey made you clenched down on nothing but thin air, nails digging into the carpeted ground beneath you. 

“How about you put that mouth of yours to good use?” He sneers, one hand resting on his lap while the other grabs his cock, slowly pumping himself. 

You leaned forward, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear and opened your mouth, as wide as possible to accommodate him. Jungwon moved his hand to your head and without warning, he pushed your head down, forcing you to take him in one go. You made a startled, choked sound at his action, tears pricking the corner of your eyes, blurring your vision slightly. You’ve never done this before and you relied on your instincts, slackening your jaw and hollowing your cheeks. 

You slowly bobbed your head, tongue darting out to trace the protruding veins on the sides while you used your hands on areas you couldn’t reach. You knew you were doing the right thing, considering how Jungwon had sunk into the seat, head tilted back to reveal his unblemished skin, his Adam’s Apple moving up and down as breathless moans spilled from his lips. The grip on your hair tightened, legs parting as his hips jerked upward at a particular, harsh suck to his cock. 

“Fuck, you’re made for sucking my cock, princess” He panted, looking down at you with half-lidded eyes. Your eyelids fluttered shut when he reached down with his free hand, brushing a lone tear away—the action so tender and sweet that it made your heart melt. 

Not wanting to disappoint him, you swallowed the remains until the tip hit the back of your throat. Jungwon’s mind spun at how warm and tight your throat felt. He couldn’t help but wonder if it’ll feel the same when he’s deep inside you. A throaty whine was ripped from the depth of his throat at his incoming climax, fucking into your mouth. It didn’t take him long to reach his orgasm and you choked at the feeling of warm, thick liquid sliding down your throat. Your lips ached when he pulled out, gripping your face and forcing you to open your mouth and you swallowed in front of him, earning a pleased sound of approval from him. 

“Such a good girl, aren’t you?” He purrs, eliciting a desperate, needy mewl from you as you nuzzle your face against his palm.

“Jungwon, please…” You begged, “Need you.” 

Cursing, Jungwon tugged you up and the two of you shifted about, limbs knocking against one another. The lingering pain was nothing as compared to the arousal coursing through your veins. Finally, he pulled your panties down, tossing it to the floor as his right leg dangled off the backseat, positioning himself between your legs. You could hear your heart pounding against your ribcage, watching with bated breath as he slid a condom over his cock, unsure of how and when he had even grabbed it. 

The words slid out of your mouth before you could think. “I’m a virgin.” 

He froze, eyes flickering up to your face—looking for any signs that you were joking. When you clearly wasn’t, his eyes softened, concern and worries written all over his handsome face. “Wait, are you sure you want this? I don’t want your first time to…”

His voice trailed off but you knew the implication behind his words. You gave him what you hoped was an assuring smile. “Yes, I want this. I want you, Jungwon.” 

His breath hitched in your throat and he wasted no time, pulling you closer to spread your legs, revealing your awaiting hole. You bit down on your tongue when you felt him entering, inch by inch. You blindly reached out, grabbing onto the door handle behind you to ground yourself as you were being split apart on Jungwon’s cock. After what felt like years, he bottoms out. You felt light-headed, on the verge of losing yourself to the feeling of him inside you. Jungwon, on the other hand, felt like he was in heaven. 

“Shit, princess, tell me I can move, please,” he rasped, thighs twitching with anticipation. All he needed was a mere nod from you to succumb to his desires. 

Jungwon wasted no time in pounding into you, his thigh muscles burning at the force used. The car was filled with the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin, along with your sounds. You tossed your head back and it was only right for him to lean down, lips trailing kisses down the expanse of your neck as he left hickeys behind in his trail. The sensation of him biting and sucking on your skin made you whine out loud, eyes rolling up and mouth forming an ‘O’ shape when his cock hits the same, sensitive spot without fail. 

You weakly raised your legs, wrapping them around his waist and tugged him forward. The brief change of angle allows him to hit deeper, his cock practically kissing your cervix with every thrust, eliciting pleased sounds from the two of you. Jungwon had to grab your legs when he felt them slipping, slinging them over his broad shoulders instead. His head traveled lower, wrapping his lips around your left, hardened nipple and gave a light suck, drawing a high-pitched mewl from you. 

“Ngh, m-more,” you panted, feeling your mind slowly blanking out as you get drunk on the intoxicating feeling of his cock sliding in and out of you, rearranging your insides to fit the shape of his cock. 

You felt the signs coming—the way your legs spasmed and the way your stomach tightened. “Hah—g-gonna—” 

“Yeah? You wanna cum for me?” He coos, moving away from your nipple covered in a layer of saliva, whispering into your ear with his hot breath grazing your sweaty skin. 

You couldn’t muster the strength to reply, choosing to frantically nod your head instead. Jungwon smirks, his long, thick fingers rubbing circles on your stretched out clit and that was enough to push you over the edge. Your body shook with the pure intensity of your orgasm as hot, transparent liquid was squirted, only for it to land on your bodies, the backseat and the floor too. Jungwon followed a few seconds later, releasing into the condom and thankfully, he didn’t collapse on you, holding himself up with one arm pressed against the headrest. 

You laid there, pliant and exhausted to move an inch while Jungwon slowly pulled out, drawing a hiss from you at the sudden emptiness feeling. None of you said a word as he grabbed a packet of wet wipes, taking extra care in wiping you clean before doing the same for himself. That was, until he broke the growing tense silence. 

“You alright?” He murmured, handing you a plastic bottle of water, to which you gratefully accepted as you downed the content in one go. 

“I’m fine, I just didn’t expect to end up here,” you replied, earning an amused chuckle from him. He lightly nudged your shoulder with his, flashing you a genuine smile, his cute dimples peeking out from his cheeks. 

“You know, this shouldn’t be a one-time thing, if you want.” 

You blinked, arching an eyebrow. “Yang Jungwon, is this you trying to ask me out? If yes, I think we’ve missed a few steps of the process.” 

He rolled his eyes. “It’s not my fault that you dress like that and expect me to keep my hands to myself.” 

Flustered, you whacked his shoulder but he merely laughed, unfazed with your reaction. 

“You’re such a pervert!” 

“Yeah, but you’re stuck with me now.” 

“...I haven’t said yes yet.” 

[schluttforschlatt]

This Kitty Off the Chain (NSFW)

I haven't written smut in YEARSSSSSS but i wanted to give u a lil treat <3 <3 <3

✴︎MINORS DO NOT INTERACT✴︎

wc: 3.5k

warnings: fem!reader, language, smut (obviously) -munch!schlatt, fingering, tiny bit of size k!nk

You thought about the price of the room the elevator ride up to it. Four thousand dollars. You made a mental list of things that would change your life for that price. Down payment on a car. Brand new PC tower and fixtures. Rent for the next three months. Hell, a trip to the doctors office for that back pain you’ve had for years. And yet, that was how much one singular night’s stay in this particular room cost. You watched as the elevator doors opened, and followed behind the two taller men you were with.

The younger of the two lead the way, explaining the amenities and trying to reason with the price. Trevor, the slightly older of the two, had a video camera at the ready and was nodding as the first man, Schlatt, stopped in front of the door to the room and swiped a card.

“You two are about to feel so fucking poor.” He joked, pushing the door open and inviting you and Trevor inside.

You weren't quite sure why Schlatt had invited you on this trip with him, but you prayed that by the time your visit was over, you’d have an answer.

For the past few months, the two of you had been growing closer as friends. It started with him asking for help editing clips from a trucking sim stream to create shorts. He wanted outside eyes to pick the best moments without the bias of what he considered funny, so you made the drive to his place and let him teach you the basics of his editing software. You’d bantered back and forth with each other while splicing scenes together to make clips. Schlatt had filmed a handful of video intros while you edited, and you couldn’t help but sneak glances at him anytime he turned his persona on. It’s kinda hot, you thought, watching a man who always spoke politely and softly to you one-on-one flip a switch and become a loud and boisterous asshole.

You would shiver anytime he stood behind you, hands on the back of the chair you were in as he checked to see your progress. You swore to yourself, vowing to push any feelings down and away, and not let them interfere with your growing friendship.

Enjoying the work you had done, Schlatt invited you back several more times to edit more shorts for his channels. You thoroughly liked spending time with him like this, parallel playing in comfortable silence. Occasionally, he would put his hands on your shoulders and squeeze as if giving a shoulder massage or gentle pat on the back, which was always unexpected but never not appreciated.

The editing and clipping lead to him asking you to help with filming, going over the basics of camera operation and teaching you how to get his good side. Filming lead to you helping him out with various projects, having gained enough trust from him to voice ideas and opinions that you thought would improve the project or make it flop. Often he would place a gentle hand on the small of your back while walking around a location with you, leaning down close to your face to better hear you. It would make your heart race anytime you felt his breath close to your cheek, and anytime a hand ghosted over your hip you thought you would explode.

Pretty soon after, you had become his shadow, following Schlatt everywhere he went, and with time, you noticed more confident and intentional touches from Schlatt. He’d wrap an arm around your shoulder while watching a movie on his couch or reach out to hold your hand while walking. Every touch felt electric, and every time you hung out you felt tension grow.

The moment that had changed everything for you was during a trip to the grocery store. Schlatt had asked you to accompany him and help pick out ingredients for meal prepping. You had taken a few nutrition and health classes and he thought you’d be able to help him put together healthy meals. You joked with him the ride there about his tendency to latch onto junk food, and decided to be a little bold and make a comment about semen.

“I bet your cum tastes like battery acid,” your statement caught him and yourself off guard. He scoffed and glanced over at you, taking his right hand off the steering wheel. “You eat like shit, you need to eat some pineapple or something.” His hand came to rest on your left knee as you finished your sentence, electricity shooting through your body. He gave a devious smirk to you.

“Oh?” He says pulling into the parking lot. He removes his hand to put the car in park, but then places it back on your leg, this time on your thigh, inching closer to your core. “Well, I bet you taste pretty sweet.” Your eyes were wide as saucers as a blush washed over your face. You shifted your gaze to your hands placed in your lap. Schlatt lifted the hand resting on your thigh before bringing it back down with a soft slap. The sensation shocked you and made you jump, but at the same time turned you on just a tiiiiiiny bit.

“C’mon, I wanna get this over with as fast as possible.”

That was two weeks ago, and since then the teasing only grew more and more common.

You watched as Schlatt set his bags down by the hotel’s door, snapping back to reality.

As Schlatt turned various lights on you couldn’t help but stare at everything in awe. The entry area was huge, with a large table and chairs, and you were envious at how spacious it was. You ran a finger along the hardwood as you followed your friends further into the suite, eyes darting between the expensive looking art on the walls and the wall-mounted television displaying a slideshow of the hotel’s garden.

“Holy shit, look at this bed,” you heard Schlatt call out, turning your attention towards him. He sat down on the edge and bounced a few times, laughing. “Shits not even against the wall and barely squeaks.” He continues laughing as he stands up and beckons Trevor to follow him into the closet and bathroom behind the false wall.

You stayed behind, feet planted in the bedroom and mind racing with naughty thoughts.

“Maybe tonight’s the night.” You mumbled to yourself, shaking your head to rid of the impure images stirring up.

Your small group finished your self guided tour around the room, and Trevor and Schlatt began setting up to film. You separated yourself from the boys, deciding to settle down on one of the soft couches and give your legs a break.

You watched Trevor follow Schlatt around, zooming in on various features that only a rich asshole would think to have. Who the fuck needs a flashlight in a closet? Fucking yuppies.

The filming concluded with the boys clinking together cans of beer, showing off the view from the balcony. You had excused yourself to the hall to make a phone call, checking in with your best friend to let them know you safely made it to the hotel. You knocked on the door, hoping one of the boys would hear you, only to be surprised that Trevor had opened it, his bags in hand.

“Oh! Are you not staying with us? I thought Jay said the three of us would share the room.” You stared up at him with a quizzical look, confused about this deviation from the plan you were informed of. Trevor gave you a sheepish grin, motioning for you to enter the room.

“Nah, I’m staying down the street,” you switch spots with him, you now holding the door open for the man. “Try not to have too much fun. We’ve got an early day with the boys tomorrow.” Trevor winked at you before walking down the hall to the elevator. You let the door shut behind you as you made your way back over to the couch you previously occupied. Schlatt was now sitting there, one leg resting on the table in front of it, phone pulled close to his face as he typed away. You cleared your throat and plopped down next to him.

“Why’d Trevor leave?” You asked him, plopping yourself down next to the man. He looked up from his phone to smile at you, locking the device and setting it on the arm of the couch.

“Oh, he didn’t wanna share a room. Somethin’ ‘bout missin’ his girl, probably gonna jack off on FaceTime with ‘er.” You laughed, a little caught off guard by his response, but also a little distracted by the arm that had come up around your shoulders. The touch made you shiver.

“‘Ya wanna watch a movie or somethin’ doll?” Jay asks. You nod and he brings the remote up, scanning through the channels. The nickname caused the hairs on the back of your neck to stick up. Pet names had been new between you two, and every time he used one, you had to fight the urge to climb onto his lap and shove your tongue down his throat. You crossed one leg over the other and squeezed them tight together, an attempt at self control.

He settles on some shitty 90’s action flick that doesn’t hold your attention. Maybe this was intentional, you thought, pressing yourself closer into his side. You don’t notice the way his breath hitches in his throat at your movement, but you do notice when the arm around your shoulders slinks down, hand now gently resting at your hip. You try to focus on the film playing out, but the tension between you and the man next to you is much more distracting.

About ten minutes in, you feel Schlatt shift. You subtly try to glance over at him, only to be distracted by the growing problem in his lap that he is trying to cover with a pillow. You pretend to not notice what he’s attempting to fix and instead bring a hand up to place on a chest, only to have the large hand on your hip squeeze gently.

“Oh.” Schlatt whispered, and you could feel his heart rate pick up pace under your palm. You swallowed a growing lump in your throat and said a silent prayer before speaking up yourself.

“Is this okay?” You whisper back at him, too nervous to bring your eyes up to his. You feel him nod, his eyes not leaving the television screen, and melt a little more into his side. Your mind was racing, trying to think of something sly to say when he cleared his throat.

“Um… can we… uuhhh…” you look up at him and notice how red his cheeks and ears had gotten, not helping your own growing desire to see this man flustered and falling apart. You took a deep breath and put on a brave face.

“Can we what, Jay?” You ask, hand boldly coming up to rest on his cheek, pulling his attention to you instead of the screen. His eyes flicked from your eyes to lips, then back to your eyes. Okay, maybe we are getting somewhere.

“Would it be weird if we, uhh….” He trailed off, bringing his left hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Cuddled? I guess?” His voice was quiet, almost mouse like. You couldn’t help but giggle at him, motioning for him to move.

“I’d be more that fine with that, Jay.” Your words came out more seductive that you had intended, but as he readjusted himself and the pillow slipped off his lap, you couldn’t help but notice the way his… not-so-little friend twitched.

Once he was settled, you clambered back over to him, tucking yourself into his side. His arm came to rest around you once more, hand placed halfway between your hip and ass.

The two of you returned your eyes back to the television, but it was clear that neither were paying attention to whatever the hell this film was.

About twenty minutes after switching positions, you noticed Schlatt’s hand slowly pushing the hem of your shirt up, fingers ghosting over the skin of your stomach. You squeezed your legs together tightly, crossing your ankles, and couldn’t help but let out a gasp as one of his digits traced over a particular sensitive patch of skin. Your heart began pounding inside your chest, and you started thinking of ways to excuse yourself to go take care of your now soaked panties. You felt Schlatt’s hand rub back over your hip and squeeze, only adding to your problem.

C’mon, you’re a big girl. You can only do this two ways, you thought. Obviously there’s some sort of attraction here if he’s trying to hide his boner and you’re wetter than the fucking sea. Either get up and take a cold shower, possibly making things awkward between you guys, or man the fuck up and make a move, which could also possibly make things awkward between you. You understood that the logical side of you would probably be the better bet and make this less awkward that it needed to be, but the horny side was shouting over the logical, winning this yelling match. It’s been months since anyone’s touched you, and you’ve always wondered what he was like in bed anyways. Grow a pair and make the fucking move. You swallowed hard, kicking your plan into action.

“Schlatt,” your voice wavered nervously.

“Yeah?” His sounded much the same. Now or never.

“Can I…” you trailed off, finding the strength to speak your peace. You sat up, brushing a few strands of hair out of your face, turning to make eye contact with him. This is it, bitch. “Can I… can I try something?” You notice the way his pupils widen and Adam’s apple bob at your words, waiting for a response. He nods, eyes not leaving yours.

Letting your body take control, you swing a leg over his hips, straddling the man before leaning down to whisper in his ear.

“You can stop me at any point,” you flick your tongue over his earlobe, eliciting a small moan from the man, only fueling you. “I won’t be offended.” You feel two large hands latch onto your hips as you begin to place wet kisses down his neck, facial hair tickling your nose. You work your way across his neck, left to right, letting your hands wander under his tee-shirt, slowly pushing the fabric up towards his shoulders. You feel one of his hands leave your hip, and you pull his shirt up a bit as if asking him to take it off. He removes the other hand and obliges, returning them back to your body. You push back a bit to drink this new view in, taking a finger to trace over the patches of hair covering his chest before latching your lips to his collarbone. You continue to work your lips and tongue across his body, only stopping when you feel a hand shake through your hair, tugging it into a makeshift ponytail. You stop, eyes shooting up to his.

“Sweetheart,” his voice is raspy, almost lost. For a moment you’re worried you’ve crossed a line. “This isn’t very fair t’me. Wanna change that?” He tugs up the hem of your shirt as if asking for permission, only for you to whip it over your head before he can do it himself. Before the shirt hits the floor, his hands are grabbing at your chest and you have to thank yourself for not wearing a bra today. He pulls you forward, latching his own lips to your neck now, kissing and licking his way to your nipples while pushing your breasts together. You can’t help but moan as he sucks on the tissue, hands exploring your tits. He pulls his mouth off with a “pop”.

“You have no fuckin’ idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this,” He lets go of your chest, hands snaking down to your thighs. He hoists you up off of his lap briefly before standing himself, now carrying you further into the room. “You’re like a fucking succubus, y’know?” With a few strides, he’s throwing you down onto the bed before reaching down to unzip his shorts. As soon as he undoes the button, you reach out to stop him.

“Wait- can I do that?” Before he can respond, you’re sliding off the bed and sinking down to your knees, hands grabbing at the skin above his knees. You lean forward, eyes locking directly with his, and take the zipper between your teeth, tugging the metal down. His eyes roll back and he moans, as a hand once again grabs ahold of your hair, tugging it back.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re gonna be the death of me.” He mutters, stepping out of the shorts and letting them drop to the floor after pulling your hair, guiding you away to let the garment fall. Before he could get another word in, your hands latch onto the elastic of his boxers as you lick your lips. He tugs on your hair again, pulling you back.

“If I remember correctly, you said my cum probably tastes like battery acid, and yet here you are, desperately begging for my dick,” he sounds smug and has a smirk painting his lips, which is doing nothing but turning you on even more. He pulls you up, still by the hair, before letting go of it and shoving you down on the bed by your shoulders. “I don’t think that’s very fair that you get to make fun of me then try and make me cum, princess. I’ve been starving all day, let me have dessert first, yeah?”

He has one hand fondling your breasts as the other tugs down your leggings, the cold air of the room sending a tingle to your core via the soaked lace thong now exposed to him. He tosses the article of clothing behind him and crouches down to kneel between your legs, whistling at the view.

“Did you wear these for me?” He talks down to you while slipping a finger under the waistband, snapping the elastic against your skin before leaning down to press a kiss to your hip. You whine and buck your hips up, anything to feel some sort of relief. Schlatt chuckles at you, and it sounds pitiful.

“Please, Jay, please.” You whine again, writhing.

“Please, what, doll?” He teases, hot breath hovering by your belly button.

“Please just tou-“ you cut yourself off with a moan, feeling the man in front of you lick a stripe up your slit, facial hair tickling your thighs. Your hands latch onto the thick strands of his hair, pulling him back down to your pussy. You feel him move the thin lace with his teeth before his tongue makes direct contact with your clit. He hums into you, dragging his tongue through your folds before pursing his lips around your clit once again.

You can’t help it when your legs wrap around his head, and from the groans coming from the larger man, he didn’t mind one bit. He brought arm up to hold you down, resting it across your lower stomach, while snaking his other hand between your legs, teasing at your labia before slipping inside you.

“Fuck,” you moaned, throwing your head back. Never in a million years did you think this would become a reality. You had always assumed Schlatt would rather be on the receiving end of head, but here in this moment, you wanted to thank any past lovers of his for teaching him how to use his mouth for something other than snarky comments. “Jay, I- I’m-“ you moaned again, eyes shutting tightly as his fingers curled up inside you just so. You've only just started, but with the stress from the past week of travel, you were coming undone in record time.

“Jus’ fuckin’ cum, needa fuckin’ taste you,” he barked out, barely lifting himself off of you to speak. Between the pressure on your stomach, his long fingers reaching spots you’ve never been able to, along with his tongue and lips on your clit, you couldn’t hold on much longer. You felt a familiar pressure building inside of you, causing you to cry out louder than before.

“I’m gonna- I’m go-,” you felt his tongue pick up speed in tandem with his fingers and you let go, shaking as the most intense orgasm you’ve had in a long while rocked your world. You were crying out, tears spilling from your eyes as he continued his magic, working you through the height of it all. You felt him withdraw his fingers and take a deep breath once your own had steadied out, and you were fearful to make eye contact with him. You settled for staring at his soaked shoulder, following it as he stood up and hovered over you.

“I’m so sorry, Jay I should’ve said something bef-“ you were cut off by his lips crashing into yours, the taste and slick of your arousal very present on his lips and mustache. He pulled back and rested his forehead against yours, and you couldn’t help but finally make eye contact with him. His eyes were half lidded and looked awestruck.

“I coulda’ been makin’ ya’ squirt like that for months? Fuck, I’ve been missing out.” He leaned back in to kiss you again, bringing a sticky hand up to your cheek. You pulled back to take a deep breath before sliding your hand down his chest again and clearing your throat.

“So, um… you want me to give you a blowjob now or…?” You trailed off and Schlatt scoffed, moving your hand to the front of his boxers where a cold wet spot had formed.

“I’m not opposed, but you’re gonna have t’ give me like twenty minutes,” you looked up at him confused before he continued with a sheepish grin. “I came in my boxers the second you started tuggin’ on my hair.”

alright chat, how we feeling about this one??? feedback is always appreciated :))))))

[swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual]

Basically, it’s discovered that to help stabilize Danielle, aka Ellie, it’d be best to have her be smaller. She refused to be turned into a kid by Frostbite/her own power ability, when Danny remembered the shrink ray his parents made. The side effect is that they’re kind of stuck as humans when they’re that small—they can use some ghost powers, but basically, it’s a weird side effect of the shrink ray. That’s canon, by the fucking way, lmao

Anyways, so Ellie agrees, and Danny will shrink himself with the ray to her size to help her out when needed/when she wants company her size, with Jazz, Sam, and Tucker occasionally helping out. Sam buys one of those really ornate Victorian dollhouses, with wooden everything, and Danny does some… renovations… so that it no longer opens and is a proper house. There’s still some oddities because it’s a dollhouse originally, but it was easier and faster to give her a home. One of the first additions was a water/wastewater system, followed like two hours later by an electrical system. Since it was so small, Danny was able to do it fairly quickly in his big size, occasionally going small and using the small window for using his powers to double check on things.

The water system had to be refilled every week, unless hooked up to a plumbing system in a house, which Danny made some outlets for in Jazz’s room—it was easier and had significantly less questions/didn’t stand out as much if placed in Jazz’s room. They usually did it every three days, though, as the plug-in process was still a bit… hinky. The tanks for holding the water were in the ‘basement’, which was mostly inaccessible from the inside of the dollhouse but basically looked like a big stand the dollhouse stayed on. Like someone ripped a full house out of the ground WITH the basement attached. There was a small access hallway down some stairs in the house for the clean water system, though.

The electric system was fairly simple, as it didn’t cost much energy to light a dollhouse and heat/cool water. There was an AC unit, Ellie’s request, but it hardly was used and was fairly efficient just due to pure size. It was fueled by ecto batteries, which Danny made sure had a few rechargability options—just because it was efficient energy didn’t mean it didn’t ever need recharging. There was a very small ecto filter, but due to its relative small size, was easy to clean and was fairly stable, so they had a whole closet of them just chilling out, both filled and empty. The battery itself could be charged by ecto sources, Danny’s own blood, or ambient ectoplasm gained by using something that looked like a solar panel and a satellite dish had a child that the batter could be placed in. The hookup also allowed for like… normal D cell batteries.

They would buy dollhouse furniture, and occasionally just buy the big version then shrink it down. Ellie had a huge old house to herself, basically, might as well go ham. And she had a fun time with the designer doll clothes Sam liked to get, although the cheap doll clothes from the store were also fun. Best option was just buying normal clothes and shrinking them, but using things that were already small or just making stuff using normal sized objects was fun.

At some point, though, the Fenton siblings decide to go on a trip. Ellie begs to be taken along, and Jazz agrees—there’s a doll showcase in Gotham, and Jazz wanted to see if anything caught Ellie’s interest. Danny, having a room in the dollhouse himself, also went along. Might as well make it a sibling’s trip, right?

Ellie can be full size for small chunks of time, which they did while exploring the expo. They found some cool things to add, and some doll clothes Ellie was far too interested in trying on, as well as some to force on Danny later. He sighed, but like—that’s his little cousin-sister, he’d put up with it. After all, he learned how to plumb an entire (miniature) house in two days when she refused to move in until it had a fully functional bathroom, so.

Anyways!

They have a fun time, and sure, lugging the relatively giant dollhouse was a PAIN, but it was Ellie’s home, and some stabilizing tech made it relatively safe to move without risking everything freaking breaking. They load everything in again, and the dollhouse is now restocked with clothes, tiny furniture, and a lot of shrunken supplies—some foods are just hard to work with full size, and are easier to shrink, okay? Also soap, paper goods, pencils and pens, books, etc. Jazz loads the thing into her car, and Danny offers to stay with Ellie in the dollhouse—so Jazz gets them in, and shrinks them down, holding onto the shrink ray in the meantime.

All is going relatively well in Gotham traffic until there’s a rogue attack.

Go figure.

Jazz ends up unconscious, and Danny and Ellie can’t do anything before the rogue is taken care of and a paramedic team comes up. They hide back in the dollhouse, listening as the medics say she seems to be okay, just unconscious. A relief, but now they’re taking Jazz away. Fenton luck states she’s one of the few actually injured. The Bat Brigade comes by, and Batman notices that there’s a wallet for one Danny Fenton. Red Robin confirms that Jazz was likely here with at least two other people, based on the ticket stubs for the expo. However, there is a strange lack of social media presence, Danny doesn’t have a photo ID, and there’s no way of knowing for SURE that it was just Danny with her, if it was just two other people, or if Danny was in the car with her. Still, as they can’t find him but DO have his sister and his wallet, they assume he might be missing, possibly kidnapped.

The Gotham PD of course take in the car, although it’s pretty trashed. Knowing well and good that the dollhouse and such things are actually quite expensive, Commissioner Gordon mentions that it wouldn’t be a bad idea for Batman to maybe hold onto the Fenton’s things that *aren’t* related to the investigation.

Batman just takes everything. Including a rather peculiar looking gun that seems to have sustained some damage during the attack and car crash.

Gordon sighs. Figures.

So, Danny and Ellie end up in Wayne Manor. Most of the things end up in the Batcave, but Alfred insists that they place the doll things upstairs in the manor proper—the cave isn’t *that* damp, but doll things are small and delicate. So, upstairs they go.

At first, it’s fine. Danny and Ellie are fine in the dollhouse, and it’ll be at least a week before any of the systems NEED to be worked with.

Then Ellie ends up with a massive migraine. She gets them, on occasion, a sort of growing pain. Usually, they just shrink some medicine for her as she needs it, because she’s like—twelve. While they did have some medicine that had been pre-shrunk, when they were stocking up in Gotham, it turns out pain medicine was more expensive there. Not by much, but they figured—they’ll just stock up in Amity Park, they’ll be there in two days.

Haha. Nope.

So, Danny finally has to venture out. He lucks into finding the first aid kit—why there was one in the main living room, he’s not sure—and is currently working on trying to get open the blister packet of an ibuprofen when Alfred finds him.

Alfred stares at this tiny boy with a tiny make-shift knife trying to get into… over the counter pain medication.

Danny stares at this butler guy who had very gently cleaned the outside and noted the strange fact that the dollhouse did not open.

Danny waves at Alfred.

Alfred waves a tiny finger back.

“Hello,” Alfred says softly, which is fantastic because loud noises could get painful—part of the reason for Ellie’s headache was an argument between Tim and Damian. “How do you do?”

Danny hesitates, before he makes an exaggerated so-so gesture.

“You understand me?”

Danny nods—it’s rare for people to understand what he’s saying when he’s 5 inches tall.

“How wonderful,” Alfred smiles. “And how can I help our young guest tonight?”

Danny gestures to the blister packet.

“Pain medication? Isn’t that a little bit large for you.”

The teen thinks for a second on how to communicate. He points to the pill, then makes a slight show of pretending to grind something, like a mortar and pestle.

Thankfully, Alfred got the idea. “Would it be easier if I ground it up for you?”

Danny takes a moment to think before accepting with an enthusiastic nod.

“Very well,” Alfred says, taking the blister packet in one hand. He then hold his other out, palm up, like a platform. “Would you like to come with me?”

Danny ‘his survival instincts died when he did’ Fenton gets into Alfred’s hand.

Alfred grinds up the pill into a fine powder. Danny hands him a tiny bottle—still large in Danny’s hands, as it was not a shrunk bottle—that he had tied around his waist. Alfred fills it, and hands it back.

“I assume you came from the tiny house we have in our living room?”

Danny again nods. Alfred takes him there, setting him down outside the front door. Danny bows, and sure it’s Japanese as hell, and he’s white as all get out, but it’s a generally understood gesture of thanks. He hopes.

Alfred understands it just fine. “I bid you goodnight, then. Perhaps we will talk more, when you are feeling better?”

Danny hesitates, again, but he nods. Alfred had been nice enough, so far.

Danny heads in, quickly measuring out the medicine—shrunk pressure plates and scales and weights made what it was measuring relative—to him the weights on the hand balance scale felt the same weight. Ellie got her medicine, and they both went back to sleep.

He told her in the morning what happened. Ellie was strangely gung-ho about meeting this butler guy, and so—when no one else was around—, she and Danny went onto the tiny balcony as Alfred came in to dust.

“Oh my,” he said. “There’s two of you, now. Should I expect more?”

Both of them did an exaggerated ‘no’ dance.

“Very well, I don’t believe I’ve introduced myself. I’m Alfred Pennyworth, the family butler. Welcome to Wayne Manor.”

[louebel]

[ " 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆! " ] — 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): luffy, robin, law, sanji, kidd × gn!reader 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: not proofread 'n quick, lots of fluff! they are all babies. (i KNOW kidd's crew raid fashion stores and complain about them if they're lackin. if. if there's a fic like that pls share in the comments. i BEG you.) also some swearing with kidd!! dripping divider by @ benkeibear like always,, i live for these dividers damn.

𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐘 𝐃. 𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐘

"you too!!"

you swear his smile widens so much his face is stuck that way.

he is adorable. he smiles every day but hearing you say that? it's exactly what he wants!! he wants people to look at him smiling AND wants them smiling in the process (continuous cycle,,)

it's so easy to notice just how much he loves you saying that. round cheeks tinted pink, eyes shut, and set of teeth shared to the world. he is always so animated with everything he does, and this is no exception.

this little rubber man is immediately engulfing you in his arms!! you are not allowed to leave until he says so.

"i'm gonna make you smile too! forever! that way, we'll both look cute when we smile! shishishi!"

scratch protecting him at all costs. he's gonna protect you at all costs.

if you tell him again, grab his cheeks and shake him as if he were a pupper. if he had a tail it'd be wagging 'till he flies. will probably make all types of noises while you do it.

pat the boi.

𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐎 𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐍

her smile might be tender but she's giggling internally,, she's flattered!!

"is that so? i'm glad to hear that."

robin gained confidence growing up and she knew she was a gorgeous woman — but hearing it from your lips is still a surprise. sure, she gets compliments on the daily, especially by sanji, but... yours felt much more intimate. she's not blushing because she's flustered or anything, it's just because she loves you. and that comforting warmth in her chest propagated to her neck and face.

it's small moments such as this that remind her of saul's words. each day on the sunny is a reminder, but the little things reinforce those feelings. it was such a wonderful sentiment.

you had no idea what she was thinking about, but the way the corners of her lips eased, your heart jumped too.

she really did look cute while smiling.

"you look pretty, too. smile more often, dear."

she's so lucky to have you. and you're so lucky to have her.

𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐃. 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐀𝐖

dies

you think he looks... cute?

his eyes widen and he just. stops functioning for a moment. his heart feels lighter and funnier than normal, and his smile returns, a bit more timid than before.

"... really?"

"of course!"

he doesn't even believe it— he did notice from time to time how you suddenly just,, softened when he did it but he didn't think you'd like it that much. he doesn't smile a lot, sure there are definitely various moments where he feels at peace with the crew, but they come easier with you

when he showed you his coin collection, when you both took a stroll or when you simply cuddled. law might look scary to those outside — but inside, he is still the small boy whose curiosity shined above all. he is very fond of those he cares about, even if he has trouble expressing his emotions and thoughts to others. the confidence he wore doubled for you and his loyal crewmates, but he deserved rest every once in a while. years of trauma dulled him, however, when he felt something, it was strong; almost as if breaking out of a cage. he kept them deep inside, only to burst and even tremble when he was pampered. he didn't know how to react, and only with time would he grow used to it.

so,, please be patient and take care of him,, he looks after himself with everything else, but he's a lost puppy with love and physical affection. if it doesn't show on his face, his heart definitely speeds up at every small thing you tell him, casual or not.

"thank you."

you see him smile a bit more now. give him any type of compliment, affection, or anything,, and the "cold" surgeon of death will be nothing but putty in your hands.

"and... you too."

he really does love you.

𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈

dies 2.0

"o- oh... my love! you look adorable smiling, too!"

never-ending swarm of compliments. oh and he's hugging you as if his life depends on it.

he's not really used to the sweet words and might think he's undeserving of them. sure, it's a simple smile... but that's exactly why it gets him so much. something so mundane and common yet you see a unique beauty in his and his alone. others can warm your heart too, but he does it in a different way — in a special way.

if you tell him this in the middle of the night and you're both having a calm and peaceful moment he might cry. (if it's daytime and he's feeling a lil sensitive it's tears of joy mixed with laughter,, please hold him)

he's so happy. he'll smile as much as you want him too. if that gets you to do so too, it's a win-win for everyone!

it's usually clear when he feels affectionate,, he is most of the time. but now it DOUBLES. that comment made his day.

he's so giddy and adorable.

"you light my world up, mon rayon de soleil. if i can do so too with a simple smile... then i shall every day."

𝐄𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐒 𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐃

mf's smile never dropped so fast.

"the fuck do you mean CUTE??"

was about to throw a fit but then he just. stares at you. so genuine...

"why you lookin' at me like that?? stop. 'm not fuckin' cute."

staaaare...

"... zero point one percent cute. happy? now stop looking like a goddamn puppy."

but you end up smiling even more. and no matter what he thought, his heart still beat a little faster. you looked pretty cute, too.

yes. he's a bit mean sometimes but you know he means well. he's your little man. like, he made you a tiny metal butterfly once so that even if he was busy with designing and crafting you had something to remind you of him. (he sputtered profanities and became as red as his hair before storming off walking in a wall but he still peeked from a corner to see if you liked it. when he saw your pleased expression, he smirked like the lil shit he is.)

plus... deep inside, he appreciated it. you and killer always managed to calm him down.

he truly is grateful.

"urgh. c'mere. let's go get killer 'n the others to raid a store."

...

bonus after the raid: he does your makeup and uses a great lipstick he stole found to really make you pop with the looted new clothes he got for you. hyped you up and grinned like an idiot. he's doing your nails next. killer gave you a thumbs up before finding more products himself,, raiding stores sure is fun!

[hexhomos]

little random but i really appreciate your dissections and analysis of Mel mainly bc the fandom either adore her and won't admit she is a flawed character and get over defensive when you call her out, or straight up hate her and make her out to be completely evil.

Mel is written as morally grey for a reason and when ppl try to act like she was morally correct in everything she did, it goes against the whole plot. yes, she regrets most of her actions by the end of the series and is left to deal with her family's leagacy and the weight of her actions, but that doesn't undo anything she did. and her eventually starting to care about Jayce doesn't just cancel out that she manipulated him (you'd think this would be obvious)

what bothers me the most i think is meljay shippers who say Jayce mistreated her and that Mel only ever helped and care about him and aided him in rising to power politically, and how she was so understanding of Jayce's and Viktor's friendship. yes, encouraging methods of political corruption in order to gain more power is so caring and kind of her! ❤️

Mel might've told Jayce to go spend time with Viktor after finding out he was ill, but the one time in the show she interacted with Viktor was... prejudiced to say the least. she never directly spoke to or answered Viktor, and the expression on her face any time she looked over at Viktor was so clearly full of dislike. it shocks me ppl still believe Mel and Viktor could get along and respect one another, especially romantically. no way.

anyways, sorry for the rant. just tired of how many bad takes there are in this fandom and very fond of your account lol

you are right and you SHOULD say it re: that oft repeated argument about her "only wanting what's best for him" bothers me so much. Its just... weirdly patronizing and spousing pro-piltover nationalism every time i see it being brought up. "She's doing what anyone would do/what is best for the city!" IDK MAN I AM NOT ROCKING WITH THAT. Im not an ubercapitalist. I don't think any of that was the good option actually lol. Probably I hate piltover too much to humor these arguments but from day 1 we are shown this is a city of immense class inequality in which the elite few holds all the power and all the profit gains at the cost of everyone else's submission and humanity. (Not for nothing: these are also the classic old guard Noxian tenets of supremacy. That's how they do colonization.)

The interactions Mel has with Jayce for majority of the series, before she watches that bomb come in and has her rapid onset change of heart, are her talking about how investors want his work and how she can use his discovery to advance this city (which is already built on exploitation!) or instigating his rise to power as a new ringleader for the council's rigged mercantile operations, and this is just not good or heroic in any way to me. This isn't love either, it's industrial convenience. The fact that she's conflicted by the end doesn't cancel these actions out! Jayce realizes that he's been used in ways he strongly disagrees with and any the affection in that dynamic vanishes instantly. The time he spends in isolation replaying his mistakes in that cave has an emphasis on mel/heimerdinger's voice on the council too, all of his regrets with blindly following someone else's vision or disappointing an idol he held in high regards.

And Jayce DOES care about the state of the cities, or he did before the writers forgot: He's the one who pleads for Zaun's independence at the end of season 1! He's the one who spent all his life trying to work towards improving the lives of common people, giving them the miracles they've been denied!

Viktor is a fucking nobody. He is extremely worthless in the eyes of the piltovan upper crust, only kept around on the merits working with Jayce have afforded him; and they still don't care. They're probably hoping he dies quicker. We *SEE* him being singled out and alienated during that weapons discussion where Mel is pleading for Jayce to think about "protecting his people" (only piltovans, never, ever zaunites- protecting piltovans against the zaunite menace.) and Viktor is set off at that whole exchange because it doesn't matter how loud he screams, these people can just tune him off and pretend he doesn't exist anyway. It's what they're used to doing. It drives me insane!!!!! His indignation is extremely under-explored and very inline with his act1 speech of feeling like an undesirable presence in piltover and having to push through with the grit of his teeth. It's open faced classism and I still see people pretending it didn't happen. Fandom makes all of these characters FAR less interesting by defanging them. The heart is in the friction and in the ugliness of them fucking up because they have very, very different conceptions of "utopia" - and some of those utopias require the death of the other characters present.

A lot of the Arcane character arcs have to do with realizing the above, and weighing if the sacrifice is worth the risk. Sometimes it turns out their utopias were shit.

[kinkyniragi]

The Cat’s Paw

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Genre: Smut 18+

Word count: 3,7k

Summary: The tension between the Shelbys and a rival family was on the verge of exploding into bloodshed. To prevent a war, the reader—daughter of Tommy’s opponent— was forced into an arranged marriage with Tommy himself. They despise the idea in different ways, but the families expect affection, smiles, and unity. In public, they kiss. In private, they clash. And somewhere between duty and desire, the hate begins to blur.

CN: Power play, forced marriage, grooming, toxic relationship, degradation, humiliation, spanking, choking, hair pulling, rough sex. Please note that this is all just fantasy. Things that happen in my stories should always be consensual. Take care.

Author’s note: Feel free to leave comments and share my story if you enjoy it—I truly appreciate every bit of motivation to keep writing. Even though I'm not a native speaker, I'll do my best 😉

***

Marriage had always looked different in your dreams.

As a little girl, you imagined falling in love first. A romantic proposal. A white dress. A family built on affection and safety, held by a man who loved and protected you.

Instead, you got this.

Life in Birmingham had never been easy. Poverty and hopelessness shadowed every street. Your father wanted more for his family and worked relentlessly to climb. Not legally—that much had been clear for a long time. But his efforts gave you a life that honest work could never have afforded.

And yet, everything came at a price.

He ruled large parts of the city from the shadows, with ties to the police and certain men in politics. The more influence he gained, the more his path clashed with that of the Shelbys, who were also expanding their reach. Tensions flared. Shaky truces were made and broken. The fights grew more violent, the stakes higher.

Both men knew that a full-scale war would cost too much—blood, men, power. So a different kind of arrangement was made. A compromise sealed in silk and ink.

You got the white dress.

You just didn’t get to choose the groom.

There had been forced marriages before, but they were usually between lower-ranking members of the families—never from the very top. This time, it was different.

This time, it was you.

And not for one of the Shelby cousins or brothers. No.

Thomas Shelby wanted you for himself.

You didn’t know everything about him—but you knew enough. Enough to try everything to stop it. You begged, argued, pleaded. It didn’t matter. Your father agreed faster than you thought possible, leaving you betrayed and powerless.

He made it clear: this was the price you’d pay for peace.

No one asked how you felt.

***

On your wedding day, you were showered in gifts—useless, gaudy things you wanted to burn. Jewelry you’d never wear. Baby clothes. Toys. Some from your own family, others from Shelbys you hadn’t even met before they appeared at the reception.

But you smiled. You played your part.

You had to.

For your mother. Your sisters. Yourself.

***

Tommy’s family had already made their expectations clear with all their hints about children. And Tommy… he made his own expectations even clearer.

You lived in comfort. Servants ran the house. You didn’t have to lift a finger.

But comfort ended at night.

Behind closed doors, there was no escaping him. Or there shouldn’t have been.

He tried, time and time again, to break you in. To make you his wife in every way. But somehow, you held the line.

For now.

He was always a little too close. Physically, at least.

Sometimes he pulled you into embraces that might’ve looked tender from the outside—if not for the weight behind them. At night, his warm, heavy body curled around you, pinning you like a lock. There were times when you weren’t sure you’d be able to leave the bed at all.

And in front of others, he performed.

The doting husband.

Because he knew you wouldn’t reject him under their gaze.

He kissed you in front of them—never just once. His lips stayed too long. His tongue tasted like a promise of what he thought was owed.

His frustration was tangible.

He was used to getting what he wanted—and the fact that he couldn’t have you, not fully, gnawed at him night after night.

It would have been naïve to believe he’d simply give up—repress a need like that.

It had to come out somewhere.

And the poisonous glances Lizzie sometimes threw your way told you more than any rumor ever could. Tommy seemed to be relaxed on these days, too relaxed. And he sometimes left you alone the night after.

It wasn’t relief you felt.

Not really.

It felt more like rejection though you knew that you were the one rejecting him.

A cold, deliberate silence where there should have been fury. Or heat. Or something.

A creeping sense of dread began to take root in you.

***

Still, most of the evenings brought the same ritual. So it was that night. His hands, searching beneath the layers of nightclothes you wore like armor. You had wrapped yourself in fabric to keep him out, but silk and cotton were no match for persistence.

Your excuses, your resistance—he began to ignore them.

He pressed his body against you, his breath heavy, his desire undeniable.

Full of greed, his hands moved closer. Closer. Until there was nowhere left to go.

You froze. A breath caught in your throat.

The hem of your nightgown was bunched around your waist, his hand between your thighs.

And then—nothing.

He stopped.

Just like that.

No violence, no words. Just a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes as he pulled away and turned his back to you, muscles tense with anger.

Later that night, the sound of his breathing stirred you awake. The rustling under the blanket told you exactly what he was doing.

The scent lingered in the room long after he was done—hot, intimate, invasive.

And against your will, it stirred something in you.

Desire.

It sickened you.

Your fury was louder.

Fury at your father for selling you off. At this prison disguised as a home. At Thomas Shelby, who thought he could claim your body just because the law said you were his.

That night burned into your memory.

Not because of what happened.

But because of what didn’t.

Why had he stopped?

A man like Tommy, who never asked, never waited. A man who took what he wanted.

Why had he let you go?

It would take time before you'd understand the reason.

***

After that night, something shifted.

A part of you had stopped fighting—had resigned itself to the role.

To being the wife Tommy so forcefully demanded.

The shield you’d built so carefully—layer by layer, over weeks of fear and defiance—it began to crack.

By day and by night.

You hadn’t exactly told him he had free rein.

You hadn’t whispered yes.

But maybe… maybe you were ready.

To surrender.

Maybe even to like it.

But he didn’t see it.

Or maybe he refused to.

And that hurt more than you liked to admit.

***

His behavior had become increasingly unbearable. But knowing Tommy—emotionally distant, unreadable to the point of opacity—the idea of confronting him openly felt absurd. That simply wasn’t how things worked between you. There were no conversations between equals. Only theater for the outside world, and quiet power plays when the curtains closed.

And yet, something simmered between you—an undercurrent thicker than resentment, heavier than silence. It was tension of a new kind. Darker. More difficult to name.

At family dinners, he mastered the art of veiled attacks. Subtle jabs, laced with just enough ambiguity to go unnoticed by others—except you. Once, he called you “Lizzie” in passing. His voice didn’t falter. When you glanced up, he met your eyes and said lightly, “Old habits, I suppose. You know how much I liked things the way they were.”

Another evening, he stood in the kitchen with his brother Arthur while you set the table in the adjoining room, clearly within earshot.

“She’s improving,” he said with a slow, amused drawl. “Slowly. Like a stubborn dog with expensive taste.” Arthur laughed out loudly.

You froze mid-step, gripping a wineglass just a little too tightly.

He didn’t speak to you—he spoke about you. And when he did speak directly, it was usually to correct you. “Darling,” he said once, resting a hand lightly on your shoulder as if to soften the blow, “you’d be twice as graceful if you spoke half as often.”

You smiled thinly and bit your tongue, feeling yourself shrink behind your own eyes.

Later, he adopted a new role: the thoughtful husband. He started bringing home gifts. At first glance, the gestures seemed benign, almost casual—until you realized each item was carefully chosen to irritate, insult, or bewilder.

Once, he handed you a small box wrapped in cheerful ribbon. Inside was a novelty apron that read, “Good Girls Bake, Bad Girls Get Spanked.”

“I thought it was funny,” he said, watching your face. “You used to have a sense of humor, didn’t you?”

Another time, he didn’t give the gift directly. You found it tucked inside your nightstand: a dated etiquette book titled The Perfect Wife – Lessons in Obedience, Grace, and Domestic Discipline. The margins were filled with his handwriting. One note read:

Chapter 5 is essential reading.

You didn’t doubt for a second that he’d quiz you later.

In public, he insisted you be the picture of charm at his side—always in outfits he selected. They were never vulgar, but always walked the edge. Dresses that clung just tightly enough, necklines that dipped just low enough, heels that made your balance feel like performance art. And then he'd say in front of others, “You know, I wouldn’t have chosen that dress myself,” in a tone that suggested you had.

His comment would earn him knowing nods and the occasional chuckle from others. The implication was clear: the poor man was doing his best to keep his wife in line. You, the one on display, the woman shaped by his narrative, had no voice in the matter.

And inside, you burned—because the woman they saw, the one he painted with smirks and insinuations, didn’t exist.

***

One evening—he’d come home late again, and you were dressed only in underwear, already on your way to bed—he tossed a flat box onto the mattress with casual indifference. Black, with delicate gold ornamentation, it landed like a punctuation mark.

“Here. For you,” he said. “If you have to be my wife, one of us might as well get something out of it.”

Then he shrugged off his jacket, threw it over a chair, and left the room without another word, as though something urgent awaited him elsewhere.

Curiosity got the better of you. You opened the box.

Inside: a slip of a negligee. Black. Sheer. Laughably short. Technically, it could be called a nightgown—but it felt more like something selected from a shop that specialized in humiliation. You could almost picture the errand that Tommy placed: some underling dispatched to kind of a brothel supplies store. The thing didn’t need to be worn to do its job—it reeked of control. Of mockery. Of contempt disguised as indulgence.

What was the message? And what exactly did he mean by that line?

“One of us might as well get something out of it.”

Who, in his mind, was the someone benefitting here?

The old, buried fury at this arranged marriage flared again—but it had company now. A second fire, long smoldering, fed by every slight, every carefully administered humiliation. The two raged together inside you, mixing into something volatile.

A slow-burning, venomous cocktail. And it was nearly full.

He came back into the room with that mocking lilt in his voice.

“Well? What does my obedient little wife think of her present?”

Obedient wife?

That phrase sliced something open inside you. This game. This constant humiliation.

What gave him the right?

Enough.

You stepped forward—slow, but with a resolve that made his brow twitch.

“You want to know what I think of your gift?”

Before he could answer, you tore the negligee apart with both hands. The delicate fabric ripped, fragile as it was. The shreds fell at his feet.

"Here. Wear it, if you’re ever short on someone willing to play the butt of your little games."

He raised an eyebrow, amused.

“That temper suits you. Almost makes me forget how boring you’ve been.”

Your hand flew before you even knew you meant to slap him. The crack echoed between you.

He didn’t flinch. Instead, he grinned.

“You look sexy when you’re about to hit me. I mean that. Though of course, it’s not quite fitting for an obedient wife.”

You went to strike him again—but this time, he caught your wrist. Effortlessly. His grip was too tight. You twisted, furious, kicking out blindly, your breath ragged with rage.

The motion sent you crashing into him. He caught you, and suddenly the world flipped—his arms locked around you, pulling you down. You hit the floor together. He landed hard on top of you, pinning you with his weight. Your arms were trapped above your head, his fingers enclosing your wrists.

Your faces were inches apart. You could feel the heat of his breath, his body. You writhed, shouted, kicked against him, but he didn’t budge.

“It’s almost cute,” he murmured, voice low and vibrating against your skin, “how hard you try. But you really ought to learn how to handle your anger, sweetheart.”

You stared up at him, breathless, trembling—not from fear, but fury. You pulled against his hold again, and this time, he let go. Just like that.

“Go on,” he said. “Slap me again. But this time, mean it.”

And you did. With everything in you.

His head turned slightly from the force, and for a second, there was silence.

Then he laughed—soft, dark, delighted. His hands found your waist.

“Well then,” he said, voice dripping with mock gravity. “Seems you’re determined to make your husband teach you what consequences feel like.”

Before you could answer, he had lifted you off the ground and dragged you toward the bed with the same mix of casual strength and infuriating entitlement that had sparked your rage in the first place. He sat down on the edge and pulled you face down across his lap, your stomach pressing against his thighs. Without giving you a moment to catch your breath, he yanked down your panties—seams straining, then giving way with a sharp, tearing sound under his grip.

You twisted in his grip, still furious, still trembling. “Let me go.”

He didn’t.

“You said you wanted me to wear it,” he said with a stern voice. “But I think we both know who it was meant for.”

His tone wasn’t mocking now—it was lower, serious in a way that made your pulse quicken against your will. You hated that. You hated the heat rising in your face, hated how your body betrayed you even now.

He rested one hand on your lower back, steady, grounding. The other ghosted over the curve of your exposed skin, not quite touching, but making you hyper-aware of every inch of you on display.

"Seems like my little wife needs reminding," he said with maddeningly calm, "what it means to test me."

You bit your lip, but said nothing. He waited.

Then came the first smack.

Not cruel. Not painful. Just sharp enough to sting, to make you inhale through your teeth—and to make the heat rush even lower.

He paused, letting the sensation bloom. Then another. And another.

By the fourth, your fists clenched. Not from pain. From the ache building inside you, far more unbearable than the teasing punishment.

You bit down on your lip so hard you feared it might bleed.

Not a single sound slipped from your throat—you wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

Not yet. Not as long as you still had a shred of control left.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” he teased you. “Where did that fire go?”

You turned your head slightly, just enough for him to see your glare. “Still burning,” you growled.

He chuckled. “Good. We’re just getting started.”

More slaps followed—firm, demanding. And with every strike, your skin burned hotter, seared beneath his touch.

"Well? How do you like that?" he growled, caught in the momentum of his own fury. "I could go on for hours..."

"Please, Tommy..." you finally gave in, breath ragged—your tender flesh burned like fire, and that wasn’t even the worst of it. The real blaze was coiling deep inside you.

"Are you going to be my obedient little wife from now on?" he panted, not slowing the rhythm of his hand.

"This is ridiculous," you spat, struggling again, your voice trembling with rage. "You're not my warden."

"No," he murmured. "Just your husband. And someone..."—his voice dropped, a shade darker—"...who’s getting tired of pretending you don’t want the game you’re playing."

You froze.

He had you.

"Then do what you have to do," you managed at last, evading the weight of his accusation with careful defiance.

Before the words had even left your mouth, he moved—twisting your body, flipping you onto your back, pinning you to the mattress without effort.

His legs forced your thighs apart, unrelenting. There was no mistaking the effect your fight had on him—and this time, both of you knew he wasn’t going to leave anything simmering under the surface. Not tonight.

His hand slipped between your legs—this time it was you who couldn’t hide it anymore— with a simple touch, he exposed your desire that had disguised itself in fury.

Your eyes met his—and it was useless to look away. He saw you. All of you. As if he could read the chaos in your head, he whispered, almost gentle:

“Tell yourself it’s hate. If that helps.”

Then his mouth was on yours—your lips clashing, your tongues locked in something raw and hungry, with soft bites in between. Just wild enough to preserve the pretense of anger. Just careful enough to push the unbearable attraction between you both to its very edge—into bittersweet torture. And when he finally sank into you, inch by inch, it was like a dam breaking— your involuntary, half-sobbed moan tearing free after far too long held back.

Tommy smirked, dark and satisfied, almost wicked, as he moved his hips with practiced precision—hitting every spot that made your breath catch and your body quake.

Your hands found his shoulders, nails raking down his back in protest or desperation—you weren’t sure anymore. His low, guttural groan told you he welcomed the pain—that the sharp bite of it only fueled his own pleasure to something near unbearable. He pushed harder, forced you to feel the contradiction of resistance and release.

Every time he felt one of you nearing the edge, he slowed down—agonizingly, deliciously—stretching the tension to something addictive, utterly out of your control. You desperately arched your back, but when your hips shifted to meet him, he pulled back slightly, just to watch your frustration mount. The needier you were, the harder he got.

Now you knew for certain—though, deep down, you’d always felt it: you had married a maddeningly good lover with a body hotter than hell and the devil’s appetite for slow destruction. He didn’t just crave your pleasure; he savored the torment that led to it, feeding off the tension like it was his favorite sin. He would take you for hours, not just to possess you, but to ruin every inch of you, until you beg him to let you finally come around his cock. A man who needed you to become putty in his hands, exhausted, trembling, crying, until he had fucked you senseless, nothing more than a sobbing mess in his arms. Intimacy as a means of power, you always hated it but—

His hand slid into your hair, tightening until your breath caught, forcing your head back so you had no choice but to look at him.

“You’re not used to giving in without a fight,” he panted, eyes locked on yours. “You crave the passion, the friction—the illusion that you might just slip away untouched. But we both know how the game of cat and mouse ends. And you wear surrender so damn well.”

You bared your teeth at him, breath hitching as his hips pressed forward again. “Maybe I just like seeing how far you’ll chase me before I stop running,” you gasp.

He chuckled low in his throat and leaned in, teeth grazing your neck, nipping just enough to sting. Then his hand slid to your throat, not squeezing, just resting there with perfect tension while his eyes scanned you closely, attuned to the faintest twitch, the smallest betrayal of control, as his hand tightened ever so slightly around your throat.

"Nice try, little mouse. But it’s still the cat who decides when the chase ends."

And something between you shifted—subtle but unmistakable. The fire of fury dulled into heat of a different kind. What had started as a clash of wills, razor-edged and reckless, softened into a twisted kind of play. Lust overtook rage, and the tension turned electric—still sharp, still dangerous, but no longer at war. A faint smile ghosted across his lips.

“You can tell me to stop,” he whispered.

You didn’t.

And when the heat inside finally surged past the point of no return, it tore through you like a storm—loud, unrepentant, nothing left to hide. He followed, a growl escaping against your skin, burying his face in the curve of your neck like he needed to anchor himself.

For a moment, you were both still, hearts hammering, breath tangled.

Then he leaned back just enough to look at you, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I should piss you off more often,” he said, voice hoarse but amused.

It hit you then—the provocation, the smirk, the carefully chosen words to hurt you. None of it had been thoughtless. He wanted the fire. Needed the fight. Not a quiet, distant wife—but you. Angry, wild, unwilling to yield unless it meant something.

And maybe—just maybe—that was exactly what you needed too.

***

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[22ayla21]

I suddenly crave some angst with comfort and so what I have in mind is mc being a well known warrior who was recently deployed to fight off a war.

But the aftermath left mc with a scar goes all the way from under the eye to the neck. It made her so insecure which resulted in her avoiding her husband, but of course they would immediately notice and find out the reason why mc is avoiding them.

They approach mc one night and assured her that no matter how much scar she gains, they still see her as the most beautiful person in the whole universe.

Sooo for who I have in mind with this idea is Jing Yuan, Mydei, Phainon and whoever you might want to add!

I love your works by the way I always check your blog to see your new posts

Scar

She returned from the war not only with emotional wounds but also physical ones, which caused her to avoid him.

Loufu greeted her return with silence. The war was over. The Xianzhou army returned victorious, but losses were inevitable. She survived, but at what cost?

A deep, ugly scar, stretching from her cheekbone to her neck, reminded her of how the enemy's blade had nearly ended her life.

Before, looking in the mirror, she saw a determined, strong woman, equal to General Jing Yuan. Now, her gaze avoided her own reflection. She didn't cry or complain. She just started avoiding him. She didn't seek his gaze, didn't touch him as before. She spoke little, and if he was near, she found any excuse to leave.

He wasn't blind and noticed everything immediately.

One night, when Loufu was bathed in soft moonlight, he entered her chambers. She sat by the window, back straight, hands folded in her lap. From the outside, she seemed calm, but her fingers were frantically gripping the fabric of her clothes.

She heard his footsteps but didn't turn around. He approached, sat beside her, allowing silence to fill the space between them.

"Why are you avoiding me?" She flinched, not from his voice, but from his closeness.

"I…" she stammered. "I'm not avoiding you."

"Don't lie." She pressed her lips together, then turned sharply to him, looking straight into his eyes.

"Have you seen me? Have you seen what's become of me?" He looked at her intently.

"I see." She took a shuddering breath.

"I… I've become ugly." He frowned.

"Who told you that?"

"It's obvious, Jing Yuan!" her voice trembled, she clenched her fists tightly. "Don't you see? This scar… it… I'm not the same as before."

Silence fell.

Then he raised his hand and gently touched her face, running his fingers along the scar. She flinched but didn't pull away.

"Silly," he said softly. She blinked in surprise. He ran his thumb across her cheek, then down to her neck, tracing the line of the scar.

"Do you think one mark will change how I see you?" his voice was low, calm, but filled with firm assurance. "Do you think it will change my feelings?"

"No matter how many scars you have, you will always be the most beautiful in the entire universe to me."

She didn't know what to say. His words, so calm and confident, caused a sharp pain in her chest.

Then something inside her broke. She closed her eyes, and the first tears rolled down her cheeks. Jing Yuan pulled her close, hugging her tightly. And in that moment, she realized he was right.

Mydei wasn't one for empty words. He was used to actions, but with her, he understood: sometimes you need to speak. Especially now.

Her scar, from her eye to her neck, tormented her from the inside. Not just a wound – a heavy weight on her heart. In the war, she did everything she could, but this mark became a symbol of loss, of her confidence.

When she returned home, she hid the scar. She dressed so it wouldn't be seen, even in their secluded home. She avoided his gaze when they were near. Her gestures became cautious, her words quiet in his presence. She tried not to meet his eyes, afraid to see the disgust in his gaze that she thought might be there.

Mydei noticed. He immediately understood it was about the scar, that he couldn't just stand aside.

At night, when she was almost asleep, Mydei suddenly sat beside her, quietly. Without saying a word, he touched her shoulder, making her turn around. His eyes held so much sincerity and understanding that she gasped.

"You shouldn't hide it," he whispered, but his voice was firm. "I won't look at you any differently. You're already the most beautiful."

She was silent, her lips trembling, but he saw her chest rise with each breath, how she tried to hold back tears. He didn't look away, not letting her escape from answering.

"I love you," Mydei continued, "and no matter how many scars you have, you will still be the most beautiful woman in the entire universe to me."

Her eyes misted over, and finally, she allowed herself to cry quietly, not hiding her feelings. Mydei hugged her, holding her close, not letting her retreat into her self-isolation. He was there. And he wasn't going to let her go.

The war took her away for a long time. When she left, he knew: she was strong, smart, an experienced warrior. She knew how to protect herself and others. He believed her skills were her safety. But no one expected the war to leave such marks – not only on her soul but also on her body.

She returned – different. Her steps were cautious, her gaze averted. Before, her eyes held determination, confidence, but now – emptiness. She kept her distance, as if hiding something.

And he saw the scar.

A thin line from her eye to her neck – when she tucked her hair behind her ear. A sword mark – deep, painful. Not only on her body but also in her soul. A warrior, pride – and suddenly vulnerability, weakness.

She avoided his gaze, her hands nervously covering the scar. And the conversations – not the same as before. He couldn't stay silent.

One night, she was in the shadows, hiding her face. He approached quietly.

"You know I love you, right?" and, without waiting for an answer, "I love you not for your appearance, not for your scars. For your strength, kindness, determination. You are the most beautiful person. Even with this scar."

She was silent, but her breathing evened out, the tension left. He sat beside her, took her hand, and was silent. He knew time was the best healer. She would accept herself.

"I'm here, always," he added softly. "Scar or no scar. You are the most beautiful."

She didn't answer, but her heart felt lighter. And maybe, just maybe, she would believe she was beautiful – no matter what.